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<DATE>2011-10-25</DATE>
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<NAME>Alexis Jakobson</NAME>
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<HEAD>AN EPISTLE OF A RELIGIOVS PRIEST VNTO his father: exhorting him to the perfect for&s;aking of the world.</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub">TO THE WORSHIPFVL his very good father, R. S. his dutifull &s;onne R. S. wi&s;heth all happines.</HEAD>
<P>IN childre~ of former ages, it hath bene thought &s;o behofull a point of dewty to theire parents, in pre|&s;ence by &s;eruiceable offices, in ab|&s;ence by other affectuall &s;ignifica|<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="pdcc" EXTENT="1 letter">ions, to yeld proofe of their thank|full mindes, that neither any child could omitte it, without touch of
<PB N="2" REF="2">vngratfulnes, nor the parents for|beare it without iu&s;t di&s;plea&s;ure. But now we are falne into &s;uch ca|lamitye of times, and the violence of here&s;y hath &s;o cro&s;&s;ed the cour&s;e, both of vertew &amp; nature, that their ingraffed lawes, neuer infringed by the mo&s;t &s;auage &amp; brute creatures, ca~not of Gods people without pe|rill be ob&s;erued. I am not of &s;o vn|naturall a kind, of &s;o wilde educa|tion, or &s;o vnchri&s;tian a &s;pirite, as not to remember the roote out of which I braunched, or to forget my &s;econdary maker and auctor of my being: It is not the carele&s;nes of a colde affection, nor the want of a dew and reuerent re&s;pect, that hath made me &s;uch a &s;tranger to my na|tiue home, and &s;o &s;lacke in defray|ing the debt of a thankfull minde, but onely the iniquity of our daies,
<PB N="3" REF="2">that maketh my pre&s;ence perillous and the di&s;charge of my dewty an occa&s;ion of daunger. I was loth to enforce an vnwelcome courte&s;y vp on any, or by &s;eming officious, to become offen&s;iue, deeming it bet|ter to let time dige&s;t the feare, that my return into the realme had bred in my kindred, then apruptly to in|trude my &s;elfe, to purcha&s;e theire anger, who&s;e good will I &s;o highly e&s;teemed. I neuer doubted, but that the beliefe, which to all my frendes by de&s;cent and petegree is in maner hereditary, framed in the~ a righte per&s;wa&s;ion of my pre&s;ent calling, not &s;uffering them to mea|&s;ure their cen&s;ures of me, by the vg|ly termes, and odious Epitheetes, wherwith here&s;y hath &s;ought to di&s;+credite my function, but rather by the reuerence of &s;o worthy a Sacra|ment,
<PB N="4" REF="3">and the &s;acred doome of all former ages. Yet becau&s;e I might verye ea&s;ely perceiue by apparent coniectures, that many were more willing to heare of me, then from me, and readier to prai&s;e, then to v&s;e my endeuours, I haue hitherto bridled my de&s;ire to &s;ee them, with the care and ielo&s;y of their &s;aftye, &amp; bani&s;hing my &s;elfe from the &s;ent of my cradle, in my owne country I haue liued like a forreiner, finding emong &s;trangers that, which in my neere&s;t bloode I pre&s;umed not to &s;eeke. But now con&s;idering, that delay may haue qualified feare, &amp; knowing my per&s;on onely to im|port daunger to others, and my per &s;wa&s;ion to none but to my &s;elfe, I thought it highe time to vtter my &s;incere and duetifull minde, and to open a vent to my zealous affecti|on,
<PB N="5" REF="3">which I haue &s;o long &s;mothe|red and &s;uppre&s;&s;ed in &s;ilence. For not onely the originall lawe of na|ture, written in all childrens harts, and deriued from the bowells and bre&s;tes of their mothers, is a conti|nuall &s;oliciter vrging me in your be halfe, but the &s;ouereigne decree e|nacted by the father of heauen, ra|tified by his &s;onne, and daily repea|ted by in&s;tincte of the holy gho&s;t, bindeth euery child in the dew of Chri&s;tianitye, to tender the e&s;tate and welfare of his parentes, and is a motiue, that alloweth no excu&s;e, but of nece&s;&s;ity pre&s;&s;eth to perfor|mance of dewty. Nature by grace is not aboli&s;hed, but perfited, not murdered, but manured, neither are her impre&s;&s;ions quite ra&s;ed, or an|nulled, but &s;uted to the colours of faith and vertew. And if her affec|tions
<PB N="6" REF="4">be &s;o forcible, that eue~ in hell where rancour and de&s;pite chiefly reigneth, &amp; all feeling of goodnes is ouerwhelmed in malice, they mo+ued the rich glutton by experience of his owne mi&s;ery to carry the le&s;&s;e enuy to his kinred: how much more in the Church of God, where grace quickneth, charity enflameth, and natures good inclinations are abet|tered by &s;upernaturall giftes, ought the duety of piety to preuaile. And who but more merciles then dam|ned creatures, could &s;ee their dee|re&s;t frendes plunged in the like pe|rill, and not to be wounded with deepe remor&s;e of their lamentable and imminent hazardes? If in be|holding a mortall enemy wroung and tortured with deadly pangues, the toughe&s;t harte &s;ofteneth with &s;ome &s;orow: If the mo&s;t frozen and
<PB N="7" REF="4">fierce minde cannot but thawe and melte with pity, euen when it &s;eeth the wor&s;t mi&s;crea~t &s;uffer his de&s;er|ued torments: how much le&s;&s;e can the hart of a childe, con&s;ider tho&s;e that bredd him into this world, to be in the fall to farr more bitter ex|tremities, and not bleed with griefe of their vncomfortable ca&s;e. Surely for my owne parte, though I cha|lenge not the prerogatiue of the be&s;t di&s;po&s;ition, yet am I not of &s;o har&s;he and curri&s;h an humour, but that it is a continuall corra&s;iue, and cro&s;&s;e vnto me, that wheras my en|deuours haue reclaimed many fro~ the brincke of perditio~, I haue bene lea&s;t able to employ them, where they were mo&s;t dew, &amp; barred fro~ affordinge to my deere&s;t frendes, that which hath ben eagerly &s;ought and beneficially obtained of mere
<PB N="8" REF="5">&s;trangers. Who hath more intere&s;t in the grape then he that planted the vine? who more right to the cropp the~ he that &s;owed the corne? or how can the child owe &s;o greate &s;eruice to any, as to him who~e he is indebted vnto for his very life and being? With yong Tobye I haue trauailed farre, and brought home a freight of &s;pirituall &s;ub&s;tance, to enrich you, &amp; medicinable receites again&s;t your gho&s;tlye maladyes. I haue with E&s;au after long toile in pur&s;uing a painfull cha&s;e, returned with &s;uch pray as you were wonte to loue, de&s;iring therby to procure your ble&s;&s;ing. I haue in this gene|rall famine of all true and Chri&s;tian food, with Io&s;eph prepared abun|dance of the bread of Angells, for the repa&s;t of your &s;oule. And now my de&s;ire is that my drugges may
<PB N="9" REF="5">cure you, my pray delight you, and my proui&s;ion feed you, by whom I haue bene cured, delighted, and fedd my &s;elfe, that your courte&s;ies may in parte be counteruailed, and my ducty in &s;ome &s;orte performed. De&s;pi&s;e not good Sir the youth of your &s;onne, neither deeme that god mea&s;ureth his endouments by num+ber of yeeres. Hoary &s;en&s;es are of|ten couched vnder greene lockes, and &s;ome are riper in the &s;pringe, then others in the Autumne of their age. God cho&s;e not I&s;a&iuml; him &s;elfe, nor his elde&s;t &s;onne, but yong Da|uid to conquere Golias and to rule his people. Not the mo&s;t aged per|&s;on, but Daniel the mo&s;t innocent infant deliuered Suzanna from the iniquity of the iudges: and Chri&s;t at twelue yeares of age, was found in the temple que&s;tioning with the
<PB N="10" REF="6" MS="y">graue&s;t Doctors. A true Elias can conceiue, that a little cloude may ca&s;t a large &amp; abu~dant &s;hower, and the &s;cripture teacheth vs, that God reuealeth to little ones that which he concealeth from the wi&s;e&s;t Sa|ges. His truth is not aba&s;ed by the minority of the &s;peaker, who out of the mouthes of infantes &amp; &s;uck|linges can perfit his prai&s;es. Timo|thy was yong, and yet a principall pa&s;tour. S. Ihon not olde and yet an Apo&s;tle, yea and the Angels by appearing in youthfull &s;emblances, giue vs a pregnant proofe, that ma|ny glorious giftes may be &s;hrouded vnder tender &s;hapes. All which I alledge, not to claime any priui|ledge &s;urmounting the rate of v&s;u|all habilities, but to auoid all touch of pre&s;umption in adui&s;ing my el|ders, &s;eing that it hath the warrant
<PB N="11" REF="6">of &s;cripture, the te&s;timony of ex|amples, &amp; &s;ufficient groundes both in grace and nature. There is di|uer&s;ity in the degrees of our carnall con&s;anquinity, and the preminence appertaineth to you, as &s;uperiour ouer your childes body. Yet if you con&s;ider our alliance in the chiefe portion, I meane our foule, which di&s;cerneth man from inferiour cre|atures, we are of equall proximity to our heauenly father, both de&s;|cended of the &s;ame parent, and no other di&s;tance in our degrees, but that you are the elder brother. In this &s;en&s;e doth the &s;cripture &s;aye, Call not any father vpon earth, for one is your father which is in hea|uen. Seing therfore that your &s;u|periority is founded vpon fle&s;h and blood, which are in maner but the barke and rine of a man, and our
<PB N="12" REF="7">equality vppon the &s;oule, which is mans maigne &s;ub&s;tance, thinke it I praye you no di&s;honour to your age, or di&s;paragement to your per|&s;on, If with all humility I offer my adui&s;e vnto you. One man cannot be perfect in all faculties, neither is it a di&s;grace to the gold&s;mith, if he be ignorant of the milleners trade. Many are deepe lawiers and yett &s;hallowe Diuines, manye verye de liuer in feates of the body, and cu|rious in externall complementes, yet litle experimented in matters of their &s;oule and farre to &s;eeke in religious actions. I haue &s;tudied &amp; practi&s;ed the&s;e many yeeres &s;piri|tuall phi&s;icke, acquainting my &s;elfe with the beating and temper of e|uery pul&s;e, &amp; trauailing in the &s;cru|tiny of the maladies &amp; medicines in cident vnto &s;oules. If therfore I pro+fer
<PB N="13" REF="7">you the fruits of my long &s;tudies and make you a pre&s;ent of my pro|fe&s;&s;ion, I hope you will con&s;true it rather as a duetifull parte, then any point of pre&s;umption. He may be a father to the &s;oule, that is a &s;onne to the body, and requite the benefit of his te~porall life, by reuiuing his pa|rent from a &s;pirituall death. And to this effect did chri&s;t &s;ay thes words: my mother, and brethren are they, that do the will of my father which is in heauen: Vpon which place S. Climacus &s;hewing to what kinred a Chri&s;tian ought chiefly to relye, draweth this di&s;cour&s;e. Let him be thy father, that both can and will lay his labour to disburden thee of thy packe of &s;innes. Let holy com|punction be thy mother, to depure thee from thy ordure and filth. Let him be thy brother, that wilbe both
<PB N="14" REF="8">thy partner and co~peditour to pa&s;&s;e and perfite thy race towardes hea|uen. Take the memory of death for thy perpetuall pheere, and vn&s;epa|rable &s;pou&s;e. Lett thy children be bitter &s;ighes of a &s;orowfull harte, and po&s;&s;e&s;&s;e thy body as thy bond|man. Fa&s;ten thy frend&s;hippe with the Angelicall powers, with which if thou clo&s;e&s;t in familiar affiance, they will be patrones vnto thee in thy finall pa&s;&s;age. This (&s;aieth he) is the generation &amp; kinred of tho&s;e that &s;eeke God. Such a father as this Sainte &s;peaketh of, maye you haue of your owne &s;onne, to enter you farther in the fore recited affi|nity. Of which happely it was a &s;ig|nifica~t pre&s;age, aboding the future euent, that euen fro~ my infancy you were wont in merime~t to call me fa+ther, R. which is the cu&s;tumary &s;tile
<PB N="15" REF="8">now allotted to my pre&s;ent e&s;tate.</P>
<P>Now therfore to ioine i&s;&s;ue, and to come to the principall drifte of my di&s;cour&s;e, mo&s;t humbly &amp; ear|ne&s;tly I am to be&s;ech you, that both in re&s;pect of the honour of God, your duty to his Church, the com|forte of your children, and the re|dres of your owne &s;oule, you wold &s;eriou&s;ly con&s;ider the termes you &s;tand in, &amp; way your &s;elfe in a chri|&s;tian ballance, taking for your cou~|terpoi&s;e the iudgementes of God. Take heede in time, that the word <HI>Thecel</HI> writte~ of olde again&s;t <HI>Balta|zar,</HI> &amp; interpreted by <HI>Daniel, Dan. 5.</HI> be not verified in you, who&s;e ex|po&s;ition was: <HI>you haue bene poi&s;ed in the &s;coale, and found of to lighte weight.</HI> Remember that you are in the waining, and the date of your pilgrimage is well nere expired, &amp;
<PB N="16" REF="9">now it behooueth you to looke to|wardes your country. Your force langui&s;heth, your &s;en&s;es impaire, &amp; your body droupeth, and on euery &s;ide the ruinous cottage of your faint &amp; feeble fle&s;h, thretneth fall. And hauing &s;o many herbingers of death to premoni&s;he you of your end, how can you but prepare for &s;o dredfull a &s;tranger. The yonge may dye quickly, but the olde can|not liue long. The yong mens life by ca&s;ualty may be abridged, but the olde mens by no phi&s;icke can be long adiourned: and therfore if greene yeres &s;ometimes mu&s;t think of the graue, the thoughtes of &s;ere age &s;hould continually dwel in the &s;ame. The prerogatiue of infancie is innocency, of childhoode reue|rence, of manhood maturity, and of age wi&s;dome. And &s;eeing that
<PB N="17" REF="9" MS="y">the chiefe properties of wi&s;dome are, to be mindfull of things pa&s;&s;ed carefull of thinges pre&s;ent, &amp; pro|uident of thinges to come, v&s;e now the priuiledge of natures talent to the benefitte of your &s;oule, &amp; pro|cure hereafter to be wi&s;e in weldo|ing, and watchfull in fore&s;ight of future harmes. To &s;erue the world you are now vnhable, and though you were hable you haue litle cau&s;e to be willing, &s;eeing that it neuer gaue you but an vnhappy welcome a hurtfull entertainment, and now doth abandon you with an vnfor|tunate farewell. You haue long &s;o|wed in a field of flint, which could bring you nothing forth, but a crop of cares, and affliction of &s;pirit, re|warding your labours with remor&s;e and affording for your gaine eter|nall domages. It is now more then
<PB N="18" REF="10" MS="y">a &s;ea&s;onable time time, to alter the cour&s;e of &s;o vnthriuing a husba~dry, and to enter into the field of Gods Church, in which &s;owing the &s;eeds of repentant &s;orow, and watering them with the teares of humble co~|trition, you may reape a more be|neficiall harue&s;t, &amp; gather the fruits of euerla&s;ting comforte. Remem|ber I pray you, that your &s;pring is &s;pent, and your &s;omer ouerpa&s;t: you are now arriued to the fall of leafe, yea and winter colours haue alrea|dy &s;tained your hoary head. Be not careles (&s;aieth <HI>S. Augu&s;tin</HI>) though our louing Lorde beare long with offenders. for the longer he &s;taieth not finding amendment, the &s;orer will he &s;courge when he cometh to ludgement. and his patience in &s;o long expecting, is onely to lend vs re&s;pite to repent, not any way to
<PB N="19" REF="10">enlarge vs lei&s;ure to &s;inne. He that is to&s;&s;ed with varietye of &s;tormes, &amp; cannot come to his de&s;ired port, maketh not much way, but is much tormoiled: So he that hath pa&s;&s;ed many yeeres, and purcha&s;ed little profitte, hath had a long being, but a &s;horte life. for life is more to be mea&s;ured by merittes, the~ by num|ber of daies, &s;eeing that mo&s;t men by many daies do but procure ma|ny deathes, and others in a &s;horte &s;pace attein the life of infinite ages. What is the body without the &s;oule but a corrupte carca&s;e: and what the &s;oule without God, but a &s;epul|cher of &s;inne. If God be the way, the life, and the truth, he that go|eth without him, &s;trayeth: he that liueth without him, dieth: and he that is not taught by him, erreth. Well &s;aieth <HI>S. Augu&s;tine</HI> that God
<PB N="20" REF="11" MS="y">is our trew and chiefe&s;t life, from whome the reuolting is falling, to whome the returninge is ri&s;ing, in whom the &s;taying is &s;ure &s;tanding. God is he, from whom to depart is to dye, to whom to repaire is to re|uiue, in whome to dwell is to liue. Be not you therfore of tho&s;e, that beginne not to liue, vntill they be ready to dye, &amp; then after a foes de|&s;ert, come to craue of God a frends entertainment. Some thincke to &s;natch heauen in a moment, which the be&s;t &s;carce atteined in the mou~|tenance of many yeeres. and when they haue glutted them &s;elues with worldly delites, they would iumpe fro~ Diues his diet to Lazarus croun, and from the &s;eruice of Satan to the &s;olacy of a Saint. But be you well a&s;&s;ured, that god is not &s;o penurious of frendes, as to hold him &s;elfe and
<PB N="21" REF="11" MS="y">his kingdome &s;alable for the refu&s;e and reuer&s;ion of theire liues, who haue &s;acrificed the principall ther|of to his enemies, and their owne bruti&s;he appetites, then onely cea|&s;ing to offend, when hability of of|fending is taken from them. True it is, that a theefe may be &s;aued vp|on the cro&s;&s;e, and mercy found at the la&s;t ga&s;pe. But well &s;aieth &s;aint <HI>Augu&s;tine</HI> that though it be po&s;&s;i|ble, yett is it &s;carce credible, that his death &s;hould find fauour, who&s;e whole life hath earned wrath, and that his repentance &s;hould be ac|cepted, that more for feare of hell, and loue of him &s;elfe, then for loue of God or loth&s;omnes of &s;inne, cri|eth for mercy. Wherfore good Sir make no longer delayes, but being &s;o neere the breaking vpp of your mortall hou&s;e, take time before ex|tremitye
<PB N="22" REF="12" MS="y">to &s;atisfie Gods Iu&s;tice. Though you &s;uffered the bud to be bla&s;ted, &amp; the flower to fade, thogh you permitted the fruite to be peri|&s;hed, and the leaues to drye vp, yea though you let the bougheswither, and the body of your tree growe to decaye: yett alas keepe life in the roote, for feare lea&s;t the wholle be|come fuell for hell fire. for &s;urely wher&s;oeuer the tree falleth, there &s;hall it be, whether it be to &s;outh or north, heaue~ or hell, &amp; &s;uch &s;ap as it bringeth &s;uch fruit &s;hal it euer bear. Death hath already filed from you the better part of your naturall for|ces, and hath lefte you now to the lees and remi&s;&s;ailes of your weari&s;h and dyinge dayes: the remainder wherof, as it ca~not be long, &s;o doth it warne you &s;peedilye to ran&s;ome your former lo&s;&s;es. For what is age
<PB N="23" REF="12" MS="y">but the calendes of death, and what importeth your pre&s;ent weaknes, but an earne&s;t of your approching di&s;&s;olution? You are now impath|ed in your finall voiage, and not far of from the &s;tint and period of your cour&s;e: and therfore be not di&s;pur|ueied of &s;uch appurtenances as are behoofull in &s;o perplexed and pe|rillous a iorney. Death in it &s;elfe is very fearefull, but much more ter|ble in regard of the iudgement that it &s;ummoneth vs vnto. If you were layed on your departing bed, bur|dened with the heauy load of your former trespa&s;&s;es, and goared with the &s;ting and pricke of a fe&s;tered con&s;cience: If you felt the crampe of death wre&s;ting your hart &s;tringes &amp; ready to make the rufull diuorce betweene body and &s;oule: If you lay panting for breath, and &s;wim|ming
<PB N="24" REF="13">in a colde and fatall &s;weat, weried with &s;trugling again&s;t your deadly panges: O how much wold you giue for an hower of repenta~ce at what rate woulde you valew a dayes contrition. Then worldes would be worthles in re&s;pecte of a litle re&s;pitte. A &s;horte truce would &s;eeme more pretious, then the trea &s;ures of Empires. nothing would be &s;o much e&s;teemed as a trice of time, which now by monethes and yeeres is laui&s;hly mi&s;pent. O how deeply would it wound your hart, when looking backe into your life you con&s;idered many faultes com|mitted and not confe&s;&s;ed, manye good workes omitted and not re|couered, your &s;eruice to God pro|mi&s;ed and not performed. How in|con&s;olable were your ca&s;e, your frends being fled, your &s;en&s;es frigh+ted,
<PB N="25" REF="13">your thoughtes amazed, your memory decaied, your whole mind aga&s;t, and no partable to performe that it &s;hould, but onely your guil|ty con&s;cience pe&s;tered with &s;inne, that would co~tinually vpbreid you with mo&s;t bitter accu&s;ations. what woulde you thinke when &s;tripped out of your mortall weed, and tur|ned both out of the &s;eruice &amp; hou&s;|rome of this world, you were for|ced to enter into vncouth &amp; &s;tra~ge pathes, &amp; with vnknowen and vg|ly company to be co~uented before a mo&s;t &s;euere iudge, carying in your owne con&s;cience your enditement written, and a perfitte regi&s;ter of all your mi&s;deedes: when you &s;hould &s;ee him prepared to pa&s;&s;e the &s;en|tence vpon you, again&s;t whom you had tran&s;gre&s;&s;ed, and the &s;ame to be your vmpier, whom by &s;o many
<PB N="26" REF="14" MS="y">offe~ces you had made your enemy: When not onely the Deuells, but euen the Angells &s;hould pleade a|gain&s;t you, and your &s;elfe maugre your will be your &s;harpe&s;t appea|cher. What would you do in the&s;e dredfull exigentes? When you &s;aw that ga&s;tly dungeon &amp; huge golfe of hell, breaking out with mo&s;t fear full flames: Whe~ you &s;aw the wee|ping &amp; gna&s;hing of teeth, the rage of tho&s;e helli&s;h mon&s;ters, the hor|rour of the place, the rigour of the paine, the terrour of the company, and the eternity of all the&s;e puni&s;h|mentes, would you then thinke the~ wi&s;e, that would daly in &s;o weigh|ty matters, and idly play away the time allotted to preue~t the&s;e intol|lerable calamities? would you the~ account it &s;ecure, to nur&s;e in your bo&s;ome &s;o many &s;erpents as &s;innes,
<PB N="27" REF="14">or to fo&s;ter in your &s;oule &s;o manye malicious accu&s;ers as mortal faltes? Would yo not then thinke one life to little to do penance for &s;o many iniquities, euery one wherof were enough to ca&s;t you into tho&s;e euer|la&s;ting and vn&s;peakable torments? Why then do you not at the lea&s;t deuote that &s;mall remnant and &s;ur|plu&s;age of the&s;e your latter dayes, procuring to make an attonement with God and to free your con&s;ci|ence from &s;uch corruption, as by your &s;chi&s;me and fall hath crept in|to it. Tho&s;e very eies that read this di&s;cour&s;e, and that very vnder&s;tan|ding that conceiueth it, &s;halbe &s;igh+ted &amp; certaine witne&s;&s;es of the re|hear&s;ed thinges. In your owne bo|dy &s;hall you experience tho&s;e ded|ly agonies, and in your &s;oule &s;hall you feelinglye finde tho&s;e terrible
<PB N="28" REF="15" MS="y">feares, yea and your pre&s;ent e&s;tate is in danger of the deepe&s;t harmes, if you doe not the &s;ooner recouer your &s;elfe into the folde and family of Gods Church. What haue you gotten by being &s;o long cu&s;tomer to the world, but fal&s;e ware &s;utable to the &s;hoppe of &s;uch a marchant, who&s;e traficke is toile, who&s;e welth tra&s;he, and who&s;e gaine mi&s;erye? what intere&s;t haue you reaped, that maye equall your decrementes in grace and vertew, or what coulde you find in a vale of teares parage|able to the fauour of God, with the lo&s;&s;e wherof you were contented to buy it: You cannot be now in|ueigled with the pa&s;&s;ions of youth, which making a partiall e&s;timate of thinges &s;ette no di&s;tance betweene counterfeite and currant. For they are now worn out of force by tract
<PB N="29" REF="15">of time, or fallen in reproofe by tri|all of their folly. It cannot be feare that leadeth you ami&s;&s;e, &s;eeing it were to vnfitting a thing, that the craua~t cowardice of fle&s;h &amp; blood, &s;hould daunte the prowe&s;&s;e of an intelligent per&s;on, who by his wi&s;|dome can-not but di&s;cerne, how much more cau&s;e there is to feare God then man, &amp; to &s;tand in more awe of perpetuall, then of tempo|rall penalties. If it be an vngroun|ded pre&s;umption of the mercy of God, and the hope of his a&s;&s;i&s;tance at the la&s;t plunge, (the ordinarye lure of the Deuell to reclaime &s;in|ners from the pur&s;uite of vertew) it is to palpable a collu&s;io~ to mi&s;leade a &s;ound and &s;en&s;ed man, how&s;oe|uer it preuaile with &s;icke and affe|cted iudgmentes. Who would rely eternall affaires vppon the gliding
<PB N="30" REF="16">&s;lippernes &amp; running &s;treame of our vncertaine life? or who but one of di&s;te~pered wittes, would offer fraud to the decipherer of all thoughtes, with whome di&s;&s;emble we may to our co&s;t, but to deceiue him it is im|po&s;&s;ible. Shall we e&s;teeme it cun|ning to robbe the time from him and be&s;tow it on his enemies, who keepeth tale of the lea&s;t minutes of our life, &amp; will examine in the end how eche moment hath bene im|ploied. It is a prepo&s;terous pollicy in any wi&s;e conceit, to fight again&s;t God till our weapons be blunted, our forces con&s;umed, our limmes impotent, and our be&s;t &s;pent, and then when we fall for faintnes, and haue fought our &s;elues almo&s;t dead to pre&s;ume of his mercy, the wou~ds both of his &s;acred body, &s;o often rubbed and renued by our &s;innes,
<PB N="31" REF="16">and euery parcell of our owne &s;o &s;undry and diuer&s;e waies abu&s;ed, being &s;o many whet&s;tones and in|centiues to edge and exa&s;perat his reuenge again&s;t vs. It were a &s;tra~ge peece of art, and a very exorbitant cour&s;e, while the &s;hippe is &s;ound, the Pilote well, the &s;ailers &s;trong, the gale fauourable, and the Sea calme, to lye idle at rode, burning &s;o &s;ea&s;onable wether: and whe~ the &s;hip leaked, the Pilot were &s;ick, the Mariners faint, the &s;tormes boi&s;te|rous, and the Sea a tormoile of out|ragious &s;urges, then to lanch forth, to hoi&s;e vp &s;ailes, and to &s;et out for a voiage into farre countries. Yett &s;uch is the skill of the&s;e euening re|penters, who though in the &s;ound|nes of helth, and in the perfitte v&s;e of rea&s;on, they cannot re&s;olue to cut the gables and weigh the anc|kers,
<PB N="32" REF="17">that with-hold the~ from God, neuerthele&s;&s;e they feed them &s;elues with a &s;trong per&s;wa&s;ion, that whe~ their &s;en&s;es are a&s;tonied, their witts di&s;tracted, their vnder&s;tanding du&s;|ked, and both the body and minde racked &amp; torme~ted with the throbs and gripes of a mortall &s;icknes, the~ for&s;ooth will they thincke of the weightie&s;t matters, &amp; become &s;o|daine Saintes, when they are &s;carce able to behaue them &s;elues, like re|&s;onable creatures. If neither the ca|non, ciuill, nor co~mon law allow|eth, that a man peri&s;hed in iudge|ment, &s;hould make any te&s;tament or beque&s;te of his temporall &s;ub|&s;tance, being then pre&s;umed to be le&s;&s;e then a man: how can he that is amated with the inward garboils of an vn&s;etled con&s;cience, di&s;trai|ned with the wringing fittes of his
<PB N="33" REF="17">dying fle&s;he, maimed in all his ha|bilities, &amp; circled in with &s;o &s;tra~ge encombrances, be thought of dew di&s;cretion to di&s;po&s;e of his chiefe&s;t iewell, which is his &s;oule, and to di&s;patch the wholle menage of all eternity, &amp; of the trea&s;ures of hea|uen, in &s;o &s;tormy and &s;horte a &s;purt. No no they that will loyter in &s;eed time, and beginne onely to &s;owe, when others reape: They that will riotte out their health, &amp; ca&s;t theire accountes when they can &s;carcely &s;peake: They that will &s;lumber out the day &amp; enter their iorney when the light doth faile the~. Let them blame their owne folly, if they dye in debt, and eternall beggers, and fall hedlong into the lap&s;e of end|le&s;&s;e perdition. Let &s;uch harken to <HI>S. Ciprians</HI> le&s;&s;on. Let (&s;aieth he) the greeuou&s;nes of our &s;ore, be the
<PB N="34" REF="18">&s;ure of our &s;orrowe. Lett a deepe wounde haue deepe and dilligent cure. Lett no mans contrition be le&s;&s;e then his crime. Thinke&s;t thou that our Lord can be &s;o &s;oone ap|pea&s;ed, who~ with perfidious words thou ha&s;t denied, whom le&s;&s;e then thy patrimony thou ha&s;t e&s;teemed, who&s;e temple with &s;acriligious cor+ruption thou ha&s;t defiled. Thinc|ke&s;t thou ea&s;ely to recouer his fa|uour, whome thou ha&s;t auouched not to be thy Ma&s;ter? We mu&s;t ra|ther mo&s;t in&s;tantly intreat, we mu&s;t pa&s;&s;e the day in mourning, the night in watching, &amp; weeping, our wholl time in plainfull lamentinge. We mu&s;t fall pro&s;trate vpon the ground humbling our &s;elues in &s;ackclothe and a&s;hes. And hauing lo&s;t the gar+ment of Chri&s;t, we &s;hould be vn|willinge to be clothed with any o|ther
<PB N="35" REF="18">hauing far&s;ed our &s;tomackes with the viande of the Deuell, we &s;hould now de&s;ire to fa&s;t from all earthly food. We &s;hould ply good workes to purge our offences, we &s;hould be liberall in almes to auoid the death of our &s;oules, that Chri&s;t may receiue, that the per&s;ecutour would haue &s;poiled, neither ought that patrimony to be kept or phan|&s;ied, with which a man hath bene en&s;nared &amp; vanqui&s;hed. Not eue|ry &s;hort &s;ighe will be a &s;ufficient &s;a|tisfaction, nor euery knocke a war|rant to get in. Many cry Lord Lord and are not accepted. The fooli&s;h Virgins knocked, and were not ad|mitted. Iudas had &s;ome &s;orow and yet dyed de&s;perate. For&s;lowe not &s;aieth the holy gho&s;t to be conuer|ted vnto God, and linger not of from day to day. for &s;odeinly will
<PB N="36" REF="19">his wrath come, and in the time of reuenge he will de&s;troy thee. Lett no man &s;oiourne long in his &s;infull &s;ecuritye, nor po&s;t ouer his repen|tance till feare enforce him vnto it. Lett vs frame our premi&s;es as we would find our conclu&s;ion, and en|deuour to liue as we are de&s;irous to dye. Shall we offer the mayne crop to the Deuell, and &s;et God to glean the reproofe of his harue&s;t? Shall we gorge the Deuell with our fai|re&s;t fruites, and turne God to feed on the filthy &s;craps of his leauings? How great a folly were it when a man pineth away in a perillous lan|guour, to prouide gorgeous appa|rell, to be&s;peake &s;umptuous furni|ture, and take order for the rearing of &s;tately buildings, &amp; neuer think|ing of his owne recouery, to let the di&s;ea&s;e take roote within him? were
<PB N="37" REF="19">it not the like vanity, for a Prince to dote &s;o farre vpon his &s;ubiecte, as neglecting his owne regalty, to bu&s;y him &s;elfe wholly in aduancing his &s;eruant? Thus &s;aieth <HI>S. Chri&s;o|&s;tome</HI> do they, that whe~ their &s;oule hath &s;urfeited with all kind of &s;inne and is drenched in the depth of in|finite di&s;ea&s;es, without any regard therof, labour their wittes in &s;etting forth her garment, and in pampe|ring the body with all po&s;&s;ible de|lightes. And wheras the &s;oule &s;hold haue the &s;oueraignty, and the body followe the &s;way of her direction, &s;cruile &s;en&s;es, and lawle&s;&s;e appe|tites do rule her as &s;uperiours, and &s;he is made a va&s;&s;all in her owne dominions. What is there &s;ayeth <HI>S. Augu&s;tine</HI> in thy meane&s;t nece|&s;&s;aries, that thou woulde&s;t not haue good? Thou woulde&s;t haue a good
<PB N="38" REF="20">hou&s;e, good furniture, good appa|rell, good fare, good cattell, and not &s;o much but thy ho&s;e and thy &s;hoes thou wilt &s;eek to haue good. Onely thy life and poore &s;oule, thy principall charge, and of all other things the mo&s;t worthy to be be&s;t, thou arte co~tent &s;hould be nought, and ly cancring and ru&s;ting in all kinde of euelles. O vn&s;peakable blindnes. can we preferr our &s;hoes before our &s;oule, refu&s;ing to we are an euell &s;hoe, and not caring to ca|ry an vgly &amp; deformed &s;oule? Alas let vs not &s;et &s;o litle by that, which God pri&s;ed &s;o much. Lett vs not rate our &s;elues at &s;oe ba&s;e a peni|worth, being in truth of &s;o pereles dignity. If the &s;oule be &s;uch, that not all the gold and trea&s;ure of the world, nor any thing of le&s;&s;e worth then the blood and life of almighty
<PB N="39" REF="20">God, was able to buy it. If not all the deinties that witt can deui&s;e, or heauen and earth afford, but onely Gods owne pretious body was by him deemed a repa&s;t fitt to feed it. If not all the creatures of this, nor millions of new worldes, if &s;o ma|ny more were created, but onely the illimitable goodnes and maie|&s;tye of God can &s;atisfie the de&s;ire, and fill the compa&s;&s;e and capacity of it, who but of lame iudgeme~t, or peruers will, yea who but of an in|credulous mind, and pitiles &s;pirite could &s;et more by his &s;hoes, then he did by his &s;oule, or be co~tented to &s;uffer &s;o noble a paragon, &s;o many monethes and yeeres to ly chanel|led in ordure, &amp; mired in all &s;inne. Can we not &s;ee our &s;eruant &s;icke, but we allow him a Phi&s;ician, our hor&s;e di&s;ea&s;ed but we &s;end for a
<PB N="40" REF="21">leach, nor our garment torne, but we will haue one to mend it? and can we &s;o much maligne out &s;oule, as to let it dye for want of cure, and &s;eing it mangled with &s;o many vi|ces, neuer &s;eeke any to re&s;tore it to the wonted inte grity? Is our &s;erua~t neerer, our bea&s;t more pretious, &amp; our coate dearer, then our owne &s;oule? If any &s;hold call vs Epicures Aethe&s;tes, rebells vnto God, or mur+derers of &s;oules, we would take it for an vntollerable reproche, and thinke it a mo&s;t di&s;gracefull &amp; op|probrious calumniatio~. But to liue like Epicures, to &s;inne like Aethi&s;ts to &s;truggle again&s;t Gods callinges, and like viole~t rebells to &s;corne his commandements: yea &amp; with dai|lye and damnable wounds, barba|rou&s;ly to &s;tab our infortunat &s;oules, this we account no contumely, we
<PB N="41" REF="21">reckon for no di&s;creditt, yea rather we regi&s;ter it in the vaunte of our chiefe prai&s;es. O ye &s;onnes of men, how long will you carry this hea|uy hart, aliking vanity, and &s;eeking lyes? how long will children loue the follies of infancye, and &s;inners runne carele&s;&s;e and wilfull to their ruine? Will you keepe your chic|ken from the kite, your lambe from the wolfe, your faune fro~ the hou~d. Dare you not &s;uffer a &s;pider in your bo&s;ome, or a toade to come nere you, &amp; can you ne&s;tle in your &s;oule &s;o many vipers as vices, and permit it to be &s;o long chewed, &amp; weried with the poi&s;oned iawes, &amp; tuskes of the Deuell? And is our &s;oule &s;o vaine a &s;ub&s;tance as to be had in &s;o litle e&s;teeme? Had Chri&s;t made &s;hipwracke of his wi&s;dome, or was he in a rage of pa&s;&s;ion when he be|came
<PB N="24" REF="22">a wandering pilgrimme exi|ling him &s;elfe from the comfortes of his Godhead, and pa&s;&s;ing three and thirty yeares in paine and pe|nury for the be hoofe of our &s;oules? Was he &s;urpri&s;ed with a rauing fitt, when in the tragedy of his pa&s;&s;ion &s;o bloodily inflicted, and &s;o pati|tiently accepted, he made his bo|dy as a cloud, to re&s;olue into &s;hou|ers of innocent blood, and &s;uffered the deere&s;t veines of his hart to be lanced, to giue full i&s;&s;ue to the price of our &s;oules redemption? Or if Chri&s;t did not erre, nor deeme a|mi&s;&s;e, when it plea&s;ed him to re|deeme vs with &s;o exce&s;&s;iue a ran|&s;ome, then what &s;hould we iudge of our mon&s;truous abu&s;e, that &s;ell our &s;oule to the Deuell for euerye vaine delighte, &amp; rather aduenture the hazard therof, then of a &s;elye
<PB N="43" REF="22">pittance of worldly pelfe. O that a creature of &s;o inco~parable a price, &s;hould be in the demaine of &s;o vn|naturall keepers, and that which is in it &s;elfe &s;o gracious and amiable, that the Angells and Saintes delite to behold it, (as <HI>S. Chri&s;o&s;tome</HI> &s;ai|eth) &s;hould by &s;inne be fa&s;hioned into &s;o loth&s;ome &amp; di&s;gui&s;ed &s;hapes as to become a horrour to heauen, and a &s;utely pheere for the foule&s;t fiendes. Alas if the care of our own harmes moue vs no more, but that we can &s;till be &s;o barbarous to the better portion of our &s;elues, lett vs at the le&s;t feare to iniury an other party, very carefull and ielious ouer it: who will neuer endure &s;o deepe an impeachment of his intere&s;t to pa&s;&s;e vnreuenged. We mu&s;t reme~|ber, that our &s;oule is not onely a part of vs, but al&s;o the temple, the
<PB N="44" REF="23">paradi&s;e, and &s;pou&s;e of Almightye god, by him in bapti&s;me garni&s;hed, &s;tored, and endowed with mo&s;te graciou&s;e ornamentes. And how think you, he can brooke, to &s;ee his temple prophaned, and turned in|to a denne of Deuels, his paradi&s;e di&s;planted, and altered into a wil|derne&s;&s;e of &s;erpentes, his &s;pou&s;e de|floured, and become an adultere&s;&s;e to his vtter enemies? Dur&s;t we of|fer &s;uch v&s;age to our Princes, yea or to our farmers daughter? woulde not feare of the lawe, and popular &s;hame, di&s;turne vs from it? And &s;hall not the reuerend Maie&s;tye of almighty God, and the vnrebated iu&s;tice of his angry &s;word, terrifie vs from offering the like to his own &s;pou&s;e? Do we thinke God either &s;o impotent that he cannot, &s;o ba&s;e and &s;otti&s;h that he will not, or &s;o
<PB N="45" REF="23">weake witted that he knoweth not how to wreake him &s;elfe vpon &s;o conte~ptuous and daring offenders? Will he &s;o neglect and lo&s;e his ho|nour, which of all thinges he clai|meth as his chiefe peculier? Will he that for the &s;oules &s;ake keepeth a reckoninge of our verye heares, which are but the excrementes of her earthly weed, &s;ee him &s;elfe &s;o much wronged in the principall, &amp; pa&s;&s;e it without remo~&s;trance of his iu&s;t indignation? O deere Sir reme~|ber tha~t the &s;cripture termeth it a thing full of horrour to fall into the hands of God, who is able to cru&s;h the proud &s;pirittes of the ob&s;tinate, and to make his enemies the foote|&s;toole of his feete. Wra&s;tle no lon|ger again&s;t the cries of your owne con&s;cience, and the forcible in&s;pi|rations that God doth &s;ende you.
<PB N="46" REF="24">Embrace his mercy before the time of rigour, &amp; returne to his Church le&s;t he debarre you his kingdome. He cannot haue God for his father, that refu&s;eth to profe&s;&s;e the Catho|licke Church for his mother, nei|ther can he atchiue to the Church triumphant in heauen, that is not a member of the Church milita~t here in earth.</P>
<P>You haue bene alas to long an aliant in the tabernacles of &s;inners, and &s;traied to farr from the folde of Gods flocke. Turne now the blaze of your harte towardes the &s;anctu|ary of &s;aluation, and the city of re|fuge, &s;eeking to recompence your wandering &s;teppes trodde~ in error, with a &s;wifte gate and zelous pro|gre&s;&s;e to Chri&s;tian perfection, &amp; re|deming the time becau&s;e the daies be euell. The full of your &s;pring|tide <GAP DESC="missing"></P>
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