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neither contrary nor corruption; that they subsist beyond the body, and outlive death by the priviledge of their proper natures, and without a Miracle; that the Souls of the faithful, as they leave Earth, take possession of Heaven: that those apparitions and ghosts of departed persons are not the wandring souls of men, but the unquiet walks of Devils, prornpting and suggesting us unto mischief, blood, and villainy ; instilling and stealing into our hearts that the blessed Spirits are not at rest in their graves, but wander sollicitous of the affairs of the World. But that those phantasms appear often, and do frequent Cæmeteries, Charnel-houses, and Churches, it is because those are the dormitories of the dead, where the Devil, like an insolent Champion, beholds with pride the spoils and Trophies of his Victory over Adam.

This is that dismal conquest we all deplore, that makes us so often cry, O Adam, quid fecisti ? I thank God I have not those strait ligaments, or narrow obligations to the World, as to dote on life, or be convulst and tremble at the name of death. Not that I am insensible of the dread and horrour thereof; or by raking into the bowels of the deceased, continual sight of Anatomies, Skeletons, or Cadaverous reliques, like Vespilloes, or Grave-makers, I am become stupid, or have forgot the apprehension of Mortality ; but that, marshalling all the horrours, and contemplating the extremities thereof, I find not anything therein able to daunt the courage of a man, much less a well-resolved Christian; and therefore am not angry at the errour of our first Parents, or unwilling to bear a part of this common fate, and like the best of them to dye, that is, to cease to breathe, to take a farewel of the elements, to be a kind of nothing for a moment, to be within one instant of a Spirit. When I take a full view and circle of my self without this reasonable moderator, and equal piece of Justice, Death, I do conceive my self the miserablest person extant. Were there not another life that I hope for, all the vanities of this World should not intreat a moments breath from me : could

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the Devil work my belief to imagine I could never dye, I would not outlive that very thought. I have so abject a conceit of this common way of existence, this retaining to the Sun and Elements, I cannot think this is to be a Man, or to live according to the dignity of humanity. In exspectation of a better, I can with patience embrace this life, yet in my best meditations do often defie death; I honour any man that contemns, it, nor can I highly love any that is afraid of it: this makes me naturally love a Souldier, and honour those tattered and contemptible Regiments that will die at the command of a Sergeant. For a Pagan there may be some motives to be in love with life; but for a Christian to be amazed at death, I see not how he can escape this Dilemma, that he is too sensible of this life, or hopeless of the life to come.

Some Divines count Adam thirty years old at his Creation, because they suppose him created in the perfect age and stature of man. And surely we are all out of the computation of our age, and every man is some months elder than he bethinks him; for we live, move, have a being, and are subject to the actions of the elements, and the malice of diseases, in that other World, the truest Microcosm, the Womb of our Mother. For besides that general and common existence we are conceived to hold in our Chaos, and whilst we sleep within the bosome of our causes, we enjoy a being and life in three distinct worlds, wherein we receive most manifest graduations. In that obscure World and Womb of our Mother, our time is short, computed by the Moon, yet longer than the days of many creatures that behold the Sun; our selves being not yet without life, sense, and reason; though for the manifestation of its actions, it awaits the opportunity of objects, and seems to live there but in its root and soul of vegetation. Entring afterwards upon the scene of the World, we arise up and become another creature, performing the reasonable actions of man, and obscurely manifesting that part of Divinity in us; but not in complement and perfection, till we have once

more cast our secondine, that is, this slough of flesh, į and are delivered into the last World, that is, that

ineffable place of Paul, that proper ubi of Spirits. The smattering I have of the Philosophers Stone (which is something more then the perfect exaltation of gold,) hath taught me a great deal of Divinity, and instructed my belief, how that immortal spirit and incorruptible substance of my Soul may lye obscure, and sleep a while within this house of flesh. Those strange and mystical transmigrations that I have observed in Silkworms, turned my Philosophy into Divinity. There is in these works of nature, which seem to puzzle reason, something Divine, and hath more in it than the eye of a common spectator doth discover.

I am naturally bashful; nor hath conversation, age, or travel, been able to effront or enharden me; yet I > have one part of modesty which I have seldom dis; covered in another, that is, (to speak truely,) I am not > so much afraid of death, as ashamed thereof. 'Tis the

very disgrace and ignominy of our natures, that in a moment can so disfigure us, that our rearest friends, ' Wife, and Children, stand afraid and start at us: the Birds and Beasts of the field, that before in a natural fear obeyed us, forgetting all allegiance, begin to prey upon us. This very conceit hath in a tempest disposed

and left me willing to be swallowed up in the abyss of 1 waters... wherein I had perished unseen, unpityed, with

out wondering eyes, tears of pity, Lectures of mortality, I and none had said,

Quantum mutatus ab illo ! Not that I am ashamed of the Anatomy of my parts, . or can accuse Nature for playing the bungler in any part of me, or my own vitious life for contracting any MR shameful disease upon me, whereby I might not call my self as wholesome a morsel for the worms as any."

Some, upon the courage of a fruitful issue, wherein, as in the truest Chronicle, they seem to outlive themselves, can with greater patience away with death. This conceit and counterfeit subsisting in our progenies

seems to me a meer fallacy, unworthy the desires of a À
man that can but conceive a thought of the next
World; who, in a nobler ambition, should desire to ::
live in his substance in Heaven, rather than his name
and shadow in the earth. And therefore at my death
I mean to take a total adieu of the World, not caring
for a Monument, History, or Epitaph, not so much as
the bare memory of my name to be found any where
but in the universal Register of God. I am not yet
so Cynical as to approve the Testament of Diogenes;
nor do I altogether allow that Rodomontado of Lucan,

- Cælo tegitur, qui non habet urnan.
He that unburied lies wants not his Herse,

For unto him a Tomb's the Universe.
but commend in my calmer judgement those ingenuous
intentions that desire to sleep by the urns of their
Fathers, and strive to go the neatest way unto corrup-
tion. I do not envy the temper of Crows and Daws,
nor the numerous and weary days of our Fathers
before the Flood. If there be any truth in Astrology,
I may outlive a Jubilee : as yet I have not seen one
revolution of Saturn, nor hath my pulse beat thirty
years; and yet, excepting one, have seen the Ashes
and left under ground all the Kings of Europe ; have
been contemporary to three Emperours, four Grand
Signiours, and as many Popes. Methinks I have out-
lived my self, and begin to be weary of the Sun; I
have shaken hands with delight, in my warm blood
and Canicular days, I perceive I do anticipate the
vices of age; the World to me is but a dream or
mock-show, and we all therein but Pantalones and
Anticks, to my severer contemplations.

It is not, I confess, an unlawful Prayer to desire to surpass the days of our Saviour, or wish to outlive that age wherein He thought fittest to dye; yet if (as Divinity affirms,) there shall be no gray hairs in Heaven, but all shall rise in the perfect state of men, we do but outlive those perfections in this World, to be recalled unto them by a greater Miracle in the next,

and run on here but to be retrograde hereafter. Were

there any hopes to outlive vice, or a point to be super..annuated from sin, it were worthy our knees to implore

the days of Methuselah. But age doth not rectify, but incurvate our natures, turning bad dispositions into

worser habits, and (like diseases,) brings on incurable k vices; for every day as we grow weaker in age, we

grow stronger in sin, and the number of our days doth but make our sins innumerable. The same vice committed at sixteen, is not the same, though it agree in all other circumstances, at forty, but swells and doubles from the circumstance of our ages; wherein, besides the constant and inexcusable habit of transgressing, the maturity of our judgment cuts off pretence unto excuse or pardon. Every sin, the oftner it is committed, the more it acquireth in the quality of evil; as it succeeds in time, so it proceeds in degrees of badness; for as they proceed they ever multiply, and, like figures in Arithmetick, the last stands for more than all that went before it. And though I think no man can live well once, but he that could live twice, yet for my own part I would not live over my hours past, or begin again the thread of my days: not upon Cicero's ground, because I have lived them well, but for fear I should live them worse. I find my growing Judgment daily instruct me how to be better, but my untamed affections and confirmed vitiosity makes me daily do worse. I find in my confirmed age the same sins I discovered in my youth; I committed many then, because I was a Child; and because I commit them still, I am yet an infant. Therefore I perceive a man may be twice a Child, before the days of dotage; and stand in need of Æsons Bath before threescore.

And truly there goes a great deal of providence to produce a mans life unto threescore: there is more required than an able temper for those years; though the radical humour contain in it sufficient oyl for seventy, yet I perceive in some it gives no light past thirty : · men assign not all the causes of long life, that write whole Books thereof. They that found themselves on

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