{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_23772/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_23772","id":"gutenberg_23772","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23772","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Meditations"],"text":"Produced by Stacy Brown, John Hagerson, Juliet Sutherland\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nJOHN DONNE\n\n\nDEVOTIONS\n\nUPON EMERGENT OCCASIONS\n\n\n_Together with_\n\nDEATH'S DUEL\n\n\nANN ARBOR PAPERBACKS\n\n_The University of Michigan Press_\n\n\n\n\nFirst edition as an\n\nANN ARBOR PAPERBACK 1959\n\nPublished in the United States of America by the University of Michigan\nand simultaneously in Toronto, Canada, by Ambassador Books, Ltd.\n\n\nManufactured in the United States of America\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nTHE LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE     v\n\nDEVOTIONS                      1\n\nDEATH'S DUEL                 161\n\n\n\n\n_THE LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE_\n\n(_Taken from the life by Izaak Walton_).\n\n\nMaster John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573, of good and\nvirtuous parents: and, though his own learning and other multiplied\nmerits may justly appear sufficient to dignify both himself and his\nposterity, yet the reader may be pleased to know that his father was\nmasculinely and lineally descended from a very ancient family in Wales,\nwhere many of his name now live, that deserve and have great reputation\nin that country.\n\nBy his mother he was descended of the family of the famous and learned\nSir Thomas More, sometime Lord Chancellor of England: as also, from that\nworthy and laborious Judge Rastall, who left posterity the vast Statutes\nof the Law of this nation most exactly abridged.\n\nHe had his first breeding in his father's house, where a private tutor\nhad the care of him, until the tenth year of his age; and, in his\neleventh year, was sent to the University of Oxford, having at that time\na good command both of the French and Latin tongue. This, and some other\nof his remarkable abilities, made one then give this censure of him:\nThat this age had brought forth another Picus Mirandula; of whom story\nsays, that he was rather born than made wise by study.\n\nThere he remained for some years in Hart Hall, having, for the\nadvancement of his studies, tutors of several sciences to attend and\ninstruct him, till time made him capable, and his learning expressed in\npublic exercises, declared him worthy, to receive his first degree in\nthe schools, which he forbore by advice from his friends, who, being for\ntheir religion of the Romish persuasion, were conscionably averse to\nsome parts of the oath that is always tendered at those times, and not\nto be refused by those that expect the titulary honour of their studies.\n\nAbout the fourteenth year of his age he was transplanted from Oxford to\nCambridge, where, that he might receive nourishment from both soils, he\nstaid till his seventeenth year; all which time he was a most laborious\nstudent, often changing his studies, but endeavouring to take no degree,\nfor the reasons formerly mentioned.\n\nAbout the seventeenth year of his age he was removed to London, and then\nadmitted into Lincoln's Inn, with an intent to study the law, where he\ngave great testimonies of his wit, his learning, and of his improvement\nin that profession; which never served him for other use than an\nornament and self-satisfaction.\n\nHis father died before his admission into this society; and, being a\nmerchant, left him his portion in money. (It was \u00a33,000.) His mother,\nand those to whose care he was committed, were watchful to improve his\nknowledge, and to that end appointed him tutors both in the mathematics,\nand in all the other liberal sciences, to attend him. But, with these\narts, they were advised to instil into him particular principles of the\nRomish Church; of which those tutors professed, though secretly,\nthemselves to be members.\n\nThey had almost obliged him to their faith; having for their advantage,\nbesides many opportunities, the example of his dear and pious parents,\nwhich was a most powerful persuasion, and did work much upon him, as he\nprofesseth in his preface to his \"Pseudo-Martyr,\" a book of which the\nreader shall have some account in what follows.\n\nHe was now entered into the eighteenth year of his age; and at that time\nhad betrothed himself to no religion that might give him any other\ndenomination than a Christian. And reason and piety had both persuaded\nhim that there could be no such sin as schism, if an adherence to some\nvisible Church were not necessary.\n\nAbout the nineteenth year of his age, he, being then unresolved what\nreligion to adhere to, and considering how much it concerned his soul to\nchoose the most orthodox, did therefore,--though his youth and health\npromised him a long life--to rectify all scruples that might concern\nthat, presently lay aside all study of the law, and of all other\nsciences that might give him a denomination; and began seriously to\nsurvey and consider the body of Divinity, as it was then controverted\nbetwixt the Reformed and the Roman Church. And, as God's blessed\nSpirit did then awaken him to the search, and in that industry\ndid never forsake him--they be his own words (in his preface to\n\"Pseudo-Martyr\")--so he calls the same Holy Spirit to witness this\nprotestation; that in that disquisition and search he proceeded with\nhumility and diffidence in himself; and by that which he took to be the\nsafest way; namely, frequent prayers, and an indifferent affection to\nboth parties; and, indeed, Truth had too much light about her to be hid\nfrom so sharp an inquirer; and he had too much ingenuity not to\nacknowledge he had found her.\n\nBeing to undertake this search, he believed the Cardinal Bellarmine to\nbe the best defender of the Roman cause, and therefore betook himself to\nthe examination of his reasons. The cause was weighty, and wilful delays\nhad been inexcusable both towards God and his own conscience: he\ntherefore proceeded in this search with all moderate haste, and about\nthe twentieth year of his age did show the then Dean of\nGloucester--whose name my memory hath now lost--all the Cardinal's works\nmarked with many weighty observations under his own hand; which works\nwere bequeathed by him, at his death, as a legacy to a most dear friend.\n\nAbout a year following he resolved to travel: and the Earl of Essex\ngoing first to Cales, and after the Island voyages, the first anno 1596,\nthe second 1597, he took the advantage of those opportunities, waited\nupon his Lordship, and was an eye-witness of those happy and unhappy\nemployments.\n\nBut he returned not back into England till he had staid some years,\nfirst in Italy and then in Spain, where he made many useful observations\nof those countries, their laws and manner of government, and returned\nperfect in their languages.\n\nThe time that he spent in Spain was, at his first going into Italy,\ndesigned for travelling to the Holy Land, and for viewing Jerusalem and\nthe Sepulchre of our Saviour. But at his being in the furthest parts of\nItaly, the disappointment of company, or of a safe convoy, or the\nuncertainty of returns of money into those remote parts, denied him\nthat happiness, which he did often occasionally mention with a\ndeploration.\n\nNot long after his return into England, that exemplary pattern of\ngravity and wisdom, the Lord Ellesmere, then Keeper of the Great Seal,\nthe Lord Chancellor of England, taking notice of his learning,\nlanguages, and other abilities, and much affecting his person and\nbehaviour, took him to be his chief secretary; supposing and intending\nit to be an introduction to some more weighty employment in the State;\nfor which, his Lordship did often protest, he thought him very fit.\n\nNor did his Lordship, in this time of Master Donne's attendance upon\nhim, account him to be so much his servant as to forget he was his\nfriend; and, to testify it, did always use him with much courtesy,\nappointing him a place at his own table, to which he esteemed his\ncompany and discourse to be a great ornament.\n\nHe continued that employment for the space of five years, being daily\nuseful, and not mercenary to his friend. During which time he--I dare\nnot say unhappily--fell into such a liking, as,--with her\napprobation,--increased into a love, with a young gentlewoman that lived\nin that family, who was niece to the Lady Ellesmere, and daughter to Sir\nGeorge More, then Chancellor of the Garter and Lieutenant of the Tower.\n\nSir George had some intimation of it, and, knowing prevention to be a\ngreat part of wisdom, did therefore remove her with much haste from that\nto his own house at Lothesley, in the County of Surrey; but too late, by\nreason of some faithful promises which were so interchangeably passed,\nas never to be violated by either party.\n\nThese promises were only known to themselves; and the friends of both\nparties used much diligence, and many arguments, to kill or cool their\naffections to each other; but in vain, for love is a flattering mischief\nthat hath denied aged and wise men a foresight of those evils that too\noften prove to be the children of that blind father; a passion that\ncarries us to commit errors with as much ease as whirlwinds move\nfeathers, and begets in us an unwearied industry to the attainment of\nwhat we desire. And such an industry did, notwithstanding much\nwatchfulness against it, bring them secretly together,--I forbear to\ntell the manner how,--and at last to a marriage too, without the\nallowance of those friends whose approbation always was, and ever will\nbe necessary, to make even a virtuous love become lawful.\n\nAnd that the knowledge of their marriage might not fall, like an\nunexpected tempest, on those that were unwilling to have it so; and that\npre-apprehensions might make it the less enormous when it was known, it\nwas purposely whispered into the ears of many that it was so, yet by\nnone that could affirm it. But, to put a period to the jealousies of Sir\nGeorge--doubt often begetting more restless thoughts than the certain\nknowledge of what we fear--the news was, in favour to Mr. Donne, and\nwith his allowance, made known to Sir George, by his honourable friend\nand neighbour Henry, Earl of Northumberland; but it was to Sir George so\nimmeasurably unwelcome, and so transported him that, as though his\npassion of anger and inconsideration might exceed theirs of love and\nerror, he presently engaged his sister, the Lady Ellesmere, to join with\nhim to procure her lord to discharge Mr. Donne of the place he held\nunder his Lordship. This request was followed with violence; and though\nSir George were remembered that errors might be over punished, and\ndesired therefore to forbear till second considerations might clear some\nscruples, yet he became restless until his suit was granted and the\npunishment executed. And though the Lord Chancellor did not, at Mr.\nDonne's dismission, give him such a commendation as the great Emperor\nCharles the Fifth did of his Secretary Eraso, when he parted with him to\nhis son and successor, Philip the Second, saying, \"That in his Eraso, he\ngave to him a greater gift than all his estate, and all the kingdoms\nwhich he then resigned to him;\" yet the Lord Chancellor said, \"He parted\nwith a friend, and such a Secretary as was fitter to serve a king than a\nsubject.\"\n\nImmediately after his dismission from his service, he sent a sad letter\nto his wife to acquaint her with it; and after the subscription of his\nname, writ,\n\n    \"John Donne, Anne Donne, Un-done;\"\n\nand God knows it proved too true; for this bitter physic of Mr. Donne's\ndismission, was not enough to purge out all Sir George's choler, for he\nwas not satisfied till Mr. Donne and his sometime compupil in Cambridge,\nthat married him, namely, Samuel Brooke, who was after Doctor in\nDivinity and Master of Trinity College--and his brother Mr. Christopher\nBrooke, sometime Mr. Donne's chamber-fellow in Lincoln's Inn, who gave\nMr. Donne his wife, and witnessed the marriage, were all committed to\nthree several prisons.\n\nMr. Donne was first enlarged, who neither gave rest to his body or\nbrain, nor to any friend in whom he might hope to have an interest,\nuntil he had procured an enlargement for his two imprisoned friends.\n\nHe was now at liberty, but his days were still cloudy; and, being past\nthese troubles, others did still multiply upon him; for his wife was--to\nher extreme sorrow--detained from him; and though, with Jacob, he\nendured not a hard service for her, yet he lost a good one, and was\nforced to make good his title, and to get possession of her by a long\nand restless suit in law, which proved troublesome and sadly chargeable\nto him, whose youth, and travel, and needless bounty, had brought his\nestate into a narrow compass.\n\nIt is observed, and most truly, that silence and submission are charming\nqualities, and work most upon passionate men; and it proved so with Sir\nGeorge; for these, and a general report of Mr. Donne's merits, together\nwith his winning behaviour,--which, when it would entice, had a strange\nkind of elegant irresistible art;--these, and time, had so\ndispassionated Sir George, that, as the world had approved his\ndaughter's choice, so he also could not but see a more than ordinary\nmerit in his new son; and this at last melted him into so much\nremorse--for love and anger are so like agues as to have hot and cold\nfits; and love in parents, though it may be quenched, yet is easily\nrekindled, and expires not till death denies mankind a natural\nheat--that he laboured his son's restoration to his place; using to that\nend both his own and his sister's power to her lord; but with no\nsuccess; for his answer was, \"That though he was unfeignedly sorry for\nwhat he had done, yet it was inconsistent with his place and credit, to\ndischarge and readmit servants at the request of passionate\npetitioners.\"\n\nSir George's endeavour for Mr. Donne's readmission was by all means to\nbe kept secret:--for men do more naturally reluct for errors than submit\nto put on those blemishes that attend their visible acknowledgment. But,\nhowever, it was not long before Sir George appeared to be so far\nreconciled as to wish their happiness, and not to deny them his paternal\nblessing, but yet refused to contribute any means that might conduce to\ntheir livelihood.\n\nMr. Donne's estate was the greatest part spent in many and chargeable\ntravels, books, and dear-bought experience: he out of all employment\nthat might yield a support for himself and wife, who had been curiously\nand plentifully educated; both their natures generous, and accustomed to\nconfer, and not to receive, courtesies, these and other considerations,\nbut chiefly that his wife was to bear a part in his sufferings,\nsurrounded him with many sad thoughts, and some apparent apprehensions\nof want.\n\nBut his sorrows were lessened and his wants prevented by the seasonable\ncourtesy of their noble kinsman, Sir Francis Wolly, of Pirford in\nSurrey, who intreated them to a cohabitation with him; where they\nremained with much freedom to themselves, and equal content to Him, for\nsome years; and as their charge increased--she had yearly a child--so\ndid his love and bounty.\n\nMr. Donne and his wife continued with Sir Francis Wolly till his death:\na little before which time Sir Francis was so happy as to make a perfect\nreconciliation between Sir George and his forsaken son and daughter; Sir\nGeorge conditioning, by bond, to pay to Mr. Donne 800_l._ at a certain\nday, as a portion with his wife, or 20_l._ quarterly for their\nmaintenance, as the interest for it, till the said portion was paid.\n\nMost of those years that he lived with Sir Francis he studied the Civil\nand Canon Laws; in which he acquired such a perfection, as was judged to\nhold proportion with many, who had made that study the employment of\ntheir whole life.\n\nSir Francis being dead, and that happy family dissolved, Mr. Donne took\nfor himself a house in Mitcham--near to Croydon in Surrey--a place noted\nfor good air and choice company: there his wife and children remained;\nand for himself he took lodgings in London, near to Whitehall, whither\nhis friends and occasions drew him very often, and where he was as often\nvisited by many of the nobility and others of this nation, who used him\nin their counsels of greatest consideration, and with some rewards for\nhis better subsistence.\n\nNor did our own nobility only value and favour him, but his acquaintance\nand friendship was sought for by most Ambassadors of foreign nations,\nand by many other strangers whose learning or business occasioned their\nstay in this nation.\n\nThus it continued with him for about two years, all which time his\nfamily remained constantly at Mitcham; and to which place he often\nretired himself, and destined some days to a constant study of some\npoints of controversy betwixt the English and Roman Church, and\nespecially those of Supremacy and Allegiance: and to that place and such\nstudies he could willingly have wedded himself during his life; but the\nearnest persuasion of friends became at last to be so powerful, as to\ncause the removal of himself and family to London, where Sir Robert\nDrewry, a gentleman of a very noble estate, and a more liberal mind,\nassigned him and his wife an useful apartment in his own large house in\nDrury Lane, and not only rent free, but was also a cherisher of his\nstudies, and such a friend as sympathized with him and his, in all their\njoy and sorrows.\n\nAt this time of Mr. Donne's and his wife's living in Sir Robert's house,\nthe Lord Hay was, by King James, sent upon a glorious embassy to the\nthen French King, Henry the Fourth; and Sir Robert put on a sudden\nresolution to accompany him to the French Court, and to be present at\nhis audience there. And Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to solicit\nMr. Donne to be his companion in that journey. And this desire was\nsuddenly made known to his wife, who was then with child, and otherwise\nunder so dangerous a habit of body as to her health, that she professed\nan unwillingness to allow him any absence from her; saying, \"Her\ndivining soul boded her some ill in his absence;\" and therefore desired\nhim not to leave her. This made Mr. Donne lay aside all thoughts of the\njourney, and really to resolve against it. But Sir Robert became\nrestless in his persuasions for it, and Mr. Donne was so generous as to\nthink he had sold his liberty when he received so many charitable\nkindnesses from him, and told his wife so; who did therefore, with an\nunwilling willingness, give a faint consent to the journey, which was\nproposed to be but for two months; for about that time they determined\ntheir return. Within a few days after this resolve, the Ambassador, Sir\nRobert, and Mr. Donne, left London; and were the twelfth day got all\nsafe to Paris. Two days after their arrival there, Mr. Donne was left\nalone in that room in which Sir Robert, and he, and some other friends\nhad dined together. To this place Sir Robert returned within half an\nhour; and as he left, so he found, Mr. Donne alone; but in such an\necstasy, and so altered as to his looks, as amazed Sir Robert to behold\nhim; insomuch that he earnestly desired Mr. Donne to declare what had\nbefallen him in the short time of his absence. To which Mr. Donne was\nnot able to make a present answer; but, after a long and perplexed\npause, did at last say, \"I have seen a dreadful vision since I saw you:\nI have seen my dear wife pass twice by me through this room, with her\nhair hanging about her shoulders, and a dead child in her arms: this I\nhave seen since I saw you.\" To which Sir Robert replied, \"Sure, sir, you\nhave slept since I saw you; and this is the result of some melancholy\ndream, which I desire you to forget, for you are now awake.\" To which\nMr. Donne's reply was: \"I cannot be surer that I now live than that I\nhave not slept since I saw you: and am as sure that at her second\nappearing she stopped and looked me in the face, and vanished.\" Rest and\nsleep had not altered Mr. Donne's opinion the next day: for he then\naffirmed this vision with a more deliberate, and so confirmed a\nconfidence, that he inclined Sir Robert to a faint belief that the\nvision was true. It is truly said that desire and doubt have no rest;\nand it proved so with Sir Robert; for he immediately sent a servant to\nDrewry House, with a charge to hasten back and bring him word whether\nMrs. Donne were alive; and, if alive, in what condition she was as to\nher health. The twelfth day the messenger returned with this\naccount:--That he found and left Mrs. Donne very sad and sick in her\nbed; and that, after a long and dangerous labour, she had been delivered\nof a dead child. And, upon examination, the abortion proved to be the\nsame day, and about the very hour, that Mr. Donne affirmed he saw her\npass by him in his chamber.\n\nThis is a relation that will beget some wonder, and it well may; for\nmost of our world are at present possessed with an opinion that visions\nand miracles are ceased. And, though it is most certain that two lutes,\nbeing both strung and tuned to an equal pitch, and then one played upon,\nthe other that is not touched, being laid upon a table at a fit\ndistance, will--like an echo to a trumpet--warble a faint audible\nharmony in answer to the same tune; yet many will not believe there is\nany such thing as a sympathy of souls; and I am well pleased that every\nreader do enjoy his own opinion. But if the unbelieving will not allow\nthe believing reader of this story, a liberty to believe that it may be\ntrue, then I wish him to consider many wise men have believed that the\nghost of Julius C\u00e6sar did appear to Brutus, and that both St. Austin,\nand Monica his mother, had visions in order to his conversion. And\nthough these and many others--too many to name--have but the authority\nof human story, yet the incredible reader may find in the sacred story\n(1 Sam. xxviii. 14) that Samuel did appear to Saul even after his\ndeath--whether really or not, I undertake not to determine. And Bildad,\nin the Book of Job, says these words (iv. 13-16): \"A spirit passed\nbefore my face; the hair of my head stood up; fear and trembling came\nupon me, and made all my bones to shake.\" Upon which words I will make\nno comment, but leave them to be considered by the incredulous reader;\nto whom I will also commend this following consideration: That there be\nmany pious and learned men that believe our merciful God hath assigned\nto every man a particular guardian angel to be his constant monitor,\nand to attend him in all his dangers, both of body and soul. And the\nopinion that every man hath his particular angel may gain some authority\nby the relation of St. Peter's miraculous deliverance out of prison\n(Acts xii. 7-10; 13-15), not by many, but by one angel. And this belief\nmay yet gain more credit by the reader's considering, that when Peter\nafter his enlargement knocked at the door of Mary the mother of John,\nand Rhode, the maidservant, being surprised with joy that Peter was\nthere, did not let him in, but ran in haste and told the disciples, who\nwere then and there met together, that Peter was at the door; and they,\nnot believing it, said she was mad: yet, when she again affirmed it,\nthough they then believed it not, yet they concluded, and said, \"It is\nhis angel.\"\n\nMore observations of this nature, and inferences from them, might be\nmade to gain the relation a firmer belief; but I forbear, lest I, that\nintended to be but a relator, may be thought to be an engaged person for\nthe proving what was related to me; and yet I think myself bound to\ndeclare that, though it was not told me by Mr. Donne himself, it was\ntold me--now long since--by a person of honour, and of such intimacy\nwith him, that he knew more of the secrets of his soul than any person\nthen living: and I think he told me the truth; for it was told with such\ncircumstances, and such asseveration, that--to say nothing of my own\nthoughts--I verily believe he that told it me did himself believe it to\nbe true.\n\nI return from my account of the vision, to tell the reader, that both\nbefore Mr. Donne's going into France, at his being there, and after his\nreturn, many of the nobility and others that were powerful at court,\nwere watchful and solicitous to the King for some secular employment for\nhim. The King had formerly both known and put a value upon his company,\nand had also given him some hopes of a state-employment; being always\nmuch pleased when Mr. Donne attended him, especially at his meals, where\nthere were usually many deep discourses of general learning, and very\noften friendly disputes, or debates of religion, betwixt his Majesty and\nthose divines, whose places required their attendance on him at those\ntimes: particularly the Dean of the Chapel, who then was Bishop\nMontague--the publisher of the learned and eloquent Works of his\nMajesty--and the most Reverend Doctor Andrews the late learned Bishop of\nWinchester, who was then the King's Almoner.\n\nAbout this time there grew many disputes, that concerned the Oath of\nSupremacy and Allegiance, in which the King had appeared, and engaged\nhimself by his public writings now extant: and his Majesty discoursing\nwith Mr. Donne, concerning many of the reasons which are usually urged\nagainst the taking of those Oaths, apprehended such a validity and\nclearness in his stating the questions, and his answers to them, that\nhis Majesty commanded him to bestow some time in drawing the arguments\ninto a method, and then to write his answers to them; and, having done\nthat, not to send, but be his own messenger, and bring them to him. To\nthis he presently and diligently applied himself, and within six weeks\nbrought them to him under his own handwriting, as they be now printed;\nthe book bearing the name of \"Pseudo-Martyr,\" printed anno 1610.\n\nWhen the King had read and considered that book, he persuaded Mr. Donne\nto enter into the Ministry; to which, at that time, he was, and\nappeared, very unwilling, apprehending it--such was his mistaken\nmodesty--to be too weighty for his abilities.\n\nSuch strifes St. Austin had, when St. Ambrose endeavoured his conversion\nto Christianity; with which he confesseth he acquainted his friend\nAlipius. Our learned author--a man fit to write after no mean copy--did\nthe like. And declaring his intentions to his dear friend Dr. King, then\nBishop of London, a man famous in his generation, and no stranger to Mr.\nDonne's abilities--for he had been Chaplain to the Lord Chancellor, at\nthe time of Mr. Donne's being his Lordship's Secretary--that reverend\nman did receive the news with much gladness; and, after some expressions\nof joy, and a persuasion to be constant in his pious purpose, he\nproceeded with all convenient speed to ordain him first Deacon, and then\nPriest not long after.\n\nPresently after he entered into his holy profession, the King sent for\nhim, and made him his Chaplain in Ordinary, and promised to take a\nparticular care for his preferment.\n\nAnd, though his long familiarity with scholars and persons of greatest\nquality was such, as might have given some men boldness enough to have\npreached to any eminent auditory; yet his modesty in this employment was\nsuch, that he could not be persuaded to it, but went usually accompanied\nwith some one friend to preach privately in some village, not far from\nLondon; his first sermon being preached at Paddington. This he did, till\nhis Majesty sent and appointed him a day to preach to him at Whitehall;\nand, though much were expected from him, both by his Majesty and others,\nyet he was so happy--which few are--as to satisfy and exceed their\nexpectations: preaching the Word so, as shewed his own heart was\npossessed with those very thoughts and joys that he laboured to distil\ninto others: a preacher in earnest; weeping sometimes for his auditory,\nsometimes with them; always preaching to himself like an angel from a\ncloud, but in none; carrying some, as St. Paul was, to Heaven in holy\nraptures, and enticing others by a sacred art and courtship to amend\ntheir lives: here picturing a vice so as to make it ugly to those that\npractised it; and a virtue so as to make it beloved, even by those that\nloved it not; and all this with a most particular grace and an\nunexpressible addition of comeliness.\n\nThat summer, in the very same month in which he entered into sacred\nOrders, and was made the King's Chaplain, his Majesty then going his\nprogress, was entreated to receive an entertainment in the University of\nCambridge: and Mr. Donne attending his Majesty at that time, his Majesty\nwas pleased to recommend him to the University, to be made Doctor in\nDivinity; Doctor Harsnett, after Archbishop of York, was then\nVice-Chancellor, who, knowing him to be the author of that learned book\nthe \"Pseudo-Martyr,\" required no other proof of his abilities, but\nproposed it to the University, who presently assented, and expressed a\ngladness that they had such an occasion to entitle him to be theirs.\n\nHis abilities and industry in his profession were so eminent, and he so\nknown and so beloved by persons of quality, that within the first year\nof his entering into sacred Orders, he had fourteen advowsons of several\nbenefices presented to him: but they were in the country, and he could\nnot leave his beloved London, to which place he had a natural\ninclination, having received both his birth and education in it, and\nthere contracted a friendship with many, whose conversation multiplied\nthe joys of his life; but an employment that might affix him to that\nplace would be welcome, for he needed it.\n\nImmediately after his return from Cambridge his wife died, leaving him a\nman of a narrow, unsettled estate, and--having buried five--the careful\nfather of seven children then living, to whom he gave a voluntary\nassurance never to bring them under the subjection of a step-mother;\nwhich promise he kept most faithfully, burying with his tears all his\nearthly joys in his most dear and deserving wife's grave, and betook\nhimself to a most retired and solitary life.\n\nIn this retiredness, which was often from the sight of his dearest\nfriends, he became crucified to the world, and all those vanities, those\nimaginary pleasures, that are daily acted on that restless stage, and\nthey were as perfectly crucified to him.\n\nHis first motion from his house was to preach where his beloved wife lay\nburied--in St. Clement's Church, near Temple Bar, London; and his text\nwas a part of the Prophet Jeremy's Lamentation: \"Lo, I am the man that\nhave seen affliction.\"\n\nIn this time of sadness he was importuned by the grave Benchers of\nLincoln's Inn--who were once the companions and friends of his youth--to\naccept of their Lecture, which, by reason of Dr. Gataker's removal from\nthence, was then void; of which he accepted, being most glad to renew\nhis intermitted friendship with those whom he so much loved, and where\nhe had been a Saul,--though not to persecute Christianity, or to deride\nit, yet in his irregular youth to neglect the visible practice of\nit,--there to become a Paul, and preach salvation to his beloved\nbrethren.\n\nAbout which time the Emperor of Germany died, and the Palsgrave, who had\nlately married the Lady Elizabeth, the King's only daughter, was elected\nand crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning of many miseries in\nthat nation.\n\nKing James, whose motto--_Beati pacifici_--did truly speak the very\nthoughts of his heart, endeavoured first to prevent, and after to\ncompose, the discords of that discomposed State; and, amongst other his\nendeavours, did then send the Lord Hay, Earl of Doncaster, his\nAmbassador to those unsettled Princes; and, by a special command from\nhis Majesty, Dr. Donne was appointed to assist and attend that\nemployment to the Princes of the Union, for which the Earl was most\nglad, who had always put a great value on him, and taken a great\npleasure in his conversation and discourse: and his friends at Lincoln's\nInn were as glad; for they feared that his immoderate study, and sadness\nfor his wife's death, would, as Jacob said, \"make his days few,\" and,\nrespecting his bodily health, \"evil\" too: and of this there were many\nvisible signs.\n\nAbout fourteen months after his departure out of England, he returned to\nhis friends of Lincoln's Inn, with his sorrows moderated, and his health\nimproved; and there betook himself to his constant course of preaching.\n\nAbout a year after his return out of Germany, Dr. Carey was made Bishop\nof Exeter, and by his removal, the Deanery of St. Paul's being vacant,\nthe King sent to Dr. Donne, and appointed him to attend him at dinner\nthe next day. When his Majesty was sat down, before he had eat any meat,\nhe said after his pleasant manner, \"Dr. Donne, I have invited you to\ndinner; and, though you sit not down with me, yet I will carve to you of\na dish that I know you love well; for, knowing you love London, I do\ntherefore make you Dean of St. Paul's; and, when I have dined, then do\nyou take your beloved dish home to your study, say grace there to\nyourself, and much good may it do you.\"\n\nImmediately after he came to his Deanery, he employed workmen to repair\nand beautify the Chapel; suffering as holy David once vowed, \"his eyes\nand temples to take no rest till he had first beautified the house of\nGod.\"\n\nThe next quarter following when his father-in-law, Sir George\nMore,--whom time had made a lover and admirer of him--came to pay to him\nthe conditioned sum of twenty pounds, he refused to receive it; and\nsaid--as good Jacob did, when he heard his beloved son Joseph was\nalive--\"'It is enough;' you have been kind to me and mine: I know your\npresent condition is such as not to abound, and I hope mine is, or will\nbe such as not to need it: I will therefore receive no more from you\nupon that contract,\" and in testimony of it freely gave him up his bond.\n\nImmediately after his admission into his Deanery the Vicarage of St.\nDunstan in the West, London, fell to him by the death of Dr. White, the\nadvowson of it having been given to him long before by his honourable\nfriend Richard Earl of Dorset, then the patron, and confirmed by his\nbrother the late deceased Edward, both of them men of much honour.\n\nBy these, and another ecclesiastical endowment which fell to him about\nthe same time, given to him formerly by the Earl of Kent, he was enabled\nto become charitable to the poor, and kind to his friends, and to make\nsuch provision for his children, that they were not left scandalous as\nrelating to their or his profession and quality.\n\nThe next Parliament, which was within that present year, he was chosen\nProlocutor to the Convocation, and about that time was appointed by his\nMajesty, his most gracious master, to preach very many occasional\nsermons, as at St. Paul's Cross, and other places. All which employments\nhe performed to the admiration of the representative body of the whole\nClergy of this nation.\n\nHe was once, and but once, clouded with the King's displeasure, and it\nwas about this time; which was occasioned by some malicious whisperer,\nwho had told his Majesty that Dr. Donne had put on the general humour of\nthe pulpits, and was become busy in insinuating a fear of the King's\ninclining to popery, and a dislike of his government; and particularly\nfor the King's then turning the evening lectures into catechising, and\nexpounding the Prayer of our Lord, and of the Belief, and Commandments.\nHis Majesty was the more inclinable to believe this, for that a person\nof nobility and great note, betwixt whom and Dr. Donne there had been a\ngreat friendship, was at this very time discarded the court--I shall\nforbear his name, unless I had a fairer occasion--and justly committed\nto prison; which begot many rumours in the common people, who in this\nnation think they are not wise unless they be busy about what they\nunderstand not, and especially about religion.\n\nThe King received this news with so much discontent and restlessness\nthat he would not suffer the sun to set and leave him under this doubt;\nbut sent for Dr. Donne, and required his answer to the accusation; which\nwas so clear and satisfactory that the King said, \"he was right glad he\nrested no longer under the suspicion.\" When the King had said this, Dr.\nDonne kneeled down, and thanked his Majesty, and protested his answer\nwas faithful, and free from all collusion, and therefore \"desired that\nhe might not rise till, as in like cases, he always had from God, so he\nmight have from his Majesty, some assurance that he stood clear and fair\nin his opinion.\" At which the King raised him from his knees with his\nown hands, and \"protested he believed him; and that he knew he was an\nhonest man, and doubted not but that he loved him truly.\" And, having\nthus dismissed him, he called some Lords of his Council into his\nchamber, and said with much earnestness, \"My Doctor is an honest man;\nand, my Lords, I was never better satisfied with an answer than he hath\nnow made me; and I always rejoice when I think that by my means he\nbecame a Divine.\"\n\nHe was made Dean in the fiftieth year of his age, and in his\nfifty-fourth year a dangerous sickness seized him, which inclined him to\na consumption; but God, as Job thankfully acknowledged, preserved his\nspirit, and kept his intellectuals as clear and perfect as when that\nsickness first seized his body; but it continued long, and threatened\nhim with death, which he dreaded not.\n\nWithin a few days his distempers abated; and as his strength increased\nso did his thankfulness to Almighty God, testified in his most excellent\n\"Book of Devotions,\" which he published at his recovery; in which the\nreader may see the most secret thoughts that then possessed his soul,\nparaphrased and made public: a book that may not unfitly be called a\nSacred Picture of Spiritual Ecstasies, occasioned and applicable to the\nemergencies of that sickness; which book, being a composition of\nmeditations, disquisitions, and prayers, he writ on his sick-bed; herein\nimitating the holy Patriarchs, who were wont to build their altars in\nthat place where they had received their blessings.\n\nThis sickness brought him so near to the gates of death, and he saw the\ngrave so ready to devour him, that he would often say his recovery was\nsupernatural: but that God that then restored his health continued it to\nhim till the fifty-ninth year of his life: and then, in August 1630,\nbeing with his eldest daughter, Mrs. Harvey, at Abury Hatch, in Essex,\nhe there fell into a fever, which, with the help of his constant\ninfirmity--vapours from the spleen--hastened him into so visible a\nconsumption that his beholders might say, as St. Paul of himself, \"He\ndies daily;\" and he might say with Job, \"My welfare passeth away as a\ncloud, the days of my affliction have taken hold of me, and weary nights\nare appointed for me.\"\n\nReader, this sickness continued long, not only weakening, but wearying\nhim so much, that my desire is he may now take some rest; and that\nbefore I speak of his death thou wilt not think it an impertinent\ndigression to look back with me upon some observations of his life,\nwhich, whilst a gentle slumber gives rest to his spirits, may, I hope,\nnot unfitly, exercise thy consideration.\n\nHis marriage was the remarkable error of his life; an error which,\nthough he had a wit able and very apt to maintain paradoxes, yet he was\nvery far from justifying it: and though his wife's competent years, and\nother reasons, might be justly urged to moderate severe censures, yet he\nwould occasionally condemn himself for it: and doubtless it had been\nattended with an heavy repentance, if God had not blessed them with so\nmutual and cordial affections, as in the midst of their sufferings made\ntheir bread of sorrow taste more pleasantly than the banquets of dull\nand low-spirited people.\n\nThe recreations of his youth were poetry, in which he was so happy as if\nnature and all her varieties had been made only to exercise his sharp\nwit and high fancy; and in those pieces which were facetiously composed\nand carelessly scattered,--most of them being written before the\ntwentieth year of his age--it may appear by his choice metaphors that\nboth nature and all the arts joined to assist him with their utmost\nskill.\n\nIt is a truth, that in his penitential years, viewing some of those\npieces that had been loosely--God knows, too loosely--scattered in his\nyouth, he wished they had been abortive, or so short-lived that his own\neyes had witnessed their funerals; but, though he was no friend to them,\nhe was not so fallen out with heavenly poetry, as to forsake that; no,\nnot in his declining age; witnessed then by many divine sonnets, and\nother high, holy, and harmonious composures. Yea, even on his former\nsick-bed he wrote this heavenly hymn, expressing the great joy that then\npossessed his soul, in the assurance of God's favour to him when he\ncomposed it:--\n\n    \"AN HYMN\n\n    \"TO GOD THE FATHER\n\n    \"Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,\n      Which was my sin, though it were done before?\n    Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,\n      And do run still, though still I do deplore?\n    When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,\n                                  For I have more.\n\n    \"Wilt Thou forgive that sin, which I have won\n      Others to sin, and made my sin their door?\n    Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun\n      A year or two:--but wallow'd in a score?\n    When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,\n                                  For I have more.\n\n    \"I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun\n      My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;\n    But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son\n      Shall shine as He shines now, and heretofore;\n    And having done that, Thou hast done,\n                                  I fear no more.\"\n\nI have the rather mentioned this hymn, for that he caused it to be set\nto a most grave and solemn tune, and to be often sung to the organ by\nthe choiristers of St. Paul's Church, in his own hearing; especially at\nthe Evening Service; and at his return from his customary devotions in\nthat place, did occasionally say to a friend, \"the words of this hymn\nhave restored to me the same thoughts of joy that possessed my soul in\nmy sickness, when I composed it. And, O the power of church-music! that\nharmony added to this hymn has raised the affections of my heart, and\nquickened my graces of zeal and gratitude; and I observe that I always\nreturn from paying this public duty of prayer and praise to God, with an\nunexpressible tranquillity of mind, and a willingness to leave the\nworld.\"\n\nAfter this manner did the disciples of our Saviour, and the best of\nChristians in those ages of the Church nearest to His time, offer their\npraises to Almighty God. And the reader of St. Augustine's life may\nthere find, that towards his dissolution he wept abundantly, that the\nenemies of Christianity had broke in upon them, and profaned and ruined\ntheir sanctuaries, and because their public hymns and lauds were lost\nout of their Churches. And after this manner have many devout souls\nlifted up their hands and offered acceptable sacrifices unto Almighty\nGod, where Dr. Donne offered his, and now lies buried.\n\nBut now [1656], Oh Lord! how is that place become desolate!\n\nBefore I proceed further, I think fit to inform the reader, that not\nlong before his death he caused to be drawn a figure of the Body of\nChrist extended upon an anchor, like those which painters draw, when\nthey would present us with the picture of Christ crucified on the cross:\nhis varying no otherwise than to affix Him not to a cross, but to an\nanchor--the emblem of Hope;--this he caused to be drawn in little, and\nthen many of those figures thus drawn to be engraven very small in\nHeliotropium stones, and set in gold; and of these he sent to many of\nhis dearest friends, to be used as seals, or rings, and kept as\nmemorials of him, and of his affection to them.\n\nHis dear friends and benefactors, Sir Henry Goodier and Sir Robert\nDrewry, could not be of that number; nor could the Lady Magdalen\nHerbert, the mother of George Herbert, for they had put off mortality,\nand taken possession of the grave before him; but Sir Henry Wotton, and\nDr. Hall, the then--late deceased--Bishop of Norwich, were; and so were\nDr. Duppa, Bishop of Salisbury, and Dr. Henry King, Bishop of\nChichester--lately deceased--men, in whom there was such a commixture of\ngeneral learning, of natural eloquence, and Christian humility, that\nthey deserve a commemoration by a pen equal to their own, which none\nhave exceeded.\n\nAnd in this enumeration of his friends, though many must be omitted, yet\nthat man of primitive piety, Mr. George Herbert, may not; I mean that\nGeorge Herbert, who was the author of \"The Temple, or Sacred Poems and\nEjaculations.\" A book, in which by declaring his own spiritual\nconflicts, he hath comforted and raised many a dejected and discomposed\nsoul, and charmed them into sweet and quiet thoughts; a book, by the\nfrequent reading whereof, and the assistance of that Spirit that seemed\nto inspire the author, the reader may attain habits of peace and piety,\nand all the gifts of the Holy Ghost and Heaven: and may, by still\nreading, still keep those sacred fires burning upon the altar of so pure\na heart, as shall free it from the anxieties of this world, and keep it\nfixed upon things that are above. Betwixt this George Herbert and Dr.\nDonne, there was a long and dear friendship, made up by such a sympathy\nof inclinations that they coveted and joyed to be in each other's\ncompany; and this happy friendship was still maintained by many sacred\nendearments; of which that which followeth may be some testimony.\n\n    \"TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT;\n\n    \"SENT HIM WITH ONE OF MY SEALS OF THE ANCHOR AND CHRIST.\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    \"_A Sheaf of Snakes used\n    heretofore to be my Seal,\n    which is the Crest of our\n    poor family._\"\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    \"Qui prius assuetus serpentum falce tabellas\n      Signare, h\u00e6c nostr\u00e6 symbola parva domus,\n    Adscitus domui Domini----\n\n    \"Adopted in God's family, and so\n    My old coat lost, into new Arms I go.\n    The Cross, my Seal in Baptism, spread below,\n    Does by that form into an Anchor grow.\n    Crosses grow Anchors, bear as thou shouldst do\n    Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.\n    But He that makes our Crosses Anchors thus,\n    Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.\n    Yet with this I may my first Serpents hold;--\n    God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old--\n    The Serpent, may, as wise, my pattern be;\n    My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.\n    And, as he rounds the earth to murder, sure\n    He is my death; but on the Cross, my cure,\n    Crucify nature then; and then implore\n    All grace from Him, crucified there before.\n    When all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown\n    This Seal's a Catechism, not a Seal alone.\n    Under that little Seal great gifts I send,\n    Both works and pray'rs, pawns and fruits of a friend.\n    O! may that Saint that rides on our Great Seal,\n    To you that bear his name, large bounty deal.\n\n    \"John Donne.\"\n\n\n\n    \"IN SACRAM ANCHORAM PISCATORIS\n\n    \"GEORGE HERBERT.\n\n    \"Quod Crux nequibat fixa clavique additi,--\n    Tenere Christum scilicet ne ascenderet,\n    Tuive Christum--\n\n    \"Although the Cross could not here Christ detain,\n    When nail'd unto't, but He ascends again;\n    Nor yet thy eloquence here keep Him still,\n    But only whilst thou speak'st--this Anchor will:\n    Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to\n    This certain Anchor add a Seal; and so\n    The water and the earth both unto thee\n    Do owe the symbol of their certainty.\n    Let the world reel, we and all ours stand sure,\n    This holy cable's from all storms secure.\n\n    \"George Herbert.\"\n\nI return to tell the reader, that, besides these verses to his dear Mr.\nHerbert, and that Hymn that I mentioned to be sung in the choir of St.\nPaul's Church, he did also shorten and beguile many sad hours by\ncomposing other sacred ditties; and he writ an Hymn on his death-bed,\nwhich bears this title:--\n\n    \"AN HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS.\n\n    \"_March 23, 1630._\n\n    \"Since I am coming to that holy room,\n      Where, with Thy Choir of Saints, for evermore\n    I shall be made Thy music, as I come\n      I tune my instrument here at the door,\n      And, what I must do then, think here before.\n\n    \"Since my Physicians by their loves are grown\n      Cosmographers; and I their map, who lie\n    Flat on this bed----\n\n    \"So, in His purple wrapt, receive my Lord!\n      By these His thorns, give me His other Crown\n    And, as to other souls I preach'd Thy word,\n      Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,\n      'That He may raise; therefore the Lord throws down.'\"\n\nIf these fall under the censure of a soul, whose too much mixture with\nearth makes it unfit to judge of these high raptures and illuminations,\nlet him know, that many holy and devout men have thought the soul of\nPrudentius to be most refined, when, not many days before his death, \"he\ncharged it to present his God each morning and evening with a new and\nspiritual song;\" justified by the example of King David and the good\nKing Hezekiah, who, upon the renovation of his years paid his thankful\nvows to Almighty God in a royal hymn, which he concludes in these words:\n\"The Lord was ready to save; therefore I will sing my songs to the\nstringed instruments all the days of my life in the Temple of my God.\"\n\nThe latter part of his life may be said to be a continued study; for as\nhe usually preached once a week, if not oftener, so after his sermon he\nnever gave his eyes rest, till he had chosen out a new text, and that\nnight cast his sermon into a form, and his text into divisions; and the\nnext day betook himself to consult the Fathers, and so commit his\nmeditations to his memory, which was excellent. But upon Saturday he\nusually gave himself and his mind a rest from the weary burthen of his\nweek's meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of friends,\nor some other diversions of his thoughts; and would say, \"that he gave\nboth his body and mind that refreshment, that he might be enabled to do\nthe work of the day following, not faintly, but with courage and\ncheerfulness.\"\n\nNor was his age only so industrious, but in the most unsettled days of\nhis youth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond the hour of four in\na morning; and it was no common business that drew him out of his\nchamber till past ten; all which time was employed in study; though he\ntook great liberty after it. And if this seem strange, it may gain a\nbelief by the visible fruits of his labours; some of which remain as\ntestimonies of what is here written: for he left the resultance of 1400\nauthors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own hand: he left\nalso six score of his sermons, all written with his own hand, also an\nexact and laborious Treatise concerning self-murder, called Biathanatos;\nwherein all the laws violated by that act are diligently surveyed, and\njudiciously censured: a Treatise written in his younger days, which\nalone might declare him then not only perfect in the Civil and Canon\nLaw, but in many other such studies and arguments, as enter not into the\nconsideration of many that labour to be thought great clerks, and\npretend to know all things.\n\nNor were these only found in his study, but all businesses that passed\nof any public consequence, either in this or any of our\nneighbour-nations, he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the language of\nthat nation, and kept them by him for useful memorials. So he did the\ncopies of divers Letters and Cases of Conscience that had concerned his\nfriends, with his observations and solutions of them; and divers other\nbusinesses of importance, all particularly and methodically digested by\nhimself.\n\nHe did prepare to leave the world before life left him; making his Will\nwhen no faculty of his soul was damped or made defective by pain or\nsickness, or he surprised by a sudden apprehension of death: but it was\nmade with mature deliberation, expressing himself an impartial father,\nby making his children's portions equal; and a lover of his friends,\nwhom he remembered with legacies fitly and discreetly chosen and\nbequeathed. I cannot forbear a nomination of some of them; for methinks\nthey be persons that seem to challenge a recordation in this place; as\nnamely, to his brother-in-law, Sir Thomas Grimes, he gave that striking\nclock, which he had long worn in his pocket; to his dear friend and\nexecutor, Dr. King--late Bishop of Chichester--that Model of Gold of the\nSynod of Dort, with which the States presented him at his last being at\nthe Hague; and the two pictures of Padre Paolo and Fulgentio, men of his\nacquaintance when he travelled Italy, and of great note in that nation\nfor their remarkable learning.--To his ancient friend Dr. Brook--that\nmarried him--Master of Trinity College in Cambridge, he gave the picture\nof the Blessed Virgin and Joseph.--To Dr. Winniff who succeeded him in\nthe Deanery--he gave a picture called the Skeleton.--To the succeeding\nDean, who was not then known, he gave many necessaries of worth, and\nuseful for his house; and also several pictures and ornaments for the\nChapel, with a desire that they might be registered, and remain as a\nlegacy to his successors.--To the Earls of Dorset and Carlisle he gave\nseveral pictures; and so he did to many other friends; legacies, given\nrather to express his affection, than to make any addition to their\nestates: but unto the poor he was full of charity, and unto many others,\nwho, by his constant and long continued bounty, might entitle themselves\nto be his alms-people: for all these he made provision, and so largely,\nas, having then six children living, might to some appear more than\nproportionable to his estate. I forbear to mention any more, lest the\nreader may think I trespass upon his patience: but I will beg his\nfavour, to present him with the beginning and end of his Will.\n\n     \"In the name of the blessed and glorious Trinity. Amen. I John\n     Donne, by the mercy of Christ Jesus, and by the calling of the\n     Church of England, Priest, being at this time in good health and\n     perfect understanding--praised be God therefore--do hereby make my\n     last Will and Testament in manner and form following:--\n\n     \"First, I give my gracious God an entire sacrifice of body and\n     soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance which His\n     Blessed Spirit imprints in me now of the Salvation of the one, and\n     the Resurrection of the other; and for that constant and cheerful\n     resolution, which the same Spirit hath established in me, to live\n     and die in the religion now professed in the Church of England. In\n     expectation of that Resurrection, I desire my body may be\n     buried--in the most private manner that may be--in that place of\n     St. Paul's Church, London, that the now Residentiaries have at my\n     request designed for that purpose, &c.--And this my last Will and\n     Testament, made in the fear of God,--whose mercy I humbly beg, and\n     constantly rely upon in Jesus Christ--and in perfect love and\n     charity with all the world--whose pardon I ask, from the lowest of\n     my servants, to the highest of my superiors--written all with my\n     own hand, and my name subscribed to every page, of which there are\n     five in number.\n\n     \"Sealed December 13, 1630.\"\n\nNor was this blessed sacrifice of charity expressed only at his death,\nbut in his life also, by a cheerful and frequent visitation of any\nfriend whose mind was dejected, or his fortune necessitous; he was\ninquisitive after the wants of prisoners, and redeemed many from prison,\nthat lay for their fees or small debts: he was a continual giver to poor\nscholars, both of this and foreign nations. Besides what he gave with\nhis own hand, he usually sent a servant, or a discreet and trusty\nfriend, to distribute his charity to all the prisons in London, at all\nthe festival times of the year, especially at the Birth and Resurrection\nof our Saviour. He gave an hundred pounds at one time to an old friend,\nwhom he had known live plentifully, and by a too liberal heart and\ncarelessness became decayed in his estate; and when the receiving of it\nwas denied, by the gentleman's saying, \"He wanted not;\"--for the reader\nmay note, that as there be some spirits so generous as to labour to\nconceal and endure a sad poverty, rather than expose themselves to those\nblushes that attend the confession of it; so there be others, to whom\nnature and grace have afforded such sweet and compassionate souls, as to\npity and prevent the distresses of mankind;--which I have mentioned\nbecause of Dr. Donne's reply, whose answer was, \"I know you want not\nwhat will sustain nature; for a little will do that; but my desire is,\nthat you, who in the days of your plenty have cheered and raised the\nhearts of so many of your dejected friends, would now receive this from\nme, and use it as a cordial for the cheering of your own:\" and upon\nthese terms it was received. He was an happy reconciler of many\ndifferences in the families of his friends and kindred,--which he never\nundertook faintly; for such undertakings have usually faint effects--and\nthey had such a faith in his judgment and impartiality, that he never\nadvised them to any thing in vain. He was, even to her death, a most\ndutiful son to his mother, careful to provide for her supportation, of\nwhich she had been destitute, but that God raised him up to prevent her\nnecessities; who having sucked in the religion of the Roman Church with\nthe mother's milk, spent her estate in foreign countries, to enjoy a\nliberty in it, and died in his house but three months before him.\n\nAnd to the end it may appear how just a steward he was of his Lord and\nMaster's revenue, I have thought fit to let the reader know, that after\nhis entrance into his Deanery, as he numbered his years, he, at the foot\nof a private account, to which God and His Angels were only witnesses\nwith him,--computed first his revenue, then what was given to the poor,\nand other pious uses; and lastly, what rested for him and his; and\nhaving done that, he then blessed each year's poor remainder with a\nthankful prayer; which, for that they discover a more than common\ndevotion, the reader shall partake some of them in his own words:--\n\nSo all is that remains this year [1624-5]--\n\n\"Deo Opt. Max. benigno largitori, \u00e1 me, at ab iis quibus h\u00e6c \u00e0 me\nreservantur, gloria et gratia in \u00e6ternum. Amen.\"\n\nTRANSLATED THUS.\n\nTo God all Good, all Great, the benevolent Bestower, by me and by them,\nfor whom, by me, these sums are laid up, be glory and grace ascribed for\never. Amen.\n\nSo that this year, [1626,] God hath blessed me and mine with--\n\n\"Multiplicat\u00e6 sunt super nos misericordi\u00e6 tu\u00e6, Domine.\"\n\nTRANSLATED THUS.\n\nThy mercies, Oh Lord! are multiplied upon us.\n\n\"Da, Domine, ut qu\u00e6 ex immens\u00e2 bonitate tu\u00e2 nobis elargiri dignatus sis,\nin quorumcunque manus devenerint, in tuam semper cedant gloriam. Amen.\"\n\nTRANSLATED THUS.\n\nGrant, Oh Lord! that what out of Thine infinite bounty Thou hast\nvouchsafed to lavish upon us, into whosoever hands it may devolve, may\nalways be improved to thy glory. Amen.\n\n\"In fine horum sex annorum manet [1627-8-9]--\n\n\"Quid habeo quod non accepi a Domino? Largitur etiam ut qu\u00e6 largitus est\nsua iterum fiant, bono eorum usu; ut quemadmodum nec officiis hujus\nmundi, nec loci in quo me posuit dignitati, nec servis, nec egenis, in\ntoto hujus anni curriculo mihi conscius sum me defuisse; ita et liberi,\nquibus qu\u00e6 supersunt, supersunt, grato animo ea accipiant, et beneficum\nauthorem recognoscant. Amen.\"\n\nTRANSLATED THUS.\n\nAt the end of these six years remains--\n\nWhat have I, which I have not received from the Lord? He bestows, also,\nto the intent that what He hath bestowed may revert to Him by the proper\nuse of it: that, as I have not consciously been wanting to myself during\nthe whole course of the past year, either in discharging my secular\nduties, in retaining the dignity of my station, or in my conduct towards\nmy servants and the poor--so my children for whom remains whatever is\nremaining, may receive it with gratitude, and acknowledge the beneficent\nGiver. Amen.\n\n     *     *     *     *     *\n\nBut I return from my long digression.\n\nWe left the Author sick in Essex, where he was forced to spend much of\nthat winter, by reason of his disability to remove from that place; and\nhaving never, for almost twenty years, omitted his personal attendance\non his Majesty in that month, in which he was to attend and preach to\nhim; nor having ever been left out of the roll and number of Lent\nPreachers, and there being then--in January, 1630--a report brought to\nLondon, or raised there, that Dr. Donne was dead; that report gave him\noccasion to write the following letter to a dear friend:--\n\n     \"Sir,\n\n     \"This advantage you and my other friends have by my frequent\n     fevers, that I am so much the oftener at the gates of Heaven; and\n     this advantage by the solitude and close imprisonment that they\n     reduce me to after, that I am so much the oftener at my prayers, in\n     which I shall never leave out your happiness; and I doubt not,\n     among His other blessings, God will add some one to you for my\n     prayers. A man would almost be content to die--if there were no\n     other benefit in death--to hear of so much sorrow, and so much good\n     testimony from good men, as I--God be blessed for it--did upon the\n     report of my death; yet I perceive it went not through all; for one\n     writ to me, that some--and he said of my friends--conceived I was\n     not so ill as I pretended, but withdrew myself to live at ease,\n     discharged of preaching. It is an unfriendly, and, God knows, an\n     ill-grounded interpretation; for I have always been sorrier when I\n     could not preach, than any could be they could not hear me. It hath\n     been my desire, and God may be pleased to grant it, that I might\n     die in the pulpit; if not that, yet that I might take my death in\n     the pulpit; that is, die the sooner by occasion of those labours.\n     Sir, I hope to see you presently after Candlemas; about which time\n     will fall my Lent Sermon at Court, except my Lord Chamberlain\n     believe me to be dead, and so leave me out of the roll: but as long\n     as I live, and am not speechless, I would not willingly, decline\n     that service. I have better leisure to write, than you to read; yet\n     I would not willingly oppress you with too much letter. God so\n     bless you and your son, as I wish to\n\n    \"Your poor friend and Servant\n      \"In Christ Jesus,\n          \"J. Donne.\"\n\n\nBefore that month ended, he was appointed to preach upon his old\nconstant day, the first Friday in Lent: he had notice of it, and had in\nhis sickness so prepared for that employment, that as he had long\nthirsted for it, so he resolved his weakness should not hinder his\njourney; he came therefore to London some few days before his appointed\nday of preaching. At his coming thither, many of his friends--who with\nsorrow saw his sickness had left him but so much flesh as did only cover\nhis bones--doubted his strength to perform that task, and did therefore\ndissuade him from undertaking it, assuring him, however, it was like to\nshorten his life: but he passionately denied their requests, saying \"he\nwould not doubt that that God, who in so many weaknesses had assisted\nhim with an unexpected strength, would now withdraw it in his last\nemployment; professing an holy ambition to perform that sacred work.\"\nAnd when, to the amazement of some beholders, he appeared in the pulpit,\nmany of them thought he presented himself not to preach mortification by\na living voice, but mortality by a decayed body, and a dying face. And\ndoubtless many did secretly ask that question in Ezekiel (chap. xxxvii.\n3), \"Do these bones live? or, can that soul organise that tongue, to\nspeak so long time as the sand in that glass will move towards its\ncentre, and measure out an hour of this dying man's unspent life?\nDoubtless it cannot.\" And yet, after some faint pauses in his zealous\nprayer, his strong desires enabled his weak body to discharge his memory\nof his preconceived meditations, which were of dying; the text being,\n\"To God the Lord belong the issues from death.\" Many that then saw his\ntears, and heard his faint and hollow voice, professing they thought the\ntext prophetically chosen, and that Dr. Donne had preached his own\nFuneral Sermon.\n\nBeing full of joy that God had enabled him to perform this desired duty,\nhe hastened to his house; out of which he never moved, till, like St.\nStephen, \"he was carried by devout men to his grave.\"\n\nThe next day after his sermon, his strength being much wasted, and his\nspirits so spent as indisposed him to business or to talk, a friend that\nhad often been a witness of his free and facetious discourse asked him,\n\"Why are you sad?\" To whom he replied with a countenance so full of\ncheerful gravity, as gave testimony of an inward tranquillity of mind,\nand of a soul willing to take a farewell of this world, and said:--\n\n     \"I am not sad; but most of the night past I have entertained myself\n     with many thoughts of several friends that have left me here, and\n     are gone to that place from which they shall not return; and that\n     within a few days I also shall go hence, and be no more seen. And\n     my preparation for this change is become my nightly meditation upon\n     my bed, which my infirmities have now made restless to me. But at\n     this present time, I was in a serious contemplation of the\n     providence and goodness of God to me; to me, who am less than the\n     least of His mercies: and looking back upon my life past, I now\n     plainly see it was His hand that prevented me from all temporal\n     employment; and that it was His will I should never settle nor\n     thrive till I entered into the Ministry; in which I have now lived\n     almost twenty years--I hope to His glory,--and by which, I most\n     humbly thank Him, I have been enabled to requite most of those\n     friends which shewed me kindness when my fortune was very low, as\n     God knows it was: and--as it hath occasioned the expression of my\n     gratitude--I thank God most of them have stood in need of my\n     requital. I have lived to be useful and comfortable to my good\n     Father-in-law, Sir George More, whose patience God hath been\n     pleased to exercise with many temporal crosses; I have maintained\n     my own mother, whom it hath pleased God, after a plentiful fortune\n     in her younger days, to bring to great decay in her very old age. I\n     have quieted the consciences of many, that have groaned under the\n     burden of a wounded spirit, whose prayers I hope are available for\n     me. I cannot plead innocency of life, especially of my youth; but I\n     am to be judged by a merciful God, who is not willing to see what I\n     have done amiss. And though of myself I have nothing to present to\n     Him but sins and misery, yet I know He looks not upon me now as I\n     am of myself, but as I am in my Saviour, and hath given me, even at\n     this present time, some testimonies by His Holy Spirit, that I am\n     of the number of His Elect: I am therefore full of inexpressible\n     joy, and shall die in peace.\"\n\nI must here look so far back, as to tell the reader that at his first\nreturn out of Essex, to preach his last sermon, his old friend and\nphysician, Dr. Fox--a man of great worth--came to him to consult his\nhealth; and that after a sight of him, and some queries concerning his\ndistempers he told him, \"That by cordials, and drinking milk twenty days\ntogether, there was a probability of his restoration to health\"; but he\npassionately denied to drink it. Nevertheless, Dr. Fox, who loved him\nmost entirely, wearied him with solicitations, till he yielded to take\nit for ten days; at the end of which time he told Dr. Fox, \"He had drunk\nit more to satisfy him, than to recover his health; and that he would\nnot drink it ten days longer, upon the best moral assurance of having\ntwenty years added to his life; for he loved it not; and was so far from\nfearing Death, which to others is the King of Terrors, that he longed\nfor the day of his dissolution.\"\n\nIt is observed, that a desire of glory or commendation is rooted in the\nvery nature of man; and that those of the severest and most mortified\nlives, though they may become so humble as to banish self-flattery, and\nsuch weeds as naturally grow there; yet they have not been able to kill\nthis desire of glory, but that like our radical heat, it will both live\nand die with us; and many think it should do so; and we want not sacred\nexamples to justify the desire of having our memory to outlive our\nlives; which I mention, because Dr. Donne, by the persuasion of Dr. Fox,\neasily yielded at this very time to have a monument made for him; but\nDr. Fox undertook not to persuade him how, or what monument it should\nbe; that was left to Dr. Donne himself.\n\nA monument being resolved upon, Dr. Donne sent for a carver to make for\nhim in wood the figure of an urn, giving him directions for the compass\nand height of it; and to bring with it a board, of the just height of\nhis body. \"These being got, then without delay a choice painter was got\nto be in readiness to draw his picture, which was taken as\nfolloweth.--Several charcoal fires being first made in his large study,\nhe brought with him into that place his winding-sheet in his hand, and\nhaving put off all his clothes, had this sheet put on him, and so tied\nwith knots at his head and feet, and his hands so placed as dead bodies\nare usually fitted, to be shrouded and put into their coffin, or grave.\nUpon this urn he thus stood, with his eyes shut, and with so much of the\nsheet turned aside as might shew his lean, pale, and death-like face,\nwhich was purposely turned towards the East, from whence he expected the\nsecond coming of his and our Saviour Jesus.\" In this posture he was\ndrawn at his just height; and when the picture was fully finished, he\ncaused it to be set by his bedside, where it continued and became his\nhourly object till his death, and was then given to his dearest friend\nand executor Dr. Henry King, then chief Residentiary of St. Paul's, who\ncaused him to be thus carved in one entire piece of white marble, as it\nnow stands in that Church; and by Dr. Donne's own appointment, these\nwords were to be affixed to it as an epitaph:--\n\n     JOHANNES DONNE\n\n     SAC. THEOL. PROFESS. POST VARIA STUDIA, QUIBUS AB ANNIS TENERRIMIS\n     FIDELITER, NEC INFELICITER INCUBUIT; INSTINCTU ET IMPULSU SP.\n     SANCTI, MONITU ET HORTATU REGIS JACOBI, ORDINES SACROS AMPLEXUS,\n     ANNO SUI JESU, MDCXIV. ET SU\u00c6 \u00c6TATIS XLII. DECANATU HUJUS ECCLESI\u00c6\n     INDUTUS, XXVII. NOVEMBRIS, MDCXXI. EXUTUS MORTE ULTIMO DIE MARTII,\n     MDCXXXI. HIC LICET IN OCCIDUO CINERE, ASPICIT EUM CUJUS NOMEN EST\n     ORIENS.\n\nAnd now, having brought him through the many labyrinths and perplexities\nof a various life, even to the gates of death and the grave; my desire\nis, he may rest, till I have told my reader that I have seen many\npictures of him, in several habits, and at several ages, and in several\npostures: and I now mention this because I have seen one picture of him,\ndrawn by a curious hand, at his age of eighteen, with his sword, and\nwhat other adornments might then suit with the present fashions of youth\nand the giddy gaieties of that age; and his motto then was--\n\n    \"How much shall I be changed\n    Before I am changed!\"\n\nAnd if that young, and his now dying picture were at this time set\ntogether, every beholder might say, \"Lord! how much is Dr. Donne already\nchanged, before he is changed!\" And the view of them might give my\nreader occasion to ask himself with some amazement, \"Lord! how much may\nI also, that am now in health, be changed before I am changed; before\nthis vile, this changeable body shall put off mortality!\" and therefore\nto prepare for it.--But this is not writ so much for my reader's\nmemento, as to tell him, that Dr. Donne would often in his private\ndiscourses, and often publicly in his sermons, mention the many changes\nboth of his body and mind, especially of his mind from a vertiginous\ngiddiness; and would as often say, \"His great and most blessed change\nwas from a temporal to a spiritual employment\"; in which he was so\nhappy, that he accounted the former part of his life to be lost; and the\nbeginning of it to be, from his first entering into Sacred Orders, and\nserving his most merciful God at His altar.\n\nUpon Monday, after the drawing this picture, he took his last leave of\nhis beloved study; and, being sensible of his hourly decay, retired\nhimself to his bedchamber; and that week sent at several times for many\nof his most considerable friends, with whom he took a solemn and\ndeliberate farewell, commending to their considerations some sentences\nuseful for the regulation of their lives; and then dismissed them, as\ngood Jacob did his sons, with a spiritual benediction. The Sunday\nfollowing, he appointed his servants, that if there were any business\nyet undone, that concerned him or themselves, it should be prepared\nagainst Saturday next; for after that day he would not mix his thoughts\nwith any thing that concerned this world; nor ever did; but, as Job, so\nhe \"waited for the appointed day of his dissolution.\"\n\nAnd now he was so happy as to have nothing to do but to die, to do which\nhe stood in need of no longer time; for he had studied it long, and to\nso happy a perfection, that in a former sickness he called God to\nwitness (in his \"Book of Devotions,\" written then), \"He was that minute\nready to deliver his soul into his Hands, if that minute God would\ndetermine his dissolution.\" In that sickness he begged of God the\nconstancy to be preserved in that estate for ever; and his patient\nexpectation to have his immortal soul disrobed from her garment of\nmortality, makes me confident that he now had a modest assurance that\nhis prayers were then heard, and his petition granted. He lay fifteen\ndays earnestly expecting his hourly change; and in the last hour of his\nlast day, as his body melted away, and vapoured into spirit, his soul\nhaving, I verily believe, some revelation of the beatifical vision, he\nsaid, \"I were miserable if I might not die\"; and after those words,\nclosed many periods of his faint breath by saying often, \"Thy kingdom\ncome, Thy will be done.\" His speech, which had long been his ready and\nfaithful servant, left him not till the last minute of his life, and\nthen forsook him, not to serve another master--for who speaks like\nhim,--but died before him; for that it was then become useless to him,\nthat now conversed with God on earth as Angels are said to do in heaven,\nonly by thoughts and looks. Being speechless, and seeing heaven by that\nillumination by which he saw it, he did, as St. Stephen, \"look\nstedfastly into it, till he saw the Son of Man standing at the right\nhand of God His Father\"; and being satisfied with this blessed sight, as\nhis soul ascended, and his last breath departed from him, he closed his\nown eyes, and then disposed his hands and body into such a posture, as\nrequired not the least alteration by those that came to shroud him.\n\nThus variable, thus virtuous was the life; thus excellent, thus\nexemplary was the death of this memorable man.\n\nHe was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church, which he had appointed\nfor that use some years before his death; and by which he passed daily\nto pay his public devotions to Almighty God--who was then served twice a\nday by a public form of prayer and praises in that place; but he was\nnot buried privately, though he desired it; for, beside an unnumbered\nnumber of others, many persons of nobility, and of eminence for\nlearning, who did love and honour him in his life, did show it at his\ndeath, by a voluntary and sad attendance of his body to the grave, where\nnothing was so remarkable as a public sorrow.\n\nTo which place of his burial some mournful friends repaired, and, as\nAlexander the Great did to the grave of the famous Achilles, so they\nstrewed his with an abundance of curious and costly flowers; which\ncourse they--who were never yet known--continued morning and evening for\nmany days, not ceasing till the stones that were taken up in that Church\nto give his body admission into the cold earth--now his bed of\nrest--were again by the mason's art so levelled and firmed as they had\nbeen formerly, and his place of burial undistinguishable to common view.\n\nThe next day after his burial some unknown friend, some one of the many\nlovers and admirers of his virtue and learning, writ this epitaph with a\ncoal on the wall over his grave:--\n\n    \"Reader! I am to let thee know,\n    Donne's body only lies below;\n    For, could the grave his soul comprise,\n    Earth would be richer than the skies!\"\n\nNor was this all the honour done to his reverend ashes; for, as there be\nsome persons that will not receive a reward for that for which God\naccounts Himself a debtor; persons that dare trust God with their\ncharity, and without a witness; so there was by some grateful unknown\nfriend, that thought Dr. Donne's memory ought to be perpetuated, an\nhundred marks sent to his faithful friends and executors (Dr. King and\nDr. Montford), towards the making of his monument. It was not for many\nyears known by whom; but, after the death of Dr. Fox, it was known that\nit was he that sent it; and he lived to see as lively a representation\nof his dead friend as marble can express: a statue indeed so like Dr.\nDonne, that--as his friend Sir Henry Wotton hath expressed himself--\"It\nseems to breathe faintly, and posterity shall look upon it as a kind of\nartificial miracle.\"\n\nHe was of stature moderately tall; of a straight and\nequally-proportioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an\nunexpressible addition of comeliness.\n\nThe melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so contempered, that each\ngave advantage to the other, and made his company one of the delights of\nmankind.\n\nHis fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great wit; both\nbeing made useful by a commanding judgment.\n\nHis aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony of a clear\nknowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself.\n\nHis melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, full of noble\ncompassion; of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too much a\nChristian not to pardon them in others.\n\nHe did much contemplate--especially after he entered into his sacred\ncalling--the mercies of Almighty God, the immortality of the soul, and\nthe joys of heaven: and would often say in a kind of sacred\necstacy--\"Blessed be God that He is God, only and divinely like\nHimself.\"\n\nHe was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to reluct at the\nexcesses of it. A great lover of the offices of humanity, and of so\nmerciful a spirit that he never beheld the miseries of mankind without\npity and relief.\n\nHe was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge, with which his\nvigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in a continual praise of\nthat God that first breathed it into his active body: that body which\nonce was a temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now become a small quantity\nof Christian dust:--\n\nBut I shall see it re-animated.\n\nI.W.\n\n\n\n\n    DEVOTIONS\n    VPON\n    Emergent Occasions and seuerall\n    steps in my Sicknes.\n\n\nDigested into\n\n     1. MEDITATIONS _upon our Humane Condition_.\n\n     2. EXPOSTULATIONS, _and Debatements with God_.\n\n     3. PRAYERS, _upon the severall occasions, to him_.\n\n     *     *     *     *     *\n\nBy IOHN DONNE, _Deane of S. Pauls_, London.\n\n     *     *     *     *     *\n\nLondon\n\nPrinted by _A. M._ for THOMAS IONES. 1624.\n\n\n\n\n_TO THE MOST EXCELLENT PRINCE_,\n\nPRINCE CHARLES.\n\n\n_MOST EXCELLENT PRINCE_,\n\nI have had three births; one, natural, when I came into the world; one,\nsupernatural, when I entered into the ministry; and now, a preternatural\nbirth, in returning to life, from this sickness. In my second birth,\nyour Highness' royal father vouchsafed me his hand, not only to sustain\nme in it, but to lead me to it. In this last birth, I myself am born a\nfather: this child of mine, this book, comes into the world, from me,\nand with me. And therefore, I presume (as I did the father, to the\nFather) to present the son to the Son; this image of my humiliation, to\nthe lively image of his Majesty, your Highness. It might be enough, that\nGod hath seen my devotions: but examples of good kings are commandments;\nand Hezekiah writ the meditations of his sickness, after his sickness.\nBesides, as I have lived to see (not as a witness only, but as a\npartaker), the happiness of a part of your royal father's time, so shall\nI live (in my way) to see the happiness of the times of your Highness\ntoo, if this child of mine, inanimated by your gracious acceptation, may\nso long preserve alive the memory of\n\nYour Highness humblest and devotedest,\n\nJOHN DONNE.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n_The Stations of the Sickness_\n\n\n                                                               PAGE\n\n1. The first alteration, the first grudging of the sickness       7\n\n2. The strength and the function of the senses, and other\n   faculties, change and fail                                    12\n\n3. The patient takes his bed                                     17\n\n4. The physician is sent for                                     23\n\n5. The physician comes                                           30\n\n6. The physician is afraid                                       35\n\n7. The physician desires to have others joined with him          43\n\n8. The king sends his own physician                              50\n\n9. Upon their consultation, they prescribe                       56\n\n10. They find the disease to steal on insensibly, and endeavor\n    to meet with it so                                           63\n\n11. They use cordials, to keep the venom and the malignity\n    of the disease from the heart                                69\n\n12. They apply pigeons, to draw the vapours from the head        77\n\n13. The sickness declares the infection and malignity thereof\n    by spots                                                     83\n\n14. The Physicians observe these accidents to have fallen\n    upon the critical days                                       88\n\n15. I sleep not day or night                                     96\n\n16. From the bells of the church adjoining, I am daily\n    remembered of my burial in the funerals of others           102\n\n17. Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me,\n    Thou must die                                               107\n\n18. The bell rings out, and tells me in him, that I am dead     114\n\n19. At last the physicians, after a long and stormy voyage,\n    see land: They have so good signs of the concoction of\n    the disease, as that they may safely proceed to purge       122\n\n20. Upon these indications of digested matter, they proceed\n    to purge                                                    131\n\n21. God prospers their practice, and he, by them, calls\n    Lazarus out of his tomb, me out of my bed                   138\n\n22. The physicians consider the root and occasion, the\n    embers, and coals, and fuel of the disease, and seek\n    to purge or correct that                                    145\n\n23. They warn me of the fearful danger of relapsing             152\n\n\n\n\n_DEVOTIONS_\n\nI\n\nINSULTUS MORBI PRIMUS.\n\n_The first Alteration, the first Grudging, of the Sickness._\n\n\nI. MEDITATION.\n\nVariable, and therefore miserable condition of man! this minute I was\nwell, and am ill, this minute. I am surprised with a sudden change, and\nalteration to worse, and can impute it to no cause, nor call it by any\nname. We study health, and we deliberate upon our meats, and drink, and\nair, and exercises, and we hew and we polish every stone that goes to\nthat building; and so our health is a long and a regular work: but in a\nminute a cannon batters all, overthrows all, demolishes all; a sickness\nunprevented for all our diligence, unsuspected for all our curiosity;\nnay, undeserved, if we consider only disorder, summons us, seizes us,\npossesses us, destroys us in an instant. O miserable condition of man!\nwhich was not imprinted by God, who, as he is immortal himself, had put\na coal, a beam of immortality into us, which we might have blown into a\nflame, but blew it out by our first sin; we beggared ourselves by\nhearkening after false riches, and infatuated ourselves by hearkening\nafter false knowledge. So that now, we do not only die, but die upon the\nrack, die by the torment of sickness; nor that only, but are\npre-afflicted, super-afflicted with these jealousies and suspicions and\napprehensions of sickness, before we can call it a sickness: we are not\nsure we are ill; one hand asks the other by the pulse, and our eye asks\nour own urine how we do. O multiplied misery! we die, and cannot enjoy\ndeath, because we die in this torment of sickness; we are tormented with\nsickness, and cannot stay till the torment come, but pre-apprehensions\nand presages prophesy those torments which induce that death before\neither come; and our dissolution is conceived in these first changes,\nquickened in the sickness itself, and born in death, which bears date\nfrom these first changes. Is this the honour which man hath by being a\nlittle world, that he hath these earthquakes in himself, sudden\nshakings; these lightnings, sudden flashes; these thunders, sudden\nnoises; these eclipses, sudden offuscations and darkening of his senses;\nthese blazing stars, sudden fiery exhalations; these rivers of blood,\nsudden red waters? Is he a world to himself only therefore, that he hath\nenough in himself, not only to destroy and execute himself, but to\npresage that execution upon himself; to assist the sickness, to antedate\nthe sickness, to make the sickness the more irremediable by sad\napprehensions, and, as if he would make a fire the more vehement by\nsprinkling water upon the coals, so to wrap a hot fever in cold\nmelancholy, lest the fever alone should not destroy fast enough without\nthis contribution, nor perfect the work (which is destruction) except we\njoined an artificial sickness of our own melancholy, to our natural, our\nunnatural fever. O perplexed discomposition, O riddling distemper, O\nmiserable condition of man!\n\n\nI. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nIf I were but mere dust and ashes I might speak unto the Lord, for the\nLord's hand made me of this dust, and the Lord's hand shall re-collect\nthese ashes; the Lord's hand was the wheel upon which this vessel of\nclay was framed, and the Lord's hand is the urn in which these ashes\nshall be preserved. I am the dust and the ashes of the temple of the\nHoly Ghost, and what marble is so precious? But I am more than dust and\nashes: I am my best part, I am my soul. And being so, the breath of God,\nI may breathe back these pious expostulations to my God: My God, my God,\nwhy is not my soul as sensible as my body? Why hath not my soul these\napprehensions, these presages, these changes, these antidates, these\njealousies, these suspicions of a sin, as well as my body of a sickness?\nWhy is there not always a pulse in my soul to beat at the approach of a\ntemptation to sin? Why are there not always waters in mine eyes, to\ntestify my spiritual sickness? I stand in the way of temptations,\nnaturally, necessarily; all men do so; for there is a snake in every\npath, temptations in every vocation; but I go, I run, I fly into the\nways of temptation which I might shun; nay, I break into houses where\nthe plague is; I press into places of temptation, and tempt the devil\nhimself, and solicit and importune them who had rather be left\nunsolicited by me. I fall sick of sin, and am bedded and bedrid, buried\nand putrified in the practice of sin, and all this while have no\npresage, no pulse, no sense of my sickness. O height, O depth of misery,\nwhere the first symptom of the sickness is hell, and where I never see\nthe fever of lust, of envy, of ambition, by any other light than the\ndarkness and horror of hell itself, and where the first messenger that\nspeaks to me doth not say, \"Thou mayest die,\" no, nor \"Thou must die,\"\nbut \"Thou art dead;\" and where the first notice that my soul hath of her\nsickness is irrecoverableness, irremediableness: but, O my God, Job did\nnot charge thee foolishly in his temporal afflictions, nor may I in my\nspiritual. Thou hast imprinted a pulse in our soul, but we do not\nexamine it; a voice in our conscience, but we do not hearken unto it. We\ntalk it out, we jest it out, we drink it out, we sleep it out; and when\nwe wake, we do not say with Jacob, _Surely the Lord is in this place,\nand I knew it not_: but though we might know it, we do not, we will not.\nBut will God pretend to make a watch, and leave out the spring? to make\nso many various wheels in the faculties of the soul, and in the organs\nof the body, and leave out grace, that should move them? or will God\nmake a spring, and not wind it up? Infuse his first grace, and not\nsecond it with more, without which we can no more use his first grace\nwhen we have it, than we could dispose ourselves by nature to have it?\nBut alas, that is not our case; we are all prodigal sons, and not\ndisinherited; we have received our portion, and mispent it, not been\ndenied it. We are God's tenants here, and yet here, he, our landlord,\npays us rents; not yearly, nor quarterly, but hourly, and quarterly;\nevery minute he renews his mercy, but we _will not understand, lest that\nwe should be converted, and he should heal us_.[1]\n\n\nI. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who, considered in thyself, art a\ncircle, first and last, and altogether; but, considered in thy working\nupon us, art a direct line, and leadest us from our beginning, through\nall our ways, to our end, enable me by thy grace to look forward to mine\nend, and to look backward too, to the considerations of thy mercies\nafforded me from the beginning; that so by that practice of considering\nthy mercy, in my beginning in this world, when thou plantedst me in the\nChristian church, and thy mercy in the beginning in the other world,\nwhen thou writest me in the book of life, in my election, I may come to\na holy consideration of thy mercy in the beginning of all my actions\nhere: that in all the beginnings, in all the accesses and approaches, of\nspiritual sicknesses of sin, I may hear and hearken to that voice, _O\nthou man of God, there is death in the pot_,[2] and so refrain from that\nwhich I was so hungerly, so greedily flying to. _A faithful ambassador\nis health_,[3] says thy wise servant Solomon. Thy voice received in the\nbeginning of a sickness, of a sin, is true health. If I can see that\nlight betimes, and hear that voice early, _Then shall my light break\nforth as the morning, and my health shall spring forth speedily_.[4]\nDeliver me therefore, O my God, from these vain imaginations; that it is\nan over-curious thing, a dangerous thing, to come to that tenderness,\nthat rawness, that scrupulousness, to fear every concupiscence, every\noffer of sin, that this suspicious and jealous diligence will turn to an\ninordinate dejection of spirit, and a diffidence in thy care and\nprovidence; but keep me still established, both in a constant\nassurance, that thou wilt speak to me at the beginning of every such\nsickness, at the approach of every such sin; and that, if I take\nknowledge of that voice then, and fly to thee, thou wilt preserve me\nfrom falling, or raise me again, when by natural infirmity I am fallen.\nDo this, O Lord, for his sake, who knows our natural infirmities, for he\nhad them, and knows the weight of our sins, for he paid a dear price for\nthem, thy Son, our Saviour, Christ Jesus. Amen.\n\n\nII. POST ACTIO L\u00c6SA.\n\n_The Strength and the function of the senses, and other faculties,\nchange and fail._\n\n\nII. MEDITATION.\n\nThe heavens are not the less constant, because they move continually,\nbecause they move continually one and the same way. The earth is not the\nmore constant, because it lies still continually, because continually it\nchanges and melts in all the parts thereof. Man, who is the noblest part\nof the earth, melts so away, as if he were a statue, not of earth, but\nof snow. We see his own envy melts him, he grows lean with that; he will\nsay, another's beauty melts him; but he feels that a fever doth not melt\nhim like snow, but pour him out like lead, like iron, like brass melted\nin a furnace; it doth not only melt him, but calcine him, reduce him to\natoms, and to ashes; not to water, but to lime. And how quickly? Sooner\nthan thou canst receive an answer, sooner than thou canst conceive the\nquestion; earth is the centre of my body, heaven is the centre of my\nsoul; these two are the natural places of these two; but those go not\nto these two in an equal pace: my body falls down without pushing; my\nsoul does not go up without pulling; ascension is my soul's pace and\nmeasure, but precipitation my body's. And even angels, whose home is\nheaven, and who are winged too, yet had a ladder to go to heaven by\nsteps. The sun which goes so many miles in a minute, the stars of the\nfirmament which go so very many more, go not so fast as my body to the\nearth. In the same instant that I feel the first attempt of the disease,\nI feel the victory; in the twinkling of an eye I can scarce see;\ninstantly the taste is insipid and fatuous; instantly the appetite is\ndull and desireless; instantly the knees are sinking and strengthless;\nand in an instant, sleep, which is the picture, the copy of death, is\ntaken away, that the original, death itself, may succeed, and that so I\nmight have death to the life. It was part of Adam's punishment, _In the\nsweat of thy brows thou shalt eat thy bread_: it is multiplied to me, I\nhave earned bread in the sweat of my brows, in the labour of my calling,\nand I have it; and I sweat again and again, from the brow to the sole of\nthe foot, but I eat no bread, I taste no sustenance: miserable\ndistribution of mankind, where one half lacks meat, and the other\nstomach!\n\n\nII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nDavid professes himself a dead dog to his king Saul,[5] and so doth\nMephibosheth to his king David,[6] and yet David speaks to Saul, and\nMephibosheth to David. No man is so little, in respect of the greatest\nman, as the greatest in respect of God; for here, in that, we have not\nso much as a measure to try it by; proportion is no measure for\ninfinity. He that hath no more of this world but a grave; he that hath\nhis grave but lent him till a better man or another man must be buried\nin the same grave; he that hath no grave but a dunghill, he that hath no\nmore earth but that which he carries, but that which he is, he that hath\nnot that earth which he is, but even in that is another's slave, hath as\nmuch proportion to God, as if all David's worthies, and all the world's\nmonarchs, and all imagination's giants, were kneaded and incorporated\ninto one, and as though that one were the survivor of all the sons of\nmen, to whom God had given the world. And therefore how little soever I\nbe, as _God calls things that are not, as though they were_, I, who am\nas though I were not, may call upon God, and say, My God, my God, why\ncomes thine anger so fast upon me? Why dost thou melt me, scatter me,\npour me like water upon the ground so instantly? Thou stayedst for the\nfirst world, in Noah's time, one hundred and twenty years; thou stayedst\nfor a rebellious generation in the wilderness forty years, wilt thou\nstay no minute for me? Wilt thou make thy process and thy decree, thy\ncitation and thy judgment, but one act? Thy summons, thy battle, thy\nvictory, thy triumph, all but one act; and lead me captive, nay, deliver\nme captive to death, as soon as thou declarest me to be enemy, and so\ncut me off even with the drawing of thy sword out of the scabbard, and\nfor that question, How long was he sick? leave no other answer, but that\nthe hand of death pressed upon him from the first minute? My God, my\nGod, thou wast not wont to come in whirlwinds, but in soft and gentle\nair. Thy first breath breathed a soul into me, and shall thy breath blow\nit out? Thy breath in the congregation, thy word in the church, breathes\ncommunion and consolation here, and consummation hereafter; shall thy\nbreath in this chamber breathe dissolution and destruction, divorce and\nseparation? Surely it is not thou, it is not thy hand. The devouring\nsword, the consuming fire, the winds from the wilderness, the diseases\nof the body, all that afflicted Job, were from the hands of Satan; it is\nnot thou. It is thou, thou my God, who hast led me so continually with\nthy hand, from the hand of my nurse, as that I know thou wilt not\ncorrect me, but with thine own hand. My parents would not give me over\nto a servant's correction, nor my God to Satan's. I am _fallen into the\nhands of God_ with David, and with David I see that his mercies are\ngreat.[7] For by that mercy, I consider in my present state, not the\nhaste and the despatch of the disease, in dissolving this body, so much\nas the much more haste and despatch, which my God shall use, in\nre-collecting and re-uniting this dust again at the resurrection. Then I\nshall hear his angels proclaim the _Surgite mortui_, Rise, ye dead.\nThough I be dead, I shall hear the voice; the sounding of the voice and\nthe working of the voice shall be all one; and all shall rise there in a\nless minute than any one dies here.\n\n\nII. PRAYER.\n\nO most gracious God, who pursuest and perfectest thine own purposes, and\ndost not only remember me, by the first accesses of this sickness, that\nI must die, but inform me, by this further proceeding therein, that I\nmay die now; who hast not only waked me with the first, but called me\nup, by casting me further down, and clothed me with thyself, by\nstripping me of my self, and by dulling my bodily senses to the meats\nand eases of this world, hast whet and sharpened my spiritual senses to\nthe apprehension of thee; by what steps and degrees soever it shall\nplease thee to go, in the dissolution of this body, hasten, O Lord, that\npace, and multiply, O my God, those degrees, in the exaltation of my\nsoul toward thee now, and to thee then. My taste is not gone away, but\ngone up to sit at David's table, _to taste, and see, that the Lord is\ngood_.[8] My stomach is not gone, but gone up, so far upwards toward the\n_supper of the Lamb_, with thy saints in heaven, as to the table, to the\ncommunion of thy saints here in earth. My knees are weak, but weak\ntherefore that I should easily fall to and fix myself long upon my\ndevotions to thee. _A sound heart is the life of the flesh_;[9] and a\nheart visited by thee, and directed to thee, by that visitation is a\nsound heart. _There is no soundness in my flesh, because of thine\nanger._[10] Interpret thine own work, and call this sickness correction,\nand not anger, and there is soundness in my flesh. _There is no rest in\nmy bones, because of my sin_;[11] transfer my sins, with which thou art\nso displeased, upon him with whom thou art so well pleased, Christ\nJesus, and there will be rest in my bones. And, O my God, who madest\nthyself a light in a bush, in the midst of these brambles and thorns of\na sharp sickness, appear unto me so that I may see thee, and know thee\nto be my God, applying thyself to me, even in these sharp and thorny\npassages. Do this, O Lord, for his sake, who was not the less the King\nof heaven for thy suffering him to be crowned with thorns in this world.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Matt. xiii. 15.\n\n[2] 2 Kings, iv. 40.\n\n[3] Prov. xiii. 17.\n\n[4] Isaiah, lviii. 8.\n\n[5] 1 Sam. xxiv. 15.\n\n[6] 2 Sam. ix. 8.\n\n[7] 2 Sam. xxiv. 14.\n\n[8] Psalm xxxiv. 8.\n\n[9] Prov. xiv. 30.\n\n[10] Psalm xxxviii. 3.\n\n[11] Psalm xxxviii. 3.\n\n\n\n\nIII. DECUBITUS SEQUITUR TANDEM.\n\n_The patient takes his bed._\n\n\nIII. MEDITATION.\n\nWe attribute but one privilege and advantage to man's body above other\nmoving creatures, that he is not, as others, grovelling, but of an\nerect, of an upright, form naturally built and disposed to the\ncontemplation of heaven. Indeed it is a thankful form, and recompenses\nthat soul, which gives it, with carrying that soul so many feet higher\ntowards heaven. Other creatures look to the earth; and even that is no\nunfit object, no unfit contemplation for man, for thither he must come;\nbut because man is not to stay there, as other creatures are, man in his\nnatural form is carried to the contemplation of that place which is his\nhome, heaven. This is man's prerogative; but what state hath he in this\ndignity? A fever can fillip him down, a fever can depose him; a fever\ncan bring that head, which yesterday carried a crown of gold five feet\ntowards a crown of glory, as low as his own foot to-day. When God came\nto breathe into man the breath of life, he found him flat upon the\nground; when he comes to withdraw that breath from him again, he\nprepares him to it by laying him flat upon his bed. Scarce any prison so\nclose that affords not the prisoner two or three steps. The anchorites\nthat barked themselves up in hollow trees and immured themselves in\nhollow walls, that perverse man that barrelled himself in a tub, all\ncould stand or sit, and enjoy some change of posture. A sick bed is a\ngrave, and all that the patient says there is but a varying of his own\nepitaph. Every night's bed is a type of the grave; at night we tell our\nservants at what hour we will rise, here we cannot tell ourselves at\nwhat day, what week, what month. Here the head lies as low as the foot;\nthe head of the people as low as they whom those feet trod upon; and\nthat hand that signed pardons is too weak to beg his own, if he might\nhave it for lifting up that hand. Strange fetters to the feet, strange\nmanacles to the hands, when the feet and hands are bound so much the\nfaster, by how much the cords are slacker; so much the less able to do\ntheir offices, by how much more the sinews and ligaments are the looser.\nIn the grave I may speak through the stones, in the voice of my friends,\nand in the accents of those words which their love may afford my memory;\nhere I am mine own ghost, and rather affright my beholders than instruct\nthem; they conceive the worst of me now, and yet fear worse; they give\nme for dead now, and yet wonder how I do when they wake at midnight, and\nask how I do to-morrow. Miserable, and (though common to all) inhuman\nposture, where I must practise my lying in the grave by lying still, and\nnot practise my resurrection by rising any more.\n\n\nIII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God and my Jesus, my Lord and my Christ, my strength and my\nsalvation, I hear thee, and I hearken to thee, when thou rebukest thy\ndisciples, for rebuking them who brought children to thee; _Suffer\nlittle children to come to me_, sayest thou.[12] Is there a verier child\nthan I am now? I cannot say, with thy servant Jeremy, _Lord, I am a\nchild, and cannot speak_; but, O Lord, I am a sucking child, and cannot\neat; a creeping child, and cannot go; how shall I come to thee? Whither\nshall I come to thee? To this bed? I have this weak and childish\nfrowardness too, I cannot sit up, and yet am loth to go to bed. Shall I\nfind thee in bed? Oh, have I always done so? The bed is not ordinarily\nthy scene, thy climate: Lord, dost thou not accuse me, dost thou not\nreproach to me my former sins, when thou layest me upon this bed? Is not\nthis to hang a man at his own door, to lay him sick in his own bed of\nwantonness? When thou chidest us by thy prophet for lying in _beds of\nivory_[13], is not thine anger vented; not till thou changest our beds\nof ivory into beds of ebony? David swears unto thee, _that he will not\ngo up into his bed, till he had built thee a house_.[14] To go up into\nthe bed denotes strength, and promises ease; but when thou sayest, _that\nthou wilt cast Jezebel into a bed_, thou makest thine own comment upon\nthat; thou callest the bed tribulation, great tribulation.[15] How shall\nthey come to thee whom thou hast nailed to their bed? Thou art in the\ncongregation, and I in a solitude: when the centurion's servant lay sick\nat home,[16] his master was fain to come to Christ; the sick man could\nnot. Their friend lay sick of the palsy, and the four charitable men\nwere fain to bring him to Christ; he could not come.[17] Peter's wife's\nmother lay sick of a fever, and Christ came to her; she could not come\nto him.[18] My friends may carry me home to thee, in their prayers in\nthe congregation; thou must come home to me in the visitation of thy\nSpirit, and in the seal of thy sacrament. But when I am cast into this\nbed my slack sinews are iron fetters, and those thin sheets iron doors\nupon me; and, _Lord, I have loved the habitation of thine house, and the\nplace where thine honour dwelleth_.[19] I lie here and say, _Blessed are\nthey that dwell in thy house_;[20] but I cannot say, _I will come into\nthy house_; I may say, _In thy fear will I worship towards thy holy\ntemple_;[21] but I cannot say in thy holy temple. And, _Lord, the zeal\nof thy house eats me up_,[22] as fast as my fever; it is not a\nrecusancy, for I would come, but it is an excommunication, I must not.\nBut, Lord, thou art Lord of hosts, and lovest action; why callest thou\nme from my calling? _In the grave no man shall praise thee_; in the door\nof the grave, this sick bed, no man shall hear me praise thee. Thou hast\nnot opened my lips that my mouth might show thee thy praise, but that my\nmouth might show forth thy praise. But thine apostle's fear takes hold\nof me, _that when I have preached to others, I myself should be a\ncastaway_;[23] and therefore am I cast down, that I might not be cast\naway. Thou couldst take me by the head, as thou didst Habbakuk, and\ncarry me so; by a chariot, as thou didst Elijah,[24] and carry me so;\nbut thou carriest me thine own private way, the way by which thou\ncarriedst thy Son, who first lay upon the earth and prayed, and then had\nhis exaltation, as himself calls his crucifying; and first descended\ninto hell, and then had his ascension. There is another station (indeed\nneither are stations but prostrations) lower than this bed; to-morrow I\nmay be laid one story lower, upon the floor, the face of the earth; and\nnext day another story, in the grave, the womb of the earth. As yet God\nsuspends me between heaven and earth, as a meteor; and I am not in\nheaven because an earthly body clogs me, and I am not in the earth\nbecause a heavenly soul sustains me. And it is thine own law, O God,\nthat _if a man be smitten so by another, as that he keep his bed, though\nhe die not, he that hurt him must take care of his healing, and\nrecompense him_[25]. Thy hand strikes me into this bed; and therefore,\nif I rise again, thou wilt be my recompense all the days of my life, in\nmaking the memory of this sickness beneficial to me; and if my body fall\nyet lower, thou wilt take my soul out of this bath, and present it to\nthy Father, washed again, and again, and again, in thine own tears, in\nthine own sweat, in thine own blood.\n\n\nIII. PRAYER.\n\nO most mighty and most merciful God, who, though thou have taken me off\nof my feet, hast not taken me off of my foundation, which is thyself;\nwho, though thou have removed me from that upright form in which I could\nstand and see thy throne, the heavens, yet hast not removed from me that\nlight by which I can lie and see thyself; who, though thou have weakened\nmy bodily knees, that they cannot bow to thee, hast yet left me the\nknees of my heart; which are bowed unto thee evermore; as thou hast made\nthis bed thine altar, make me thy sacrifice; and as thou makest thy Son\nChrist Jesus the priest, so make me his deacon, to minister to him in a\ncheerful surrender of my body and soul to thy pleasure, by his hands. I\ncome unto thee, O God, my God, I come unto thee, so as I can come, I\ncome to thee, by embracing thy coming to me, I come in the confidence,\nand in the application of thy servant David's promise, _that thou wilt\nmake all my bed in my sickness_;[26] all my bed; that which way soever I\nturn, I may turn to thee; and as I feel thy hand upon all my body, so I\nmay find it upon all my bed, and see all my corrections, and all my\nrefreshings to flow from one and the same, and all from thy hand. As\nthou hast made these feathers thorns, in the sharpness of this sickness,\nso, Lord, make these thorns feathers again, feathers of thy dove, in the\npeace of conscience, and in a holy recourse to thine ark, to the\ninstruments of true comfort, in thy institutions and in the ordinances\nof thy church. Forget my bed, O Lord, as it hath been a bed of sloth,\nand worse than sloth; take me not, O Lord, at this advantage, to terrify\nmy soul with saying, Now I have met thee there where thou hast so often\ndeparted from me; but having burnt up that bed by these vehement heats,\nand washed that bed in these abundant sweats, make my bed again, O Lord,\nand enable me, according to thy command, _to commune with mine own heart\nupon my bed, and be still_[27]; to provide a bed for all my former sins\nwhilst I lie upon this bed, and a grave for my sins before I come to my\ngrave; and when I have deposited them in the wounds of thy Son, to rest\nin that assurance, that my conscience is discharged from further\nanxiety, and my soul from further danger, and my memory from further\ncalumny. Do this, O Lord, for his sake, who did and suffered so much,\nthat thou mightest, as well in thy justice as in thy mercy, do it for\nme, thy Son, our Saviour, Christ Jesus.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] Matt. xix. 13.\n\n[13] Amos, vi. 4.\n\n[14] Psalm cxxxii. 3.\n\n[15] Rev. ii. 22.\n\n[16] Matt. viii. 6.\n\n[17] Matt. viii. 4.\n\n[18] Matt. viii. 14.\n\n[19] Psalm xxvi. 8.\n\n[20] Psalm lxxxiv. 4.\n\n[21] Psalm v. 7.\n\n[22] Psalm lxix. 9.\n\n[23] 1 Cor. ix. 27.\n\n[24] 2 Kings, ii. 11.\n\n[25] Exodus, xxi. 18.\n\n[26] Psalm xli. 3.\n\n[27] Psalm iv. 4.\n\n\n\n\nIV. MEDICUSQUE VOCATUR.\n\n_The physician is sent for._\n\n\nIV. MEDITATION.\n\nIt is too little to call man a little world; except God, man is a\ndiminutive to nothing. Man consists of more pieces, more parts, than the\nworld; than the world doth, nay, than the world is. And if those pieces\nwere extended, and stretched out in man as they are in the world, man\nwould be the giant, and the world the dwarf; the world but the map, and\nthe man the world. If all the veins in our bodies were extended to\nrivers, and all the sinews to veins of mines, and all the muscles that\nlie upon one another, to hills, and all the bones to quarries of stones,\nand all the other pieces to the proportion of those which correspond to\nthem in the world, the air would be too little for this orb of man to\nmove in, the firmament would be but enough for this star; for, as the\nwhole world hath nothing, to which something in man doth not answer, so\nhath man many pieces of which the whole world hath no representation.\nEnlarge this meditation upon this great world, man, so far as to\nconsider the immensity of the creatures this world produces; our\ncreatures are our thoughts, creatures that are born giants; that reach\nfrom east to west, from earth to heaven; that do not only bestride all\nthe sea and land, but span the sun and firmament at once; my thoughts\nreach all, comprehend all. Inexplicable mystery; I their creator am in a\nclose prison, in a sick bed, any where, and any one of my creatures, my\nthoughts, is with the sun, and beyond the sun, overtakes the sun, and\novergoes the sun in one pace, one step, everywhere. And then, as the\nother world produces serpents and vipers, malignant and venomous\ncreatures, and worms and caterpillars, that endeavour to devour that\nworld which produces them, and monsters compiled and complicated of\ndivers parents and kinds; so this world, ourselves, produces all these\nin us, in producing diseases, and sicknesses of all those sorts:\nvenomous and infectious diseases, feeding and consuming diseases, and\nmanifold and entangled diseases made up of many several ones. And can\nthe other world name so many venomous, so many consuming, so many\nmonstrous creatures, as we can diseases of all these kinds? O miserable\nabundance, O beggarly riches! how much do we lack of having remedies for\nevery disease, when as yet we have not names for them? But we have a\nHercules against these giants, these monsters; that is, the physician;\nhe musters up all the forces of the other world to succour this, all\nnature to relieve man. We have the physician, but we are not the\nphysician. Here we shrink in our proportion, sink in our dignity, in\nrespect of very mean creatures, who are physicians to themselves. The\nhart that is pursued and wounded, they say, knows an herb, which being\neaten throws off the arrow: a strange kind of vomit. The dog that\npursues it, though he be subject to sickness, even proverbially, knows\nhis grass that recovers him. And it may be true, that the drugger is as\nnear to man as to other creatures; it may be that obvious and present\nsimples, easy to be had, would cure him; but the apothecary is not so\nnear him, nor the physician so near him, as they two are to other\ncreatures; man hath not that innate instinct, to apply those natural\nmedicines to his present danger, as those inferior creatures have; he is\nnot his own apothecary, his own physician, as they are. Call back\ntherefore thy meditation again, and bring it down: what's become of\nman's great extent and proportion, when himself shrinks himself and\nconsumes himself to a handful of dust; what's become of his soaring\nthoughts, his compassing thoughts, when himself brings himself to the\nignorance, to the thoughtlessness, of the grave? His diseases are his\nown, but the physician is not; he hath them at home, but he must send\nfor the physician.\n\n\nIV. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nI have not the righteousness of Job, but I have the desire of Job: _I\nwould speak to the Almighty, and I would reason with God_.[28] My God,\nmy God, how soon wouldst thou have me go to the physician, and how far\nwouldst thou have me go with the physician? I know thou hast made the\nmatter, and the man, and the art; and I go not from thee when I go to\nthe physician. Thou didst not make clothes before there was a shame of\nthe nakedness of the body, but thou didst make physic before there was\nany grudging of any sickness; for thou didst imprint a medicinal virtue\nin many simples, even from the beginning; didst thou mean that we should\nbe sick when thou didst so? when thou madest them? No more than thou\ndidst mean, that we should sin, when thou madest us: thou foresawest\nboth, but causedst neither. Thou, Lord, promisest here trees, _whose\nfruit shall be for meat, and their leaves for medicine_.[29] It is the\nvoice of thy Son, _Wilt thou be made whole?_[30] that draws from the\npatient a confession that he was ill, and could not make himself well.\nAnd it is thine own voice, _Is there no physician?_[31] that inclines\nus, disposes us, to accept thine ordinance. And it is the voice of the\nwise man, both for the matter, physic itself, _The Lord hath created\nmedicines out of the earth, and he that is wise shall not abhor\nthem_,[32] and for the art, and the person, the physician cutteth off a\nlong disease. In all these voices thou sendest us to those helps which\nthou hast afforded us in that. But wilt not thou avow that voice too,\n_He that hath sinned against his Maker, let him fall into the hands of\nthe physician_;[33] and wilt not thou afford me an understanding of\nthose words? Thou, who sendest us for a blessing to the physician, dost\nnot make it a curse to us to go when thou sendest. Is not the curse\nrather in this, that only he falls into the hands of the physician, that\ncasts himself wholly, entirely upon the physician, confides in him,\nrelies upon him, attends all from him, and neglects that spiritual\nphysic which thou also hast instituted in thy church. So to fall into\nthe hands of the physician is a sin, and a punishment of former sins;\nso, as Asa fell, who in his disease _sought not to the Lord, but to the\nphysician_.[34] Reveal therefore to me thy method, O Lord, and see\nwhether I have followed it; that thou mayest have glory, if I have, and\nI pardon, if I have not, and help that I may. Thy method is, _In time of\nthy sickness, be not negligent_: wherein wilt thou have my diligence\nexpressed? _Pray unto the Lord, and he will make thee whole._[35] O\nLord, I do; I pray, and pray thy servant David's prayer, _Have mercy\nupon me, O Lord, for I am weak; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are\nvexed_:[36] I know that even my weakness is a reason, a motive, to\ninduce thy mercy, and my sickness an occasion of thy sending health.\nWhen art thou so ready, when is it so seasonable to thee, to\ncommiserate, as in misery? But is prayer for health in season, as soon\nas I am sick? Thy method goes further: _Leave off from sin, and order\nthy hands aright, and cleanse thy heart from all wickedness_.[37] Have\nI, O Lord, done so? O Lord, I have; by thy grace, I am come to a holy\ndetestation of my former sin. Is there any more? In thy method there is\nmore: _Give a sweet savour, and a memorial of fine flour, and make a fat\noffering, as not being_.[38] And, Lord, by thy grace, I have done that,\nsacrificed a little of that little which thou lentest me, to them for\nwhom thou lentest it: and now in thy method, and by thy steps, I am come\nto that, _Then give place to the physician, for the Lord hath created\nhim; let him not go from thee, for thou hast need of him_.[39] I send\nfor the physician, but I will hear him enter with those words of Peter,\n_Jesus Christ maketh thee whole_;[40] I long for his presence, but I\nlook _that the power of the Lord should be present to heal me_.[41]\n\n\nIV. PRAYER.\n\nO most mighty and most merciful God, who art so the God of health and\nstrength, as that without thee all health is but the fuel, and all\nstrength but the bellows of sin; behold me under the vehemence of two\ndiseases, and under the necessity of two physicians, authorized by thee,\nthe bodily, and the spiritual physician. I come to both as to thine\nordinance, and bless and glorify thy name that, in both cases, thou hast\nafforded help to man by the ministry of man. Even in the new Jerusalem,\nin heaven itself, it hath pleased thee to discover a tree, which is _a\ntree of life there, but the leaves thereof are for the healing of the\nnations_.[42] Life itself is with thee there, for thou art life; and all\nkinds of health, wrought upon us here by thine instruments, descend from\nthence. _Thou wouldst have healed Babylon, but she is not healed._[43]\nTake from me, O Lord, her perverseness, her wilfulness, her\nrefractoriness, and hear thy Spirit saying in my soul: Heal me, O Lord,\nfor I would be healed. _Ephraim saw his sickness, and Judah his wound;\nthen went Ephraim to the Assyrian, and sent to King Jareb, yet could not\nhe heal you, nor cure you of your wound._[44] Keep me back, O Lord, from\nthem who misprofess arts of healing the soul, or of the body, by means\nnot imprinted by thee in the church for the soul, or not in nature for\nthe body. There is no spiritual health to be had by superstition, nor\nbodily by witchcraft; thou, Lord, and only thou, art Lord of both. Thou\nin thyself art Lord of both, and thou in thy Son art the physician, the\napplier of both. _With his stripes we are healed_,[45] says the prophet\nthere; there, before he was scourged, we were healed with his stripes;\nhow much more shall I be healed now, now when that which he hath already\nsuffered actually is actually and effectually applied to me? Is there\nany thing incurable, upon which that balm drops? Any vein so empty as\nthat that blood cannot fill it? Thou promisest to heal the earth;[46]\nbut it is when the inhabitants of the earth _pray that thou wouldst heal\nit_. Thou promisest to heal their waters, but _their miry places and\nstanding waters_, thou sayest there, _thou wilt not heal_.[47] My\nreturning to any sin, if I should return to the ability of sinning over\nall my sins again, thou wouldst not pardon. Heal this earth, O my God,\nby repentant tears, and heal these waters, these tears, from all\nbitterness, from all diffidence, from all dejection, by establishing my\nirremovable assurance in thee. _Thy Son went about healing all manner of\nsickness._[48] (No disease incurable, none difficult; he healed them in\npassing). _Virtue went out of him, and he healed all_,[49] all the\nmultitude (no person incurable), he healed them _every whit_[50] (as\nhimself speaks), he left no relics of the disease; and will this\nuniversal physician pass by this hospital, and not visit me? not heal\nme? not heal me wholly? Lord, I look not that thou shouldst say by thy\nmessenger to me, as to Hezekiah, _Behold, I will heal thee, and on the\nthird day thou shalt go up to the house of the Lord_.[51] I look not\nthat thou shouldst say to me, as to Moses in Miriam's behalf, when Moses\nwould have had her healed presently, _If her father had but spit in her\nface, should she not have been ashamed seven days? Let her be shut up\nseven days, and then return_;[52] but if thou be pleased to multiply\nseven days (and seven is infinite) by the number of my sins (and that is\nmore infinite), if this day must remove me till days shall be no more,\nseal to me my spiritual health, in affording me the seals of thy church;\nand for my temporal health, prosper thine ordinance, in their hands who\nshall assist in this sickness, in that manner, and in that measure, as\nmay most glorify thee, and most edify those who observe the issues of\nthy servants, to their own spiritual benefit.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[28] Job, xiii. 3.\n\n[29] Ezek. xlvii. 12.\n\n[30] John, v. 6.\n\n[31] Jer. viii. 22.\n\n[32] Ecclus. xxxviii. 4.\n\n[33] Ecclus. xxxviii. 15.\n\n[34] 1 Chron. xvi. 12.\n\n[35] Ecclus. xxxviii. 9.\n\n[36] Psalm vi. 2.\n\n[37] Ecclus. xxxviii. 10.\n\n[38] Ecclus. xxxviii. 11.\n\n[39] Ecclus. xxxviii. 12.\n\n[40] Acts, ix. 34.\n\n[41] Luke, v. 17.\n\n[42] Rev. xxii. 2.\n\n[43] Jer. li. 9.\n\n[44] Hosea, v. 13.\n\n[45] Isaiah, liii. 5.\n\n[46] 2 Chron. vii. 14.\n\n[47] Ezek. xlvii. 11.\n\n[48] Matt. iv. 23.\n\n[49] Luke, vi. 19.\n\n[50] John, vii. 23.\n\n[51] 2 Kings, xx. 5.\n\n[52] Num. xii. 14.\n\n\n\n\nV. SOLUS ADEST.\n\n_The physician comes_\n\n\nV. MEDITATION.\n\nAs sickness is the greatest misery, so the greatest misery of sickness\nis solitude; when the infectiousness of the disease deters them who\nshould assist from coming; even the physician dares scarce come.\nSolitude is a torment which is not threatened in hell itself. Mere\nvacuity, the first agent, God, the first instrument of God, nature, will\nnot admit; nothing can be utterly empty, but so near a degree towards\nvacuity as solitude, to be but one, they love not. When I am dead, and\nmy body might infect, they have a remedy, they may bury me; but when I\nam but sick, and might infect, they have no remedy but their absence,\nand my solitude. It is an excuse to them that are great, and pretend,\nand yet are loath to come; it is an inhibition to those who would truly\ncome, because they may be made instruments, and pestiducts, to the\ninfection of others, by their coming. And it is an outlawry, an\nexcommunication upon the patient, and separates him from all offices,\nnot only of civility but of working charity. A long sickness will weary\nfriends at last, but a pestilential sickness averts them from the\nbeginning. God himself would admit a figure of society, as there is a\nplurality of persons in God, though there be but one God; and all his\nexternal actions testify a love of society, and communion. In heaven\nthere are orders of angels, and armies of martyrs, and in that house\nmany mansions; in earth, families, cities, churches, colleges, all\nplural things; and lest either of these should not be company enough\nalone, there is an association of both, a communion of saints which\nmakes the militant and triumphant church one parish; so that Christ was\nnot out of his diocess when he was upon the earth, nor out of his temple\nwhen he was in our flesh. God, who saw that all that he made was good,\ncame not so near seeing a defect in any of his works, as when he saw\nthat it was not good for man to be alone, therefore he made him a\nhelper; and one that should help him so as to increase the number, and\ngive him her own, and more society. Angels, who do not propagate nor\nmultiply, were made at first in an abundant number, and so were stars;\nbut for the things of this world, their blessing was, Increase; for I\nthink, I need not ask leave to think, that there is no phoenix;\nnothing singular, nothing alone. Men that inhere upon nature only, are\nso far from thinking that there is any thing singular in this world, as\nthat they will scarce think that this world itself is singular, but that\nevery planet, and every star, is another world like this; they find\nreason to conceive not only a plurality in every species in the world,\nbut a plurality of worlds; so that the abhorrers of solitude are not\nsolitary, for God, and Nature, and Reason concur against it. Now a man\nmay counterfeit the plague in a vow, and mistake a disease for religion,\nby such a retiring and recluding of himself from all men as to do good\nto no man, to converse with no man. God hath two testaments, two wills;\nbut this is a schedule, and not of his, a codicil, and not of his, not\nin the body of his testaments, but interlined and postscribed by others,\nthat the way to the communion of saints should be by such a solitude as\nexcludes all doing of good here. That is a disease of the mind, as the\nheight of an infectious disease of the body is solitude, to be left\nalone: for this makes an infectious bed equal, nay, worse than a grave,\nthat though in both I be equally alone, in my bed I know it, and feel\nit, and shall not in my grave: and this too, that in my bed my soul is\nstill in an infectious body, and shall not in my grave be so.\n\n\nV. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nO God, my God, thy Son took it not ill at Martha's hands, that when he\nsaid unto her, _Thy brother Lazarus shall rise again_,[53] she\nexpostulated it so far with him as to reply, _I know that he shall rise\nagain in the resurrection, at the last day_; for she was miserable by\nwanting him then. Take it not ill, O my God, from me, that though thou\nhave ordained it for a blessing, and for a dignity to thy people, _that\nthey should dwell alone, and not be reckoned among the nations_[54]\n(because they should be above them), and that _they should dwell in\nsafety alone_[55] (free from the infestation of enemies), yet I take thy\nleave to remember thee, that thou hast said too, _Two are better than\none_; and, _Woe be unto him that is alone when he falleth_;[56] and so\nwhen he is fallen, and laid in the bed of sickness too. _Righteousness\nis immortal_;[57] I know thy wisdom hath said so; but no man, though\ncovered with the righteousness of thy Son, is immortal so as not to die;\nfor he who was righteousness itself did die. I know that the Son of\nRighteousness, thy Son, refused not, nay affected, solitariness,\nloneness,[58] many, many times; but at all times he was able to command\n_more than twelve legions of angels_[59] to his service; and when he did\nnot so, he was far from being alone: for, _I am not alone_, says he,\n_but I, and the Father that sent me_.[60] I cannot fear but that I\nshall always be with thee and him; but whether this disease may not\nalien and remove my friends, so that _they stand aloof from my sore, and\nmy kinsmen stand afar off_,[61] I cannot tell. I cannot fear but that\nthou wilt reckon with me from this minute, in which, by thy grace, I see\nthee; whether this understanding, and this will, and this memory may not\ndecay, to the discouragement and the ill interpretation of them that see\nthat heavy change in me, I cannot tell. It was for thy blessed, thy\npowerful Son alone, _to tread the wine-press alone, and none of the\npeople with him_.[62] I am not able to pass this agony alone, not alone\nwithout thee; thou art thy spirit, not alone without thine; spiritual\nand temporal physicians are thine, not alone without mine; those whom\nthe bands of blood or friendship have made mine, are mine; and if thou,\nor thine, or mine, abandon me, I am alone, and woe unto me if I be\nalone. Elias himself fainted under that apprehension, _Lo, I am left\nalone_;[63] and Martha murmured at that, said to Christ, _Lord, dost not\nthou care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?_[64] Neither could\nJeremiah enter into his lamentations from a higher ground than to say,\n_How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people_.[65] O my God,\nit is the leper that thou hast condemned to live alone;[66] have I such\na leprosy in my soul that I must die alone; alone without thee? Shall\nthis come to such a leprosy in my body that I must die alone; alone\nwithout them that should assist, that should comfort me? But comes not\nthis expostulation too near a murmuring? Must I be concluded with that,\nthat Moses _was commanded to come near the Lord alone_;[67] that\nsolitariness, and dereliction, and abandoning of others, disposes us\nbest for God, who accompanies us most alone? May I not remember, and\napply too, that though God came not to Jacob till he found him alone,\nyet when he found him alone, he wrestled with him, and lamed him;[68]\nthat when, in the dereliction and forsaking of friends and physicians, a\nman is left alone to God, God may so wrestle with this Jacob, with this\nconscience, as to put it out of joint, and so appear to him as that he\ndares not look upon him face to face, when as by way of reflection, in\nthe consolation of his temporal or spiritual servants, and ordinances he\ndurst, if they were there? But a _faithful friend is the physic of life,\nand they that fear the Lord shall find him_.[69] Therefore hath the Lord\nafforded me both in one person, that physician who is my faithful\nfriend.\n\n\nV. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who calledst down fire from heaven upon\nthe sinful cities but once, and openedst the earth to swallow the\nmurmurers but once, and threwest down the tower of Siloam upon sinners\nbut once; but for thy works of mercy repeatedst them often, and still\nworkest by thine own patterns, as thou broughtest man into this world,\nby giving him a helper fit for him here; so, whether it be thy will to\ncontinue me long thus, or to dismiss me by death, be pleased to afford\nme the helps fit for both conditions, either for my weak stay here, or\nmy final transmigration from hence. And if thou mayst receive glory by\nthat way (and by all ways thou mayst receive glory), glorify thyself in\npreserving this body from such infections as might withhold those who\nwould come, or endanger them who do come; and preserve this soul in the\nfaculties thereof from all such distempers as might shake the assurance\nwhich myself and others have had, that because thou hast loved me thou\nwouldst love me to my end, and at my end. Open none of my doors, not of\nmy heart, not of mine ears, not of my house, to any supplanter that\nwould enter to undermine me in my religion to thee, in the time of my\nweakness, or to defame me, and magnify himself with false rumours of\nsuch a victory and surprisal of me, after I am dead. Be my salvation,\nand plead my salvation; work it and declare it; and as thy triumphant\nshall be, so let the militant church be assured that thou wast my God,\nand I thy servant, to and in my consummation. Bless thou the learning\nand the labours of this man whom thou sendest to assist me; and since\nthou takest me by the hand, and puttest me into his hands (for I come to\nhim in thy name, who in thy name comes to me), since I clog not my hopes\nin him, no, nor my prayers to thee, with any limited conditions, but\ninwrap all in those two petitions, _Thy kingdom come, thy will be done_,\nprosper him, and relieve me, in thy way, in thy time, and in thy\nmeasure. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[53] John, xi. 23.\n\n[54] Num. xxiii. 9.\n\n[55] Deut. xxxiii. 28.\n\n[56] Eccles. iv. 10.\n\n[57] Wisd. i. 15.\n\n[58] Matt. xiv. 23.\n\n[59] Matt. xxvi. 13.\n\n[60] John, viii. 16.\n\n[61] Psalm xxxviii. 11.\n\n[62] Isaiah, lxiii. 3.\n\n[63] 1 Kings, xiv. 14.\n\n[64] Luke, x. 40.\n\n[65] Lam. i. 1.\n\n[66] Lev. xiii. 46.\n\n[67] Exod. xiv. 2.\n\n[68] Gen. xxxii. 24. 25.\n\n[69] Ecclus. vi. 16.\n\n\n\n\nVI. METUIT.\n\n_The physician is afraid._\n\n\nVI. MEDITATION.\n\nI observe the physician with the same diligence as he the disease; I see\nhe fears, and I fear with him; I overtake him, I overrun him, in his\nfear, and I go the faster, because he makes his pace slow; I fear the\nmore, because he disguises his fear, and I see it with the more\nsharpness, because he would not have me see it. He knows that his fear\nshall not disorder the practice and exercise of his art, but he knows\nthat my fear may disorder the effect and working of his practice. As the\nill affections of the spleen complicate and mingle themselves with every\ninfirmity of the body, so doth fear insinuate itself in every action or\npassion of the mind; and as wind in the body will counterfeit any\ndisease, and seem the stone, and seem the gout, so fear will counterfeit\nany disease of the mind. It shall seem love, a love of having; and it is\nbut a fear, a jealous and suspicious fear of losing. It shall seem\nvalour in despising and undervaluing danger; and it is but fear in an\novervaluing of opinion and estimation, and a fear of losing that. A man\nthat is not afraid of a lion is afraid of a cat; not afraid of starving,\nand yet is afraid of some joint of meat at the table presented to feed\nhim; not afraid of the sound of drums and trumpets and shot and those\nwhich they seek to drown, the last cries of men, and is afraid of some\nparticular harmonious instrument; so much afraid as that with any of\nthese the enemy might drive this man, otherwise valiant enough, out of\nthe field. I know not what fear is, nor I know not what it is that I\nfear now; I fear not the hastening of my death, and yet I do fear the\nincrease of the disease; I should belie nature if I should deny that I\nfeared this; and if I should say that I feared death, I should belie\nGod. My weakness is from nature, who hath but her measure; my strength\nis from God, who possesses and distributes infinitely. As then every\ncold air is not a damp, every shivering is not a stupefaction; so every\nfear is not a fearfulness, every declination is not a running away,\nevery debating is not a resolving, every wish that it were not thus, is\nnot a murmuring nor a dejection, though it be thus; but as my\nphysician's fear puts not him from his practice, neither doth mine put\nme from receiving from God, and man, and myself, spiritual and civil and\nmoral assistances and consolations.\n\n\nVI. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, I find in thy book that fear is a stifling spirit, a\nspirit of suffocation; that _Ishbosheth could not speak, nor reply in\nhis own defence to Abner, because he was afraid_.[70] It was thy servant\nJob's case too, who, before he could say anything to thee, says of thee,\n_Let him take his rod away from me, and let not his fear terrify me,\nthen would I speak with him, and not fear him; but it is not so with\nme_.[71] Shall a fear of thee take away my devotion to thee? Dost thou\ncommand me to speak to thee, and command me to fear thee; and do these\ndestroy one another? There is no perplexity in thee, my God; no\ninextricableness in thee, my light and my clearness, my sun and my moon,\nthat directest me as well in the night of adversity and fear, as in my\nday of prosperity and confidence. I must then speak to thee at all\ntimes, but when must I fear thee? At all times too. When didst thou\nrebuke any petitioner with the name of importunate? Thou hast proposed\nto us a parable of a judge[72] that did justice at last, because the\nclient was importunate, and troubled him; but thou hast told us plainly,\nthat thy use in that parable was not that thou wast troubled with our\nimportunities, but (as thou sayest there) _that we should always pray_.\nAnd to the same purpose thou proposest another,[73] that if I press my\nfriend, when he is in bed at midnight, to lend me bread, though he will\nnot rise because I am his friend, yet because of mine importunity he\nwill. God will do this whensoever thou askest, and never call it\nimportunity. Pray in thy bed at midnight, and God will not say, I will\nhear thee to-morrow upon thy knees, at thy bedside; pray upon thy knees\nthere then, and God will not say, I will hear thee on Sunday at church;\nGod is no dilatory God, no froward God; prayer is never unseasonable,\nGod is never asleep, nor absent. But, O my God, can I do this, and fear\nthee; come to thee and speak to thee, in all places, at all hours, and\nfear thee? Dare I ask this question? There is more boldness in the\nquestion than in the coming; I may do it though I fear thee; I cannot do\nit except I fear thee. So well hast thou provided that we should always\nfear thee, as that thou hast provided that we should fear no person but\nthee, nothing but thee; no men? No. Whom? _The Lord is my help and my\nsalvation, whom shall I fear?_[74] Great enemies? Not great enemies, for\nno enemies are great to them that fear thee. _Fear not the people of\nthis land, for they are bread to you_;[75] they shall not only not eat\nus, not eat our bread, but they shall be our bread. Why should we fear\nthem? But for all this metaphorical bread, victory over enemies that\nthought to devour us, may we not fear, that we may lack bread literally?\nAnd fear famine, though we fear not enemies? _Young lions do lack and\nsuffer hunger, but they that seek the Lord shall not want any good\nthing._[76] Never? Though it be well with them at one time, may they not\nfear that it may be worse? _Wherefore should I fear in the days of\nevil?_[77] says thy servant David. Though his own sin had made them\nevil, he feared them not. No? not if this evil determine in death? Not\nthough in a death; not though in a death inflicted by violence, by\nmalice, by our own desert; _fear not the sentence of death_,[78] if thou\nfear God. Thou art, O my God, so far from admitting us that fear thee to\nfear others, as that thou makest others to fear us; as _Herod feared\nJohn, because he was a holy and a just man, and observed him_.[79] How\nfully then, O my abundant God, how gently, O my sweet, my easy God, dost\nthou unentangle me in any scruple arising out of the consideration of\nthy fear! Is not this that which thou intendest when thou sayest, _The\nsecret of the Lord is with them that fear him_;[80] the secret, the\nmystery of the right use of fear. Dost thou not mean this when thou\nsayest, _we shall understand the fear of the Lord_?[81] Have it, and\nhave benefit by it; have it, and stand under it; be directed by it, and\nnot be dejected with it. And dost thou not propose that church for our\nexample when thou sayest, the church of Judea _walked in the fear of\nGod_;[82] they had it, but did not sit down lazily, nor fall down\nweakly, nor sink under it. There is a fear which weakens men in the\nservice of God. _Adam was afraid, because he was naked._[83] They who\nhave put off thee are a prey to all. They may fear, for _Thou wilt laugh\nwhen their fear comes upon them_, as thou hast told them more than\nonce.[84] And thou wilt make them fear where no cause of fear is, as\nthou hast told them more than once too.[85] There is a fear that is a\npunishment of former wickednesses, and induces more. Though some said of\nthy Son, Christ Jesus, _that he was a good man, yet no man spake openly\nfor fear of the Jews_. Joseph was his disciple, _but secretly, for fear\nof the Jews_.[86] The disciples kept some meetings, but with doors shut\nfor fear of the Jews. O my God, thou givest us fear for ballast to carry\nus steadily in all weathers. But thou wouldst ballast us with such sand\nas should have gold in it, with that fear which is thy fear; for _the\nfear of the Lord is his treasure_.[87] He that hath that lacks nothing\nthat man can have, nothing that God does give. Timorous men thou\nrebukest: _Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?_[88] Such thou\ndismissest from thy service with scorn, though of them there went from\nGideon's army twenty-two thousand, and remained but ten thousand.[89]\nSuch thou sendest farther than so; thither from whence they never\nreturn: _The fearful and the unbelieving, into that burning lake which\nis the second death_.[90] There is a fear and there is a hope, which are\nequal abominations to thee; for, they were confounded because they\nhoped,[91] says thy servant Job; because they had misplaced, miscentred\ntheir hopes, they hoped, and not in thee, and such shall fear, and not\nfear thee. But in thy fear, my God, and my fear, my God, and my hope, is\nhope, and love, and confidence, and peace, and every limb and ingredient\nof happiness enwrapped; for joy includes all, and fear and joy consist\ntogether, nay, constitute one another. _The women departed from the\nsepulchre_,[92] the women who were made supernumerary apostles, apostles\nto the apostles; mothers of the church, and of the fathers, grandfathers\nof the church, the apostles themselves; the women, angels of the\nresurrection, went from the sepulchre with fear and joy; they ran, says\nthe text, and they ran upon those two legs, fear and joy; and both was\nthe right leg; they joy in thee, O Lord, that fear thee, and fear thee\nonly, who feel this joy in thee. Nay, thy fear, and thy love are\ninseparable; still we are called upon, in infinite places, to fear God,\nyet the commandment, which is the root of all is, Thou shalt love the\nLord thy God; he doeth neither that doeth not both; he omits neither,\nthat does one. Therefore when thy servant David had said that _the fear\nof the Lord is the beginning of wisdom_,[93] and his son had repeated it\nagain,[94] he that collects both calls this fear the root of wisdom;\nand, that it may embrace all, he calls it wisdom itself.[95] A wise man,\ntherefore, is never without it, never without the exercise of it;\ntherefore thou sentest Moses to thy people, _that they might learn to\nfear thee all the days of their lives_,[96] not in heavy and calamitous,\nbut in good and cheerful days too; for Noah, who had assurance of his\ndeliverance, yet, _moved with fear, prepared an ark, for the saving of\nhis house_.[97] _A wise man will fear in everything._[98] And therefore,\nthough I pretend to no other degree of wisdom, I am abundantly rich in\nthis, that I lie here possessed with that fear which is thy fear, both\nthat this sickness is thy immediate correction, and not merely a natural\naccident, and therefore fearful, because it is a fearful thing to fall\ninto thy hands; and that this fear preserves me from all inordinate\nfear, arising out of the infirmity of nature, because thy hand being\nupon me, thou wilt never let me fall out of thy hand.\n\n\nVI. PRAYER.\n\nO most mighty God, and merciful God, the God of all true sorrow, and\ntrue joy too, of all fear, and of all hope too, as thou hast given me a\nrepentance, not to be repented of, so give me, O Lord, a fear, of which\nI may not be afraid. Give me tender and supple and conformable\naffections, that as I joy with them that joy, and mourn with them that\nmourn, so I may fear with them that fear. And since thou hast vouchsafed\nto discover to me, in his fear whom thou hast admitted to be my\nassistance in this sickness, that there is danger therein, let me not, O\nLord, go about to overcome the sense of that fear, so far as to\npretermit the fitting and preparing of myself for the worst that may be\nfeared, the passage out of this life. Many of thy blessed martyrs have\npassed out of this life without any show of fear; but thy most blessed\nSon himself did not so. Thy martyrs were known to be but men, and\ntherefore it pleased thee to fill them with thy Spirit and thy power, in\nthat they did more than men; thy Son was declared by thee, and by\nhimself, to be God; and it was requisite that he should declare himself\nto be man also, in the weaknesses of man. Let me not therefore, O my\nGod, be ashamed of these fears, but let me feel them to determine where\nhis fear did, in a present submitting of all to thy will. And when thou\nshalt have inflamed and thawed my former coldnesses and indevotions with\nthese heats, and quenched my former heats with these sweats and\ninundations, and rectified my former presumptions and negligences with\nthese fears, be pleased, O Lord, as one made so by thee, to think me fit\nfor thee; and whether it be thy pleasure to dispose of this body, this\ngarment, so as to put it to a farther wearing in this world, or to lay\nit up in the common wardrobe, the grave, for the next, glorify thyself\nin thy choice now, and glorify it then, with that glory, which thy Son,\nour Saviour Christ Jesus, hath purchased for them whom thou makest\npartakers of his resurrection. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[70] 2 Sam. iii. 11.\n\n[71] Job, ix. 34.\n\n[72] Luke, xviii. 1.\n\n[73] Luke, xi. 5.\n\n[74] Psalm xxvii. 1.\n\n[75] Num. xiv. 9.\n\n[76] Psalm xxxv. 70.\n\n[77] Psalm xlix. 5.\n\n[78] Ecclus. xli. 3.\n\n[79] Mark, vi. 20.\n\n[80] Psalm xxv. 14.\n\n[81] Prov. ii. 5.\n\n[82] Acts, ix. 31.\n\n[83] Gen. iii. 10.\n\n[84] Prov. i. 26; x. 24.\n\n[85] Psalm xiv. 5; liii. 5.\n\n[86] John, vii. 13; xix. 38; xxix. 19\n\n[87] Isaiah, xxxiii. 6.\n\n[88] Matt. viii. 26.\n\n[89] Judges, vii. 3.\n\n[90] Rev. xxi. 8.\n\n[91] Job, vi. 20.\n\n[92] Matt. xxviii. 8.\n\n[93] Psalm cxi. 10.\n\n[94] Prov. i. 7.\n\n[95] Ecclus. i. 20, 27.\n\n[96] Deut. iv. 10.\n\n[97] Heb. xi. 7.\n\n[98] Ecclus. xviii. 27.\n\n\n\n\nVII. SOCIOS SIBI JUNGIER INSTAT.\n\n_The physician desires to have others joined with him._\n\n\nVII. MEDITATION.\n\nThere is more fear, therefore more cause. If the physician desire help,\nthe burden grows great: there is a growth of the disease then; but there\nmust be an autumn too; but whether an autumn of the disease or me, it is\nnot my part to choose; but if it be of me, it is of both; my disease\ncannot survive me, I may overlive it. Howsoever, his desiring of others\nargues his candour, and his ingenuity; if the danger be great, he\njustifies his proceedings, and he disguises nothing that calls in\nwitnesses; and if the danger be not great, he is not ambitious, that is\nso ready to divide the thanks and the honour of that work which he begun\nalone, with others. It diminishes not the dignity of a monarch that he\nderive part of his care upon others; God hath not made many suns, but he\nhath made many bodies that receive and give light. The Romans began with\none king; they came to two consuls; they returned in extremities to one\ndictator: whether in one or many, the sovereignty is the same in all\nstates and the danger is not the more, and the providence is the more,\nwhere there are more physicians; as the state is the happier where\nbusinesses are carried by more counsels than can be in one breast, how\nlarge soever. Diseases themselves hold consultations, and conspire how\nthey may multiply, and join with one another, and exalt one another's\nforce so; and shall we not call physicians to consultations? Death is in\nan old man's door, he appears and tells him so, and death is at a young\nman's back, and says nothing; age is a sickness, and youth is an\nambush; and we need so many physicians as may make up a watch, and spy\nevery inconvenience. There is scarce any thing that hath not killed\nsomebody; a hair, a feather hath done it; nay, that which is our best\nantidote against it hath done it; the best cordial hath been deadly\npoison. Men have died of joy, and almost forbidden their friends to weep\nfor them, when they have seen them die laughing. Even that tyrant,\nDionysius (I think the same that suffered so much after), who could not\ndie of that sorrow, of that high fall, from a king to a wretched private\nman, died of so poor a joy as to be declared by the people at a theatre\nthat he was a good poet. We say often that a man may live of a little;\nbut, alas, of how much less may a man die? And therefore the more\nassistants the better. Who comes to a day of hearing, in a cause of any\nimportance, with one advocate? In our funerals we ourselves have no\ninterest; there we cannot advise, we cannot direct; and though some\nnations (the Egyptians in particular) built themselves better tombs than\nhouses because they were to dwell longer in them, yet amongst ourselves,\nthe greatest man of style whom we have had, the Conqueror, was left, as\nsoon as his soul left him, not only without persons to assist at his\ngrave but without a grave. Who will keep us then we know not; as long as\nwe can, let us admit as much help as we can; another and another\nphysician is not another and another indication and symptom of death,\nbut another and another assistant, and proctor of life: nor do they so\nmuch feed the imagination with apprehension of danger, as the\nunderstanding with comfort. Let not one bring learning, another\ndiligence, another religion, but every one bring all; and as many\ningredients enter into a receipt, so may many men make the receipt. But\nwhy do I exercise my meditation so long upon this, of having plentiful\nhelp in time of need? Is not my meditation rather to be inclined another\nway, to condole and commiserate their distress who have none? How many\nare sicker (perchance) than I, and laid in their woful straw at home (if\nthat corner be a home), and have no more hope of help, though they die,\nthan of preferment, though they live! Nor do more expect to see a\nphysician then, than to be an officer after; of whom, the first that\ntakes knowledge, is the sexton that buries them, who buries them in\noblivion too! For they do but fill up the number of the dead in the\nbill, but we shall never hear their names, till we read them in the book\nof life with our own. How many are sicker (perchance) than I, and thrown\ninto hospitals, where (as a fish left upon the sand must stay the tide)\nthey must stay the physician's hour of visiting, and then can be but\nvisited! How many are sicker (perchance) than all we, and have not this\nhospital to cover them, not this straw to lie in, to die in, but have\ntheir gravestone under them, and breathe out their souls in the ears and\nin the eyes of passengers, harder than their bed, the flint of the\nstreet? that taste of no part of our physic, but a sparing diet, to whom\nordinary porridge would be julep enough, the refuse of our servants\nbezoar enough, and the offscouring of our kitchen tables cordial enough.\nO my soul, when thou art not enough awake to bless thy God enough for\nhis plentiful mercy in affording thee many helpers, remember how many\nlack them, and help them to them or to those other things which they\nlack as much as them.\n\n\nVII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, thy blessed servant Augustine begged of thee that Moses\nmight come and tell him what he meant by some places of Genesis: may I\nhave leave to ask of that Spirit that writ that book, why, when David\nexpected news from Joab's army,[99] and that the watchman told him that\nhe saw a man running alone, David concluded out of that circumstance,\nthat if he came alone, he brought good news?[100] I see the grammar, the\nword signifies so, and is so ever accepted, _good news_; but I see not\nthe logic nor the rhetoric, how David would prove or persuade that his\nnews was good because he was alone, except a greater company might have\nmade great impressions of danger, by imploring and importuning present\nsupplies. Howsoever that be, I am sure that that which thy apostle says\nto Timothy, _Only Luke is with me_,[101] Luke, and nobody but Luke, hath\na taste of complaint and sorrow in it: though Luke want no testimony of\nability, of forwardness, of constancy, and perseverance, in assisting\nthat great building which St. Paul laboured in, yet St. Paul is affected\nwith that, that there was none but Luke to assist. We take St. Luke to\nhave been a physician, and it admits the application the better that in\nthe presence of one good physician we may be glad of more. It was not\nonly a civil spirit of policy, or order, that moved Moses's\nfather-in-law to persuade him to divide the burden of government and\njudicature with others, and take others to his assistance,[102] but it\nwas also thy immediate Spirit, O my God, that moved Moses to present\nunto thee seventy of the elders of Israel,[103] to receive of that\nSpirit, which was upon Moses only before, such a portion as might ease\nhim in the government of that people; though Moses alone had endowments\nabove all, thou gavest him other assistants. I consider thy plentiful\ngoodness, O my God, in employing angels more than one in so many of thy\nremarkable works. Of thy Son, thou sayest, _Let all the angels of God\nworship him_;[104] if that be in heaven, upon earth he says, _that he\ncould command twelve legions of angels_;[105] and when heaven and earth\nshall be all one, at the last day, thy Son, O God, _the Son of man,\nshall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him_.[106] The\nangels that celebrated his birth to the shepherds,[107] the angels that\ncelebrated his second birth, his resurrection, to the Maries,[108] were\nin the plural, angels associated with angels. In Jacob's ladder,[109]\nthey who ascended and descended, and maintained the trade between heaven\nand earth, between thee and us, they who have the commission, and charge\nto guide us in all our ways,[110] they who hastened Lot,[111] and in\nhim, us, from places of danger and temptation, they who are appointed to\ninstruct and govern us in the church here,[112] they who are sent to\npunish the disobedient and refractory,[113] that they are to be mowers\nand harvestmen[114] after we are grown up in one field, the church, at\nthe day of judgment, they that are to carry our souls whither they\ncarried Lazarus,[115] they who attended at the several gates of the new\nJerusalem,[116] to admit us there; all these who administer to thy\nservants, from the first to their last, are angels, angels in the\nplural, in every service angels associated with angels. The power of a\nsingle angel we see in that one, who in one night destroyed almost two\nhundred thousand in Sennacherib's army,[117] yet thou often employest\nmany; as we know the power of salvation is abundantly in any one\nevangelist, and yet thou hast afforded us four. Thy Son proclaims of\nhimself that _the Spirit hath anointed him to preach the Gospel_,[118]\nyet he hath given others _for the perfecting of the saints in the work\nof the ministry_.[119] Thou hast made him _Bishop of our souls_,[120]\nbut there are others bishops too. He gave the Holy Ghost,[121] and\nothers gave it also. Thy way, O my God (and, O my God, thou lovest to\nwalk in thine own ways, for they are large), thy way from the beginning,\nis multiplication of thy helps; and therefore it were a degree of\ningratitude not to accept this mercy of affording me many helps for my\nbodily health, as a type and earnest of thy gracious purpose now and\never to afford me the same assistances. That for thy great help, thy\nword, I may seek that not from comers nor conventicles nor schismatical\nsingularities, but from the association and communion of thy Catholic\nchurch, and those persons whom thou hast always furnished that church\nwithal: and that I may associate thy word with thy sacrament, thy seal\nwith thy patent; and in that sacrament associate the sign with the thing\nsignified, the bread with the body of thy Son, so as I may be sure to\nhave received both, and to be made thereby (as thy blessed servant\nAugustine says) the ark, and the monument, and the tomb of thy most\nblessed Son, that he, and all the merits of his death, may, by that\nreceiving, be buried in me, to my quickening in this world, and my\nimmortal establishing in the next.\n\n\nVII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who gavest to thy servants in the\nwilderness thy manna, bread so conditioned, qualified so, as that to\nevery man manna tasted like that which that man liked best, I humbly\nbeseech thee to make this correction, which I acknowledge to be part of\nmy daily bread, to taste so to me, not as I would but as thou wouldst\nhave it taste, and to conform my taste, and make it agreeable to thy\nwill. Thou wouldst have thy corrections taste of humiliation, but thou\nwouldst have them taste of consolation too; taste of danger, but taste\nof assurance too. As therefore thou hast imprinted in all thine elements\nof which our bodies consist two manifest qualities, so that as thy fire\ndries, so it heats too; and as thy water moists, so it cools too; so, O\nLord, in these corrections which are the elements of our regeneration,\nby which our souls are made thine, imprint thy two qualities, those two\noperations, that, as they scourge us, they may scourge us into the way\nto thee; that when they have showed us that we are nothing in ourselves,\nthey may also show us, that thou art all things unto us. When therefore\nin this particular circumstance, O Lord (but none of thy judgments are\ncircumstances, they are all of all substance of thy good purpose upon\nus), when in this particular, that he whom thou hast sent to assist me,\ndesires assistants to him, thou hast let me see in how few hours thou\ncanst throw me beyond the help of man, let me by the same light see that\nno vehemence of sickness, no temptation of Satan, no guiltiness of sin,\nno prison of death, not this first, this sick bed, not the other prison,\nthe close and dark grave, can remove me from the determined and good\npurpose which thou hast sealed concerning me. Let me think no degree of\nthis thy correction casual, or without signification; but yet when I\nhave read it in that language, as a correction, let me translate it into\nanother, and read it as a mercy; and which of these is the original, and\nwhich is the translation; whether thy mercy or thy correction were thy\nprimary and original intention in this sickness, I cannot conclude,\nthough death conclude me; for as it must necessarily appear to be a\ncorrection, so I can have no greater argument of thy mercy, than to die\nin thee and by that death to be united to him who died for me.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[99] 2 Sam. xviii. 25.\n\n[100] So all but our translation takes it; even Buxdor and Schindler.\n\n[101] 2 Tim. iv. 11.\n\n[102] Exod. xviii. 13.\n\n[103] Num. xi. 16.\n\n[104] Heb. i. 6.\n\n[105] Matt. xxvi. 53.\n\n[106] Matt. xxv. 31.\n\n[107] Luke, ii. 13, 14.\n\n[108] John, xx. 12.\n\n[109] Gen. xxviii. 12.\n\n[110] Psalm xci. 11.\n\n[111] Gen. xix. 15.\n\n[112] Rev. i. 20.\n\n[113] Rev. viii. 2.\n\n[114] Matt. xiii. 39.\n\n[115] Luke, xvi. 22.\n\n[116] Rev. xxi. 12.\n\n[117] 2 Kings, xix. 35.\n\n[118] Luke, iv. 18.\n\n[119] Eph. iv. 12.\n\n[120] 1 Pet. ii. 25.\n\n[121] John, xx. 22.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. ET REX IPSE SUUM MITTIT.\n\n_The King sends his own physician._\n\n\nVIII. MEDITATION.\n\nStill when we return to that meditation that man is a world, we find new\ndiscoveries. Let him be a world, and himself will be the land, and\nmisery the sea. His misery (for misery is his, his own; of the happiness\neven of this world, he is but tenant, but of misery the freeholder; of\nhappiness he is but the farmer, but the usufructuary, but of misery the\nlord, the proprietary), his misery, as the sea, swells above all the\nhills, and reaches to the remotest parts of this earth, man; who of\nhimself is but dust, and coagulated and kneaded into earth by tears; his\nmatter is earth, his form misery. In this world that is mankind, the\nhighest ground, the eminentest hills, are kings; and have they line and\nlead enough to fathom this sea, and say, My misery is but this deep?\nScarce any misery equal to sickness, and they are subject to that\nequally with their lowest subject. A glass is not the less brittle,\nbecause a king's face is represented in it; nor a king the less brittle,\nbecause God is represented in him. They have physicians continually\nabout them, and therefore sickness, or the worst of sicknesses,\ncontinual fear of it. Are they gods? He that called them so cannot\nflatter. They are gods, but sick gods; and God is presented to us under\nmany human affections, as far as infirmities: God is called angry, and\nsorry, and weary, and heavy, but never a sick God; for then he might die\nlike men, as our gods do. The worst that they could say in reproach and\nscorn of the gods of the heathen was, that perchance they were asleep;\nbut gods that are so sick as that they cannot sleep are in an infirmer\ncondition. A god, and need a physician? A Jupiter, and need an\n\u00c6sculapius? that must have rhubarb to purge his choler lest he be too\nangry, and agarick to purge his phlegm lest he be too drowsy; that as\nTertullian says of the Egyptian gods, plants and herbs, that \"God was\nbeholden to man for growing in his garden,\" so we must say of these\ngods, their eternity (an eternity of threescore and ten years) is in the\napothecary's shop, and not in the metaphorical deity. But their deity is\nbetter expressed in their humility than in their height; when abounding\nand overflowing, as God, in means of doing good, they descend, as God,\nto a communication of their abundances with men according to their\nnecessities, then they are gods. No man is well that understands not,\nthat values not his being well; that hath not a cheerfulness and a joy\nin it; and whosoever hath this joy hath a desire to communicate, to\npropagate that which occasions his happiness and his joy to others; for\nevery man loves witnesses of his happiness, and the best witnesses are\nexperimental witnesses; they who have tasted of that in themselves which\nmakes us happy. It consummates therefore, it perfects the happiness of\nkings, to confer, to transfer, honour and riches, and (as they can)\nhealth, upon those that need them.\n\n\nVIII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, I have a warning from the wise man, that _when a rich\nman speaketh every man holdeth his tongue, and, look, what he saith,\nthey extol it to the clouds; but if a poor man speak, they say, What\nfellow is this? And if he stumble, they will help to overthrow\nhim._[122] Therefore may my words be undervalued and my errors\naggravated, if I offer to speak of kings; but not by thee, O my God,\nbecause I speak of them as they are in thee, and of thee as thou art in\nthem. Certainly those men prepare a way of speaking negligently or\nirreverently of thee, that give themselves that liberty in speaking of\nthy vicegerents, kings; for thou who gavest Augustus the empire, gavest\nit to Nero too; and as Vespasian had it from thee, so had Julian. Though\nkings deface in themselves thy first image in their own soul, thou\ngivest no man leave to deface thy second image, imprinted indelibly in\ntheir power. But thou knowest, O God, that if I should be slack in\ncelebrating thy mercies to me exhibited by that royal instrument, my\nsovereign, to many other faults that touch upon allegiance I should add\nthe worst of all, ingratitude, which constitutes an ill man; and faults\nwhich are defects in any particular function are not so great as those\nthat destroy our humanity. It is not so ill to be an ill subject as to\nbe an ill man; for he hath an universal illness, ready to flow and pour\nout itself into any mould, any form, and to spend itself in any\nfunction. As therefore thy Son did upon the coin, I look upon the king,\nand I ask whose image and whose inscription he hath, and he hath thine;\nand I give unto thee that which is thine; I recommend his happiness to\nthee in all my sacrifices of thanks, for that which he enjoys, and in\nall my prayers for the continuance and enlargement of them. But let me\nstop, my God, and consider; will not this look like a piece of art and\ncunning, to convey into the world an opinion that I were more particular\nin his care than other men? and that herein, in a show of humility and\nthankfulness, I magnify myself more than there is cause? But let not\nthat jealousy stop me, O God, but let me go forward in celebrating thy\nmercy exhibited by him. This which he doth now, in assisting so my\nbodily health, I know is common to me with many: many, many have tasted\nof that expression of his graciousness. Where he can give health by his\nown hands he doth, and to more than any of his predecessors have done:\ntherefore hath God reserved one disease for him, that he only might cure\nit, though perchance not only by one title and interest, nor only as one\nking. To those that need it not, in that kind, and so cannot have it by\nhis own hand, he sends a donative of health in sending his physician.\nThe holy king St. Louis, in France, and our Maud, is celebrated for\nthat, that personally they visited hospitals, and assisted in the cure\neven of loathsome diseases. And when that religious Empress Placilla,\nthe wife of Theodosius, was told that she diminished herself too much in\nthose personal assistances and might do enough in sending relief, she\nsaid she would send in that capacity as a Christian, as a fellow-member\nof the body of thy Son, with them. So thy servant David applies himself\nto his people, so he incorporates himself in his people, by calling them\nhis brethren, his bones, his flesh;[123] and when they fell under thy\nhand, even to the pretermitting of himself, he presses upon thee by\nprayer for them; _I have sinned, but these sheep, what have they done?\nLet thine hand, I pray thee, be against me and against my father's\nhouse_.[124] It is kingly to give; when Araunah gave that great and free\npresent to David, that place, those instruments for sacrifice, and the\nsacrifices themselves, it is said there by thy Spirit, _All these things\ndid Araunah give, as a king, to the king_.[125] To give is an\napproaching to the condition of kings, but to give health, an\napproaching to the King of kings, to thee. But this his assisting to my\nbodily health, thou knowest, O God, and so do some others of thine\nhonourable servants know, is but the twilight of that day wherein thou,\nthrough him, hast shined upon me before; but the echo of that voice,\nwhereby thou, through him, hast spoke to me before, then when he, first\nof any man, conceived a hope that I might be of some use in thy church\nand descended to an intimation, to a persuasion, almost to a\nsolicitation, that I would embrace that calling. And thou who hadst put\nthat desire into his heart, didst also put into mine an obedience to it;\nand I, who was sick before of a vertiginous giddiness and irresolution,\nand almost spent all my time in consulting how I should spend it, was by\nthis man of God, and God of men, put into the pool and recovered: when I\nasked, perchance, a stone, he gave me bread; when I asked, perchance, a\nscorpion, he gave me a fish; when I asked a temporal office, he denied\nnot, refused not that; but let me see that he had rather I took this.\nThese things thou, O God, who forgettest nothing, hast not forgot,\nthough perchance he, because they were benefits, hath; but I am not only\na witness, but an instance, that our Jehoshaphat hath a care to ordain\npriests, as well as judges:[126] and not only to send physicians for\ntemporal but to be the physician for spiritual health.\n\n\nVIII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who, though thou have reserved thy\ntreasure of perfect joy and perfect glory to be given by thine own hands\nthen, when, by seeing thee as thou art in thyself, and knowing thee as\nwe are known, we shall possess in an instant, and possess for ever, all\nthat can any way conduce to our happiness, yet here also, in this world,\ngivest us such earnests of that full payment, as by the value of the\nearnest we may give some estimate of the treasure, humbly and thankfully\nI acknowledge, that thy blessed Spirit instructs me to make a difference\nof thy blessings in this world, by that difference of the instruments by\nwhich it hath pleased thee to derive them unto me. As we see thee here\nin a glass, so we receive from thee here by reflection and by\ninstruments. Even casual things come from thee; and that which we call\nfortune here hath another name above. Nature reaches out her hand and\ngives us corn, and wine, and oil, and milk; but thou fillest her hand\nbefore, and thou openest her hand that she may rain down her showers\nupon us. Industry reaches out her hand to us and gives us fruits of our\nlabour for ourselves and our posterity; but thy hand guides that hand\nwhen it sows and when it waters, and the increase is from thee. Friends\nreach out their hands and prefer us; but thy hand supports that hand\nthat supports us. Of all these thy instruments have I received thy\nblessing, O God; but bless thy name most for the greatest; that, as a\nmember of the public, and as a partaker of private favours too, by thy\nright hand, thy powerful hand set over us, I have had my portion not\nonly in the hearing, but in the preaching of thy Gospel. Humbly\nbeseeching thee, that as thou continuest thy wonted goodness upon the\nwhole world by the wonted means and instruments, the same sun and moon,\nthe same nature and industry, so to continue the same blessings upon\nthis state and this church by the same hand, so long as that thy Son,\nwhen he comes in the clouds, may find him, or his son, or his son's sons\nready to give an account and able to stand in that judgment, for their\nfaithful stewardship and dispensation of thy talents so abundantly\ncommitted to them; and be to him, O God, in all distempers of his body,\nin all anxieties of spirit, in all holy sadnesses of soul, such a\nphysician in thy proportion, who are the greatest in heaven, as he hath\nbeen in soul and body to me, in his proportion, who is the greatest upon\nearth.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[122] Ecclus. xiii. 23.\n\n[123] 2 Sam. xix. 12.\n\n[124] 2 Sam. xxiv. 17.\n\n[125] 2 Sam. xxiv. 22, 23.\n\n[126] 2 Chron. xix. 8.\n\n\n\n\nIX. MEDICAMINA SCRIBUNT.\n\n_Upon their consultation they prescribe._\n\n\nIX. MEDITATION.\n\nThey have seen me and heard me, arraigned me in these fetters and\nreceived the evidence; I have cut up mine own anatomy, dissected myself,\nand they are gone to read upon me. O how manifold and perplexed a thing,\nnay, how wanton and various a thing, is ruin and destruction! God\npresented to David three kinds, war, famine and pestilence; Satan left\nout these, and brought in fires from heaven and winds from the\nwilderness. If there were no ruin but sickness, we see the masters of\nthat art can scarce number, not name all sicknesses; every thing that\ndisorders a faculty, and the function of that, is a sickness; the names\nwill not serve them which are given from the place affected, the\npleurisy is so; nor from the effect which it works, the falling sickness\nis so; they cannot have names enough, from what it does, nor where it\nis, but they must extort names from what it is like, what it resembles,\nand but in some one thing, or else they would lack names; for the wolf,\nand the canker, and the polypus are so; and that question whether there\nbe more names or things, is as perplexed in sicknesses as in any thing\nelse; except it be easily resolved upon that side that there are more\nsicknesses than names. If ruin were reduced to that one way, that man\ncould perish no way but by sickness, yet his danger were infinite; and\nif sickness were reduced to that one way, that there were no sickness\nbut a fever, yet the way were infinite still; for it would overload and\noppress any natural, disorder and discompose any artificial, memory, to\ndeliver the names of several fevers; how intricate a work then have they\nwho are gone to consult which of these sicknesses mine is, and then\nwhich of these fevers, and then what it would do, and then how it may be\ncountermined. But even in ill it is a degree of good when the evil will\nadmit consultation. In many diseases, that which is but an accident, but\na symptom of the main disease, is so violent, that the physician must\nattend the cure of that, though he pretermit (so far as to intermit) the\ncure of the disease itself. Is it not so in states too? Sometimes the\ninsolency of those that are great puts the people into commotions; the\ngreat disease, and the greatest danger to the head, is the insolency of\nthe great ones; and yet they execute martial law, they come to present\nexecutions upon the people, whose commotion was indeed but a symptom,\nbut an accident of the main disease; but this symptom, grown so violent,\nwould allow no time for a consultation. Is it not so in the accidents of\nthe diseases of our mind too? Is it not evidently so in our affections,\nin our passions? If a choleric man be ready to strike, must I go about\nto purge his choler, or to break the blow? But where there is room for\nconsultation things are not desperate. They consult, so there is nothing\nrashly, inconsiderately done; and then they prescribe, they write, so\nthere is nothing covertly, disguisedly, unavowedly done. In bodily\ndiseases it is not always so; sometimes, as soon as the physician's foot\nis in the chamber, his knife is in the patient's arm; the disease would\nnot allow a minute's forbearing of blood, nor prescribing of other\nremedies. In states and matter of government it is so too; they are\nsometimes surprised with such accidents, as that the magistrate asks not\nwhat may be done by law, but does that which must necessarily be done in\nthat case. But it is a degree of good in evil, a degree that carries\nhope and comfort in it, when we may have recourse to that which is\nwritten, and that the proceedings may be apert, and ingenuous, and\ncandid, and avowable, for that gives satisfaction and acquiescence. They\nwho have received my anatomy of myself consult, and end their\nconsultation in prescribing, and in prescribing physic; proper and\nconvenient remedy; for if they should come in again and chide me for\nsome disorder that had occasioned and induced, or that had hastened and\nexalted this sickness, or if they should begin to write now rules for my\ndiet and exercise when I were well, this were to antedate or to postdate\ntheir consultation, not to give physic. It were rather a vexation than a\nrelief, to tell a condemned prisoner, You might have lived if you had\ndone this; and if you can get your pardon, you shall do well to take\nthis or this course hereafter. I am glad they know (I have hid nothing\nfrom them), glad they consult (they hid nothing from one another), glad\nthey write (they hide nothing from the world), glad that they write and\nprescribe physic, that there are remedies for the present case.\n\n\nIX. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, allow me a just indignation, a holy detestation of the\ninsolency of that man who, because he was of that high rank, of whom\nthou hast said, _They are gods_, thought himself more than equal to\nthee; that king of Aragon, Alphonsus, so perfect in the motions of the\nheavenly bodies as that he adventured to say, that if he had been of\ncounsel with thee, in the making of the heavens, the heavens should have\nbeen disposed in a better order than they are. The king Amaziah would\nnot endure thy prophet to reprehend him, but asked him in anger, _Art\nthou made of the king's counsel?_[127] When thy prophet Esaias asks that\nquestion, _Who hath directed the spirit of the Lord, or being his\ncounsellor, hath taught him?_[128] it is after he had settled and\ndetermined that office upon thy Son, and him only, when he joins with\nthose great titles, the mighty God and the Prince of peace, this also,\nthe Counsellor;[129] and after he had settled upon him the spirit of\nmight and of counsel.[130] So that then thou, O God, though thou have no\ncounsel from man, yet dost nothing upon man without counsel. In the\nmaking of man there was a consultation; _Let us make man_.[131] In the\npreserving of man, _O thou great Preserver of men_,[132] thou proceedest\nby counsel; for all thy external works are the works of the whole\nTrinity, and their hand is to every action. How much more must I\napprehend that all you blessed and glorious persons of the Trinity are\nin consultation now, what you will do with this infirm body, with this\nleprous soul, that attends guiltily, but yet comfortably, your\ndetermination upon it. I offer not to counsel them who meet in\nconsultation for my body now, but I open my infirmities, I anatomize my\nbody to them. So I do my soul to thee, O my God, in an humble\nconfession, that there is no vein in me that is not full of the blood of\nthy Son, whom I have crucified and crucified again, by multiplying many,\nand often repeating the same, sins; that there is no artery in me that\nhath not the spirit of error, the spirit of lust, the spirit of\ngiddiness in it;[133] no bone in me that is not hardened with the custom\nof sin and nourished and suppled with the marrow of sin; no sinews, no\nligaments, that do not tie and chain sin and sin together. Yet, O\nblessed and glorious Trinity, O holy and whole college, and yet but one\nphysician, if you take this confession into a consultation, my case is\nnot desperate, my destruction is not decreed. If your consultation\ndetermine in writing, if you refer me to that which is written, you\nintend my recovery: for all the way, O my God (ever constant to thine\nown ways), thou hast proceeded openly, intelligibly, manifestly by the\nbook. From thy first book, the book of life, never shut to thee, but\nnever thoroughly open to us; from thy second book, the book of nature,\nwhere, though subobscurely and in shadows, thou hast expressed thine own\nimage; from thy third book, the Scriptures, where thou hadst written all\nin the Old, and then lightedst us a candle to read it by, in the New,\nTestament; to these thou hadst added the book of just and useful laws,\nestablished by them to whom thou hast committed thy people; to those,\nthe manuals, the pocket, the bosom books of our own consciences; to\nthose thy particular books of all our particular sins; and to those, the\nbooks with seven seals, which only _the Lamb which was slain, was found\nworthy to open_;[134] which, I hope, it shall not disagree with the\nmeaning of thy blessed Spirit to interpret the promulgation of their\npardon and righteousness who are washed in the blood of that Lamb; and\nif thou refer me to these books, to a new reading, a new trial by these\nbooks, this fever may be but a burning in the hand and I may be saved,\nthough not by my book, mine own conscience, nor by thy other books, yet\nby thy first, the book of life, thy decree for my election, and by thy\nlast, the book of the Lamb, and the shedding of his blood upon me. If I\nbe still under consultation, I am not condemned yet; if I be sent to\nthese books, I shall not be condemned at all; for though there be\nsomething written in some of those books (particularly in the\nScriptures) which some men turn to poison, yet upon these consultations\n(these confessions, these takings of our particular cases into thy\nconsideration) thou intendest all for physic; and even from those\nsentences from which a too late repenter will suck desperation, he that\nseeks thee early shall receive thy morning dew, thy seasonable mercy,\nthy forward consolation.\n\n\nIX. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who art of so pure eyes as that thou\ncanst not look upon sin, and we of so unpure constitutions as that we\ncan present no object but sin, and therefore might justly fear that\nthou wouldst turn thine eyes for ever from us, as, though we cannot\nendure afflictions in ourselves, yet in thee we can; so, though thou\ncanst not endure sin in us, yet in thy Son thou canst, and he hath taken\nupon himself, and presented to thee, all those sins which might\ndisplease thee in us. There is an eye in nature that kills as soon as it\nsees, the eye of a serpent; no eye in nature that nourishes us by\nlooking upon us; but thine eye, O Lord, does so. Look therefore upon me,\nO Lord, in this distress and that will recall me from the borders of\nthis bodily death; look upon me, and that will raise me again from that\nspiritual death in which my parents buried me when they begot me in sin,\nand in which I have pierced even to the jaws of hell by multiplying such\nheaps of actual sins upon that foundation, that root of original sin.\nYet take me again into your consultation, O blessed and glorious\nTrinity; and though the Father know that I have defaced his image\nreceived in my creation; though the Son know I have neglected mine\ninterest in the redemption; yet, O blessed Spirit, as thou art to my\nconscience so be to them, a witness that, at this minute, I accept that\nwhich I have so often, so rebelliously refused, thy blessed\ninspirations; be thou my witness to them that, at more pores than this\nslack body sweats tears, this sad soul weeps blood; and more for the\ndispleasure of my God, than for the stripes of his displeasure. Take me,\nthen, O blessed and glorious Trinity, into a reconsultation, and\nprescribe me any physic. If it be a long and painful holding of this\nsoul in sickness, it is physic if I may discern thy hand to give it; and\nit is physic if it be a speedy departing of this soul, if I may discern\nthy hand to receive it.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[127] 2 Chron. xxv. 16.\n\n[128] Isaiah, xlii. 13.\n\n[129] Isaiah, ix. 6.\n\n[130] Isaiah, xi. 2.\n\n[131] Gen. i. 26.\n\n[132] Job, vii. 20.\n\n[133] 1 Tim. iv. 1; Hos. iv. 12; Isaiah, xix. 14.\n\n[134] Rev. vii. 1.\n\n\n\n\nX. LENTE ET SERPENTI SATAGUNT OCCURRERE MORBO.\n\n_They find the disease to steal on insensibly, and endeavour to meet\nwith it so._\n\n\nX. MEDITATION.\n\nThis is nature's nest of boxes: the heavens contain the earth; the\nearth, cities; cities, men. And all these are concentric; the common\ncentre to them all is decay, ruin; only that is eccentric which was\nnever made; only that place, or garment rather, which we can imagine but\nnot demonstrate. That light, which is the very emanation of the light of\nGod, in which the saints shall dwell, with which the saints shall be\napparelled, only that bends not to this centre, to ruin; that which was\nnot made of nothing is not threatened with this annihilation. All other\nthings are; even angels, even our souls; they move upon the same poles,\nthey bend to the same centre; and if they were not made immortal by\npreservation, their nature could not keep them from sinking to this\ncentre, annihilation. In all these (the frame of the heavens, the states\nupon earth, and men in them, comprehend all), those are the greatest\nmischiefs which are least discerned; the most insensible in their ways\ncome to be the most sensible in their ends. The heavens have had their\ndropsy, they drowned the world; and they shall have their fever, and\nburn the world. Of the dropsy, the flood, the world had a foreknowledge\none hundred and twenty years before it came; and so some made provision\nagainst it, and were saved; the fever shall break out in an instant and\nconsume all; the dropsy did no harm to the heavens from whence it fell,\nit did not put out those lights, it did not quench those heats; but the\nfever, the fire, shall burn the furnace itself, annihilate those\nheavens that breathe it out. Though the dogstar have a pestilent breath,\nan infectious exhalation, yet, because we know when it will rise, we\nclothe ourselves, and we diet ourselves, and we shadow ourselves to a\nsufficient prevention; but comets and blazing stars, whose effects or\nsignifications no man can interrupt or frustrate, no man foresaw: no\nalmanack tells us when a blazing star will break out, the matter is\ncarried up in secret; no astrologer tells us when the effects will be\naccomplished, for that is a secret of a higher sphere than the other;\nand that which is most secret is most dangerous. It is so also here in\nthe societies of men, in states and commonwealths. Twenty rebellious\ndrums make not so dangerous a noise as a few whisperers and secret\nplotters in corners. The cannon doth not so much hurt against a wall, as\na mine under the wall; nor a thousand enemies that threaten, so much as\na few that take an oath to say nothing. God knew many heavy sins of the\npeople, in the wilderness and after, but still he charges them with that\none, with murmuring, murmuring in their hearts, secret disobediences,\nsecret repugnances against his declared will; and these are the most\ndeadly, the most pernicious. And it is so too with the diseases of the\nbody; and that is my case. The pulse, the urine, the sweat, all have\nsworn to say nothing, to give no indication of any dangerous sickness.\nMy forces are not enfeebled, I find no decay in my strength; my\nprovisions are not cut off, I find no abhorring in mine appetite; my\ncounsels are not corrupted nor infatuated, I find no false apprehensions\nto work upon mine understanding; and yet they see that invisibly, and I\nfeel that insensibly, the disease prevails. The disease hath established\na kingdom, an empire in me, and will have certain _arcana imperii_,\nsecrets of state, by which it will proceed and not be bound to declare\nthem. But yet against those secret conspiracies in the state, the\nmagistrate hath the rack; and against these insensible diseases\nphysicians have their examiners; and those these employ now.\n\n\nX. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, I have been told, and told by relation, by her own\nbrother that did it, by thy servant Nazianzen, that his sister in the\nvehemency of her prayer, did use to threaten thee with a holy\nimportunity, with a pious impudency. I dare not do so, O God; but as thy\nservant Augustine wished that Adam had not sinned, therefore that Christ\nmight not have died, may I not to this one purpose wish that if the\nserpent, before the temptation of Eve, did go upright and speak,[135]\nthat he did so still, because I should the sooner hear him if he spoke,\nthe sooner see him if he went upright? In his curse I am cursed too; his\ncreeping undoes me; for howsoever he begin at the heel, and do but\nbruise that, yet he, and _death_ in him, _is come into our\nwindows_;[136] into our eyes and ears, the entrances and inlets of our\nsoul. He works upon us in secret and we do not discern him; and one\ngreat work of his upon us is to make us so like himself as to sin in\nsecret, that others may not see us; but his masterpiece is to make us\nsin in secret, so as that we may not see ourselves sin. For the first,\nthe hiding of our sins from other men, he hath induced that which was\nhis offspring from the beginning, a lie;[137] for man is, in nature, yet\nin possession of some such sparks of ingenuity and nobleness, as that,\nbut to disguise evil, he would not lie. The body, the sin, is the\nserpent's; and the garment that covers it, the lie, is his too. These\nare his, but the hiding of sin from ourselves is he himself: when we\nhave the sting of the serpent in us, and do not sting ourselves, the\nvenom of sin, and no remorse for sin, then, as thy blessed Son said of\nJudas, _He is a devil_;[138] not that he had one, but was one; so we are\nbecome devils to ourselves, and we have not only a serpent in our bosom,\nbut we ourselves are to ourselves that serpent. How far did thy servant\nDavid press upon thy pardon in that petition, _Cleanse thou me from\nsecret sins_?[139] Can any sin be secret? for a great part of our sins,\nthough, says thy prophet, we conceive them in the dark, upon our bed,\nyet, says he, we do them in the light; there are many sins which we\nglory in doing, and would not do if nobody should know them. Thy blessed\nservant Augustine confesses that he was ashamed of his shamefacedness\nand tenderness of conscience, and that he often belied himself with sins\nwhich he never did, lest he should be unacceptable to his sinful\ncompanions. But if we would conceal them (thy prophet found such a\ndesire, and such a practice in some, when he said, _Thou hast trusted in\nthy wickedness, and thou hast said, None shall see me_[140]), yet can we\nconceal them? Thou, O God, canst hear of them by others: the voice of\nAbel's blood will tell thee of Cain's murder;[141] the heavens\nthemselves will tell thee. Heaven shall reveal his iniquity; a small\ncreature alone shall do it, _A bird of the air shall carry the voice,\nand tell the matter_;[142] thou wilt trouble no informer, thou thyself\nrevealedst Adam's sin to thyself;[143] and the manifestation of sin is\nso full to thee, as that thou shalt reveal all to all; _Thou shalt\nbring every work to judgment, with every secret thing;[144] and there\nis nothing covered that shall not be revealed_.[145] But, O my God,\nthere is another way of knowing my sins, which thou lovest better than\nany of these; to know them by my confession. As physic works, so it\ndraws the peccant humour to itself, that, when it is gathered together,\nthe weight of itself may carry that humour away; so thy Spirit returns\nto my memory my former sins, that, being so recollected, they may pour\nout themselves by confession. _When I kept silence_, says thy servant\nDavid, _day and night thy hand was heavy upon me_; but when I said, _I\nwill confess my transgressions unto the Lord, thou forgavest the\niniquity of my sin_.[146] Thou interpretest the very purpose of\nconfession so well, as that thou scarce leavest any new mercy for the\naction itself. This mercy thou leavest, that thou armest us thereupon\nagainst relapses into the sins which we have confessed. And that mercy\nwhich thy servant Augustine apprehends when he says to thee, \"Thou hast\nforgiven me those sins which I have done, and those sins which only by\nthy grace I have not done\": they were done in our inclination to them,\nand even that inclination needs thy mercy, and that mercy he calls a\npardon. And these are most truly secret sins, because they were never\ndone, and because no other man, nor I myself, but only thou knowest, how\nmany and how great sins I have escaped by thy grace, which, without\nthat, I should have multiplied against thee.\n\n\nX. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who as thy Son Christ Jesus, though he\nknew all things, yet said he knew not the day of judgment, because he\nknew it not so as that he might tell us; so though thou knowest all my\nsins, yet thou knowest them not to my comfort, except thou know them by\nmy telling them to thee. How shall I bring to thy knowledge, by that\nway, those sins which I myself know not? If I accuse myself of original\nsin, wilt thou ask me if I know what original sin is? I know not enough\nof it to satisfy others, but I know enough to condemn myself, and to\nsolicit thee. If I confess to thee the sins of my youth, wilt thou ask\nme if I know what those sins were? I know them not so well as to name\nthem all, nor am sure to live hours enough to name them all (for I did\nthem then faster than I can speak them now, when every thing that I did\nconduced to some sin), but I know them so well as to know that nothing\nbut thy mercy is so infinite as they. If the naming of sins of thought,\nword and deed, of sins of omission and of action, of sins against thee,\nagainst my neighbour and against myself, of sins unrepented and sins\nrelapsed into after repentance, of sins of ignorance and sins against\nthe testimony of my conscience, of sins against thy commandments, sins\nagainst thy Son's Prayer, and sins against our own creed, of sins\nagainst the laws of that church, and sins against the laws of that state\nin which thou hast given me my station; if the naming of these sins\nreach not home to all mine, I know what will. O Lord, pardon me, me, all\nthose sins which thy Son Christ Jesus suffered for, who suffered for all\nthe sins of all the world; for there is no sin amongst all those which\nhad not been my sin, if thou hadst not been my God, and antedated me a\npardon in thy preventing grace. And since sin, in the nature of it,\nretains still so much of the author of it that it is a serpent,\ninsensibly insinuating itself into my soul, let thy brazen serpent (the\ncontemplation of thy Son crucified for me) be evermore present to me,\nfor my recovery against the sting of the first serpent; that so, as I\nhave a Lion against a lion, the Lion of the tribe of Judah against that\nlion that seeks whom he may devour, so I may have a serpent against a\nserpent, the wisdom of the serpent against the malice of the serpent,\nand both against that lion and serpent, forcible and subtle temptations,\nthy dove with thy olive in thy ark, humility and peace and\nreconciliation to thee, by the ordinances of thy church. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[135] Josephus.\n\n[136] Jer. ix. 21.\n\n[137] John, viii. 44.\n\n[138] John, vi. 70.\n\n[139] Psalm xix. 12.\n\n[140] Isaiah, xlvii. 10.\n\n[141] Gen. iv. 10.\n\n[142] Eccles. x. 20.\n\n[143] Gen. iii. 8.\n\n[144] Eccles. xii. 14.\n\n[145] Matt. x. 26.\n\n[146] Psalm xxxii. 3-5.\n\n\n\n\nXI. NOBILIBUSQUE TRAHUNT, A CINCTO CORDE, VENENUM, SUCCIS ET GEMMIS, ET\nQU\u00c6 GENEROSA, MINISTRANT ARS, ET NATURA, INSTILLANT.\n\n_They use cordials, to keep the venom and malignity of the disease from\nthe heart._\n\n\nXI. MEDITATION.\n\nWhence can we take a better argument, a clearer demonstration, that all\nthe greatness of this world is built upon opinion of others and hath in\nitself no real being, nor power of subsistence, than from the heart of\nman? It is always in action and motion, still busy, still pretending to\ndo all, to furnish all the powers and faculties with all that they have;\nbut if an enemy dare rise up against it, it is the soonest endangered,\nthe soonest defeated of any part. The brain will hold out longer than\nit, and the liver longer than that; they will endure a siege; but an\nunnatural heat, a rebellious heat, will blow up the heart, like a mine,\nin a minute. But howsoever, since the heart hath the birthright and\nprimogeniture, and that it is nature's eldest son in us, the part which\nis first born to life in man, and that the other parts, as younger\nbrethren, and servants in his family, have a dependance upon it, it is\nreason that the principal care be had of it, though it be not the\nstrongest part, as the eldest is oftentimes not the strongest of the\nfamily. And since the brain, and liver, and heart hold not a triumvirate\nin man, a sovereignty equally shed upon them all, for his well-being, as\nthe four elements do for his very being, but the heart alone is in the\nprincipality, and in the throne, as king, the rest as subjects, though\nin eminent place and office, must contribute to that, as children to\ntheir parents, as all persons to all kinds of superiors, though\noftentimes those parents or those superiors be not of stronger parts\nthan themselves, that serve and obey them that are weaker. Neither doth\nthis obligation fall upon us, by second dictates of nature, by\nconsequences and conclusions arising out of nature, or derived from\nnature by discourse (as many things bind us even by the law of nature,\nand yet not by the primary law of nature; as all laws of propriety in\nthat which we possess are of the law of nature, which law is, to give\nevery one his own, and yet in the primary law of nature there was no\npropriety, no _meum et tuum_, but an universal community overall; so the\nobedience of superiors is of the law of nature, and yet in the primary\nlaw of nature there was no superiority, no magistracy); but this\ncontribution of assistance of all to the sovereign, of all parts to the\nheart, is from the very first dictates of nature, which is, in the first\nplace, to have care of our own preservation, to look first to\nourselves; for therefore doth the physician intermit the present care of\nbrain or liver, because there is a possibility that they may subsist,\nthough there be not a present and a particular care had of them, but\nthere is no possibility that they can subsist, if the heart perish: and\nso, when we seem to begin with others, in such assistances, indeed, we\ndo begin with ourselves, and we ourselves are principally in our\ncontemplation; and so all these officious and mutual assistances are but\ncompliments towards others, and our true end is ourselves. And this is\nthe reward of the pains of kings; sometimes they need the power of law\nto be obeyed; and when they seem to be obeyed voluntarily, they who do\nit do it for their own sakes. O how little a thing is all the greatness\nof man and through how false glasses doth he make shift to multiply it,\nand magnify it to himself! And yet this is also another misery of this\nking of man, the heart, which is also applicable to the kings of this\nworld, great men, that the venom and poison of every pestilential\ndisease directs itself to the heart, affects that (pernicious\naffection), and the malignity of ill men is also directed upon the\ngreatest and the best; and not only greatness but goodness loses the\nvigour of being an antidote or cordial against it. And as the noblest\nand most generous cordials that nature or art afford, or can prepare, if\nthey be often taken and made familiar, become no cordials, nor have any\nextraordinary operation, so the greatest cordial of the heart, patience,\nif it be much exercised, exalts the venom and the malignity of the\nenemy, and the more we suffer the more we are insulted upon. When God\nhad made this earth of nothing, it was but a little help that he had, to\nmake other things of this earth: nothing can be nearer nothing than this\nearth; and yet how little of this earth is the greatest man! He thinks\nhe treads upon the earth, that all is under his feet, and the brain\nthat thinks so is but earth; his highest region, the flesh that covers\nthat, is but earth, and even the top of that, that wherein so many\nAbsaloms take so much pride, is but a bush growing upon that turf of\nearth. How little of the world is the earth! And yet that is all that\nman hath or is. How little of a man is the heart, and yet it is all by\nwhich he is; and this continually subject not only to foreign poisons\nconveyed by others, but to intestine poisons bred in ourselves by\npestilential sicknesses. O who, if before he had a being he could have\nsense of this misery, would buy a being here upon these conditions?\n\n\nXI. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, all that thou askest of me is my heart, _My Son, give me\nthy heart_.[147] Am I thy Son as long as I have but my heart? Wilt thou\ngive me an inheritance, a filiation, any thing for my heart? O thou, who\nsaidst to Satan, _Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is\nnone like him upon the earth_,[148] shall my fear, shall my zeal, shall\nmy jealousy, have leave to say to thee, Hast thou considered my heart,\nthat there is not so perverse a heart upon earth; and wouldst thou have\nthat, and shall I be thy son, thy eternal Son's coheir, for giving that?\n_The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who\ncan know it?_[149] He that asks that question makes the answer, I the\nLord search the heart. When didst thou search mine? Dost thou think to\nfind it, as thou madest it, in Adam? Thou hast searched since, and found\nall these gradations in the ill of our hearts, _that every imagination\nof the thoughts of our hearts is only evil continually_.[150] Dost thou\nremember this, and wouldst thou have my heart? O God of all light, I\nknow thou knowest all, and it is thou[151] that declarest unto man what\nis his heart. Without thee, O sovereign Goodness, I could not know how\nill my heart were. Thou hast declared unto me, in thy word, that for all\nthis deluge of evil that hath surrounded all hearts, yet thou soughtest\nand foundest a man after thine own heart;[152] that thou couldst and\nwouldst give thy people pastors according to thine own heart;[153] and I\ncan gather out of thy word so good testimony of the hearts of men as to\nfind single hearts, docile and apprehensive hearts; hearts that can,\nhearts that have learned; wise hearts in one place, and in another in a\ngreat degree wise, perfect hearts; straight hearts, no perverseness\nwithout; and clean hearts, no foulness within: such hearts I can find in\nthy word; and if my heart were such a heart, I would give thee my heart.\nBut I find stony hearts too,[154] and I have made mine such: I have\nfound hearts that are snares;[155] and I have conversed with such;\nhearts that burn like ovens;[156] and the fuel of lust, and envy, and\nambition, hath inflamed mine; hearts in which their masters trust, and\n_he that trusteth in his own heart is a fool_;[157] his confidence in\nhis own moral constancy and civil fortitude will betray him, when thou\nshalt cast a spiritual damp, a heaviness and dejection of spirit upon\nhim. I have found these hearts, and a worse than these, a heart into the\nwhich the devil himself is entered, Judas's heart.[158] The first kind\nof heart, alas, my God, I have not; the last are not hearts to be given\nto thee. What shall I do? Without that present I cannot be thy son, and\nI have it not. To those of the first kind thou givest joyfulness of\nheart,[159] and I have not that; to those of the other kind thou givest\nfaintness of heart;[160] and blessed be thou, O God, for that\nforbearance, I have not that yet. There is then a middle kind of hearts,\nnot so perfect as to be given but that the very giving mends them; not\nso desperate as not to be accepted but that the very accepting dignifies\nthem. This is a melting heart,[161] and a troubled heart, and a wounded\nheart, and a broken heart, and a contrite heart; and by the powerful\nworking of thy piercing Spirit such a heart I have. Thy Samuel spake\nunto all the house of thy Israel, and said, _If you return to the Lord\nwith all your hearts, prepare your hearts unto the Lord_.[162] If my\nheart be prepared, it is a returning heart. And if thou see it upon the\nway, thou wilt carry it home. Nay, the preparation is thine too; this\nmelting, this wounding, this breaking, this contrition, which I have\nnow, is thy way to thy end; and those discomforts are, for all that,\n_the earnest of thy Spirit in my heart_;[163] and where thou givest\nearnest, thou wilt perform the bargain. Nabal was confident upon his\nwine, but _in the morning his heart died within him_.[164] Thou, O Lord,\nhast given me wormwood, and I have had some diffidence upon that; and\nthou hast cleared a morning to me again, and my heart is alive. David's\nheart smote him when he cut off the skirt from Saul;[165] and his heart\nsmote him when he had numbered his people:[166] my heart hath struck me\nwhen I come to number my sins; but that blow is not to death, because\nthose sins are not to death, but my heart lives in thee. But yet as long\nas I remain in this great hospital, this sick, this diseaseful world, as\nlong as I remain in this leprous house, this flesh of mine, this heart,\nthough thus prepared for thee, prepared by thee, will still be subject\nto the invasion of malign and pestilent vapours. But I have my cordials\nin thy promise; _when I shall know the plague of my heart, and pray unto\nthee in thy house_,[167] thou wilt preserve that heart from all mortal\nforce of that infection; _and the peace of God, which passeth all\nunderstandings shall keep my heart and mind through Christ Jesus_.[168]\n\n\nXI. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who in thy upper house, the heavens,\nthough there be many mansions, yet art alike and equally in every\nmansion; but here in thy lower house, though thou fillest all, yet art\notherwise in some rooms thereof than in others; otherwise in thy church\nthan in my chamber, and otherwise in thy sacraments than in my prayers;\nso though thou be always present and always working in every room of\nthis thy house, my body, yet I humbly beseech thee to manifest always a\nmore effectual presence in my heart than in the other offices. Into the\nhouse of thine anointed, disloyal persons, traitors, will come; into thy\nhouse, the church, hypocrites and idolators will come; into some rooms\nof this thy house, my body, temptations will come, infections will come;\nbut be my heart thy bedchamber, O my God, and thither let them not\nenter. Job made a covenant with his eyes, but not his making of that\ncovenant, but thy dwelling in his heart, enabled him to keep that\ncovenant. Thy Son himself had a sadness in his soul to death, and he had\na reluctation, a deprecation of death, in the approaches thereof; but he\nhad his cordial too, _Yet not my will, but thine be done_. And as thou\nhast not delivered us, thine adopted sons, from these infectious\ntemptations, so neither hast thou delivered us over to them, nor\nwithheld thy cordials from us. I was baptized in thy cordial water\nagainst original sin, and I have drunk of thy cordial blood, for my\nrecovery from actual and habitual sin, in the other sacrament. Thou, O\nLord, who hast imprinted all medicinal virtues which are in all\ncreatures, and hast made even the flesh of vipers to assist in cordials,\nart able to make this present sickness, everlasting health, this\nweakness, everlasting strength, and this very dejection and faintness of\nheart, a powerful cordial. When thy blessed Son cried out to thee, _My\nGod, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?_ thou didst reach out thy hand\nto him; but not to deliver his sad soul, but to receive his holy soul:\nneither did he longer desire to hold it of thee, but to recommend it to\nthee. I see thine hand upon me now, O Lord, and I ask not why it comes,\nwhat it intends; whether thou wilt bid it stay still in this body for\nsome time, or bid it meet thee this day in paradise, I ask not, not in a\nwish, not in a thought. Infirmity of nature, curiosity of mind, are\ntemptations that offer; but a silent and absolute obedience to thy will,\neven before I know it, is my cordial. Preserve that to me, O my God, and\nthat will preserve me to thee; that, when thou hast catechised me with\naffliction here, I may take a greater degree, and serve thee in a higher\nplace, in thy kingdom of joy and glory. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[147] Prov. xxiii. 26.\n\n[148] Job, i. 8.\n\n[149] Jer. xvii. 9.\n\n[150] Gen. vi. 5.\n\n[151] Amos, iv. 13.\n\n[152] 1 Sam. xiii. 14.\n\n[153] Jer. iii. 15.\n\n[154] Ezek. xi. 19.\n\n[155] Eccles. vii. 26.\n\n[156] Hos. vii. 6.\n\n[157] Prov. xxviii. 26.\n\n[158] John, xiii. 2.\n\n[159] Ecclus. l. 23.\n\n[160] Lev. xxvi. 36.\n\n[161] Josh. ii. 11.\n\n[162] 1 Sam. vii. 3.\n\n[163] 2 Cor. i. 22.\n\n[164] 1 Sam. xxv. 37.\n\n[165] 1 Sam. xxiv. 5.\n\n[166] 2 Sam. xxiv. 10.\n\n[167] 1 Kings, viii. 38.\n\n[168] Phil. iv. 7.\n\n\n\n\n    XII. ------------------ Spirante columba\n    Supposita pedibus, revocantur ad ima vapores.\n\n_They apply pigeons, to draw the vapours from the head._\n\n\nXII. MEDITATION.\n\nWhat will not kill a man if a vapour will? How great an elephant, how\nsmall a mouse destroys! To die by a bullet is the soldier's daily bread;\nbut few men die by hail-shot. A man is more worth than to be sold for\nsingle money; a life to be valued above a trifle. If this were a violent\nshaking of the air by thunder or by cannon, in that case the air is\ncondensed above the thickness of water, of water baked into ice, almost\npetrified, almost made stone, and no wonder that kills; but that which\nis but a vapour, and a vapour not forced but breathed, should kill, that\nour nurse should overlay us, and air that nourishes us should destroy\nus, but that it is a half atheism to murmur against Nature, who is God's\nimmediate commissioner, who would not think himself miserable to be put\ninto the hands of Nature, who does not only set him up for a mark for\nothers to shoot at, but delights herself to blow him up like a glass,\ntill she see him break, even with her own breath? Nay, if this\ninfectious vapour were sought for, or travelled to, as Pliny hunted\nafter the vapour of \u00c6tna and dared and challenged Death in the form of a\nvapour to do his worst, and felt the worst, he died; or if this vapour\nwere met withal in an ambush, and we surprised with it, out of a long\nshut well, or out of a new opened mine, who would lament, who would\naccuse, when we had nothing to accuse, none to lament against but\nfortune, who is less than a vapour? But when ourselves are the well\nthat breathes out this exhalation, the oven that spits out this fiery\nsmoke, the mine that spews out this suffocating and strangling damp, who\ncan ever, after this, aggravate his sorrow by this circumstance, that it\nwas his neighbour, his familiar friend, his brother, that destroyed him,\nand destroyed him with a whispering and a calumniating breath, when we\nourselves do it to ourselves by the same means, kill ourselves with our\nown vapours? Or if these occasions of this self-destruction had any\ncontribution from our own wills, any assistance from our own intentions,\nnay, from our own errors, we might divide the rebuke, and chide\nourselves as much as them. Fevers upon wilful distempers of drink and\nsurfeits, consumptions upon intemperances and licentiousness, madness\nupon misplacing or overbending our natural faculties, proceed from\nourselves, and so as that ourselves are in the plot, and we are not only\npassive, but active too, to our own destruction. But what have I done,\neither to breed or to breathe these vapours? They tell me it is my\nmelancholy; did I infuse, did I drink in melancholy into myself? It is\nmy thoughtfulness; was I not made to think? It is my study; doth not my\ncalling call for that? I have done nothing wilfully, perversely toward\nit, yet must suffer in it, die by it. There are too many examples of men\nthat have been their own executioners, and that have made hard shift to\nbe so: some have always had poison about them, in a hollow ring upon\ntheir finger, and some in their pen that they used to write with; some\nhave beat out their brains at the wall of their prison, and some have\neat the fire out of their chimneys;[169] and one is said to have come\nnearer our case than so, to have strangled himself, though his hands\nwere bound, by crushing his throat between his knees. But I do nothing\nupon myself, and yet am mine own executioner. And we have heard of death\nupon small occasions and by scornful instruments: a pin, a comb, a hair\npulled, hath gangrened and killed; but when I have said a vapour, if I\nwere asked again what is a vapour, I could not tell, it is so insensible\na thing; so near nothing is that that reduces us to nothing. But extend\nthis vapour, rarefy it; from so narrow a room as our natural bodies, to\nany politic body, to a state. That which is fume in us is, in a state\nrumour; and these vapours in us, which we consider here pestilent and\ninfectious fumes, are, in a state, infecitious rumours, detracting and\ndishonourable calumnies, libels. The heart in that body is the king, and\nthe brain his council; and the whole magistracy, that ties all together,\nis the sinews which proceed from thence; and the life of all is honour,\nand just respect, and due reverence; and therefore, when these vapours,\nthese venomous rumours, are directed against these noble parts, the\nwhole body suffers. But yet for all their privileges, they are not\nprivileged from our misery; that as the vapours most pernicious to us\narise in our own bodies, so do the most dishonourable rumours, and those\nthat wound a state most arise at home. What ill air that I could have\nmet in the street, what channel, what shambles, what dunghill, what\nvault, could have hurt me so much as these homebred vapours? What\nfugitive, what almsman of any foreign state, can do so much harm as a\ndetractor, a libeller, a scornful jester at home? For as they that write\nof poisons, and of creatures naturally disposed to the ruin of man, do\nas well mention the flea as the viper[170], because the flea, though he\nkill none, he does all the harm he can; so even these libellous and\nlicentious jesters utter the venom they have, though sometimes virtue,\nand always power, be a good pigeon to draw this vapour from the head\nand from doing any deadly harm there.\n\n\nXII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, as thy servant James, when he asks that question, _What\nis your life?_ provides me my answer, _It is even a vapour, that\nappeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away_;[171] so, if he\ndid ask me what is your death, I am provided of my answer, it is a\nvapour too; and why should it not be all one to me, whether I live or\ndie, if life and death be all one, both a vapour? Thou hast made vapour\nso indifferent a thing as that thy blessings and thy judgments are\nequally expressed by it, and is made by thee the hieroglyphic of both.\nWhy should not that be always good by which thou hast declared thy\nplentiful goodness to us? _A vapour went up from the earth, and watered\nthe whole face of the ground._[172] And that by which thou hast imputed\na goodness to us, and wherein thou hast accepted our service to thee,\nsacrifices; for sacrifices were vapours;[173] and in them it is said,\nthat a _thick cloud of incense went up to thee_.[174] So it is of that\nwherein thou comest to us, the dew of heaven, and of that wherein we\ncome to thee, both are vapours; and he, in whom we have and are all that\nwe are or have, temporally or spiritually, thy blessed Son, in the\nperson of Wisdom, is called so too; _She is_ (that is, he is) _the\nvapour of the power of God, and the pure influence from the glory of the\nAlmighty._[175] Hast thou, thou, O my God, perfumed vapour with thine\nown breath, with so many sweet acceptations in thine own word, and shall\nthis vapour receive an ill and infectious sense? It must; for, since we\nhave displeased thee with that which is but vapour (for what is sin but\na vapour, but a smoke, though such a smoke as takes away our sight, and\ndisables us from seeing our danger), it is just that thou punish us with\nvapours too. For so thou dost, as the wise man tells us, thou canst\npunish us by those things wherein we offend thee; as he hath expressed\nit there, _by beasts newly created, breathing vapours_.[176] Therefore\nthat commination of thine, by thy prophet, _I will show wonders in the\nheaven, and in the earth, blood and fire, and pillars of smoke_;[177]\nthine apostle, who knew thy meaning best, calls _vapours of smoke_.[178]\nOne prophet presents thee in thy terribleness so, _There went out a\nsmoke at his nostrils_,[179] and another the effect of thine anger so,\n_The house was filled with smoke_;[180] and he that continues his\nprophecy as long as the world can continue, describes the miseries of\nthe latter times so, _Out of the bottomless pit arose a smoke, that\ndarkened the sun, and out of that smoke came locusts, who had the power\nof scorpions_.[181] Now all smokes begin in fire, and all these will end\nso too: the smoke of sin and of thy wrath will end in the fire of hell.\nBut hast thou afforded us no means to evaporate these smokes, to\nwithdraw these vapours? When thine angels fell from heaven, thou tookest\ninto thy care the reparation of that place, and didst it by assuming, by\ndrawing us thither; when we fell from thee here, in this world, thou\ntookest into thy care the reparation of this place too, and didst it by\nassuming us another way, by descending down to assume our nature, in thy\nSon. So that though our last act be an ascending to glory (we shall\nascend to the place of angels), yet our first act is to go the way of\nthy Son, descending, and the way of thy blessed Spirit too, who\ndescended in the dove. Therefore hast thou been pleased to afford us\nthis remedy in nature, by this application of a dove to our lower parts,\nto make these vapours in our bodies to descend, and to make that a type\nto us, that, by the visitation of thy Spirit, the vapours of sin shall\ndescend, and we tread them under our feet. At the baptism of thy Son,\nthe Dove descended, and at the exalting of thine apostles to preach, the\nsame Spirit descended. Let us draw down the vapours of our own pride,\nour own wits, our own wills, our own inventions, to the simplicity of\nthy sacraments and the obedience of thy word; and these doves, thus\napplied, shall make us live.\n\n\nXII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who, though thou have suffered us to\ndestroy ourselves, and hast not given us the power of reparation in\nourselves, hast yet afforded us such means of reparation as may easily\nand familiarly be compassed by us, prosper, I humbly beseech thee, this\nmeans of bodily assistance in this thy ordinary creature, and prosper\nthy means of spiritual assistance in thy holy ordinances. And as thou\nhast carried this thy creature, the dove, through all thy ways through\nnature, and made it naturally proper to conduce medicinally to our\nbodily health, through the law, and made it a sacrifice for sin there,\nand through the gospel, and made it, and thy Spirit in it, a witness of\nthy Son's baptism there, so carry it, and the qualities of it, home to\nmy soul, and imprint there that simplicity, that mildness, that\nharmlessness, which thou hast imprinted by nature in this creature. That\nso all vapours of all disobedience to thee, being subdued under my\nfeet, I may, in the power and triumph of thy Son, tread victoriously\nupon my grave, and trample upon the lion and dragon[182] that lie under\nit to devour me. Thou, O Lord, by the prophet, callest the dove the\n_dove of the valleys_, but promisest that the _dove of the valleys shall\nbe upon the mountain_.[183] As thou hast laid me low in this valley of\nsickness, so low as that I am made fit for that question asked in the\nfield of bones, _Son of man, can these bones live?_[184] so, in thy good\ntime, carry me up to these mountains of which even in this valley thou\naffordest me a prospect, the mountain where thou dwellest, the holy\nhill, unto which none can ascend _but he that hath clean hands_, which\nnone can have but by that one and that strong way of making them clean,\nin the blood of thy Son Christ Jesus. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[169] Coma, latro. in Val. Max.\n\n[170] Ardoinus.\n\n[171] James, iv. 14.\n\n[172] Gen. ii. 6.\n\n[173] Lev. xvi. 13.\n\n[174] Ezek. viii. 11.\n\n[175] Wisd. vii. 25.\n\n[176] Wisd. xi. 18.\n\n[177] Joel, ii. 30.\n\n[178] Acts, ii. 19.\n\n[179] Psalm xviii. 8.\n\n[180] Isaiah, vi. 4.\n\n[181] Rev. ix. 2.\n\n\n\n\nXIII. INGENIUMQUE MALUM, NUMEROSO STIGMATE, FASSUS PELLITUR AD PECTUS,\nMORBIQUE SUBURBIA, MORBUS.\n\n_The sickness declares the infection and malignity thereof by spots._\n\n\nXIII. MEDITATION.\n\nWe say that the world is made of sea and land, as though they were\nequal; but we know that there is more sea in the Western than in the\nEastern hemisphere. We say that the firmament is full of stars, as\nthough it were equally full; but we know that there are more stars under\nthe Northern than under the Southern pole. We say the elements of man\nare misery and happiness, as though he had an equal proportion of both,\nand the days of man vicissitudinary, as though he had as many good days\nas ill, and that he lived under a perpetual equinoctial, night and day\nequal, good and ill fortune in the same measure. But it is far from\nthat; he drinks misery, and he tastes happiness; he mows misery, and he\ngleans happiness; he journeys in misery, he does but walk in happiness;\nand, which is worst, his misery is positive and dogmatical, his\nhappiness is but disputable and problematical: all men call misery\nmisery, but happiness changes the name by the taste of man. In this\naccident that befalls me, now that this sickness declares itself by\nspots to be a malignant and pestilential disease, if there be a comfort\nin the declaration, that thereby the physicians see more clearly what to\ndo, there may be as much discomfort in this, that the malignity may be\nso great as that all that they can do shall do nothing; that an enemy\ndeclares himself then, when he is able to subsist, and to pursue, and to\nachieve his ends, is no great comfort. In intestine conspiracies,\nvoluntary confessions do more good than confessions upon the rack; in\nthese infections, when nature herself confesses and cries out by these\noutward declarations which she is able to put forth of herself, they\nminister comfort; but when all is by the strength of cordials, it is but\na confession upon the rack, by which, though we come to know the malice\nof that man, yet we do not know whether there be not as much malice in\nhis heart then as before his confession; we are sure of his treason, but\nnot of his repentance; sure of him, but not of his accomplices. It is a\nfaint comfort to know the worst when the worst is remediless, and a\nweaker than that to know much ill, and not to know that that is the\nworst. A woman is comforted with the birth of her son, her body is eased\nof a burden; but if she could prophetically read his history, how ill a\nman, perchance how ill a son, he would prove, she should receive a\ngreater burden into her mind. Scarce any purchase that is not clogged\nwith secret incumbrances; scarce any happiness that hath not in it so\nmuch of the nature of false and base money, as that the allay is more\nthan the metal. Nay, is it not so (at least much towards it) even in the\nexercise of virtues? I must be poor and want before I can exercise the\nvirtue of gratitude; miserable, and in torment, before I can exercise\nthe virtue of patience. How deep do we dig, and for how coarse gold! And\nwhat other touchstone have we of our gold but comparison, whether we be\nas happy as others, or as ourselves at other times? O poor step toward\nbeing well, when these spots do only tell us that we are worse than we\nwere sure of before.\n\n\nXIII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, thou hast made this sick bed thine altar, and I have no\nother sacrifice to offer but myself; and wilt thou accept no spotted\nsacrifice? Doth thy Son dwell bodily in this flesh that thou shouldst\nlook for an unspottedness here? or is the Holy Ghost the soul of this\nbody, as he is of thy spouse, who is therefore _all fair, and no spot in\nher_?[185] or hath thy Son himself no spots, who hath all our stains and\ndeformities in him? or hath thy spouse, thy church, no spots, when every\nparticular limb of that fair and spotless body, every particular soul in\nthat church, is full of stains and spots? Thou bidst us _hate the\ngarment that is spotted with the flesh_.[186] The flesh itself is the\ngarment, and it spotteth itself with itself. And _if I wash myself with\nsnow water, mine own clothes shall make me abominable_;[187] and yet _no\nman yet ever hated his own flesh_.[188] Lord, if thou look for a\nspotlessness, whom wilt thou look upon? Thy mercy may go a great way in\nmy soul and yet not leave me without spots; thy corrections may go far\nand burn deep, and yet not leave me spotless: thy children apprehended\nthat, when they said, _From our former iniquity we are not cleansed\nuntil this day, though there was a plague in the congregation of the\nLord_.[189] Thou rainest upon us, and yet dost not always mollify all\nour hardness; thou kindlest thy fires in us, and yet dost not always\nburn up all our dross; thou healest our wounds, and yet leavest scars;\nthou purgest the blood, and yet leavest spots. But the spots that thou\nhatest are the spots that we hide. The carvers of images cover\nspots,[190] says the wise man; when we hide our spots, we become\nidolators of our own stains, of our own foulnesses. But if my spots come\nforth, by what means soever, whether by the strength of nature, by\nvoluntary confession (for grace is the nature of a regenerate man, and\nthe power of grace is the strength of nature), or by the virtue of\ncordials (for even thy corrections are cordials), if they come forth\neither way, thou receivest that confession with a gracious\ninterpretation. When thy servant Jacob practised an invention to procure\nspots in his sheep,[191] thou didst prosper his rods; and thou dost\nprosper thine own rods, when corrections procure the discovery of our\nspots, the humble manifestation of our sins to thee; till then thou\nmayst justly say, _The whole need not the physician_;[192] till we tell\nthee in our sickness we think ourselves whole, till we show our spots,\nthou appliest no medicine. But since I do that, shall I not, _Lord, lift\nup my face without spot, and be steadfast, and not fear_?[193] Even my\nspots belong to thy Son's body, and are part of that which he came down\nto this earth to fetch, and challenge, and assume to himself. When I\nopen my spots I do but present him with that which is his; and till I do\nso, I detain and withhold his right. When therefore thou seest them upon\nme, as his, and seest them by this way of confession, they shall not\nappear to me as the pinches of death, to decline my fear to hell (for\nthou hast not left thy holy one in hell, thy Son is not there); but\nthese spots upon my breast, and upon my soul, shall appear to me as the\nconstellations of the firmament, to direct my contemplation to that\nplace where thy Son is, thy right hand.\n\n\nXIII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who as thou givest all for nothing, if\nwe consider any precedent merit in us, so givest nothing for nothing, if\nwe consider the acknowledgment and thankfulness which thou lookest for\nafter, accept my humble thanks, both for thy mercy, and for this\nparticular mercy, that in thy judgment I can discern thy mercy, and find\ncomfort in thy corrections. I know, O Lord, the ordinary discomfort that\naccompanies that phrase, that the house is visited, and that, that thy\nmarks and thy tokens are upon the patient; but what a wretched and\ndisconsolate hermitage is that house which is not visited by thee, and\nwhat a waif and stray is that man that hath not thy marks upon him?\nThese heats, O Lord, which thou hast brought upon this body, are but thy\nchafing of the wax, that thou mightst seal me to thee: these spots are\nbut the letters in which thou hast written thine own name and conveyed\nthyself to me; whether for a present possession, by taking me now, or\nfor a future reversion, by glorifying thyself in my stay here, I limit\nnot, I condition not, I choose not, I wish not, no more than the house\nor land that passeth by any civil conveyance. Only be thou ever present\nto me, O my God, and this bedchamber and thy bedchamber shall be all one\nroom, and the closing of these bodily eyes here, and the opening of the\neyes of my soul there, all one act.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[182] Psalm xci. 13.\n\n[183] Ezek. vii. 16.\n\n[184] Ezek. xxxvii. 3.\n\n[185] Cant. iv. 7.\n\n[186] Jude, 23.\n\n[187] Job, ix. 30\n\n[188] Eph. v. 29\n\n[189] Josh. xxii. 17\n\n[190] Wisd. xiii. 14\n\n[191] Gen. xxx. 33\n\n[192] Matt. ix. 12\n\n[193] Job, xi. 15.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. IDQUE NOTANT CRITICIS MEDICI EVENISSE DIEBUS.\n\n_The physicians observe these accidents to have fallen upon the critical\ndays._\n\n\nXIV. MEDITATION.\n\nI would not make man worse than he is, nor his condition more miserable\nthan it is. But could I though I would? As a man cannot flatter God, nor\noverpraise him, so a man cannot injure man, nor undervalue him. Thus\nmuch must necessarily be presented to his remembrance, that those false\nhappinesses which he hath in this world, have their times, and their\nseasons, and their critical days; and they are judged and denominated\naccording to the times when they befall us. What poor elements are our\nhappinesses made of, if time, time which we can scarce consider to be\nany thing, be an essential part of our happiness! All things are done in\nsome place; but if we consider place to be no more but the next hollow\nsuperficies of the air, alas! how thin and fluid a thing is air, and how\nthin a film is a superficies, and a superficies of air! All things are\ndone in time too, but if we consider time to be but the measure of\nmotion, and howsoever it may seem to have three stations, past, present,\nand future, yet the first and last of these are not (one is not now, and\nthe other is not yet), and that which you call present, is not now the\nsame that it was when you began to call it so in this line (before you\nsound that word present, or that monosyllable now, the present and the\nnow is past). If this imaginary, half-nothing time, be of the essence of\nour happinesses, how can they be thought durable? Time is not so; how\ncan they be thought to be? Time is not so; not so considered in any of\nthe parts thereof. If we consider eternity, into that time never\nentered; eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is a\nshort parenthesis in a long period; and eternity had been the same as it\nis, though time had never been. If we consider, not eternity, but\nperpetuity; not that which had no time to begin in, but which shall\noutlive time, and be when time shall be no more, what a minute is the\nlife of the durablest creature compared to that! and what a minute is\nman's life in respect of the sun's, or of a tree? and yet how little of\nour life is occasion, opportunity to receive good in; and how little of\nthat occasion do we apprehend and lay hold of? How busy and perplexed a\ncobweb is the happiness of man here, that must be made up with a\nwatchfulness to lay hold upon occasion, which is but a little piece of\nthat which is nothing, time? and yet the best things are nothing without\nthat. Honours, pleasures, possessions, presented to us out of time? in\nour decrepit and distasted and unapprehensive age, lose their office,\nand lose their name; they are not honours to us that shall never appear,\nnor come abroad into the eyes of the people, to receive honour from them\nwho give it; nor pleasures to us, who have lost our sense to taste\nthem; nor possessions to us, who are departing from the possession of\nthem. Youth is their critical day, that judges them, that denominates\nthem, that inanimates and informs them, and makes them honours, and\npleasures, and possessions; and when they come in an unapprehensive age,\nthey come as a cordial when the bell rings out, as a pardon when the\nhead is off. We rejoice in the comfort of fire, but does any man cleave\nto it at midsummer? We are glad of the freshness and coolness of a\nvault, but does any man keep his Christmas there; or are the pleasures\nof the spring acceptable in autumn? If happiness be in the season, or in\nthe climate, how much happier then are birds than men, who can change\nthe climate and accompany and enjoy the same season ever.\n\n\nXIV. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, wouldst thou call thyself the ancient of days,[194] if\nwe were not to call ourselves to an account for our days? Wouldst thou\nchide us for _standing idle here all the day_,[195] if we were sure to\nhave more days to make up our harvest? When thou bidst us _take no\nthought for to-morrow, for sufficient unto the day_ (to every day) _is\nthe evil thereof_,[196] is this truly, absolutely, to put off all that\nconcerns the present life? When thou reprehendest the Galatians by thy\nmessage to them, _That they observed days, and months, and times, and\nyears_,[197] when thou sendest by the same messenger to forbid the\nColossians all critical days, indicatory days, _Let no man judge you in\nrespect of a holy day, or of a new moon, or of a sabbath_,[198] dost\nthou take away all consideration, all distinction of days? Though thou\nremove them from being of the essence of our salvation, thou leavest\nthem for assistances, and for the exaltation of our devotion, to fix\nourselves, at certain periodical and stationary times, upon the\nconsideration of those things which thou hast done for us, and the\ncrisis, the trial, the judgment, how those things have wrought upon us\nand disposed us to a spiritual recovery and convalescence. For there is\nto every man a day of salvation. _Now is the accepted time, now is the\nday of salvation_,[199] and there is _a great day of thy wrath_,[200]\nwhich no man shall be able to stand in; and there are evil days before,\nand therefore thou warnest us and armest us, _Take unto you the whole\narmour of God, that you may be able to stand in the evil day_.[201] So\nfar then our days must be critical to us, as that by consideration of\nthem, we may make a judgment of our spiritual health, for that is the\ncrisis of our bodily health. Thy beloved servant, St. John, wishes to\nGaius, _that he may prosper in his health, so as his soul\nprospers_;[202] for if the soul be lean the marrow of the body is but\nwater; if the soul wither, the verdure and the good estate of the body\nis but an illusion and the goodliest man a fearful ghost. Shall we, O my\nGod, determine our thoughts, and shall we never determine our\ndisputations upon our climacterical years, for particular men and\nperiodical years, for the life of states and kingdoms, and never\nconsider these in our long life, and our interest in the everlasting\nkingdom? We have exercised our curiosity in observing that Adam, the\neldest of the eldest world, died in his climacterical year, and Shem,\nthe eldest son of the next world, in his; Abraham, the father of the\nfaithful, in his, and the blessed Virgin Mary, the garden where the\nroot of faith grew, in hers. But they whose climacterics we observe,\nemployed their observation upon their critical days, the working of thy\npromise of a Messias upon them. And shall we, O my God, make less use of\nthose days who have more of them? We, who have not only the day of the\nprophets, the first days, but the last days, in which thou hast spoken\nunto us by thy Son?[203] We are the children of the day,[204] for thou\nhast shined in as full a noon upon us as upon the Thessalonians: they\nwho were of the night (a night which they had superinduced upon\nthemselves), the Pharisees, pretended, _that if they had been in their\nfathers' days_ (those indicatory and judicatory, those critical days),\n_they would not have been partakers of the blood of the prophets_;[205]\nand shall we who are in the day, these days, not of the prophets, but of\nthe Son, stone those prophets again, and crucify that Son again, for all\nthose evident indications and critical judicatures which are afforded\nus? Those opposed adversaries of thy Son, the Pharisees, with the\nHerodians, watched a critical day; then when the state was incensed\nagainst him, came to tempt him in the dangerous question of\ntribute.[206] They left him, and that day was the critical day to the\nSadducees. The same day, says thy Spirit in thy word, the Sadducees came\nto him to question him about the resurrection,[207] and them he\nsilenced; they left him, and this was the critical day for the Scribe,\nexpert in the law, who thought himself learneder than the Herodian, the\nPharisee, or Sadducee; and he tempted him about the great\ncommandment,[208] and him Christ left without power of replying. When\nall was done, and that they went about to begin their circle of vexation\nand temptation again, Christ silences them so, that as they had taken\ntheir critical days, to come in that and in that day, so Christ imposes\na critical day upon them. _From that day forth_, says thy Spirit, _no\nman durst ask him any more questions_.[209] This, O my God, my most\nblessed God, is a fearful crisis, a fearful indication, when we will\nstudy, and seek, and find, what days are fittest to forsake thee in; to\nsay, now religion is in a neutrality in the world, and this is my day,\nthe day of liberty; now I may make new friends by changing my old\nreligion, and this is my day, the day of advancement. But, O my God,\nwith thy servant Jacob's holy boldness, who, though thou lamedst him,\nwould not let thee go till thou hadst given him a blessing;[210] though\nthou have laid me upon my hearse, yet thou shalt not depart from me,\nfrom this bed, till thou have given me a crisis, a judgment upon myself\nthis day. Since _a day is as a thousand years with thee_,[211] let, O\nLord, a day be as a week to me; and in this one, let me consider seven\ndays, seven critical days, and judge myself that I be not judged by\nthee. First, this is the day of thy visitation, thy coming to me; and\nwould I look to be welcome to thee, and not entertain thee in thy coming\nto me? We measure not the visitations of great persons by their apparel,\nby their equipage, by the solemnity of their coming, but by their very\ncoming; and therefore, howsoever thou come, it is a crisis to me, that\nthou wouldst not lose me who seekest me by any means. This leads me from\nmy first day, thy visitation by sickness, to a second, to the light and\ntestimony of my conscience. There I have an evening and a morning, a sad\nguiltiness in my soul, but yet a cheerful rising of thy Sun too; thy\nevenings and mornings made days in the creation, and there is no mention\nof nights; my sadnesses for sins are evenings, but they determine not\nin night, but deliver me over to the day, the day of a conscience\ndejected, but then rectified, accused, but then acquitted, by thee, by\nhim who speaks thy word, and who is thy word, thy Son. From this day,\nthe crisis and examination of my conscience, breaks out my third day, my\nday of preparing and fitting myself for a more especial receiving of thy\nSon in his institution of the Sacrament; in which day, though there be\nmany dark passages and slippery steps to them who will entangle and\nendanger themselves in unnecessary disputations, yet there are light\nhours enough for any man to go his whole journey intended by thee, to\nknow that that bread and wine is not more really assimilated to my body,\nand to my blood, than the body and blood of thy Son is communicated to\nme in that action, and participation of that bread and that wine. And\nhaving, O my God, walked with thee these three days, the day of thy\nvisitation, the day of my conscience, the day of preparing for this seal\nof reconciliation, I am the less afraid of the clouds or storms of my\nfourth day, the day of my dissolution and transmigration from hence.\nNothing deserves the name of happiness that makes the remembrance of\ndeath bitter; and, _O death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee, to a\nman that lives at rest in his possessions, the man that hath nothing to\nvex him, yea unto him that is able to receive meat!_[212] Therefore hast\nthou, O my God, made this sickness, in which I am not able to receive\nmeat, my fasting day, my eve to this great festival, my dissolution. And\nthis day of death shall deliver me over to my fifth day, the day of my\nresurrection; for how long a day soever thou make that day in the grave,\nyet there is no day between that and the resurrection. Then we shall all\nbe invested, reapparelled in our own bodies; but they who have made\njust use of their former days be super-invested with glory; whereas the\nothers, condemned to their old clothes, their sinful bodies, shall have\nnothing added but immortality to torment. And this day of awaking me,\nand reinvesting my soul in my body, and my body in the body of Christ,\nshall present me, body and soul, to my sixth day, the day of judgment,\nwhich is truly, and most literally, the critical, the decretory day;\nboth because all judgment shall be manifested to me then, and I shall\nassist in judging the world then, and because then, that judgment shall\ndeclare to me, and possess me of my seventh day, my everlasting Sabbath\nin thy rest, thy glory, thy joy, thy sight, thyself; and where I shall\nlive as long without reckoning any more days after, as thy Son and thy\nHoly Spirit lived with thee, before you three made any days in the\ncreation.\n\n\nXIV. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who, though thou didst permit darkness\nto be before light in the creation, yet in the making of light didst so\nmultiply that light, as that it enlightened not the day only, but the\nnight too; though thou have suffered some dimness, some clouds of\nsadness and disconsolateness to shed themselves upon my soul, I humbly\nbless and thankfully glorify thy holy name, that thou hast afforded me\nthe light of thy Spirit, against which the prince of darkness cannot\nprevail, nor hinder his illumination of our darkest nights, of our\nsaddest thoughts. Even the visitation of thy most blessed Spirit upon\nthe blessed Virgin, is called an overshadowing. There was the presence\nof the Holy Ghost, the fountain of all light, and yet an overshadowing;\nnay, except there were some light, there could be no shadow. Let thy\nmerciful providence so govern all in this sickness, that I never fall\ninto utter darkness, ignorance of thee, or inconsideration of myself;\nand let those shadows which do fall upon me, faintnesses of spirit, and\ncondemnations of myself, be overcome by the power of thine irresistible\nlight, the God of consolation; that when those shadows have done their\noffice upon me, to let me see, that of myself I should fall into\nirrecoverable darkness, thy Spirit may do his office upon those shadows,\nand disperse them, and establish me in so bright a day here, as may be a\ncritical day to me, a day wherein and whereby I may give thy judgment\nupon myself, and that the words of thy Son, spoken to his apostles, may\nreflect upon me, _Behold I am with you always, even to the end of the\nworld_.[213]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[194] Dan. vii. 22.\n\n[195] Matt. xx. 6.\n\n[196] Matt. vi. 34.\n\n[197] Gal. iv. 10.\n\n[198] Col. ii. 16.\n\n[199] 2 Cor. vi. 2.\n\n[200] Rev. vi. 17.\n\n[201] Eph. vi. 11.\n\n[202] 3 John, 2.\n\n[203] Heb. i. 2.\n\n[204] 1 Thes. v. 8.\n\n[205] Matt. xxiii. 30.\n\n[206] Matt. xxii. 15.\n\n[207] Matt. xxii. 23.\n\n[208] Matt. xxii. 36.\n\n[209] Matt. xxii. 46.\n\n[210] Gen. xxxii. 26.\n\n[211] 2 Pet. iii. 8.\n\n[212] Ecclus. xli. 1.\n\n\n\n\nXV. INTEREA INSOMNES NOCTES EGO DUCO, DIESQUE.\n\n_I sleep not day nor night._\n\n\nXV. MEDITATION.\n\nNatural men have conceived a twofold use of sleep; that it is a\nrefreshing of the body in this life; that it is a preparing of the soul\nfor the next; that it is a feast, and it is the grace at that feast;\nthat it is our recreation and cheers us, and it is our catechism and\ninstructs us; we lie down in a hope that we shall rise the stronger, and\nwe lie down in a knowledge that we may rise no more. Sleep is an opiate\nwhich gives us rest, but such an opiate, as perchance, being under it,\nwe shall wake no more. But though natural men, who have induced\nsecondary and figurative considerations, have found out this second,\nthis emblematical use of sleep, that it should be a representation of\ndeath, God, who wrought and perfected his work before nature began (for\nnature was but his apprentice, to learn in the first seven days, and now\nis his foreman, and works next under him), God, I say, intended sleep\nonly for the refreshing of man by bodily rest, and not for a figure of\ndeath, for he intended not death itself then. But man having induced\ndeath upon himself, God hath taken man's creature, death, into his hand,\nand mended it; and whereas it hath in itself a fearful form and aspect,\nso that man is afraid of his own creature, God presents it to him in a\nfamiliar, in an assiduous, in an agreeable and acceptable form, in\nsleep; that so when he awakes from sleep, and says to himself, \"Shall I\nbe no otherwise when I am dead, than I was even now when I was asleep?\"\nhe may be ashamed of his waking dreams, and of his melancholy fancying\nout a horrid and an affrightful figure of that death which is so like\nsleep. As then we need sleep to live out our threescore and ten years,\nso we need death to live that life which we cannot outlive. And as death\nbeing our enemy, God allows us to defend ourselves against it (for we\nvictual ourselves against death twice every day), as often as we eat, so\nGod having so sweetened death unto us as he hath in sleep, we put\nourselves into our enemy's hands once every day, so far as sleep is\ndeath; and sleep is as much death as meat is life. This then is the\nmisery of my sickness, that death, as it is produced from me and is mine\nown creature, is now before mine eyes, but in that form in which God\nhath mollified it to us, and made it acceptable, in sleep I cannot see\nit. How many prisoners, who have even hollowed themselves their graves\nupon that earth on which they have lain long under heavy fetters, yet at\nthis hour are asleep, though they be yet working upon their own graves\nby their own weight? He that hath seen his friend die to-day, or knows\nhe shall see it to-morrow, yet will sink into a sleep between. I cannot,\nand oh, if I be entering now into eternity, where there shall be no more\ndistinction of hours, why is it all my business now to tell clocks? Why\nis none of the heaviness of my heart dispensed into mine eye-lids, that\nthey might fall as my heart doth? And why, since I have lost my delight\nin all objects, cannot I discontinue the faculty of seeing them by\nclosing mine eyes in sleep? But why rather, being entering into that\npresence where I shall wake continually and never sleep more, do I not\ninterpret my continual waking here, to be a parasceve and a preparation\nto that?\n\n\nXV. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, I know (for thou hast said it) that _he that keepeth\nIsrael shall neither slumber nor sleep_:[214] but shall not that Israel,\nover whom thou watchest, sleep? I know (for thou hast said it) that\nthere are men whose damnation sleepeth not;[215] but shall not they to\nwhom thou art salvation sleep? or wilt thou take from them that\nevidence, and that testimony that they are thy Israel, or thou their\nsalvation? _Thou givest thy beloved sleep_:[216] shall I lack that seal\nof thy love? _You shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid_:[217]\nshall I be outlawed from that protection? Jonah slept in one dangerous\nstorm,[218] and thy blessed Son in another;[219] shall I have no use, no\nbenefit, no application of those great examples? _Lord, if he sleep, he\nshall do well_,[220] say thy Son's disciples to him of Lazarus; and\nshall there be no room for that argument in me? or shall I be open to\nthe contrary? If I sleep not, shall I not be well in their sense? Let me\nnot, O my God, take this too precisely, too literally; _There is that\nneither day nor night seeth sleep with his eyes_,[221] says thy wise\nservant Solomon; and whether he speak that of worldly men, or of men\nthat seek wisdom, whether in justification or condemnation of their\nwatchfulness, we cannot tell: we can tell that there are men that cannot\nsleep till they have done mischief,[222] and then they can; and we can\ntell that the rich man cannot sleep, because his abundance will not let\nhim.[223] The tares were sown when the husbandmen were asleep[224]; and\nthe elders thought it a probable excuse, a credible lie, that the\nwatchmen which kept the sepulchre should say, that the body of thy Son\nwas stolen away when they were asleep.[225] Since thy blessed Son\nrebuked his disciples for sleeping, shall I murmur because I do not\nsleep? If Samson had slept any longer in Gaza, he had been taken;[226]\nand when he did sleep longer with Delilah,[227] he was taken. Sleep is\nas often taken for natural death in thy Scriptures, as for natural rest.\nNay, sometimes sleep hath so heavy a sense, as to be taken for sin\nitself,[228] as well as for the punishment of sin, death.[229] Much\ncomfort is not in much sleep, when the most fearful and most irrevocable\nmalediction is presented by thee in a perpetual sleep. _I will make\ntheir feasts, and I will make them drunk, and they shall sleep a\nperpetual sleep, and not wake._[230] I must therefore, O my God, look\nfarther than into the very act of sleeping before I misinterpret my\nwaking; for since I find thy whole hand light, shall any finger of that\nhand seem heavy? Since the whole sickness is thy physic, shall any\naccident in it be my poison by my murmuring? The name of watchmen\nbelongs to our profession; thy prophets are not only seers, endued with\na power of seeing, able to see, but watchmen evermore in the act of\nseeing. And therefore give me leave, O my blessed God, to invert the\nwords of thy Son's spouse: she said, _I sleep, but my heart\nwaketh_;[231] I say, I wake, but my heart sleepeth: my body is in a sick\nweariness, but my soul in a peaceful rest with thee; and as our eyes in\nour health see not the air that is next them, nor the fire, nor the\nspheres, nor stop upon any thing till they come to stars, so my eyes\nthat are open, see nothing of this world, but pass through all that, and\nfix themselves upon thy peace, and joy, and glory above. Almost as soon\nas thy apostle had said, _Let us not sleep_,[232] lest we should be too\nmuch discomforted if we did, he says again, _Whether we wake or sleep,\nlet us live together with Christ_.[233] Though then this absence of\nsleep may argue the presence of death (the original may exclude the\ncopy, the life the picture), yet this gentle sleep and rest of my soul\nbetroths me to thee, to whom I shall be married indissolubly, though by\nthis way of dissolution.\n\n\nXV. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who art able to make, and dost make,\nthe sick bed of thy servants chapels of ease to them, and the dreams of\nthy servants prayers and meditations upon thee, let not this continual\nwatchfulness of mine, this inability to sleep, which thou hast laid upon\nme, be any disquiet or discomfort to me, but rather an argument, that\nthou wouldst not have me sleep in thy presence. What it may indicate or\nsignify concerning the state of my body, let them consider to whom that\nconsideration belongs; do thou, who only art the Physician of my soul,\ntell her, that thou wilt afford her such defensatives, as that she shall\nwake ever towards thee, and yet ever sleep in thee, and that, through\nall this sickness, thou wilt either preserve mine understanding from all\ndecays and distractions which these watchings might occasion, or that\nthou wilt reckon and account with me from before those violences, and\nnot call any piece of my sickness a sin. It is a heavy and indelible sin\nthat I brought into the world with me; it is a heavy and innumerable\nmultitude of sins which I have heaped up since; I have sinned behind thy\nback (if that can be done), by wilful abstaining from thy congregations\nand omitting thy service, and I have sinned before thy face, in my\nhypocrisies in prayer, in my ostentation, and the mingling a respect of\nmyself in preaching thy word; I have sinned in my fasting, by repining\nwhen a penurious fortune hath kept me low; and I have sinned even in\nthat fulness, when I have been at thy table, by a negligent examination,\nby a wilful prevarication, in receiving that heavenly food and physic.\nBut as I know, O my gracious God, that for all those sins committed\nsince, yet thou wilt consider me, as I was in thy purpose when thou\nwrotest my name in the book of life in mine election; so into what\ndeviations soever I stray and wander by occasion of this sickness, O\nGod, return thou to that minute wherein thou wast pleased with me and\nconsider me in that condition.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[213] Matt. xxviii. 20.\n\n[214] Psalm cxxi. 4.\n\n[215] 2 Pet. ii. 3.\n\n[216] Psalm cxxvii. 2.\n\n[217] Lev. xxvi. 6.\n\n[218] Jonah, i. 5.\n\n[219] Matt. viii. 24.\n\n[220] John, xi. 12.\n\n[221] Eccles. viii. 16.\n\n[222] Prov. iv. 16.\n\n[223] Eccles. v. 12.\n\n[224] Matt. xiii. 25; xxviii. 13.\n\n[225] Matt. xxvi. 40.\n\n[226] Judges, xvi. 3.\n\n[227] Judges, xvi. 19.\n\n[228] Eph. v. 14.\n\n[229] 1 Thes. v. 6.\n\n[230] Jer. li. 57.\n\n[231] Cant. v. 2.\n\n[232] 1 Thes. v. 6.\n\n[233] 1 Thes. v. 10.\n\n\n\n\nXVI. ET PROPERARE MEUM CLAMANT, E TURRE PROPINQUA, OBSTREPER\u00c6 CAMPAN\u00c6\nALIORUM IN FUNERE, FUNUS.\n\n_From the bells of the church adjoining, I am daily remembered of my\nburial in the funerals of others._\n\n\nXVI. MEDITATION.\n\nWe have a convenient author,[234] who writ a discourse of bells when he\nwas prisoner in Turkey. How would he have enlarged himself if he had\nbeen my fellow-prisoner in this sick bed, so near to that steeple which\nnever ceases, no more than the harmony of the spheres, but is more\nheard. When the Turks took Constantinople, they melted the bells into\nordnance; I have heard both bells and ordnance, but never been so much\naffected with those as with these bells. I have lain near a steeple[235]\nin which there are said to be more than thirty bells, and near another,\nwhere there is one so big, as that the clapper is said to weigh more\nthan six hundred pounds,[236] yet never so affected as here. Here the\nbells can scarce solemnize the funeral of any person, but that I knew\nhim, or knew that he was my neighbour: we dwelt in houses near to one\nanother before, but now he is gone into that house into which I must\nfollow him. There is a way of correcting the children of great persons,\nthat other children are corrected in their behalf, and in their names,\nand this works upon them who indeed had more deserved it. And when these\nbells tell me, that now one, and now another is buried, must not I\nacknowledge that they have the correction due to me, and paid the debt\nthat I owe? There is a story of a bell in a monastery[237] which, when\nany of the house was sick to death, rung always voluntarily, and they\nknew the inevitableness of the danger by that. It rung once when no man\nwas sick, but the next day one of the house fell from the steeple and\ndied, and the bell held the reputation of a prophet still. If these\nbells that warn to a funeral now, were appropriated to none, may not I,\nby the hour of the funeral, supply? How many men that stand at an\nexecution, if they would ask, For what dies that man? should hear their\nown faults condemned, and see themselves executed by attorney? We scarce\nhear of any man preferred, but we think of ourselves that we might very\nwell have been that man; why might not I have been that man that is\ncarried to his grave now? Could I fit myself to stand or sit in any\nman's place, and not to lie in any man's grave? I may lack much of the\ngood parts of the meanest, but I lack nothing of the mortality of the\nweakest; they may have acquired better abilities than I, but I was born\nto as many infirmities as they. To be an incumbent by lying down in a\ngrave, to be a doctor by teaching mortification by example, by dying,\nthough I may have seniors, others may be older than I, yet I have\nproceeded apace in a good university, and gone a great way in a little\ntime, by the furtherance of a vehement fever, and whomsoever these bells\nbring to the ground to-day, if he and I had been compared yesterday,\nperchance I should have been thought likelier to come to this\npreferment then than he. God hath kept the power of death in his own\nhands, lest any man should bribe death. If man knew the gain of death,\nthe ease of death, he would solicit, he would provoke death to assist\nhim by any hand which he might use. But as when men see many of their\nown professions preferred, it ministers a hope that that may light upon\nthem; so when these hourly bells tell me of so many funerals of men like\nme, it presents, if not a desire that it may, yet a comfort whensoever\nmine shall come.\n\n\nXVI. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, I do not expostulate with thee, but with them who dare\ndo that; who dare expostulate with thee, when in the voice of thy church\nthou givest allowance to this ceremony of bells at funerals. Is it\nenough to refuse it, because it was in use among the Gentiles? so were\nfunerals too. Is it because some abuses may have crept in amongst\nChristians? Is that enough, that their ringing hath been said to drive\naway evil spirits? Truly, that is so far true, as that the evil spirit\nis vehemently vexed in their ringing, therefore, because that action\nbrings the congregation together, and unites God and his people, to the\ndestruction of that kingdom which the evil spirit usurps. In the first\ninstitution of thy church in this world, in the foundation of thy\nmilitant church amongst the Jews, thou didst appoint the calling of the\nassembly in to be by trumpet;[238] and when they were in, then thou\ngavest them the sound of bells in the garment of thy priest.[239] In the\ntriumphant church, thou employest both too, but in an inverted order;\nwe enter into the triumphant church by the sound of bells (for we enter\nwhen we die); and then we receive our further edification, or\nconsummation, by the sound of trumpets at the resurrection. The sound of\nthy trumpets thou didst impart to secular and civil uses too, but the\nsound of bells only to sacred. Lord, let not us break the communion of\nsaints in that which was intended for the advancement of it; let not\nthat pull us asunder from one another, which was intended for the\nassembling of us in the militant, and associating of us to the\ntriumphant church. But he, for whose funeral these bells ring now, was\nat home, at his journey's end yesterday; why ring they now? A man, that\nis a world, is all the things in the world; he is an army, and when an\narmy marches, the van may lodge to-night where the rear comes not till\nto-morrow. A man extends to his act and to his example; to that which he\ndoes, and that which he teaches; so do those things that concern him, so\ndo these bells; that which rung yesterday was to convey him out of the\nworld in his van, in his soul; that which rung to-day was to bring him\nin his rear, in his body, to the church; and this continuing of ringing\nafter his entering is to bring him to me in the application. Where I lie\nI could hear the psalm, and did join with the congregation in it; but I\ncould not hear the sermon, and these latter bells are a repetition\nsermon to me. But, O my God, my God, do I that have this fever need\nother remembrances of my mortality? Is not mine own hollow voice, voice\nenough to pronounce that to me? Need I look upon a death's head in a\nring, that have one in my face? or go for death to my neighbour's house,\nthat have him in my bosom? We cannot, we cannot, O my God, take in too\nmany helps for religious duties; I know I cannot have any better image\nof thee than thy Son, nor any better image of him than his Gospel; yet\nmust not I with thanks confess to thee, that some historical pictures of\nhis have sometimes put me upon better meditations than otherwise I\nshould have fallen upon? I know thy church needed not to have taken in,\nfrom Jew, or Gentile, any supplies for the exaltation of thy glory, or\nour devotion; of absolute necessity I know she needed not; but yet we\nowe thee our thanks, that thou hast given her leave to do so, and that\nas, in making us Christians, thou didst not destroy that which we were\nbefore, natural men, so, in the exalting of our religious devotions now\nwe are Christians, thou hast been pleased to continue to us those\nassistances which did work upon the affections of natural men before;\nfor thou lovest a good man as thou lovest a good Christian; and though\ngrace be merely from me, yet thou dost not plant grace but in good\nnatures.\n\n\nXVI. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who having consecrated our living\nbodies to thine own Spirit, and made us temples of the Holy Ghost, dost\nalso require a respect to be given to these temples, even when the\npriest is gone out of them, to these bodies when the soul is departed\nfrom them, I bless and glorify thy name, that as thou takest care in our\nlife of every hair of our head, so dost thou also of every grain of\nashes after our death. Neither dost thou only do good to us all in life\nand death, but also wouldst have us do good to one another, as in a holy\nlife, so in those things which accompany our death. In that\ncontemplation I make account that I hear this dead brother of ours, who\nis now carried out to his burial, to speak to me, and to preach my\nfuneral sermon in the voice of these bells. In him, O God, thou hast\naccomplished to me even the request of Dives to Abraham; thou hast sent\none from the dead to speak unto me. He speaks to me aloud from that\nsteeple; he whispers to me at these curtains, and he speaks thy words:\n_Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth_.[240] Let\nthis prayer therefore, O my God, be as my last gasp, my expiring, my\ndying in thee; that if this be the hour of my transmigration, I may die\nthe death of a sinner, drowned in my sins, in the blood of thy Son; and\nif I live longer, yet I may now die the death of the righteous, die to\nsin; which death is a resurrection to a new life. _Thou killest and thou\ngivest life_: whichsoever comes, it comes from thee; which way soever it\ncomes, let me come to thee.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[234] Magius.\n\n[235] Antwerp.\n\n[236] Roan.\n\n[237] Roccha.\n\n[238] Numb. x. 2.\n\n[239] Exod. xviii. 33-4.\n\n\n\n\nXVII. NUNC LENTO SONITU DICUNT, MORIERIS.\n\n_Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me: Thou must die._\n\n\nXVII. MEDITATION.\n\nPerchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows\nnot it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better\nthan I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have\ncaused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is Catholic,\nuniversal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all.\nWhen she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is\nthereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into\nthat body whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action\nconcerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one\nman dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a\nbetter language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs\nseveral translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by\nsickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every\ntranslation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again\nfor that library where every book shall lie open to one another. As\ntherefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher\nonly, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but\nhow much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.\nThere was a contention as far as a suit (in which both piety and\ndignity, religion and estimation, were mingled), which of the religious\norders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was\ndetermined, that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we\nunderstand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening\nprayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that\napplication, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is.\nThe bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit\nagain, yet from that minute that that occasion wrought upon him, he is\nunited to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but\nwho takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not\nhis ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it\nfrom that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? No\nman is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the\ncontinent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea,\nEurope is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a\nmanor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes\nme, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know\nfor whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee. Neither can we call this a\nbegging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not\nmiserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next\nhouse, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbours. Truly it were an\nexcusable covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and\nscarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is\nnot matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.\nIf a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none\ncoined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he\ntravels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not\ncurrent money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our\nhome, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and\nthis affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no\nuse to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and\napplies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger I\ntake mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my\nrecourse to my God, who is our only security.\n\n\nXVII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, is this one of thy ways of drawing light out of\ndarkness, to make him for whom this bell tolls, now in this dimness of\nhis sight, to become a superintendent, an overseer, a bishop, to as many\nas hear his voice in this bell, and to give us a confirmation in this\naction? Is this one of thy ways, to raise strength out of weakness, to\nmake him who cannot rise from his bed, nor stir in his bed, come home\nto me, and in this sound give me the strength of healthy and vigorous\ninstructions? O my God, my God, what thunder is not a well-tuned cymbal,\nwhat hoarseness, what harshness, is not a clear organ, if thou be\npleased to set thy voice to it? And what organ is not well played on if\nthy hand be upon it? Thy voice, thy hand, is in this sound, and in this\none sound I hear this whole concert. I hear thy Jacob call unto his sons\nand say, _Gather yourselves together, that I may tell you what shall\nbefall you in the last days_:[241] he says, That which I am now, you\nmust be then. I hear thy Moses telling me, and all within the compass of\nthis sound, _This is the blessing wherewith I bless you before my\ndeath_;[242] this, that before your death, you would consider your own\nin mine. I hear thy prophet saying to Hezekiah, _Set thy house in order,\nfor thou shalt die, and not live_:[243] he makes use of his family, and\ncalls this a setting of his house in order, to compose us to the\nmeditation of death. I hear thy apostle saying, _I think it meet to put\nyou in remembrance, knowing that shortly I must go out of this\ntabernacle_:[244] this is the publishing of his will, and this bell is\nour legacy, the applying of his present condition to our use. I hear\nthat which makes all sounds music, and all music perfect; I hear thy Son\nhimself saying, _Let not your hearts be troubled_;[245] only I hear this\nchange, that whereas thy Son says there, _I go to prepare a place for\nyou_, this man in this sound says, I send to prepare you for a place,\nfor a grave. But, O my God, my God, since heaven is glory and joy, why\ndo not glorious and joyful things lead us, induce us to heaven? Thy\nlegacies in thy first will, in the Old Testament, were plenty and\nvictory, wine and oil, milk and honey, alliances of friends, ruin of\nenemies, peaceful hearts and cheerful countenances, and by these\ngalleries thou broughtest them into thy bedchamber, by these glories and\njoys, to the joys and glories of heaven. Why hast thou changed thine old\nway, and carried us by the ways of discipline and mortification, by the\nways of mourning and lamentation, by the ways of miserable ends and\nmiserable anticipations of those miseries, in appropriating the exemplar\nmiseries of others to ourselves, and usurping upon their miseries as our\nown, to our prejudice? Is the glory of heaven no perfecter in itself,\nbut that it needs a foil of depression and ingloriousness in this world,\nto set it off? Is the joy of heaven no perfecter in itself, but that it\nneeds the sourness of this life to give it a taste? Is that joy and that\nglory but a comparative glory and a comparative joy? not such in itself,\nbut such in comparison of the joylessness and the ingloriousness of this\nworld? I know, my God, it is far, far otherwise. As thou thyself, who\nart all, art made of no substances, so the joys and glory which are with\nthee are made of none of these circumstances, essential joy, and glory\nessential. But why then, my God, wilt thou not begin them here? Pardon,\nO God, this unthankful rashness; I that ask why thou dost not, find even\nnow in myself, that thou dost; such joy, such glory, as that I conclude\nupon myself, upon all, they that find not joys in their sorrows, glory\nin their dejections in this world, are in a fearful danger of missing\nboth in the next.\n\n\nXVII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who hast been pleased to speak to us,\nnot only in the voice of nature, who speaks in our hearts, and of thy\nword, which speaks to our ears, but in the speech of speechless\ncreatures, in Balaam's ass, in the speech of unbelieving men, in the\nconfession of Pilate, in the speech of the devil himself, in the\nrecognition and attestation of thy Son, I humbly accept thy voice in the\nsound of this sad and funeral bell. And first, I bless thy glorious\nname, that in this sound and voice I can hear thy instructions, in\nanother man's to consider mine own condition; and to know, that this\nbell which tolls for another, before it come to ring out, may take me in\ntoo. As death is the wages of sin it is due to me; as death is the end\nof sickness it belongs to me; and though so disobedient a servant as I\nmay be afraid to die, yet to so merciful a master as thou I cannot be\nafraid to come; and therefore into thy hands, O my God, I commend my\nspirit, a surrender which I know thou wilt accept, whether I live or\ndie; for thy servant David made it,[246] when he put himself into thy\nprotection for his life; and thy blessed Son made it, when he delivered\nup his soul at his death: declare thou thy will upon me, O Lord, for\nlife or death in thy time; receive my surrender of myself now; into thy\nhands, O Lord, I commend my spirit. And being thus, O my God, prepared\nby thy correction, mellowed by thy chastisement, and conformed to thy\nwill by thy Spirit, having received thy pardon for my soul, and asking\nno reprieve for my body, I am bold, O Lord, to bend my prayers to thee\nfor his assistance, the voice of whose bell hath called me to this\ndevotion. Lay hold upon his soul, O God, till that soul have thoroughly\nconsidered his account; and how few minutes soever it have to remain in\nthat body, let the power of thy Spirit recompense the shortness of time,\nand perfect his account before he pass away; present his sins so to him,\nas that he may know what thou forgivest, and not doubt of thy\nforgiveness, let him stop upon the infiniteness of those sins, but dwell\nupon the infiniteness of thy mercy; let him discern his own demerits,\nbut wrap himself up in the merits of thy Son Christ Jesus; breathe\ninward comforts to his heart, and afford him the power of giving such\noutward testimonies thereof, as all that are about him may derive\ncomforts from thence, and have this edification, even in this\ndissolution, that though the body be going the way of all flesh, yet\nthat soul is going the way of all saints. When thy Son cried out upon\nthe cross, _My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?_ he spake not so\nmuch in his own person, as in the person of the church, and of his\nafflicted members, who in deep distresses might fear thy forsaking. This\npatient, O most blessed God, is one of them; in his behalf, and in his\nname, hear thy Son crying to thee, _My God, my God, why hast thou\nforsaken me?_ and forsake him not; but with thy left hand lay his body\nin the grave (if that be thy determination upon him), and with thy right\nhand receive his soul into thy kingdom, and unite him and us in one\ncommunion of saints. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[240] Rev. xiv. 13.\n\n[241] Gen. xlix. 1.\n\n[242] Deut. xxxiii. 1.\n\n[243] 2 Kings, xx. 1.\n\n[244] 2 Pet. i. 13.\n\n[245] John, xiv. 1.\n\n[246] Psalm xxxi. 5.\n\n\n\n\n    XVIII. ------------------------ AT INDE\n          MORTUUS ES, SONITU CELERI, PULSUQUE AGITATO.\n\n_The bell rings out, and tells me in him, that I am dead._\n\n\nXVIII. MEDITATION.\n\nThe bell rings out, the pulse thereof is changed; the tolling was a\nfaint and intermitting pulse, upon one side; this stronger, and argues\nmore and better life. His soul is gone out, and as a man who had a lease\nof one thousand years after the expiration of a short one, or an\ninheritance after the life of a man in a consumption, he is now entered\ninto the possession of his better estate. His soul is gone, whither? Who\nsaw it come in, or who saw it go out? Nobody; yet everybody is sure he\nhad one, and hath none. If I will ask mere philosophers what the soul\nis, I shall find amongst them that will tell me, it is nothing but the\ntemperament and harmony, and just and equal composition of the elements\nin the body, which produces all those faculties which we ascribe to the\nsoul; and so in itself is nothing, no separable substance that overlives\nthe body. They see the soul is nothing else in other creatures, and they\naffect an impious humility to think as low of man. But if my soul were\nno more than the soul of a beast, I could not think so; that soul that\ncan reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so. If I will\nask, not mere philosophers, but mixed men, philosophical divines, how\nthe soul, being a separate substance, enters into man, I shall find some\nthat will tell me, that it is by generation and procreation from\nparents, because they think it hard to charge the soul with the\nguiltiness of original sin if the soul were infused into a body in which\nit must necessarily grow foul, and contract original sin whether it\nwill or no; and I shall find some that will tell me, that it is by\nimmediate infusion from God, because they think it hard to maintain an\nimmortality in such a soul, as should be begotten and derived with the\nbody from mortal parents. If I will ask, not a few men, but almost whole\nbodies, whole churches, what becomes of the souls of the righteous at\nthe departing thereof from the body, I shall be told by some, that they\nattend an expiation, a purification in a place of torment; by some, that\nthey attend the fruition of the sight of God in a place of rest, but yet\nbut of expectation; by some, that they pass to an immediate possession\nof the presence of God. St. Augustine studied the nature of the soul as\nmuch as any thing, but the salvation of the soul; and he sent an express\nmessenger to St. Hierome, to consult of some things concerning the soul;\nbut he satisfies himself with this: \"Let the departure of my soul to\nsalvation be evident to my faith, and I care the less how dark the\nentrance of my soul into my body be to my reason.\" It is the going out,\nmore than the coming in, that concerns us. This soul this bell tells me\nis gone out, whither? Who shall tell me that? I know not who it is, much\nless what he was, the condition of the man, and the course of his life,\nwhich should tell me whither he is gone, I know not. I was not there in\nhis sickness, nor at his death; I saw not his way nor his end, nor can\nask them who did, thereby to conclude or argue whither he is gone. But\nyet I have one nearer me than all these, mine own charity; I ask that,\nand that tells me he is gone to everlasting rest, and joy, and glory. I\nowe him a good opinion; it is but thankful charity in me, because I\nreceived benefit and instruction from him when his bell tolled; and I,\nbeing made the fitter to pray by that disposition, wherein I was\nassisted by his occasion, did pray for him; and I pray not without\nfaith; so I do charitably, so I do faithfully believe, that that soul is\ngone to everlasting rest, and joy, and glory. But for the body, how poor\na wretched thing is that? we cannot express it so fast, as it grows\nworse and worse. That body, which scarce three minutes since was such a\nhouse, as that that soul, which made but one step from thence to heaven,\nwas scarce thoroughly content to leave that for heaven; that body hath\nlost the name of a dwelling-house, because none dwells in it, and is\nmaking haste to lose the name of a body, and dissolve to putrefaction.\nWho would not be affected to see a clear and sweet river in the morning,\ngrow a kennel of muddy land-water by noon, and condemned to the saltness\nof the sea by night? and how lame a picture, how faint a representation\nis that, of the precipitation of man's body to dissolution? Now all the\nparts built up, and knit by a lovely soul, now but a statue of clay, and\nnow these limbs melted off, as if that clay were but snow; and now the\nwhole house is but a handful of sand, so much dust, and but a peck of\nrubbish, so much bone. If he who, as this bell tells me, is gone now,\nwere some excellent artificer, who comes to him for a cloak or for a\ngarment now? or for counsel, if he were a lawyer? if a magistrate, for\njustice? Man, before he hath his immortal soul, hath a soul of sense,\nand a soul of vegetation before that: this immortal soul did not forbid\nother souls to be in us before, but when this soul departs, it carries\nall with it; no more vegetation, no more sense. Such a mother-in-law is\nthe earth, in respect of our natural mother; in her womb we grew, and\nwhen she was delivered of us, we were planted in some place, in some\ncalling in the world; in the womb of the earth we diminish, and when she\nis delivered of us, our grave opened for another; we are not\ntransplanted, but transported, our dust blown away with profane dust,\nwith every wind.\n\n\nXVIII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, if expostulation be too bold a word, do thou mollify it\nwith another; let it be wonder in myself, let it be but problem to\nothers; but let me ask, why wouldst thou not suffer those that serve\nthee in holy services, to do any office about the dead,[247] nor assist\nat their funeral? Thou hadst no counsellor, thou needst none; thou hast\nno controller, thou admittedst none. Why do I ask? In ceremonial things\n(as that was) any convenient reason is enough; who can be sure to\npropose that reason, that moved thee in the institution thereof? I\nsatisfy myself with this; that in those times the Gentiles were\nover-full of an over-reverent respect to the memory of the dead: a great\npart of the idolatry of the nations flowed from that; an over-amorous\ndevotion, an over-zealous celebrating, and over-studious preserving of\nthe memories, and the pictures of some dead persons; and by _the vain\nglory of men, they entered into the world_,[248] and their statues and\npictures contracted an opinion of divinity by age: that which was at\nfirst but a picture of a friend grew a god in time, as the wise man\nnotes, _They called them gods, which were the work of an ancient\nhand_.[249] And some have assigned a certain time, when a picture should\ncome out of minority, and be at age to be a god in sixty years after it\nis made. Those images of men that had life, and some idols of other\nthings which never had any being, are by one common name called\npromiscuously dead; and for that the wise man reprehends the idolater,\n_for health he prays to that which is weak, and for life he prays to\nthat which is dead_.[250] Should we do so? says thy prophet;[251]\n_should we go from the living to the dead?_ So much ill then being\noccasioned by so much religious compliment exhibited to the dead, thou,\nO God (I think), wouldst therefore inhibit thy principal holy servants\nfrom contributing any thing at all to this dangerous intimation of\nidolatry; and that the people might say, Surely those dead men are not\nso much to be magnified as men mistake, since God will not suffer his\nholy officers so much as to touch them, not to see them. But those\ndangers being removed, thou, O my God, dost certainly allow that we\nshould do offices of piety to the dead and that we should draw\ninstructions to piety from the dead. Is not this, O my God, a holy kind\nof raising up seed to my dead brother, if I, by the meditation of his\ndeath produce a better life in myself? It is the blessing upon Reuben,\n_Let Reuben live, and not die, and let not his men be few_;[252] let him\npropagate many. And it is a malediction, _That that dieth, let it\ndie_,[253] let it do no good in dying; for _trees without fruit_, thou,\nby thy apostle, callest _twice dead_.[254] It is a second death, if none\nlive the better by me after my death, by the manner of my death.\nTherefore may I justly think, that thou madest that a way to convey to\nthe Egyptians a fear of thee and a fear of death, that _there was not a\nhouse where there was not one dead_;[255] for thereupon the Egyptians\nsaid, _We are all dead men_: the death of others should catechise us to\ndeath. Thy Son Christ Jesus is the _first begotten of the dead_;[256] he\nrises first, the eldest brother, and he is my master in this science of\ndeath; but yet, for me, I am a younger brother too, to this man who\ndied now, and to every man whom I see or hear to die before me, and all\nthey are ushers to me in this school of death. I take therefore that\nwhich thy servant David's wife said to him, to be said to me, _If thou\nsave not thy life to-night, to-morrow thou shalt be slain_.[257] If the\ndeath of this man work not upon me now, I shall die worse than if thou\nhadst not afforded me this help; for thou hast sent him in this bell to\nme, as thou didst send to the angel of Sardis, with commission to\n_strengthen the things that remain, and that are ready to die_,[258]\nthat in this weakness of body I might receive spiritual strength by\nthese occasions. This is my strength, that whether thou say to me, as\nthine angel said to Gideon, _Peace be unto thee, fear not, thou shalt\nnot die_;[259] or whether thou say, as unto Aaron, _Thou shalt die\nthere_;[260] yet thou wilt preserve that which is ready to die, my soul,\nfrom the worst death, that of sin. Zimri _died for his sins_, says thy\nSpirit, _which he sinned in doing evil; and in his sin which he did to\nmake Israel sin_;[261] for his sins, his many sins, and then in his sin,\nhis particular sin. For my sins I shall die whensoever I die, for death\nis the wages of sin; but I shall die in my sin, in that particular sin\nof resisting thy Spirit, if I apply not thy assistances. Doth it not\ncall us to a particular consideration that thy blessed Son varies his\nform of commination, and aggravates it in the variation, when he says to\nthe Jews (because they refused the light offered), _You shall die in\nyour sin_:[262] and then when they proceeded to farther disputations,\nand vexations, and temptations, he adds, _You shall die in your\nsins_;[263] he multiplies the former expression to a plural. In this\nsin, and in all your sins, doth not the resisting of thy particular\nhelps at last draw upon us the guiltiness of all our former sins? May\nnot the neglecting of this sound ministered to me in this man's death,\nbring me to that misery, so that I, whom the Lord of life loved so as to\ndie for me, shall die, and a creature of mine own shall be immortal;\nthat I shall die, and the _worm_ of mine own conscience _shall never\ndie_?[264]\n\n\nXVIII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, I have a new occasion of thanks, and a\nnew occasion of prayer to thee from the ringing of this bell. Thou\ntoldest me in the other voice that I was mortal and approaching to\ndeath; in this I may hear thee say that I am dead in an irremediable, in\nan irrecoverable state for bodily health. If that be thy language in\nthis voice, how infinitely am I bound to thy heavenly Majesty for\nspeaking so plainly unto me? for even that voice, that I must die now,\nis not the voice of a judge that speaks by way of condemnation, but of a\nphysician that presents health in that. Thou presentest me death as the\ncure of my disease, not as the exaltation of it; if I mistake thy voice\nherein, if I overrun thy pace, and prevent thy hand, and imagine death\nmore instant upon me than thou hast bid him be, yet the voice belongs to\nme; I am dead, I was born dead, and from the first laying of these mud\nwalls in my conception, they have mouldered away, and the whole course\nof life is but an active death. Whether this voice instruct me that I am\na dead man now, or remember me that I have been a dead man all this\nwhile. I humbly thank thee for speaking in this voice to my soul; and I\nhumbly beseech thee also to accept my prayers in his behalf, by whose\noccasion this voice, this sound, is come to me. For though he be by\ndeath transplanted to thee, and so in possession of inexpressible\nhappiness there, yet here upon earth thou hast given us such a portion\nof heaven, as that though men dispute whether thy saints in heaven do\nknow what we in earth in particular do stand in need of, yet, without\nall disputation, we upon earth do know what thy saints in heaven lack\nyet for the consummation of their happiness, and therefore thou hast\nafforded us the dignity that we may pray for them. That therefore this\nsoul, now newly departed to thy kingdom, may quickly return to a joyful\nreunion to that body which it hath left, and that we with it may soon\nenjoy the full consummation of all in body and soul, I humbly beg at thy\nhand, O our most merciful God, for thy Son Christ Jesus' sake. That that\nblessed Son of thine may have the consummation of his dignity, by\nentering into his last office, the office of a judge, and may have\nsociety of human bodies in heaven, as well as he hath had ever of souls;\nand that as thou hatest sin itself, thy hate to sin may be expressed in\nthe abolishing of all instruments of sin, the allurements of this world,\nand the world itself; and all the temporary revenges of sin, the stings\nof sickness and of death; and all the castles, and prisons, and\nmonuments of sin, in the grave. That time may be swallowed up in\neternity, and hope swallowed in possession, and ends swallowed in\ninfiniteness, and all men ordained to salvation in body and soul be one\nentire and everlasting sacrifice to thee, where thou mayst receive\ndelight from them, and they glory from thee, for evermore. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[247] Levit. xxi. 1.\n\n[248] Wisd. xiv. 14.\n\n[249] Wisd. xiii. 10.\n\n[250] Wisd. xiii. 18.\n\n[251] Isaiah, viii. 19.\n\n[252] Deut. xxxiii. 6.\n\n[253] Zech. xi. 9.\n\n[254] Jude, 12.\n\n[255] Exod. xii. 30.\n\n[256] Rev. i. 5.\n\n[257] 1 Sam. xix. 11.\n\n[258] Rev. iii. 2.\n\n[259] Judg. vi, 23.\n\n[260] Numb. xx. 26.\n\n[261] 1 Kings, xvi. 19.\n\n[262] John, viii. 21.\n\n[263] John, viii. 24.\n\n[264] Isaiah, lxvi. 24.\n\n\n\n\nXIX. OCEANO TANDEM EMENSO, ASPICIENDA RESURGIT TERRA; VIDENT, JUSTIS,\nMEDICI, JAM COCTA MEDERI SE POSSE, INDICIIS.\n\n_At last the physicians, after a long and stormy voyage, see land: they\nhave so good signs of the concoction of the disease, as that they may\nsafely proceed to purge._\n\n\nXIX. MEDITATION.\n\nAll this while the physicians themselves have been patients, patiently\nattending when they should see any land in this sea, any earth, any\ncloud, any indication of concoction in these waters. Any disorder of\nmine, any pretermission of theirs, exalts the disease, accelerates the\nrages of it; no diligence accelerates the concoction, the maturity of\nthe disease; they must stay till the season of the sickness come; and\ntill it be ripened of itself, and then they may put to their hand to\ngather it before it fall off, but they cannot hasten the ripening. Why\nshould we look for it in a disease, which is the disorder, the discord,\nthe irregularity, the commotion and rebellion of the body? It were\nscarce a disease if it could be ordered and made obedient to our times.\nWhy should we look for that in disorder, in a disease, when we cannot\nhave it in nature, who is so regular and so pregnant, so forward to\nbring her work to perfection and to light? Yet we cannot awake the July\nflowers in January, nor retard the flowers of the spring to autumn. We\ncannot bid the fruits come in May, nor the leaves to stick on in\nDecember. A woman that is weak cannot put off her ninth month to a tenth\nfor her delivery, and say she will stay till she be stronger; nor a\nqueen cannot hasten it to a seventh, that she may be ready for some\nother pleasure. Nature (if we look for durable and vigorous effects)\nwill not admit preventions, nor anticipations, nor obligations upon her,\nfor they are precontracts, and she will be left to her liberty. Nature\nwould not be spurred, nor forced to mend her pace; nor power, the power\nof man, greatness, loves not that kind of violence neither. There are of\nthem that will give, that will do justice, that will pardon, but they\nhave their own seasons for all these, and he that knows not them shall\nstarve before that gift come, and ruin before the justice, and die\nbefore the pardon save him. Some tree bears no fruit, except much dung\nbe laid about it; and justice comes not from some till they be richly\nmanured: some trees require much visiting, much watering, much labour;\nand some men give not their fruits but upon importunity: some trees\nrequire incision, and pruning, and lopping; some men must be intimidated\nand syndicated with commissions, before they will deliver the fruits of\njustice: some trees require the early and the often access of the sun;\nsome men open not, but upon the favours and letters of court mediation:\nsome trees must be housed and kept within doors; some men lock up, not\nonly their liberality, but their justice and their compassion, till the\nsolicitation of a wife, or a son, or a friend, or a servant, turn the\nkey. Reward is the season of one man, and importunity of another; fear\nthe season of one man, and favour of another; friendship the season of\none man, and natural affection of another; and he that knows not their\nseasons, nor cannot stay them, must lose the fruits: as nature will not,\nso power and greatness will not be put to change their seasons, and\nshall we look for this indulgence in a disease, or think to shake it off\nbefore it be ripe? All this while, therefore, we are but upon a\ndefensive war, and that is but a doubtful state; especially where they\nwho are besieged do know the best of their defences, and do not know\nthe worst of their enemy's power; when they cannot mend their works\nwithin, and the enemy can increase his numbers without. O how many far\nmore miserable, and far more worthy to be less miserable than I, are\nbesieged with this sickness, and lack their sentinels, their physicians\nto watch, and lack their munition, their cordials to defend, and perish\nbefore the enemy's weakness might invite them to sally, before the\ndisease show any declination, or admit any way of working upon itself?\nIn me the siege is so far slackened, as that we may come to fight, and\nso die in the field, if I die, and not in a prison.\n\n\nXIX. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, thou art a direct God, may I not say a literal God, a\nGod that wouldst be understood literally and according to the plain\nsense of all that thou sayest? but thou art also (Lord, I intend it to\nthy glory, and let no profane misinterpreter abuse it to thy\ndiminution), thou art a figurative, a metaphorical God too; a God in\nwhose words there is such a height of figures, such voyages, such\nperegrinations to fetch remote and precious metaphors, such extensions,\nsuch spreadings, such curtains of allegories, such third heavens of\nhyperboles, so harmonious elocutions, so retired and so reserved\nexpressions, so commanding persuasions, so persuading commandments, such\nsinews even in thy milk, and such things in thy words, as all profane\nauthors seem of the seed of the serpent that creeps, thou art the Dove\nthat flies. O, what words but thine can express the inexpressible\ntexture and composition of thy word, in which to one man that argument\nthat binds his faith to believe that to be the word of God, is the\nreverent simplicity of the word, and to another the majesty of the word;\nand in which two men equally pious may meet, and one wonder that all\nshould not understand it, and the other as much that any man should. So,\nLord, thou givest us the same earth to labour on and to lie in, a house\nand a grave of the same earth; so, Lord, thou givest us the same word\nfor our satisfaction and for our inquisition, for our instruction and\nfor our admiration too; for there are places that thy servants Hierom\nand Augustine would scarce believe (when they grew warm by mutual\nletters) of one another, that they understood them, and yet both Hierom\nand Augustine call upon persons whom they knew to be far weaker than\nthey thought one another (old women and young maids) to read the\nScriptures, without confining them to these or those places. Neither art\nthou thus a figurative, a metaphorical God in thy word only, but in thy\nworks too. The style of thy works, the phrase of thine actions, is\nmetaphorical The institution of thy whole worship in the old law was a\ncontinual allegory; types and figures overspread all, and figures flowed\ninto figures, and poured themselves out into farther figures;\ncircumcision carried a figure of baptism, and baptism carries a figure\nof that purity which we shall have in perfection in the new Jerusalem.\nNeither didst thou speak and work in this language only in the time of\nthy prophets; but since thou spokest in thy Son it is so too. How often,\nhow much more often, doth thy Son call himself a way, and a light, and a\ngate, and a vine, and bread, than the Son of God, or of man? How much\noftener doth he exhibit a metaphorical Christ, than a real, a literal?\nThis hath occasioned thine ancient servants, whose delight it was to\nwrite after thy copy, to proceed the same way in their expositions of\nthe Scriptures, and in their composing both of public liturgies and of\nprivate prayers to thee, to make their accesses to thee in such a kind\nof language as thou wast pleased to speak to them, in a figurative, in a\nmetaphorical language, in which manner I am bold to call the comfort\nwhich I receive now in this sickness in the indication of the concoction\nand maturity thereof, in certain clouds and recidences, which the\nphysicians observe, a discovering of land from sea after a long and\ntempestuous voyage. But wherefore, O my God, hast thou presented to us\nthe afflictions and calamities of this life in the name of waters? so\noften in the name of waters, and deep waters, and seas of waters? Must\nwe look to be drowned? are they bottomless, are they boundless? That is\nnot the dialect of thy language; thou hast given a remedy against the\ndeepest water by water; against the inundation of sin by baptism; and\nthe first life that thou gavest to any creatures was in waters:\ntherefore thou dost not threaten us with an irremediableness when our\naffliction is a sea. It is so if we consider ourselves; so thou callest\nGenezareth, which was but a lake, and not salt, a sea; so thou callest\nthe Mediterranean sea still the great sea, because the inhabitants saw\nno other sea; they that dwelt there thought a lake a sea, and the others\nthought a little sea, the greatest, and we that know not the afflictions\nof others call our own the heaviest. But, O my God, that is truly great\nthat overflows the channel, that is really a great affliction which is\nabove my strength; but thou, O God, art my strength, and then what can\nbe above it? _Mountains shake with the swelling of thy sea_;[265]\nsecular mountains, men strong in power; spiritual mountains, men strong\nin grace, are shaken with afflictions; but _thou layest up thy sea in\nstorehouses_;[266] even thy corrections are of thy treasure, and thou\nwilt not waste thy corrections; when they have done their service to\nhumble thy patient, thou wilt call them in again, for _thou givest the\nsea thy decree, that the waters should not pass thy commandment_.[267]\nAll our waters shall run into Jordan, and thy servants passed Jordan dry\nfoot;[268] they shall run into the red sea (the sea of thy Son's blood),\nand the red sea, that red sea, drowns none of thine: but _they that sail\non the sea tell of the danger thereof_.[269] I that am yet in this\naffliction, owe thee the glory of speaking of it; but, as the wise man\nbids me, I say, I _may speak much and come short, wherefore in sum thou\nart all_.[270] Since thou art so, O my God, and affliction is a sea too\ndeep for us, what is our refuge? Thine ark, thy ship. In all other\nafflictions, those means which thou hast ordained in this sea, in\nsickness, thy ship is thy physician. _Thou hast made a way in the sea,\nand a safe path in the waters, showing that thou canst save from all\ndangers, yea, though a man went to sea without art_:[271] yet, where I\nfind all that, I find this added; _nevertheless thou wouldst not, that\nthe work of thy wisdom should be idle_.[272] Thou canst save without\nmeans, but thou hast told no man that thou wilt; thou hast told every\nman that thou wilt not.[273] When the centurion believed the master of\nthe ship more than St. Paul, they were all opened to a great danger;\nthis was a preferring of thy means before thee, the author of the means:\nbut, my God, though thou beest every where: I have no promise of\nappearing to me but in thy ship, thy blessed Son preached out of a\nship:[274] the means is preaching, he did that; and the ship was a type\nof the church, he did it there. Thou gavest St. Paul the lives of all\nthem that sailed with him;[275] if they had not been in the ship with\nhim, the gift had not extended to them. _As soon as thy Son was come out\nof the ship, immediately there met him, out of the tombs, a man with an\nunclean spirit, and no man could hold him, no not with chains._[276] Thy\nSon needed no use of means; yet there we apprehend the danger to us, if\nwe leave the ship, the means, in this case the physician. But as they\nare ships to us in those seas, so is there a ship to them too in which\nthey are to stay. Give me leave, O my God, to assist myself with such a\nconstruction of these words of thy servant Paul to the centurion, when\nthe mariners would have left the ship, _Except these abide in the ship,\nyou cannot be safe_:[277] except they who are our ships, the physicians,\nabide in that which is theirs, and our ship, the truth, and the sincere\nand religious worship of thee and thy gospel, we cannot promise\nourselves so good safety; for though we have our ship, the physician, he\nhath not his ship, religion; and means are not means but in their\nconcatenation, as they depend and are chained together. _The ships are\ngreat_, says thy apostle, _but a helm turns them_;[278] the men are\nlearned, but their religion turns their labours to good, and therefore\nit was a heavy curse when _the third part of the ships perished_:[279]\nit is a heavy case where either all religion, or true religion, should\nforsake many of these ships whom thou hast sent to convey us over these\nseas. But, O my God, my God, since I have my ship and they theirs, I\nhave them and they have thee, why are we yet no nearer land? As soon as\nthy Son's disciple had taken him into the ship, _immediately the ship\nwas at the land whither they went_.[280] Why have not they and I this\ndispatch? Every thing is immediately done, which is done when thou\nwouldst have it done. Thy purpose terminates every action, and what was\ndone before that is undone yet. Shall that slacken my hope? thy prophet\nfrom thee hath forbidden it. _It is good that a man should both hope,\nand quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord._[281] Thou puttest off\nmany judgments till the last day, and many pass this life without any;\nand shall not I endure the putting off thy mercy for a day? And yet, O\nmy God, thou puttest me not to that, for the assurance of future mercy\nis present mercy. But what is my assurance now? what is my seal? It is\nbut a cloud; that which my physicians call a cloud, in that which gives\nthem their indication. But a cloud? Thy great seal to all the world, the\nrainbow, that secured the world for ever from drowning, was but a\nreflection upon a cloud. A cloud itself was a pillar which guided the\nchurch,[282] and the glory of God not only was, but appeared in a\ncloud.[283] Let me return, O my God, to the consideration of thy servant\nElijah's proceeding in a time of desperate drought;[284] he bids them\nlook towards the sea; they look, and see nothing. He bids them again and\nagain seven times; and at the seventh time they saw a little cloud\nrising out of the sea, and presently they had their desire of rain.\nSeven days, O my God, have we looked for this cloud, and now we have it;\nnone of thy indications are frivolous, thou makest thy signs seals, and\nthy seals effects, and thy effects consolation and restitution,\nwheresoever thou mayst receive glory by that way.\n\n\nXIX. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who though thou passedst over infinite\nmillions of generations, before thou camest to a creation of this world,\nyet when thou beganst, didst never intermit that work, but continuedst\nday to day, till thou hadst perfected all the work, and deposed it in\nthe hands and rest of a sabbath, though thou have been pleased to\nglorify thyself in a long exercise of my patience, with an expectation\nof thy declaration of thyself in this my sickness, yet since thou hast\nnow of thy goodness afforded that which affords us some hope, if that be\nstill the way of thy glory, proceed in that way and perfect that work,\nand establish me in a sabbath and rest in thee, by this thy seal of\nbodily restitution. Thy priests came up to thee by steps in the temple;\nthy angels came down to Jacob by steps upon the ladder; we find no stair\nby which thou thyself camest to Adam in paradise, nor to Sodom in thine\nanger; for thou, and thou only, art able to do all at once. But O Lord,\nI am not weary of thy pace, nor weary of mine own patience. I provoke\nthee not with a prayer, not with a wish, not with a hope, to more haste\nthan consists with thy purpose, nor look that any other thing should\nhave entered into thy purpose, but thy glory. To hear thy steps coming\ntowards me is the same comfort as to see thy face present with me;\nwhether thou do the work of a thousand years in a day, or extend the\nwork of a day to a thousand years, as long as thou workest, it is light\nand comfort. Heaven itself is but an extension of the same joy; and an\nextension of this mercy, to proceed at thy leisure, in the way of\nrestitution, is a manifestation of heaven to me here upon earth. From\nthat people to whom thou appearedst in signs and in types, the Jews,\nthou art departed, because they trusted in them; but from thy church, to\nwhom thou hast appeared in thyself, in thy Son, thou wilt never depart,\nbecause we cannot trust too much in him. Though thou have afforded me\nthese signs of restitution, yet if I confide in them, and begin to say,\nall was but a natural accident, and nature begins to discharge herself,\nand she will perfect the whole work, my hope shall vanish because it is\nnot in thee. If thou shouldst take thy hand utterly from me, and have\nnothing to do with me, nature alone were able to destroy me; but if thou\nwithdraw thy helping hand, alas, how frivolous are the helps of nature,\nhow impotent the assistances of art? As therefore the morning dew is a\npawn of the evening fatness, so, O Lord, let this day's comfort be the\nearnest of to-morrow's, so far as may conform me entirely to thee, to\nwhat end, and by what way soever thy mercy have appointed me.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[265] Psalm xlvi. 3.\n\n[266] Psalm xxxiii. 7.\n\n[267] Prov. viii. 29.\n\n[268] Josh. iii. 17.\n\n[269] Ecclus. xliii. 24.\n\n[270] Ecclus. xliii. 27.\n\n[271] Wisd. xiv. 3.\n\n[272] Wisd. xiv. 5.\n\n[273] Acts, xxvii. 11.\n\n[274] Luke, v. 3.\n\n[275] Acts, xxvii. 24.\n\n[276] Mark, v. 2.\n\n[277] Acts, xxvii. 31.\n\n[278] James, iii. 4.\n\n[279] Rev. viii. 9.\n\n[280] John, vi. 21.\n\n[281] Lam. iii. 26.\n\n[282] Exod. xiii. 21.\n\n[283] Exod. xvi. 10.\n\n[284] 1 Kings, xviii. 43.\n\n\n\n\nXX. ID AGUNT.\n\n_Upon these indications of digested matter, they proceed to purge._\n\n\nXX. MEDITATION.\n\nThough counsel seem rather to consist of spiritual parts than action,\nyet action is the spirit and the soul of counsel. Counsels are not\nalways determined in resolutions, we cannot always say, this was\nconcluded; actions are always determined in effects, we can say, this\nwas done. Then have laws their reverence and their majesty, when we see\nthe judge upon the bench executing them. Then have counsels of war\ntheir impressions and their operations, when we see the seal of an army\nset to them. It was an ancient way of celebrating the memory of such as\ndeserved well of the state, to afford them that kind of statuary\nrepresentation, which was then called Hermes, which was the head and\nshoulders of a man standing upon a cube, but those shoulders without\narms and hands. Altogether it figured a constant supporter of the state,\nby his counsel; but in this hieroglyphic, which they made without hands,\nthey pass their consideration no farther but that the counsellor should\nbe without hands, so far as not to reach out his hand to foreign\ntemptations of bribes, in matters of counsel, and that it was not\nnecessary that the head should employ his own hand; that the same men\nshould serve in the execution which assisted in the counsel; but that\nthere should not belong hands to every head, action to every counsel,\nwas never intended so much as in figure and representation. For as\nmatrimony is scarce to be called matrimony where there is a resolution\nagainst the fruits of matrimony, against the having of children,[285] so\ncounsels are not counsels, but illusions, where there is from the\nbeginning no purpose to execute the determinations of those counsels.\nThe arts and sciences are most properly referred to the head; that is\ntheir proper element and sphere; but yet the art of proving, logic, and\nthe art of persuading, rhetoric, are deduced to the hand, and that\nexpressed by a hand contracted into a fist, and this by a hand enlarged\nand expanded; and evermore the power of man, and the power of God,\nhimself is expressed so. All things are in his hand; neither is God so\noften presented to us, by names that carry our consideration upon\ncounsel, as upon execution of counsel; he oftener is called the Lord of\nHosts than by all other names, that may be referred to the other\nsignification. Hereby therefore we take into our meditation the slippery\ncondition of man, whose happiness in any kind, the defect of any one\nthing conducing to that happiness, may ruin; but it must have all the\npieces to make it up. Without counsel, I had not got thus far; without\naction and practice, I should go no farther towards health. But what is\nthe present necessary action? Purging; a withdrawing, a violating of\nnature, a farther weakening. O dear price, and O strange way of\naddition, to do it by subtraction; of restoring nature, to violate\nnature; of providing strength, by increasing weakness. Was I not sick\nbefore? And is it a question of comfort to be asked now, did your physic\nmake you sick? Was that it that my physic promised, to make me sick?\nThis is another step upon which we may stand, and see farther into the\nmisery of man, the time, the season of his misery; it must be done now.\nO over-cunning, over-watchful, over-diligent, and over-sociable misery\nof man, that seldom comes alone, but then when it may accompany other\nmiseries, and so put one another into the higher exaltation, and better\nheart. I am ground even to an attenuation and must proceed to\nevacuation, all ways to exinanition and annihilation.\n\n\nXX. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, the God of order, but yet not of ambition, who assignest\nplace to every one, but not contention for place, when shall it be thy\npleasure to put an end to all these quarrels for spiritual precedences?\nWhen shall men leave their uncharitable disputations, which is to take\nplace, faith or repentance, and which, when we consider faith and works?\nThe head and the hand too are required to a perfect natural man;\ncounsel and action too, to a perfect civil man; faith and works too, to\nhim that is perfectly spiritual. But because it is easily said, I\nbelieve, and because it doth not easily lie in proof, nor is easily\ndemonstrable by any evidence taken from my heart (for who sees that, who\nsearches those rolls?) whether I do believe or no, is it not therefore,\nO my God, that thou dost so frequently, so earnestly, refer us to the\nhand, to the observation of actions? There is a little suspicion, a\nlittle imputation laid upon over-tedious and dilatory counsels. Many\ngood occasions slip away in long consultations; and it may be a degree\nof sloth, to be too long in mending nets, though that must be done. _He\nthat observeth the wind shall not sow, and he that regardeth the clouds\nshall not reap_;[286] that is, he that is too dilatory, too\nsuperstitious in these observations, and studies but the excuse of his\nown idleness in them; but that which the same wise and royal servant of\nthine says in another place, all accept, and ask no comment upon it, _He\nbecometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand, but the hand of the\ndiligent maketh rich_;[287] all evil imputed to the absence, all good\nattributed to the presence of the hand. I know, my God (and I bless thy\nname for knowing it, for all good knowledge is from thee), that thou\nconsiderest the heart; but thou takest not off thine eye till thou come\nto the hand. Nay, my God, doth not thy Spirit intimate that thou\nbeginnest where we begin (at least, that thou allowest us to begin\nthere), when thou orderest thine own answer to thine own question, _Who\nshall ascend into the hill of the Lord_? thus, _He that hath clean\nhands, and a pure heart_?[288] Dost thou not (at least) send us first to\nthe hand? And is not the work of their hands that declaration of their\nholy zeal, in the present execution of manifest idolators, called a\nconsecration of themselves,[289] by thy Holy Spirit? Their hands are\ncalled all themselves; for even counsel itself goes under that name in\nthy word, who knowest best how to give right names: because the counsel\nof the priests assisted David,[290] Saul says the hand of the priest is\nwith David. And that which is often said by Moses, is very often\nrepeated by thy other prophets, _These and these things the Lord\nspake_,[291] and _the Lord said_, and _the Lord commanded_, not by the\ncounsels, not by the voice, but by the _hand of Moses_, and by the _hand\nof the prophets_. Evermore we are referred for our evidence of others,\nand of ourselves, to the hand, to action, to works. There is something\nbefore it, believing; and there is something after it, suffering; but in\nthe most eminent, and obvious, and conspicuous place stands doing. Why\nthen, O my God, my blessed God, in the ways of my spiritual strength,\ncome I so slow to action? I was whipped by thy rod, before I came to\nconsultation, to consider my state; and shall I go no farther? As he\nthat would describe a circle in paper, if he have brought that circle\nwithin one inch of finishing, yet if he remove his compass he cannot\nmake it up a perfect circle except he fall to work again, to find out\nthe same centre, so, though setting that foot of my compass upon thee, I\nhave gone so far as to the consideration of myself, yet if I depart from\nthee, my centre, all is imperfect. This proceeding to action, therefore,\nis a returning to thee, and a working upon myself by thy physic, by thy\npurgative physic, a free and entire evacuation of my soul by confession.\nThe working of purgative physic is violent and contrary to nature. O\nLord, I decline not this potion of confession, however it may be\ncontrary to a natural man. To take physic, and not according to the\nright method, is dangerous.[292] O Lord, I decline not that method in\nthis physic, in things that burthen my conscience, to make my confession\nto him, into whose hands thou hast put the power of absolution. I know\nthat \"physic may be made so pleasant as that it may easily be taken; but\nnot so pleasant as the virtue and nature of the medicine be\nextinguished.\"[293] I know I am not submitted to such a confession as is\na rack and torture of the conscience; but I know I am not exempt from\nall. If it were merely problematical, left merely indifferent whether we\nshould take this physic, use this confession, or no, a great physician\nacknowledges this to have been his practice, to minister to many things\nwhich he was not sure would do good, but never any other thing but such\nas he was sure would do no harm.[294] The use of this spiritual physic\ncan certainly do no harm; and the church hath always thought that it\nmight, and, doubtless, many humble souls have found, that it hath done\nthem good. _I will therefore take the cup of salvation, and call upon\nthy name._[295] I will find this cup of compunction as full as I have\nformerly filled the cups of worldly confections, that so I may escape\nthe cup of malediction and irrecoverable destruction that depends upon\nthat. And since thy blessed and glorious Son, being offered, in the way\nto his execution, a cup of stupefaction,[296] to take away the sense of\nhis pain (a charity afforded to condemned persons ordinarily in those\nplaces and times), refused that ease, and embraced the whole torment, I\ntake not this cup, but this vessel of mine own sins into my\ncontemplation, and I pour them out here according to the motions of thy\nHoly Spirit, and any where according to the ordinances of thy holy\nchurch.\n\n\nXX. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who having married man and woman\ntogether, and made them one flesh, wouldst have them also to become one\nsoul, so as that they might maintain a sympathy in their affections, and\nhave a conformity to one another in the accidents of this world, good or\nbad; so having married this soul and this body in me, I humbly beseech\nthee that my soul may look and make her use of thy merciful proceedings\ntowards my bodily restitution, and go the same way to a spiritual. I am\ncome, by thy goodness, to the use of thine ordinary means for my body,\nto wash away those peccant humours that endangered it. I have, O Lord, a\nriver in my body, but a sea in my soul, and a sea swollen into the depth\nof a deluge, above the sea. Thou hast raised up certain hills in me\nheretofore, by which I might have stood safe from these inundations of\nsin. Even our natural faculties are a hill, and might preserve us from\nsome sin. Education, study, observation, example, are hills too, and\nmight preserve us from some. Thy church, and thy word, and thy\nsacraments, and thine ordinances are hills above these; thy spirit of\nremorse, and compunction, and repentance for former sin, are hills too;\nand to the top of all these hills thou hast brought me heretofore; but\nthis deluge, this inundation, is got above all my hills; and I have\nsinned and sinned, and multiplied sin to sin, after all these thy\nassistances against sin, and where is there water enough to wash away\nthis deluge? There is a red sea, greater than this ocean, and there is a\nlittle spring, through which this ocean may pour itself into that red\nsea. Let thy spirit of true contrition and sorrow pass all my sins,\nthrough these eyes, into the wounds of thy Son, and I shall be clean,\nand my soul so much better purged than my body, as it is ordained for\nbetter and a longer life.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[285] August.\n\n[286] Eccles. xi. 4.\n\n[287] Prov. x. 4.\n\n[288] Psalm xxiv. 3.\n\n[289] Exod. xxxii. 29.\n\n[290] 1 Sam. xxii. 17.\n\n[291] Lev. viii. 36.\n\n[292] Galen.\n\n[293] Galen.\n\n[294] Galen.\n\n[295] Psalm cxvi. 13.\n\n[296] Mark, xv. 23.\n\n\n\n\n    XXI. -------------- ATQUE ANNUIT ILLE,\n    QUI, PER EOS, CLAMAT, LINQUAS JAM, LAZARE, LECTUM.\n\n_God prospers their practice, and he, by them, calls Lazarus out of his\ntomb, me out of my bed._\n\n\nXXI. MEDITATION.\n\nIf man had been left alone in this world at first, shall I think that he\nwould not have fallen? If there had been no woman, would not man have\nserved to have been his own tempter? When I see him now subject to\ninfinite weaknesses, fall into infinite sin without any foreign\ntemptations, shall I think he would have had none, if he had been alone?\nGod saw that man needed a helper, if he should be well; but to make\nwoman ill, the devil saw that there needed no third. When God and we\nwere alone in Adam, that was not enough; when the devil and we were\nalone in Eve, it was enough. O what a giant is man when he fights\nagainst himself, and what a dwarf when he needs or exercises his own\nassistance for himself? I cannot rise out of my bed till the physician\nenable me, nay, I cannot tell that I am able to rise till he tell me so.\nI do nothing, I know nothing of myself; how little and how impotent a\npiece of the world is any man alone? And how much less a piece of\nhimself is that man? So little as that when it falls out (as it falls\nout in some cases) that more misery and more oppression would be an ease\nto a man, he cannot give himself that miserable addition of more misery.\nA man that is pressed to death, and might be eased by more weights,\ncannot lay those more weights upon himself: he can sin alone, and suffer\nalone, but not repent, not be absolved, without another. Another tells\nme, I may rise; and I do so. But is every raising a preferment? or is\nevery present preferment a station? I am readier to fall to the earth,\nnow I am up, than I was when I lay in the bed. O perverse way, irregular\nmotion of man; even rising itself is the way to ruin! How many men are\nraised, and then do not fill the place they are raised to? No corner of\nany place can be empty; there can be no vacuity. If that man do not fill\nthe place, other men will; complaints of his insufficiency will fill it;\nnay, such an abhorring is there in nature of vacuity, that if there be\nbut an imagination of not filling, in any man, that which is but\nimagination, neither will fill it, that is, rumour and voice, and it\nwill be given out (upon no ground but imagination, and no man knows\nwhose imagination), that he is corrupt in his place, or insufficient in\nhis place, and another prepared to succeed him in his place. A man rises\nsometimes and stands not, because he doth not or is not believed to fill\nhis place; and sometimes he stands not because he overfills his place.\nHe may bring so much virtue, so much justice, so much integrity to the\nplace, as shall spoil the place, burthen the place; his integrity may be\na libel upon his predecessor and cast an infamy upon him, and a burthen\nupon his successor to proceed by example, and to bring the place itself\nto an undervalue and the market to an uncertainty. I am up, and I seem\nto stand, and I go round, and I am a new argument of the new philosophy,\nthat the earth moves round; why may I not believe that the whole earth\nmoves, in a round motion, though that seem to me to stand, when as I\nseem to stand to my company, and yet am carried in a giddy and circular\nmotion as I stand? Man hath no centre but misery; there, and only there,\nhe is fixed, and sure to find himself. How little soever he be raised,\nhe moves, and moves in a circle giddily; and as in the heavens there are\nbut a few circles that go about the whole world, but many epicycles, and\nother lesser circles, but yet circles; so of those men which are raised\nand put into circles, few of them move from place to place, and pass\nthrough many and beneficial places, but fall into little circles, and,\nwithin a step or two, are at their end, and not so well as they were in\nthe centre, from which they were raised. Every thing serves to\nexemplify, to illustrate man's misery. But I need go no farther than\nmyself: for a long time I was not able to rise; at last I must be raised\nby others; and now I am up, I am ready to sink lower than before.\n\n\nXXI. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, how large a glass of the next world is this! As we have\nan art, to cast from one glass to another, and so to carry the species a\ngreat way off, so hast thou, that way, much more; we shall have a\nresurrection in heaven; the knowledge of that thou castest by another\nglass upon us here; we feel that we have a resurrection from sin, and\nthat by another glass too; we see we have a resurrection of the body\nfrom the miseries and calamities of this life. This resurrection of my\nbody shows me the resurrection of my soul; and both here severally, of\nboth together hereafter. Since thy martyrs under the altar press thee\nwith their solicitation for the resurrection of the body to glory, thou\nwouldst pardon me, if I should press thee by prayer for the\naccomplishing of this resurrection, which thou hast begun in me, to\nhealth. But, O my God, I do not ask, where I might ask amiss, nor beg\nthat which perchance might be worse for me. I have a bed of sin; delight\nin sin is a bed: I have a grave of sin; senselessness of sin is a grave:\nand where Lazarus had been four days, I have been fifty years in this\nputrefaction; why dost thou not call me, as thou didst him, _with a loud\nvoice_,[297] since my soul is as dead as his body was? I need thy\nthunder, O my God; thy music will not serve me. Thou hast called thy\nservants, who are to work upon us in thine ordinance, by all these loud\nnames--winds, and chariots, and falls of waters; where thou wouldst be\nheard, thou wilt be heard. When thy Son concurred with thee to the\nmaking of man, there it is but a speaking, but a saying. There, O\nblessed and glorious Trinity, was none to hear but you three, and you\neasily hear one another, because you say the same things. But when thy\nSon came to the work of redemption, thou spokest,[298] and they that\nheard it took it for thunder; and thy Son himself cried with a loud\nvoice upon the cross twice,[299] as he who was to prepare his coming,\nJohn Baptist, was the voice of a crier, and not of a whisperer. Still,\nif it be thy voice, it is a loud voice. _These words_, says thy Moses,\n_thou spokest with a great voice, and thou addedst no more_,[300] says\nhe there. That which thou hast said is evident, and it is evident that\nnone can speak so loud; none can bind us to hear him, as we must thee.\n_The Most High uttered his voice._ What was his voice? _The Lord\nthundered from heaven_,[301] it might be heard; but this voice, thy\nvoice, is also a _mighty voice_;[302] not only mighty in power, it may\nbe heard, nor mighty in obligation, it should be heard; but mighty in\noperation, it will be heard; and therefore hast thou bestowed a whole\npsalm[303] upon us, to lead us to the consideration of thy voice. It is\nsuch a voice as that thy Son says, _the dead shall hear it_;[304] and\nthat is my state. And why, O God, dost thou not speak to me, in that\neffectual loudness? Saint John heard a voice, and _he turned about to\nsee the voice_:[305] sometimes we are too curious of the instrument by\nwhat man God speaks; but thou speakest loudest when thou speakest to the\nheart. _There was silence, and I heard a voice_, says one, to thy\nservant Job.[306] I hearken after thy voice in thine ordinances, and I\nseek not a whispering in conventicles; but yet, O my God, speak louder,\nthat so, though I do hear thee now, then I may hear nothing but thee. My\nsins cry aloud; Cain's murder did so: my afflictions cry aloud; _the\nfloods have lifted up their voice_ (and waters are afflictions), _but\nthou, O Lord, art mightier than the voice of many waters_;[307] than\nmany temporal, many spiritual afflictions, than any of either kind: and\nwhy dost thou not speak to me in that voice? _What is man, and whereto\nserveth he? What is his good and what is his evil?_[308] My bed of sin\nis not evil, not desperately evil, for thou dost call me out of it; but\nmy rising out of it is not good (not perfectly good), if thou call not\nlouder, and hold me now I am up. O my God, I am afraid of a fearful\napplication of those words, _When a man hath done, then he\nbeginneth_;[309] when this body is unable to sin, his sinful memory sins\nover his old sins again; and that which thou wouldst have us to remember\nfor compunction, we remember with delight. _Bring him to me in his bed,\nthat I may kill him_,[310] says Saul of David: thou hast not said so,\nthat is not thy voice. Joash's own servants slew him when he was sick\nin his bed:[311] thou hast not suffered that, that my servants should so\nmuch as neglect me, or be weary of me in my sickness. Thou threatenest,\nthat _as a shepherd takes out of the mouth of the lion two legs, or a\npiece of an ear, so shall the children of Israel, that dwell in Samaria,\nin the corner of a bed, and in Damascus, in a couch, be taken\naway_;[312] and even they that are secure from danger shall perish. How\nmuch more might I, who was in the bed of death, die? But thou hast not\nso dealt with me. As they brought out sick persons in beds, that thy\nservant Peter's shadow might over-shadow them,[313] thou hast, O my God,\nover-shadowed me, refreshed me; but when wilt thou do more? When wilt\nthou do all? When wilt thou speak in thy loud voice? When wilt thou bid\nme _take up my bed and walk_?[314] As my bed is my affections, when\nshall I bear them so as to subdue them? As my bed is my afflictions,\nwhen shall I bear them so as not to murmur at them? When shall I take up\nmy bed and walk? Not lie down upon it, as it is my pleasure, not sink\nunder it, as it is my correction? But O my God, my God, the God of all\nflesh, and of all spirit, to let me be content with that in my fainting\nspirit, which thou declarest in this decayed flesh, that as this body is\ncontent to sit still, that it may learn to stand, and to learn by\nstanding to walk, and by walking to travel, so my soul, by obeying this\nthy voice of rising, may by a farther and farther growth of thy grace\nproceed so, and be so established, as may remove all suspicions, all\njealousies between thee and me, and may speak and hear in such a voice,\nas that still I may be acceptable to thee, and satisfied from thee.\n\n\nXXI. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who hast made little things to signify\ngreat, and conveyed the infinite merits of thy Son in the water of\nbaptism, and in the bread and wine of thy other sacrament, unto us,\nreceive the sacrifice of my humble thanks, that thou hast not only\nafforded me the ability to rise out of this bed of weariness and\ndiscomfort, but hast also made this bodily rising, by thy grace, an\nearnest of a second resurrection from sin, and of a third, to\neverlasting glory. Thy Son himself, always infinite in himself, and\nincapable of addition, was yet pleased to grow in the Virgin's womb, and\nto grow in stature in the sight of men. Thy good purposes upon me, I\nknow, have their determination and perfection in thy holy will upon me;\nthere thy grace is, and there I am altogether; but manifest them so unto\nme, in thy seasons, and in thy measures and degrees, that I may not only\nhave that comfort of knowing thee to be infinitely good, but that also\nof finding thee to be every day better and better to me; and that as\nthou gavest Saint Paul the messenger of Satan, to humble him so for my\nhumiliation, thou mayst give me thyself in this knowledge, that what\ngrace soever thou afford me to-day, yet I should perish to-morrow if I\nhad not had to-morrow's grace too. Therefore I beg of thee my daily\nbread; and as thou gavest me the bread of sorrow for many days, and\nsince the bread of hope for some, and this day the bread of possessing,\nin rising by that strength, which thou the God of all strength hast\ninfused into me, so, O Lord, continue to me the bread of life: the\nspiritual bread of life, in a faithful assurance in thee; the\nsacramental bread of life, in a worthy receiving of thee; and the more\nreal bread of life in an everlasting union to thee. I know, O Lord,\nthat when thou hast created angels, and they saw thee produce fowl, and\nfish, and beasts, and worms, they did not importune thee, and say, Shall\nwe have no better creatures than these, no better companions than these?\nbut stayed thy leisure, and then had man delivered over to them, not\nmuch inferior in nature to themselves. No more do I, O God, now that by\nthy first mercy I am able to rise, importune thee for present\nconfirmation of health; nor now, that by thy mercy I am brought to see\nthat thy correction hath wrought medicinally upon me, presume I upon\nthat spiritual strength I have; but as I acknowledge that my bodily\nstrength is subject to every puff of wind, so is my spiritual strength\nto every blast of vanity. Keep me therefore still, O my gracious God, in\nsuch a proportion of both strengths, as I may still have something to\nthank thee for, which I have received, and still something to pray for\nand ask at thy hand.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[297] John, xi. 43.\n\n[298] John, xii. 28.\n\n[299] Matt. xxvii. 46, 50.\n\n[300] Deut. v. 22.\n\n[301] 2 Sam. xxii. 14.\n\n[302] Psalm lxviii. 33.\n\n[303] Psalm xxix.\n\n[304] John, v. 25.\n\n[305] Rev. i. 12.\n\n[306] Job, iv. 16.\n\n[307] Psalm xciii. 3, 4.\n\n[308] Ecclus. xviii, 8.\n\n[309] Ecclus. v. 7.\n\n[310] 1 Sam. xix. 15.\n\n[311] 2 Chron. xxiv. 25.\n\n[312] Amos, iii. 12.\n\n[313] Acts, v. 15.\n\n[314] Matt. ix. 6.\n\n\n\n\nXXII. SIT MORBI FOMES TIBI CURA.\n\n_The physicians consider the root and occasion, the embers, and coals,\nand fuel of the disease, and seek to purge or correct that._\n\n\nXXII. MEDITATION.\n\nHow ruinous a farm hath man taken, in taking himself! How ready is the\nhouse every day to fall down, and how is all the ground overspread with\nweeds, all the body with diseases; where not only every turf, but every\nstone bears weeds; not only every muscle of the flesh, but every bone of\nthe body hath some infirmity; every little flint upon the face of this\nsoil hath some infectious weed, every tooth in our head such a pain as\na constant man is afraid of, and yet ashamed of that fear, of that sense\nof the pain. How dear, and how often a rent doth man pay for his farm!\nHe pays twice a day, in double meals, and how little time he hath to\nraise his rent! How many holidays to call him from his labour! Every day\nis half holiday, half spent in sleep. What reparations, and subsidies,\nand contributions he is put to, besides his rent! What medicines besides\nhis diet; and what inmates he is fain to take in, besides his own\nfamily; what infectious diseases from other men! Adam might have had\nParadise for dressing and keeping it; and then his rent was not improved\nto such a labour as would have made his brow sweat; and yet he gave it\nover; how far greater a rent do we pay for this farm, this body, who pay\nourselves, who pay the farm itself, and cannot live upon it! Neither is\nour labour at an end when we have cut down some weed as soon as it\nsprung up, corrected some violent and dangerous accident of a disease\nwhich would have destroyed speedily, nor when we have pulled up that\nweed from the very root, recovered entirely and soundly from that\nparticular disease; but the whole ground is of an ill nature, the whole\nsoil ill disposed; there are inclinations, there is a propenseness to\ndiseases in the body, out of which, without any other disorder, diseases\nwill grow, and so we are put to a continual labour upon this farm, to a\ncontinual study of the whole complexion and constitution of our body. In\nthe distempers and diseases of soils, sourness, dryness, weeping, any\nkind of barrenness, the remedy and the physic is, for a great part,\nsometimes in themselves; sometimes the very situation relieves them; the\nhanger of a hill will purge and vent his own malignant moisture, and the\nburning of the upper turf of some ground (as health from cauterizing)\nputs a new and a vigorous youth into that soil, and there rises a kind\nof phoenix out of the ashes, a fruitfulness out of that which was\nbarren before, and by that which is the barrenest of all, ashes. And\nwhere the ground cannot give itself physic, yet it receives physic from\nother grounds, from other soils, which are not the worse for having\ncontributed that help to them from marl in other hills, or from slimy\nsand in other shores, grounds help themselves, or hurt not other grounds\nfrom whence they receive help. But I have taken a farm at this hard\nrent, and upon those heavy covenants, that it can afford itself no help\n(no part of my body, if it were cut off, would cure another part; in\nsome cases it might preserve a sound part, but in no case recover an\ninfected); and if my body may have had any physic, any medicine from\nanother body, one man from the flesh of another man (as by mummy, or any\nsuch composition), it must be from a man that is dead, and not as in\nother soils, which are never the worse for contributing their marl or\ntheir fat slime to my ground. There is nothing in the same man to help\nman, nothing in mankind to help one another (in this sort, by way of\nphysic), but that he who ministers the help is in as ill case as he that\nreceives it would have been if he had not had it; for he from whose body\nthe physic comes is dead. When therefore I took this farm, undertook\nthis body, I undertook to drain not a marsh but a moat, where there was,\nnot water mingled to offend, but all was water; I undertook to perfume\ndung, where no one part but all was equally unsavoury; I undertook to\nmake such a thing wholesome, as was not poison by any manifest quality,\nintense heat or cold, but poison in the whole substance, and in the\nspecific form of it. To cure the sharp accidents of diseases is a great\nwork; to cure the disease itself is a greater; but to cure the body,\nthe root, the occasion of diseases, is a work reserved for the great\nphysician, which he doth never any other way but by glorifying these\nbodies in the next world.\n\n\nXXII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, what am I put to when I am put to consider and put off\nthe root, the fuel, the occasion of my sickness? What Hippocrates, what\nGalen, could show me that in my body? It lies deeper than so, it lies in\nmy soul; and deeper than so, for we may well consider the body before\nthe soul came, before inanimation, to be without sin; and the soul,\nbefore it come to the body, before that infection, to be without sin:\nsin is the root and the fuel of all sickness, and yet that which\ndestroys body and soul is in neither, but in both together. It is the\nunion of the body and soul, and, O my God, could I prevent that, or can\nI dissolve that? The root and the fuel of my sickness is my sin, my\nactual sin; but even that sin hath another root, another fuel, original\nsin; and can I divest that? Wilt thou bid me to separate the leaven that\na lump of dough hath received, or the salt, that the water hath\ncontracted, from the sea? Dost thou look, that I should so look to the\nfuel or embers of sin, that I never take fire? The whole world is a pile\nof fagots, upon which we are laid, and (as though there were no other)\nwe are the bellows. Ignorance blows the fire. He that touched any\nunclean thing, though he knew it not, became unclean,[315] and a\nsacrifice was required (therefore a sin imputed), though it were done in\nignorance.[316] Ignorance blows this coal; but then knowledge much more;\nfor there are that _know thy judgments, and yet not only do, but have\npleasure in others that do against them_.[317] Nature blows this coal;\n_by nature we are the children of wrath_;[318] and the law blows it; thy\napostle Saint Paul found that _sin took occasion by the law_, that\ntherefore, because it is forbidden, we do some things. If we break the\nlaw, we sin; _sin is the transgression of the law_;[319] and sin itself\nbecomes a law in our members.[320] Our fathers have imprinted the seed,\ninfused a spring of sin in us. _As a fountain casteth out her waters_,\nwe _cast out our wickedness_, but _we have done worse than our\nfathers_.[321] We are open to infinite temptations, and yet, as though\nwe lacked, we are tempted of our own lusts.[322] And not satisfied with\nthat, as though we were not powerful enough, or cunning enough, to\ndemolish or undermine ourselves, when we ourselves have no pleasure in\nthe sin, we sin for others' sakes. When Adam sinned for Eve's sake,[323]\nand Solomon to gratify his wives,[324] it was an uxorious sin; when the\njudges sinned for Jezebel's sake,[325] and Joab to obey David,[326] it\nwas an ambitious sin; when Pilate sinned to humour the people,[327] and\nHerod to give farther contentment to the Jews,[328] it was a popular\nsin. Any thing serves to occasion sin, at home in my bosom, or abroad in\nmy mark and aim; that which I am, and that which I am not, that which I\nwould be, proves coals, and embers, and fuel, and bellows to sin; and\ndost thou put me, O my God, to discharge myself of myself, before I can\nbe well? When thou bidst me _to put off the old man_,[329] dost thou\nmean not only my old habits of actual sin, but the oldest of all,\noriginal sin? When thou bidst me _purge out the leaven_,[330] dost thou\nmean not only the sourness of mine own ill contracted customs, but the\ninnate tincture of sin imprinted by nature? How shall I do that which\nthou requirest, and not falsify that which thou hast said, that sin is\ngone over all? But, O my God, I press thee not with thine own text,\nwithout thine own comment; I know that in the state of my body, which is\nmore discernible than that of my soul, thou dost effigiate my soul to\nme. And though no anatomist can say, in dissecting a body, \"Here lay the\ncoal, the fuel, the occasion of all bodily diseases,\" but yet a man may\nhave such a knowledge of his own constitution and bodily inclination to\ndiseases, as that he may prevent his danger in a great part; so, though\nwe cannot assign the place of original sin, nor the nature of it, so\nexactly as of actual, or by any diligence divest it, yet, having washed\nit in the water of thy baptism, we have not only so cleansed it, that we\nmay the better look upon it and discern it, but so weakened it, that\nhowsoever it may retain the former nature, it doth not retain the former\nforce, and though it may have the same name, it hath not the same venom.\n\n\nXXII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, the God of security, and the enemy of\nsecurity too, who wouldst have us always sure of thy love, and yet\nwouldst have us always doing something for it, let me always so\napprehend thee as present with me, and yet so follow after thee, as\nthough I had not apprehended thee. Thou enlargedst Hezekiah's lease for\nfifteen years; thou renewedst Lazarus's lease for a time which we know\nnot; but thou didst never so put out any of these fires as that thou\ndidst not rake up the embers, and wrap up a future mortality in that\nbody, which thou hadst then so reprieved. Thou proceedest no otherwise\nin our souls, O our good but fearful God; thou pardonest no sin, so as\nthat that sinner can sin no more; thou makest no man so acceptable as\nthat thou makest him impeccable. Though therefore it were a diminution\nof the largeness, and derogatory to the fulness of thy mercy, to look\nback upon the sins which in a true repentance I have buried in the\nwounds of thy Son, with a jealous or suspicious eye, as though they were\nnow my sins, when I had so transferred them upon thy Son, as though they\ncould now be raised to life again, to condemn me to death, when they are\ndead in him who is the fountain of life, yet were it an irregular\nanticipation, and an insolent presumption, to think that thy present\nmercy extended to all my future sins, or that there were no embers, no\ncoals, of future sins left in me. Temper therefore thy mercy so to my\nsoul, O my God, that I may neither decline to any faintness of spirit,\nin suspecting thy mercy now to be less hearty, less sincere, than it\nuses to be, to those who are perfectly reconciled to thee, nor presume\nso of it as either to think this present mercy an antidote against all\npoisons, and so expose myself to temptations, upon confidence that this\nthy mercy shall preserve me, or that when I do cast myself into new\nsins, I may have new mercy at any time, because thou didst so easily\nafford me this.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[315] Lev. v. 2.\n\n[316] Num. xv. 24.\n\n[317] Rom. i. 32.\n\n[318] Eph. ii. 3.\n\n[319] 1 John, iii. 4.\n\n[320] Rom. vii. 23.\n\n[321] Jer. vi. 7; vii. 26.\n\n[322] James, i. 14.\n\n[323] Gen. iii. 6.\n\n[324] 1 Kings, xi. 3.\n\n[325] 1 Kings, xxi.\n\n[326] 2 Sam. xi. 16-21.\n\n[327] Luke, xxiii. 23.\n\n[328] Acts, xii. 3.\n\n[329] Eph. iv. 22.\n\n[330] 1 Cor. v. 7.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII. METUSQUE, RELABI.\n\n_They warn me of the fearful danger of relapsing._\n\n\nXXIII. MEDITATION.\n\nIt is not in man's body, as it is in the city, that when the bell hath\nrung, to cover your fire, and rake up the embers, you may lie down and\nsleep without fear. Though you have by physic and diet raked up the\nembers of your disease, still there is a fear of a relapse; and the\ngreater danger is in that. Even in pleasures and in pains, there is a\nproprietary, a _meum et tuum_, and a man is most affected with that\npleasure which is his, his by former enjoying and experience, and most\nintimidated with those pains which are his, his by a woful sense of\nthem, in former afflictions. A covetous person, who hath preoccupated\nall his senses, filled all his capacities with the delight of gathering,\nwonders how any man can have any taste of any pleasure in any openness\nor liberality; so also in bodily pains, in a fit of the stone, the\npatient wonders why any man should call the gout a pain; and he that\nhath felt neither, but the toothache, is as much afraid of a fit of that\nas either of the other of either of the other. Diseases which we never\nfelt in ourselves come but to a compassion of others that have endured\nthem; nay, compassion itself comes to no great degree if we have not\nfelt in some proportion in ourselves that which we lament and condole in\nanother. But when we have had those torments in their exaltation\nourselves, we tremble at relapse. When we must pant through all those\nfiery heats, and sail through all those overflowing sweats, when we must\nwatch through all those long nights, and mourn through all those long\ndays (days and nights, so long as that Nature herself shall seem to be\nperverted, and to have put the longest day, and the longest night, which\nshould be six months asunder, into one natural, unnatural day), when we\nmust stand at the same bar, expect the return of physicians from their\nconsultations, and not be sure of the same verdict, in any good\nindications, when we must go the same way over again, and not see the\nsame issue, that is a state, a condition, a calamity, in respect of\nwhich any other sickness were a convalescence, and any greater, less. It\nadds to the affliction, that relapses are (and for the most part justly)\nimputed to ourselves, as occasioned by some disorder in us; and so we\nare not only passive but active in our own ruin; we do not only stand\nunder a falling house, but pull it down upon us; and we are not only\nexecuted (that implies guiltiness), but we are executioners (that\nimplies dishonour), and executioners of ourselves (and that implies\nimpiety). And we fall from that comfort which we might have in our first\nsickness, from that meditation, \"Alas, how generally miserable is man,\nand how subject to diseases\" (for in that it is some degree of comfort\nthat we are but in the state common to all), we fall, I say, to this\ndiscomfort, and self-accusing, and self-condemning: \"Alas, how\nimprovident, and in that how unthankful to God and his instruments, am I\nin making so ill use of so great benefits, in destroying so soon so long\na work, in relapsing, by my disorder, to that from which they had\ndelivered me\": and so my meditation is fearfully transferred from the\nbody to the mind, and from the consideration of the sickness to that\nsin, that sinful carelessness, by which I have occasioned my relapse.\nAnd amongst the many weights that aggravate a relapse, this also is one,\nthat a relapse proceeds with a more violent dispatch, and more\nirremediably, because it finds the country weakened, and depopulated\nbefore. Upon a sickness, which as yet appears not, we can scarce fix a\nfear, because we know not what to fear; but as fear is the busiest and\nirksomest affection, so is a relapse (which is still ready to come) into\nthat which is but newly gone, the nearest object, the most immediate\nexercise of that affection of fear.\n\n\nXXIII. EXPOSTULATION.\n\nMy God, my God, my God, thou mighty Father, who hast been my physician;\nthou glorious Son, who hast been my physic; thou blessed Spirit, who\nhast prepared and applied all to me, shall I alone be able to overthrow\nthe work of all you, and relapse into those spiritual sicknesses from\nwhich infinite mercies have withdrawn me? Though thou, O my God, have\nfilled my measure with mercy, yet my measure was not so large as that of\nthy whole people, the nation, the numerous and glorious nation of\nIsrael; and yet how often, how often did they fall into relapses! And\nthen, where is my assurance? How easily thou passedst over many other\nsins in them, and how vehemently thou insistedst in those into which\nthey so often relapsed; those were their murmurings against thee, in\nthine instruments and ministers, and their turnings upon other gods, and\nembracing the idolatries of their neighbours. O my God, how slippery a\nway, to how irrecoverable a bottom, is murmuring; and how near thyself\nhe comes, that murmurs at him who comes from thee! The magistrate is the\ngarment in which thou apparelest thyself, and he that shoots at the\nclothes cannot say he meant no ill to the man: thy people were fearful\nexamples of that, for how often did their murmuring against thy\nministers end in a departing from thee! When they would have other\nofficers, they would have other gods; and still to-day's murmuring was\nto-morrow's idolatry; as their murmuring induced idolatry, and they\nrelapsed often into both, I have found in myself, O my God (O my God,\nthou hast found it in me, and thy finding it hast showed it to me) such\na transmigration of sin, as makes me afraid of relapsing too. The soul\nof sin (for we have made sin immortal, and it must have a soul), the\nsoul of sin is disobedience to thee; and when one sin hath been dead in\nme, that soul hath passed into another sin. Our youth dies, and the sins\nof our youth with it; some sins die a violent death, and some a natural;\npoverty, penury, imprisonment, banishment, kill some sins in us, and\nsome die of age; many ways we become unable to do that sin, but still\nthe soul lives and passes into another sin; and that that was\nlicentiousness grows ambition, and that comes to indevotion and\nspiritual coldness: we have three lives in our state of sin, and where\nthe sins of youth expire, those of our middle years enter, and those of\nour age after them. This transmigration of sin found in myself, makes me\nafraid, O my God, of a relapse; but the occasion of my fear is more\npregnant than so, for I have had, I have multiplied relapses already.\nWhy, O my God, is a relapse so odious to thee? Not so much their\nmurmuring and their idolatry, as their relapsing into those sins, seems\nto affect thee in thy disobedient people. _They limited the holy One of\nIsrael_,[331] as thou complainest of them: that was a murmuring; but\nbefore thou chargest them with the fault itself, in the same place thou\nchargest them with the iterating, the redoubling of that fault before\nthe fault was named; _How oft did they provoke me in the wilderness, and\ngrieve me in the desert?_ That which brings thee to that exasperation\nagainst them, as to say, that thou wouldst break thine own oath rather\nthan leave them unpunished (_They shall not see the land which I sware\nunto their fathers_) was because _they had tempted thee ten times_,[332]\ninfinitely; upon that thou threatenest with that vehemency, _If you do\nin any wise go back, know for a certainty God will no more drive out any\nof these nations from before you; but they shall be snares and traps\nunto you, and scourges in your sides, and thorns in your eyes, till ye\nperish_.[333] No tongue but thine own, O my God, can express thine\nindignation against a nation relapsing to idolatry. Idolatry in any\nnation is deadly, but when the disease is complicated with a relapse (a\nknowledge and a profession of a former recovery), it is desperate; and\nthine anger works, not only where the evidence is pregnant and without\nexception (so thou sayest when it is said, that certain men in a city\nhave withdrawn others to idolatry, and that inquiry is made, and it is\nfound true; the city, and the inhabitants, and the cattle are to be\ndestroyed),[334] but where there is but a suspicion, a rumour, of such a\nrelapse to idolatry, thine anger is awakened, and thine indignation\nstirred. In the government of thy servant Joshua, there was a voice,\nthat Reuben and Gad, with those of Manasseh, had built a new altar.[335]\nIsrael doth not send one to inquire, but the whole congregation gathered\nto go up to war against them,[336] and there went a prince of every\ntribe; and they object to them, not so much their present declination to\nidolatry, as their relapse: _Is the iniquity of Peor too little for\nus?_[337] an idolatry formerly committed, and punished with the\nslaughter of twenty-four thousand delinquents. At last Reuben and Gad\nsatisfy them, that that altar was not built for idolatry, but built as a\npattern of theirs, that they might thereby profess themselves to be of\nthe same profession that they were, and so the army returned without\nblood. Even where it comes not so far as to an actual relapse into\nidolatry, thou, O my God, becomest sensible of it; though thou, who\nseest the heart all the way, preventest all dangerous effects where\nthere was no ill meaning, however there were occasion of suspicious\nrumours given to thine Israel of relapsing. So odious to thee, and so\naggravating a weight upon sin is a relapse. But, O my God, why is it so?\nso odious? It must be so, because he that hath sinned and then repented,\nhath weighed God and the devil in a balance; he hath heard God and the\ndevil plead, and after hearing given judgment on that side to which he\nadheres by his subsequent practice;[338] if he return to his sin, he\ndecrees for Satan, he prefers sin before grace, and Satan before God;\nand in contempt of God, declares the precedency for his adversary; and a\ncontempt wounds deeper than an injury, a relapse deeper than a\nblasphemy. And when thou hast told me that a relapse is more odious to\nthee, need I ask why it is more dangerous, more pernicious to me? Is\nthere any other measure of the greatness of my danger, than the\ngreatness of thy displeasure? How fitly and how fearfully hast thou\nexpressed my case in a storm at sea, if I relapse; _They mount up to\nheaven, and they go down again to the depth_![339] My sickness brought\nme to thee in repentance, and my relapse hath cast me farther from thee.\n_The end of that man shall be worse than the beginning_,[340] says thy\nWord, thy Son; my beginning was sickness, punishment for sin: but _a\nworse thing may follow_,[341] says he also, if I sin again; not only\ndeath, which is an end worse than sickness, which was the beginning, but\nhell, which is a beginning worse than that end. Thy great servant\ndenied thy Son,[342] and he denied him again, but all before repentance;\nhere was no relapse. O, if thou hadst ever readmitted Adam into\nParadise, how abstinently would he have walked by that tree! And would\nnot the angels that fell have fixed themselves upon thee, if thou hadst\nonce readmitted them to thy sight? They never relapsed; if I do, must\nnot my case be as desperate? Not so desperate; for _as thy majesty, so\nis thy mercy_,[343] both infinite; and thou, who hast commanded me to\npardon my brother seventy-seven times, hast limited thyself to no\nnumber. If death were ill in itself, thou wouldst never have raised any\ndead man to life again, because that man must necessarily die again. If\nthy mercy in pardoning did so far aggravate a relapse, as that there\nwere no more mercy after it, our case were the worse for that former\nmercy; for who is not under even a necessity of sinning whilst he is\nhere, if we place this necessity in our own infirmity, and not in thy\ndecree? But I speak not this, O my God, as preparing a way to my relapse\nout of presumption, but to preclude all accesses of desperation, though\nout of infirmity I should relapse.\n\n\nXXIII. PRAYER.\n\nO eternal and most gracious God, who, though thou beest ever infinite,\nyet enlargest thyself by the number of our prayers, and takest our often\npetitions to thee to be an addition to thy glory and thy greatness, as\never upon all occasions, so now, O my God, I come to thy majesty with\ntwo prayers, two supplications. I have meditated upon the jealousy which\nthou hast of thine own honour, and considered that nothing comes nearer\na violating of that honour, nearer to the nature of a scorn to thee,\nthan to sue out thy pardon, and receive the seals of reconciliation to\nthee, and then return to that sin for which I needed and had thy pardon\nbefore. I know that this comes too near to a making thy holy ordinances,\nthy word, thy sacraments, thy seals, thy grace, instruments of my\nspiritual fornications. Since therefore thy correction hath brought me\nto such a participation of thyself (thyself, O my God, cannot be\nparted), to such an entire possession of thee, as that I durst deliver\nmyself over to thee this minute, if this minute thou wouldst accept my\ndissolution, preserve me, O my God, the God of constancy and\nperseverance, in this state, from all relapses into those sins which\nhave induced thy former judgments upon me. But because, by too\nlamentable experience, I know how slippery my customs of sin have made\nmy ways of sin, I presume to add this petition too, that if my infirmity\novertake me, thou forsake me not. Say to my soul, _My son, thou hast\nsinned, do so no more_;[344] but say also, that though I do, thy spirit\nof remorse and compunction shall never depart from me. Thy holy apostle,\nSt. Paul, was shipwrecked thrice,[345] and yet still saved. Though the\nrocks and the sands, the heights and the shallows, the prosperity and\nthe adversity of this world, do diversely threaten me, though mine own\nleaks endanger me, yet, O God, let me never put myself aboard with\nHymen\u00e6us, nor _make shipwreck of faith and a good conscience_,[346] and\nthen thy long-lived, thy everlasting mercy, will visit me, though that\nwhich I most earnestly pray against, should fall upon me, a relapse into\nthose sins which I have truly repented, and thou hast fully pardoned.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[331] Psalm lxxviii. 41.\n\n[332] Numb. xiv. 22, 23.\n\n[333] Josh. xxiii. 12, 13.\n\n[334] Deut. xiii. 12-16.\n\n[335] Josh. xxii. 11, 12.\n\n[336] Josh. xxii. 11, 12.\n\n[337] Josh. xxii. 17.\n\n[338] Tertullian.\n\n[339] Psalm cvii. 26.\n\n[340] Matt. xii. 45.\n\n[341] John, v. 14.\n\n[342] Mark, xiv. 70.\n\n[343] Ecclus. ii. 18.\n\n[344] Ecclus. i. 21.\n\n[345] 2 Cor. xi. 25.\n\n[346] 1 Tim. i. 19.\n\n\n\n\n_DEATH'S DUEL,_\n\n_OR, A CONSOLATION TO THE SOUL\nAGAINST THE DYING LIFE AND LIVING\nDEATH OF THE BODY._\n\n_DELIVERED IN A SERMON AT WHITEHALL, BEFORE\nTHE KING'S MAJESTY, IN THE BEGINNING\nOF LENT, 1630._\n\n_BY THAT LATE LEARNED AND REVEREND DIVINE,\nJOHN DONNE, DR. IN DIVINITY, AND DEAN\nOF ST. PAUL'S, LONDON._\n\n_BEING HIS LAST SERMON, AND CALLED BY HIS\nMAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD, THE DOCTOR'S OWN\nFUNERAL SERMON._\n\n\n\n\n_TO THE READER_\n\n\n_This sermon was, by sacred authority, styled the author's own funeral\nsermon, most fitly, whether we respect the time or matter. It was\npreached not many days before his death, as if, having done this, there\nremained nothing for him to do but to die; and the matter is of\ndeath--the occasion and subject of all funeral sermons. It hath been\nobserved of this reverend man, that his faculty in preaching continually\nincreased, and that, as he exceeded others at first, so at last he\nexceeded himself. This is his last sermon; I will not say it is\ntherefore his best, because all his were excellent. Yet thus much: a\ndying man's words, if they concern ourselves, do usually make the\ndeepest impression, as being spoken most feelingly, and with least\naffectation. Now, whom doth it concern to learn both the danger and\nbenefit of death? Death is every man's enemy, and intends hurt to all,\nthough to many he be occasion of greatest good. This enemy we must all\ncombat dying, whom he living did almost conquer, having discovered the\nutmost of his power, the utmost of his cruelty. May we make such use of\nthis and other the like preparatives, that neither death, whensoever it\nshall come, may seem terrible, nor life tedious, how long soever it\nshall last._\n\n\n\n\n_DEATH'S DUEL_\n\nPSALM LXVIII. 20, _in fine_.\n\n_And unto God the Lord belong the issues of death (i.e. from death)._\n\n\nBuildings stand by the benefit of their foundations that sustain and\nsupport them, and of their buttresses that comprehend and embrace them,\nand of their contignations that knit and unite them. The foundations\nsuffer them not to sink, the buttresses suffer them not to swerve, and\nthe contignation and knitting suffers them not to cleave. The body of\nour building is in the former part of this verse. It is this: _He that\nis our God is the God of salvation_; _ad salutes_, of salvations in the\nplural, so it is in the original; the God that gives us spiritual and\ntemporal salvation too. But of this building, the foundation, the\nbuttresses, the contignations, are in this part of the verse which\nconstitutes our text, and in the three divers acceptations of the words\namongst our expositors: _Unto God the Lord belong the issues from\ndeath_, for, first, the foundation of this building (that our God is the\nGod of all salvation) is laid in this, that _unto_ this _God the Lord\nbelong the issues of death_; that is, it is in his power to give us an\nissue and deliverance, even then when we are brought to the jaws and\nteeth of death, and to the lips of that whirlpool, the grave. And so in\nthis acceptation, this _exitus mortis_, this issue of death is\n_liberatio \u00e1 morte_, a deliverance from death, and this is the most\nobvious and most ordinary acceptation of these words, and that upon\nwhich our translation lays hold, the _issues from death_. And then,\nsecondly, the buttresses that comprehend and settle this building, that\nhe that is our God is the God of all salvation, are thus raised; _unto\nGod the Lord belong the issues of death_, that is, the disposition and\nmanner of our death; what kind of issue and transmigration we shall have\nout of this world, whether prepared or sudden, whether violent or\nnatural, whether in our perfect senses or shaken and disordered by\nsickness, there is no condemnation to be argued out of that, no judgment\nto be made upon that, for, howsoever they die, _precious in his sight is\nthe death of his saints_, and with him are the issues of death; the ways\nof our departing out of this life are in his hands. And so in this sense\nof the words, this _exitus mortis_, the issues of death, is _liberatio\nin morte_, a deliverance in death; not that God will deliver us from\ndying, but that he will have a care of us in the hour of death, of what\nkind soever our passage be. And in this sense and acceptation of the\nwords, the natural frame and contexture doth well and pregnantly\nadminister unto us. And then, lastly, the contignation and knitting of\nthis building, that he that is our God is the God of all salvations,\nconsists in this, _Unto_ this _God the Lord belong the issues of death_;\nthat is, that this God the Lord having united and knit both natures in\none, and being God, having also come into this world in our flesh, he\ncould have no other means to save us, he could have no other issue out\nof this world, nor return to his former glory, but by death. And so in\nthis sense, this _exitus mortis_, this issue of death, is _liberatio per\nmortem_, a deliverance by death, by the death of this God, our Lord\nChrist Jesus. And this is Saint Augustine's acceptation of the words,\nand those many and great persons that have adhered to him. In all these\nthree lines, then, we shall look upon these words, first, as the God of\npower, the Almighty Father rescues his servants from the jaws of death;\nand then as the God of mercy, the glorious Son rescued us by taking upon\nhimself this issue of death; and then, between these two, as the God of\ncomfort, the Holy Ghost rescues us from all discomfort by his blessed\nimpressions beforehand, that what manner of death soever be ordained for\nus, yet this _exitus mortis_ shall be _introitus in vitam_, our issue in\ndeath shall be an entrance into everlasting life. And these three\nconsiderations: our deliverance _\u00e0 morte, in morte, per mortem_, from\ndeath, in death, and by death, will abundantly do all the offices of the\nfoundations, of the buttresses, of the contignation, of this our\nbuilding; that he that is our God is the God of all salvation, because\n_unto_ this _God the Lord belong the issues of death_.\n\nFirst, then, we consider this _exitus mortis_ to be _liberatio \u00e0 morte_,\nthat with _God the Lord are the issues of death_; and therefore in all\nour death, and deadly calamities of this life, we may justly hope of a\ngood issue from him. In all our periods and transitions in this life,\nare so many passages from death to death; our very birth and entrance\ninto this life is _exitus \u00e0 morte_, an issue from death, for in our\nmother's womb we are dead, so as that we do not know we live, not so\nmuch as we do in our sleep, neither is there any grave so close or so\nputrid a prison, as the womb would be unto us if we stayed in it beyond\nour time, or died there before our time. In the grave the worms do not\nkill us; we breed, and feed, and then kill those worms which we\nourselves produced. In the womb the dead child kills the mother that\nconceived it, and is a murderer, nay, a parricide, even after it is\ndead. And if we be not dead so in the womb, so as that being dead we\nkill her that gave us our first life, our life of vegetation, yet we are\ndead so as David's idols are dead. In the womb we have _eyes and see\nnot, ears and hear not_.[347] There in the womb we are fitted for works\nof darkness, all the while deprived of light; and there in the womb we\nare taught cruelty, by being fed with blood, and may be damned, though\nwe be never born. Of our very making in the womb, David says, _I am\nwonderfully and fearfully made_, and _such knowledge is too excellent\nfor me_,[348] for even that _is the Lord's doing, and it is wonderful in\nour eyes_;[349] ipse fecit nos, _it is he that made us, and not we\nourselves_,[350] nor our parents neither. _Thy hands have made and\nfashioned me round about_, saith Job, _and_ (as the original word is)\n_thou hast taken pains about me, and yet_ (says he) _thou dost destroy\nme_. Though I be the masterpiece of the greatest master (man is so), yet\nif thou do no more for me, if thou leave me where thou madest me,\ndestruction will follow. The womb, which should be the house of life,\nbecomes death itself if God leave us there. That which God threatens so\noften, the shutting of a womb, is not so heavy nor so discomfortable a\ncurse in the first as in the latter shutting, nor in the shutting of\nbarrenness as in the shutting of weakness, when _children are come to\nthe birth, and no strength to bring forth_.[351]\n\nIt is the exaltation of misery to fall from a near hope of happiness.\nAnd in that vehement imprecation, the prophet expresses the highest of\nGod's anger, _Give them, O Lord, what wilt thou give them? give them a\nmiscarrying womb._ Therefore as soon as we are men (that is, inanimated,\nquickened in the womb), though we cannot ourselves, our parents have to\nsay in our behalf, _Wretched man that he is, who shall deliver him from\nthis body of death?_[352] if there be no deliverer. It must be he that\nsaid to Jeremiah, _Before I formed thee I knew thee, and before thou\ncamest out of the womb I sanctified thee_. We are not sure that there\nwas no kind of ship nor boat to fish in, nor to pass by, till God\nprescribed Noah that absolute form of the ark.[353] That word which the\nHoly Ghost, by Moses, useth for the ark, is common to all kind of boats,\n_thebah_; and is the same word that Moses useth for the boat that he was\nexposed in, that his mother laid him in an ark of bulrushes. But we are\nsure that Eve had no midwife when she was delivered of Cain, therefore\nshe might well say, _Possedi virum \u00e0 Domino, I have gotten a man from\nthe Lord_,[354] wholly, entirely from the Lord; it is the Lord that\nenabled me to conceive, the Lord that infused a quickening soul into\nthat conception, the Lord that brought into the world that which himself\nhad quickened; without all this might Eve say, my body had been but the\nhouse of death, and _Domini Domini sunt exitus mortis, To God the Lord\nbelong the issues of death_. But then this _exitus \u00e0 morte_ is but\n_introitus in mortem_; this issue, this deliverance, from that death,\nthe death of the womb, is an entrance, a delivering over to another\ndeath, the manifold deaths of this world; we have a winding-sheet in our\nmother's womb which grows with us from our conception, and we come into\nthe world wound up in that winding-sheet, for we come to seek a grave.\nAnd as prisoners discharged of actions may lie for fees, so when the\nwomb hath discharged us, yet we are bound to it by cords of hest\u00e6, by\nsuch a string as that we cannot go thence, nor stay there; we celebrate\nour own funerals with cries even at our birth; as though our threescore\nand ten years' life were spent in our mother's labour, and our circle\nmade up in the first point thereof; we beg our baptism with another\nsacrament, with tears; and we come into a world that lasts many ages,\nbut we last not. _In domo Patris_, says our Saviour, speaking of heaven,\n_mult\u00e6 mansiones_, divers and durable; so that if a man cannot possess a\nmartyr's house (he hath shed no blood for Christ), yet he may have a\nconfessor's, he hath been ready to glorify God in the shedding of his\nblood. And if a woman cannot possess a virgin's house (she hath embraced\nthe holy state of marriage), yet she may have a matron's house, she hath\nbrought forth and brought up children in the fear of God. _In domo\nPatris, in my Father's house_, in heaven, there _are many\nmansions_;[355] but here, upon earth, the _Son of man hath not where to\nlay his head_,[356] saith he himself. _Nonne terram dedit filiis\nhominum?_ How then hath God given this earth to the sons of men? He hath\ngiven them earth for their materials to be made of earth, and he hath\ngiven them earth for their grave and sepulchre, to return and resolve to\nearth, but not for their possession. _Here we have no continuing\ncity_,[357] nay, no cottage that continues, nay, no persons, no bodies,\nthat continue. Whatsoever moved Saint Jerome to call the journeys of the\nIsraelites in the wilderness,[358] mansions; the word (the word is\n_nasang_) signifies but a journey, but a peregrination. Even the Israel\nof God hath no mansions, but journeys, pilgrimages in this life. By what\nmeasure did Jacob measure his life to Pharaoh? _The days of the years of\nmy pilgrimage._[359] And though the apostle would not say _morimur_,\nthat whilst we are in the body we are dead, yet he says, _perigrinamur_,\nwhilst we are in the body we are but in a pilgrimage, and we are _absent\nfrom the Lord_:[360] he might have said dead, for this whole world is\nbut an universal churchyard, but our common grave, and the life and\nmotion that the greatest persons have in it is but as the shaking of\nburied bodies in their grave, by an earthquake. That which we call life\nis but _hebdomada mortium_, a week of death, seven days, seven periods\nof our life spent in dying, a dying seven times over; and there is an\nend. Our birth dies in infancy, and our infancy dies in youth, and youth\nand the rest die in age, and age also dies and determines all. Nor do\nall these, youth out of infancy, or age out of youth, arise so, as the\nphoenix out of the ashes of another phoenix formerly dead, but as a\nwasp or a serpent out of a carrion, or as a snake out of dung. Our youth\nis worse than our infancy, and our age worse than our youth. Our youth\nis hungry and thirsty after those sins which our infancy knew not; and\nour age is sorry and angry, that it cannot pursue those sins which our\nyouth did; and besides, all the way, so many deaths, that is, so many\ndeadly calamities accompany every condition and every period of this\nlife, as that death itself would be an ease to them that suffer them.\nUpon this sense doth Job wish that God had not given him an issue from\nthe first death, from the womb, _Wherefore thou hast brought me forth\nout of the womb? Oh that I had given up the ghost, and no eye seen me! I\nshould have been as though I had not been._[361] And not only the\nimpatient Israelites in their murmuring (_would to God we had died by\nthe hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt_),[362] but Elijah himself,\nwhen he fled from Jezebel, and went for his life, as that text says,\nunder the juniper tree, requested that he might die, and said, _It is\nenough now, O Lord, take away my life_.[363] So Jonah justifies his\nimpatience, nay, his anger, towards God himself: _Now, O Lord, take, I\nbeseech thee, my life from me, for it is better to die than to\nlive_.[364] And when God asked him, _Dost thou well to be angry for\nthis?_ he replies, _I do well to be angry, even unto death_. How much\nworse a death than death is this life, which so good men would so often\nchange for death! But if my case be as Saint Paul's case, _quotidi\u00e8\nmorior_, that I die daily, that something heavier than death fall upon\nme every day; if my case be David's case, _tota die mortificamur; all\nthe day long we are killed_, that not only every day, but every hour of\nthe day, something heavier than death fall upon me; though that be true\nof me, _Conceptus in peccatis, I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did\nmy mother conceive me_ (there I died one death); though that be true of\nme, _Natus filius ir\u00e6_, I was born not only the child of sin, but the\nchild of wrath, of the wrath of God for sin, which is a heavier death:\nyet _Domini Domini sunt exitus mortis, with God the Lord are the issues\nof death_; and after a Job, and a Joseph, and a Jeremiah, and a Daniel,\nI cannot doubt of a deliverance. And if no other deliverance conduce\nmore to his glory and my good, yet he hath the keys of death,[365] and\nhe can let me out at that door, that is, deliver me from the manifold\ndeaths of this world, the _omni die_, and the _tota die_, the every\nday's death and every hour's death, by that one death, the final\ndissolution of body and soul, the end of all. But then is that the end\nof all? Is that dissolution of body and soul the last death that the\nbody shall suffer (for of spiritual death we speak not now). It is not,\nthough this be _exitus \u00e0 morte_: it is _introitus in mortem_; though it\nbe an issue from manifold deaths of this world, yet it is an entrance\ninto the death of corruption and putrefaction, and vermiculation, and\nincineration, and dispersion in and from the grave, in which every dead\nman dies over again. It was a prerogative peculiar to Christ, not to die\nthis death, not to see corruption. What gave him this privilege? Not\nJoseph's great proportion of gums and spices, that might have preserved\nhis body from corruption and incineration longer than he needed it,\nlonger than three days, but it would not have done it for ever. What\npreserved him then? Did his exemption and freedom from original sin\npreserve him from this corruption and incineration? It is true that\noriginal sin hath induced this corruption and incineration upon us; if\nwe had not sinned in Adam, _mortality had not put on immortality_[366]\n(as the apostle speaks), nor _corruption had not put on incorruption_,\nbut we had had our transmigration from this to the other world without\nany mortality, any corruption at all. But yet since Christ took sin upon\nhim, so far as made him mortal, he had it so far too as might have made\nhim see this corruption and incineration, though he had no original sin\nin himself; what preserved him then? Did the hypostatical union of both\nnatures, God and man, preserve him from this corruption and\nincineration? It is true that this was a most powerful embalming, to be\nembalmed with the Divine Nature itself, to be embalmed with eternity,\nwas able to preserve him from corruption and incineration for ever. And\nhe was embalmed so, embalmed with the Divine Nature itself, even in his\nbody as well as in his soul; for the Godhead, the Divine Nature, did not\ndepart, but remained still united to his dead body in the grave; but yet\nfor all this powerful embalming, his hypostatical union of both natures,\nwe see Christ did die; and for all his union which made him God and man,\nhe became no man (for the union of the body and soul makes the man, and\nhe whose soul and body are separated by death as long as that state\nlasts, is properly no man). And therefore as in him the dissolution of\nbody and soul was no dissolution of the hypostatical union, so there is\nnothing that constrains us to say, that though the flesh of Christ had\nseen corruption and incineration in the grave, this had not been any\ndissolution of the hypostatical union, for the Divine nature, the\nGodhead, might have remained with all the elements and principles of\nChrist's body, as well as it did with the two constitutive parts of his\nperson, his body and his soul. This incorruption then was not in\nJoseph's gums and spices, nor was it in Christ's innocency, and\nexemption from original sin, nor was it (that is, it is not necessary to\nsay it was) in the hypostatical union. But this incorruptibleness of his\nflesh is most conveniently placed in that; _Non dabis, thou wilt not\nsuffer thy Holy One to see corruption_; we look no further for causes or\nreasons in the mysteries of religion, but to the will and pleasure of\nGod; Christ himself limited his inquisition in that _ita est, even so,\nFather, for so it seemeth good in thy sight_. Christ's body did not see\ncorruption, therefore, because God had decreed it should not. The humble\nsoul (and only the humble soul is the religious soul) rests himself upon\nGod's purposes and the decrees of God which he hath declared and\nmanifested, not such as are conceived and imagined in ourselves, though\nupon some probability, some verisimilitude; so in our present case\nPeter proceeds in his sermon at Jerusalem, and so Paul in his at\nAntioch.[367] They preached Christ to have been risen without seeing\ncorruption, not only because God had decreed it, but because he had\nmanifested that decree in his prophet, therefore doth Saint Paul cite by\nspecial number the second Psalm for that decree, and therefore both\nSaint Peter and Saint Paul cite for it that place in the sixteenth\nPsalm;[368] for when God declares his decree and purpose in the express\nwords of his prophet, or when he declares it in the real execution of\nthe decree, then he makes it ours, then he manifests it to us. And\ntherefore, as the mysteries of our religion are not the objects of our\nreason, but by faith we rest on God's decree and purpose--(it is so, O\nGod, because it is thy will it should be so)--so God's decrees are ever\nto be considered in the manifestation thereof. All manifestation is\neither in the word of God, or in the execution of the decree; and when\nthese two concur and meet it is the strongest demonstration that can be:\nwhen therefore I find those marks of adoption and spiritual filiation\nwhich are delivered in the word of God to be upon me; when I find that\nreal execution of his good purpose upon me, as that actually I do live\nunder the obedience and under the conditions which are evidences of\nadoption and spiritual filiation; then, so long as I see these marks and\nlive so, I may safely comfort myself in a holy certitude and a modest\ninfallibility of my adoption. Christ determines himself in that, the\npurpose of God was manifest to him; Saint Peter and Saint Paul determine\nthemselves in those two ways of knowing the purpose of God, the word of\nGod before the execution of the decree in the fulness of time. It was\nprophesied before, said they, and it is performed now, Christ is risen\nwithout seeing corruption. Now, this which is so singularly peculiar to\nhim, that his flesh should not see corruption, at his second coming, his\ncoming to judgment, shall extend to all that are then alive; their hest\u00e6\nshall not see corruption, because, as the apostle says, and says as a\nsecret, as a mystery, _Behold I shew you a mystery, we shall not all\nsleep_ (that is, not continue in the state of the dead in the grave),\n_but we shall all be changed in an instant_, we shall have a\ndissolution, and in the same instant a redintegration, a recompacting of\nbody and soul, and that shall be truly a death and truly a resurrection,\nbut no sleeping in corruption; but for us that die now and sleep in the\nstate of the dead, we must all pass this posthume death, this death\nafter death, nay, this death after burial, this dissolution after\ndissolution, this death of corruption and putrefaction, of vermiculation\nand incineration, of dissolution and dispersion in and from the grave,\nwhen these bodies that have been the children of royal parents, and the\nparents of royal children, must say with Job, _Corruption, thou art my\nfather, and to the worm, Thou art my mother and my sister_. Miserable\nriddle, when the same worm must be my mother, and my sister and myself!\nMiserable incest, when I must be married to my mother and my sister, and\nbe both father and mother to my own mother and sister, beget and bear\nthat worm which is all that miserable penury; when my mouth shall be\nfilled with dust, and the _worm shall feed, and feed sweetly_[369] upon\nme; when the ambitious man shall have no satisfaction, if the poorest\nalive tread upon him, nor the poorest receive any contentment in being\nmade equal to princes, for they shall be equal but in dust. _One dieth\nat his full strength, being wholly at ease and in quiet; and another\ndies in the bitterness of his soul, and never eats with pleasure_; but\n_they lie down alike in the dust, and the worm covers them_.[370] In\nJob and in Isaiah,[371] it covers them and is spread under them, _the\nworm is spread under thee, and the worm covers thee_. There are the mats\nand the carpets that lie under, and there are the state and the canopy\nthat hang over the greatest of the sons of men. Even those bodies that\nwere _the temples of the Holy Ghost_ come to this dilapidation, to ruin,\nto rubbish, to dust; even the Israel of the Lord, and Jacob himself,\nhath no other specification, no other denomination, but that _vermis\nJacob_, thou worm of Jacob. Truly the consideration of this posthume\ndeath, this death after burial, that after God (with whom are the issues\nof death) hath delivered me from the death of the womb, by bringing me\ninto the world, and from the manifold deaths of the world, by laying me\nin the grave, I must die again in an incineration of this flesh, and in\na dispersion of that dust. That that monarch, who spread over many\nnations alive, must in his dust lie in a corner of that sheet of lead,\nand there but so long as that lead will last; and that private and\nretired man, that thought himself his own for ever, and never came\nforth, must in his dust of the grave be published, and (such are the\nrevolutions of the grave) be mingled with the dust of every highway and\nof every dunghill, and swallowed in every puddle and pond. This is the\nmost inglorious and contemptible vilification, the most deadly and\nperemptory nullification of man, that we can consider. God seems to have\ncarried the declaration of his power to a great height, when he sets the\nprophet Ezekiel in the valley of dry bones, and says, _Son of man, can\nthese bones live?_ as though it had been impossible, and yet they did;\nthe Lord laid _sinews upon them, and flesh, and breathed into them, and\nthey did live_. But in that case there were bones to be seen, something\nvisible, of which it might be said, Can this thing live? But in this\ndeath of incineration and dispersion of dust, we see nothing that we\ncall that man's. If we say, Can this dust live? Perchance it cannot; it\nmay be the mere dust of the earth, which never did live, never shall. It\nmay be the dust of that man's worm, which did live, but shall no more.\nIt may be the dust of another man, that concerns not him of whom it was\nasked. This death of incineration and dispersion is, to natural reason,\nthe most irrecoverable death of all; and yet _Domini Domini sunt exitus\nmortis, unto God the Lord belong the issues of death_; and by\nrecompacting this dust into the same body, and remaining the same body\nwith the same soul, he shall in a blessed and glorious resurrection give\nme such an issue from this death as shall never pass into any other\ndeath, but establish me into a life that shall last as long as the Lord\nof Life himself.\n\nAnd so have you that that belongs to the first acceptation of these\nwords (_unto God the Lord belong the issues of death_); That though from\nthe womb to the grave, and in the grave itself, we pass from death to\ndeath, yet, as Daniel speaks, _the Lord our God is able to deliver us,\nand he will deliver us_.\n\nAnd so we pass unto our second accommodation of these words (_unto God\nthe Lord belong the issues of death_); that it belongs to God, and not\nto man, to pass a judgment upon us at our death, or to conclude a\ndereliction on God's part upon the manner thereof.\n\nThose indications which the physicians receive, and those presagitions\nwhich they give for death or recovery in the patient, they receive and\nthey give out of the grounds and the rules of their art; but we have no\nsuch rule or art to give a presagition of spiritual death and damnation\nupon any such indication as we see in any dying man; we see often\nenough to be sorry, but not to despair; we may be deceived both ways: we\nuse to comfort ourself in the death of a friend, if it be testified that\nhe went away like a lamb, that is, without any reluctation; but God\nknows that may be accompanied with a dangerous damp and stupefaction,\nand insensibility of his present state. Our blessed Saviour suffered\ncolluctations with death, and a _sadness even in his soul to death_, and\nan agony even to a bloody sweat in his body, and expostulations with\nGod, and exclamations upon the cross. He was a devout man who said upon\nhis death-bed, or death-turf (for he was a hermit), _Septuaginta annos\nDomino servivisti, et mori times?_ Hast thou served a good master\nthreescore and ten years, and now art thou loth to go into his presence?\nYet Hilarion was loth. Barlaam was a devout man (a hermit too) that said\nthat day he died, _Cogita te hodie c\u00e6pisse servire Domino, et hodie\nfiniturum_, Consider this to be the first day's service that ever thou\ndidst thy Master, to glorify him in a Christianly and a constant death,\nand if thy first day be thy last day too, how soon dost thou come to\nreceive thy wages! Yet Barlaam could have been content to have stayed\nlonger forth. Make no ill conclusions upon any man's lothness to die,\nfor the mercies of God work momentarily in minutes, and many times\ninsensibly to bystanders, or any other than the party departing. And\nthen upon violent deaths inflicted as upon malefactors, Christ himself\nhath forbidden us by his own death to make any ill conclusion; for his\nown death had those impressions in it; he was reputed, he was executed\nas a malefactor, and no doubt many of them who concurred to his death\ndid believe him to be so. Of sudden death there are scarce examples be\nfound in the Scriptures upon good men, for death in battle cannot be\ncalled sudden death; but God governs not by examples but by rules, and\ntherefore make no ill conclusion upon sudden death nor upon distempers\nneither, though perchance accompanied with some words of diffidence and\ndistrust in the mercies of God. The tree lies as it falls, it is true,\nbut it is not the last stroke that fells the tree, nor the last word nor\ngasp that qualifies the soul. Still pray we for a peaceable life against\nviolent death, and for time of repentance against sudden death, and for\nsober and modest assurance against distempered and diffident death, but\nnever make ill conclusions upon persons overtaken with such deaths;\n_Domini Domini sunt exitus mortis, to God the Lord belong the issues of\ndeath_. And he received Samson, who went out of this world in such a\nmanner (consider it actively, consider it passively in his own death,\nand in those whom he slew with himself) as was subject to interpretation\nhard enough. Yet the Holy Ghost hath moved Saint Paul to celebrate\nSamson in his great catalogue,[372] and so doth all the church. Our\ncritical day is not the very day of our death, but the whole course of\nour life. I thank him that prays for me when the bell tolls, but I thank\nhim much more that catechises me, or preaches to me, or instructs me how\nto live. _Fac hoc et vive_, there is my security, the mouth of the Lord\nhath said it, _do this and thou shalt live_. But though I do it, yet I\nshall die too, die a bodily, a natural death. But God never mentions,\nnever seems to consider that death, the bodily, the natural death. God\ndoth not say, Live well, and thou shalt die well, that is, an easy, a\nquiet death; but, Live well here, and thou shalt live well for ever. As\nthe first part of a sentence pieces well with the last, and never\nrespects, never hearkens after the parenthesis that comes between, so\ndoth a good life here flow into an eternal life, without any\nconsideration what manner of death we die. But whether the gate of my\nprison be opened with an oiled key (by a gentle and preparing sickness),\nor the gate be hewn down by a violent death, or the gate be burnt down\nby a raging and frantic fever, a gate into heaven I shall have, for from\nthe Lord is the cause of my life, and _with God the Lord are the issues\nof death_. And further we carry not this second acceptation of the\nwords, as this _issue of death_ is _liberatio in morte_, God's care that\nthe soul be safe, what agonies soever the body suffers in the hour of\ndeath.\n\nBut pass to our third part and last part: As this issue of death is\n_liberatio per mortem_, a deliverance by the death of another.\n_Sufferentiam Job audiisti, et vidisti finem Domini_, says Saint James\n(v. 11), _You have heard of the patience of Job_, says he: all this\nwhile you have done that, for in every man, calamitous, miserable man, a\nJob speaks. Now, _see the end of the Lord_, sayeth that apostle, which\nis not that end that the Lord proposed to himself (salvation to us), nor\nthe end which he proposes to us (conformity to him), but _see the end of\nthe Lord_, says he, the end that the Lord himself came to, death, and a\npainful and a shameful death. But why did he die? and why die so? _Quia\nDomini Domini sunt exitus mortis_ (as Saint Augustine, interpreting this\ntext, answers that question),[373] because to this _God our Lord\nbelonged the issues of death. Quid apertius diceretur?_ says he there,\nwhat can be more obvious, more manifest than this sense of these words?\nIn the former part of this verse it is said, He that is _our God is the\nGod of salvation; Deus salvos faciendi_, so he reads it, the God that\nmust save us. Who can that be, says he, but Jesus? For therefore that\nname was given him because he was to save us. And to this Jesus, says\nhe, this Saviour,[374] _belong the issues of death_; _Nec oportuit eum\nde hac vita alios exitus habere quam mortis_: being come into this life\nin our mortal nature, he could not go out of this life any other way but\nby death. _Ideo dictum_, says he, therefore it is said, _to God the Lord\nbelonged the issues of death; ut ostenderetur moriendo nos salvos\nfacturum_, to show that his way to save us was to die. And from this\ntext doth Saint Isidore prove that Christ was truly man (which as many\nsects of heretics denied, as that he was truly God), because to him,\nthough he were _Dominus Dominus_ (as the text doubles it), God the Lord,\nyet to _him, to God the Lord belonged the issues of death_; _oportuit\neum pati_; more cannot be said than Christ himself says of himself;\n_These things Christ ought to suffer_;[375] he had no other way but\ndeath: so then this part of our sermon must needs be a passion sermon,\nsince all his life was a continual passion, all our Lent may well be a\ncontinual Good Friday. Christ's painful life took off none of the pains\nof his death, he felt not the less then for having felt so much before.\nNor will any thing that shall be said before lessen, but rather enlarge\nthe devotion, to that which shall be said of his passion at the time of\ndue solemnization thereof. Christ bled not a drop the less at the last\nfor having bled at his circumcision before, nor will you a tear the less\nthen if you shed some now. And therefore be now content to consider with\nme how _to this God the Lord belonged the issues of death_. That God,\nthis Lord, the Lord of life, could die, is a strange contemplation; that\nthe Red Sea could be dry, that the sun could stand still, that an oven\ncould be seven times heat and not burn, that lions could be hungry and\nnot bite, is strange, miraculously strange, but super-miraculous that\nGod _could_ die; but that God _would_ die is an exaltation of that. But\neven of that also it is a super-exaltation, that God should die, must\ndie, and _non exitus_ (said Saint Augustine), God the Lord had no issue\nbut by death, and _oportuit pati_ (says Christ himself), all this Christ\nought to suffer, was bound to suffer; _Deus ultimo Deus_, says David,\nGod is the God of revenges, he would not pass over the son of man\nunrevenged, unpunished. But then _Deus ultionum libere egit_ (says that\nplace), the God of revenges works freely, he punishes, he spares whom he\nwill. And would he not spare himself? he would not: _Dilectio fortis ut\nmors, love is strong as death_;[376] stronger, it drew in death, that\nnaturally is not welcome. _Si possibile_ says Christ, _if it be\npossible, let this cup pass_, when his love, expressed in a former\ndecree with his Father, had made it impossible. _Many waters quench not\nlove._[377] Christ tried many: he was baptised out of his love, and his\nlove determined not there; he mingled blood with water in his agony, and\nthat determined not his love; he wept pure blood, all his blood at all\nhis eyes, at all his pores, in his flagellation and thorns (_to the Lord\nour God belonged the issues of blood_), and these expressed, but these\ndid not quench his love. He would not spare, nay, he could not spare\nhimself. There was nothing more free, more voluntary, more spontaneous\nthan the death of Christ. It is true, _libere egit_, he died\nvoluntarily; but yet when we consider the contract that had passed\nbetween his Father and him, there was an _oportuit_, a kind of necessity\nupon him: all this _Christ ought to suffer_. And when shall we date this\nobligation, this _oportuit_, this necessity? When shall we say that\nbegan? Certainly this decree by which Christ was to suffer all this was\nan eternal decree, and was there any thing before that that was eternal?\nInfinite love, eternal love; be pleased to follow this home, and to\nconsider it seriously, that what liberty soever we can conceive in\nChrist to die or not to die; this necessity of dying, this decree is as\neternal as that liberty; and yet how small a matter made he of this\nnecessity and this dying? His Father calls it but a bruise, and but a\nbruising of his heel[378] (the serpent shall bruise his heel), and yet\nthat was, that the serpent should practise and compass his death.\nHimself calls it but a baptism, as though he were to be the better for\nit. I _have a baptism to be baptised with_,[379] and he was in pain till\nit was accomplished, and yet this baptism was his death. The Holy Ghost\ncalls it joy (_for the joy which was set before him he endured the\ncross_),[380] which was not a joy of his reward after his passion, but a\njoy that filled him even in the midst of his torments, and arose from\nhim; when Christ calls his _calicem_ a cup, and no worse (_Can ye drink\nof my cup_)[381], he speaks not odiously, not with detestation of it.\nIndeed it was a cup, _salus mundo_, a health to all the world. And _quid\nretribuam_, says David, _What shall I render to the Lord?_[382] Answer\nyou with David, _Accipiam calicem, I will take the cup of salvation_;\ntake it, that cup is salvation, his passion, if not into your present\nimitation, yet into your present contemplation. And behold how that Lord\nthat was God, yet could die, would die, must die for our salvation. That\nMoses and Elias talked with Christ in the transfiguration, both Saint\nMatthew and Saint Mark[383] tells us, but what they talked of, only\nSaint Luke; _Dicebant excessum ejus_, says he, _They talked of his\ndisease, of his death, which was to be accomplished at Jerusalem_.[384]\nThe word is of his _exodus_, the very word of our text, _exitus_, his\n_issue by death_. Moses, who in his exodus had prefigured this issue of\nour Lord, and in passing Israel out of Egypt through the Red Sea, had\nforetold in that actual prophecy, Christ passing of mankind through the\nsea of his blood; and Elias, whose exodus and issue of this world was a\nfigure of Christ's ascension; had no doubt a great satisfaction in\ntalking with our blessed Lord, _de excessu ejus_, of the full\nconsummation of all this in his death, which was to be accomplished at\nJerusalem. Our meditation of his death should be more visceral, and\naffect us more, because it is of a thing already done. The ancient\nRomans had a certain tenderness and detestation of the name of death;\nthey could not name death, no, not in their wills; there they could not\nsay, _Si mori contigerit_, but _si quid humanitas contingat_, not if or\nwhen I die, but when the course of nature is accomplished upon me. To us\nthat speak daily of the death of Christ (he was crucified, dead, and\nburied), can the memory or the mention of our own death be irksome or\nbitter? There are in these latter times amongst us that name death\nfreely enough, and the death of God, but in blasphemous oaths and\nexecrations. Miserable men, who shall therefore be said never to have\nnamed Jesus, because they have named him too often; and therefore hear\nJesus say, _Nescivi vos, I never knew you_, because they made themselves\ntoo familiar with him. Moses and Elias talked with Christ of his death\nonly in a holy and joyful sense, of the benefit which they and all the\nworld were to receive by that. Discourses of religion should not be out\nof curiosity, but to edification. And then they talked with Christ of\nhis death at that time when he was in the greatest height of glory, that\never he admitted in this world, that is, his transfiguration. And we are\nafraid to speak to the great men of this world of their death, but\nnourish in them a vain imagination of immortality and immutability. But\n_bonum est nobis esse hic_ (as Saint Peter said there), _It is good to\ndwell here_, in this consideration of his death, and therefore transfer\nwe our tabernacle (our devotions) through some of those steps which God\nthe Lord made to his _issue of death_ that day. Take in the whole day\nfrom the hour that Christ received the passover upon Thursday unto the\nhour in which he died the next day. Make this present day that day in\nthy devotion, and consider what he did, and remember what you have done.\nBefore he instituted and celebrated the sacrament (which was after the\neating of the passover), he proceeded to that act of humility, to wash\nhis disciples' feet, even Peter's, who for a while resisted him. In thy\npreparation to the holy and blessed sacrament, hast thou with a sincere\nhumility sought a reconciliation with all the world, even with those\nthat have been averse from it, and refused that reconciliation from\nthee? If so, and not else, thou hast spent that first part of his last\nday in a conformity with him. After the sacrament he spent the time till\nnight in prayer, in preaching, in psalms: hast thou considered that a\nworthy receiving of the sacrament consists in a continuation of holiness\nafter, as well as in a preparation before? If so, thou hast therein also\nconformed thyself to him; so Christ spent his time till night. At night\nhe went into the garden to pray, and he prayed prolixious, he spent much\ntime in prayer, how much? Because it is literally expressed, that he\nprayed there three several times,[385] and that returning to his\ndisciples after his first prayer, and finding them asleep, said, _Could\nye not watch with me one hour_,[386] it is collected that he spent three\nhours in prayer. I dare scarce ask thee whither thou wentest, or how\nthou disposedst of thyself, when it grew dark and after last night. If\nthat time were spent in a holy recommendation of thyself to God, and a\nsubmission of thy will to his, it was spent in a conformity to him. In\nthat time, and in those prayers, was his agony and bloody sweat. I will\nhope that thou didst pray; but not every ordinary and customary prayer,\nbut prayer actually accompanied with shedding of tears and dispositively\nin a readiness to shed blood for his glory in necessary cases, puts thee\ninto a conformity with him. About midnight he was taken and bound with a\nkiss, art thou not too conformable to him in that? Is not that too\nliterally, too exactly thy case, at midnight to have been taken and\nbound with a kiss? From thence he was carried back to Jerusalem, first\nto Annas, then to Caiaphas, and (as late as it was) then he was examined\nand buffeted, and delivered over to the custody of those officers from\nwhom he received all those irrisions, and violences, the covering of his\nface, the spitting upon his face, the blasphemies of words, and the\nsmartness of blows, which that gospel mentions: in which compass fell\nthat gallicinium, that crowing of the cock which called up Peter to his\nrepentance. How thou passedst all that time thou knowest. If thou didst\nany thing that needest Peter's tears, and hast not shed them, let me be\nthy cock, do it now. Now, thy Master (in the unworthiest of his\nservants) looks back upon thee, do it now. Betimes, in the morning, so\nsoon as it was day, the Jews held a council in the high priest's hall,\nand agreed upon their evidence against him, and then carried him to\nPilate, who was to be his judge; didst thou accuse thyself when thou\nwakedst this morning, and wast thou content even with false accusations,\nthat is, rather to suspect actions to have been sin, which were not,\nthan to smother and justify such as were truly sins? Then thou spentest\nthat hour in conformity to him; Pilate found no evidence against him,\nand therefore to ease himself, and to pass a compliment upon Herod,\ntetrarch of Galilee, who was at that time at Jerusalem (because Christ,\nbeing a Galilean, was of Herod's jurisdiction), Pilate sent him to\nHerod, and rather as a madman than a malefactor; Herod remanded him\n(with scorn) to Pilate, to proceed against him; and this was about eight\nof the clock. Hast thou been content to come to this inquisition, this\nexamination, this agitation, this cribration, this pursuit of thy\nconscience; to sift it, to follow it from the sins of thy youth to thy\npresent sins, from the sins of thy bed to the sins of thy board, and\nfrom the substance to the circumstance of thy sins? That is time spent\nlike thy Saviour's. Pilate would have saved Christ, by using the\nprivilege of the day in his behalf, because that day one prisoner was to\nbe delivered, but they choose Barabbas; he would have saved him from\ndeath, by satisfying their fury with inflicting other torments upon him,\nscourging and crowning with thorns, and loading him with many scornful\nand ignominious contumelies; but they regarded him not, they pressed a\ncrucifying. Hast thou gone about to redeem thy sin, by fasting, by alms,\nby disciplines and mortifications, in way of satisfaction to the justice\nof God? That will not serve, that is not the right way; we press an\nutter crucifying of that sin that governs thee: and that conforms thee\nto Christ. Towards noon Pilate gave judgment, and they made such haste\nto execution as that by noon he was upon the cross. There now hangs that\nsacred body upon the cross, rebaptized in his own tears, and sweat, and\nembalmed in his own blood alive. There are those bowels of compassion\nwhich are so conspicuous, so manifested, as that you may see them\nthrough his wounds. There those glorious eyes grew faint in their sight,\nso as the sun, ashamed to survive them, departed with his light too.\nAnd then that Son of God, who was never from us, and yet had now come a\nnew way unto us in assuming our nature, delivers that soul (which was\nnever out of his Father's hands) by a _new way_, a voluntary emission of\nit into his Father's hands; for though _to this God our Lord belonged\nthese issues of death_, so that considered in his own contract, he must\nnecessarily die, yet at no breach or battery which they had made upon\nhis sacred body issued his soul; but _emisit_, he gave up the ghost; and\nas God breathed a soul into the first Adam, so this second Adam breathed\nhis soul into God, into the hands of God.\n\nThere we leave you in that blessed dependency, to hang upon him that\nhangs upon the cross, there bathe in his tears, there suck at his\nwounds, and lie down in peace in his grave, till he vouchsafe you a\nresurrection, and an ascension into that kingdom which He hath prepared\nfor you with the inestimable price of his incorruptible blood. Amen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[347] Psalm cxv. 6.\n\n[348] Psalm cxxxix. 6.\n\n[349] Psalm cxviii. 23.\n\n[350] Psalm c. 3.\n\n[351] Isaiah, xxxvii. 3.\n\n[352] Rom. vii. 24.\n\n[353] Gen. vi. 14.\n\n[354] Gen. iv. 1.\n\n[355] John, xiv. 2.\n\n[356] Matt. viii. 20.\n\n[357] Heb. xiii. 14.\n\n[358] Exod. xvii. 1.\n\n[359] Gen. xlvii. 9.\n\n[360] 2 Cor. v. 6.\n\n[361] Job, x. 18, 19.\n\n[362] Exod. xvi. 3.\n\n[363] 1 Kings, xix. 4.\n\n[364] Jonah, iv. 3.\n\n[365] Rev. i. 18.\n\n[366] 1 Cor. xv. 33.\n\n[367] Acts, ii. 31; xiii. 35.\n\n[368] Ver. 10.\n\n[369] Job, xxiv. 20.\n\n[370] Job, xxi. 23, 25, 26.\n\n[371] Isaiah, xiv. 11.\n\n[372] Heb. xi.\n\n[373] De Civitate Dei, lib. xvii.\n\n[374] Matt. i. 21.\n\n[375] Luke, xxiv. 26.\n\n[376] Cant. viii. 6.\n\n[377] _Ibid._ 7.\n\n[378] Gen. iii. 15.\n\n[379] Luke, xii. 50.\n\n[380] Heb. xii. 2.\n\n[381] Matt. xx. 22.\n\n[382] Psalm cxvi. 12.\n\n[383] Matt. xvii. 3; Mark, ix. 4.\n\n[384] Luke, ix. 31.\n\n[385] Luke, xxii. 41.\n\n[386] Matt. xxvi. 40.\n\n\n\n\nTranscribers Notes:\n\nI corrected an error in Footnote 1. The original book said\nMatt. xiii. 16, which I corrected to verse 15.\n\nI corrected an error in Footnote 65. The original book said\nJer., which I corrected to Lam.","title":"Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions; Together with Death's Duel","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":73411}