the persons: I regard the institution. Neither the husband, nor the wife, are now any more their own: they have either of them given over themselves to other not only the wife, which is the weaker vessel, hath yielded over herself to the stronger protection and participation of an abler head; but the husband hath resigned his right in himself over to his feebler consort, so as now her weakness is his, his strength is hers. Yea, their very flesh hath altered property: hers, is his; his, is hers. Yea, their very soul and spirit may no more be severed, in respect of mutual affection, than from their own several bodies.

It is thus, O Saviour, with Thee and thy Church. We are not our own, but thine; who hast married us to thyself in us to thyself in truth and righteousness: what powers, what endowments have we, but from and in thee? And, as our holy boldness dares interest ourselves in thy graces, so thy wonderfully-compassionate mercy vouchsafes to interest thyself in our infirmities: thy poor Church suffers on earth; thou feelest in heaven; and, as complaining of our stripes, canst say, Why persecutest thou me? Thou, again, art not so thine own, as that thou art not also ours thy sufferings, thy merits, thy obedience, thy life, death, resurrection, ascension, intercession, glory, yea thy blessed Humanity, yea thy glorious Deity, by virtue of our right, of our union, are so ours, as that we would not give our part in thee for ten thousand worlds.

O gracious Saviour, as thou

do! Personas non moror: institutionem cogito. Neque maritus, neque uxor, jam in propriâ potestate sunt: dediderunt sese mutuò alterutri: non modò uxor, vas fragilius, addixit se totam protectioni ac participationi capitis fortioris potentiorisque; sed et maritus ita se totum infirmiori conjugi resignavit, ut uxoris imbecillitates viro, viri autem vires ac facultates uxori cesserint. Imò, et ipsa illorum caro proprietatem suam commutaverit: uxoris quæ erat, viri est; quæ viri itidem, et uxoris. Imò, ipsorum anima spiritusque, respectu mutui affectûs, non magis à se invicem, quàm à propriis corporibus possunt separari.

Sic se habet, O Servator, inter Te et Ecclesiam tuam. Nostri non sumus, tui sumus; desponsasti tu nos tibi scilicet veritate et justitiâ: quæ nobis facultates, quæ dotes, nisi et à te et in te suppetunt? et, ut audax nostra fiducia sanctaque audacia tuas sibi gratias appropriare præsumit, ita et benignissima misericordia tua dignatur te nostris in duere infirmitatibus: misella Ecclesia tua patitur in terrà; tu sentis in colo; quasique de plagis ipsius conquestus, exclamas, Quare me persequeris? Itidem, et tu non ita tuus es, quin ut et noster interea sis: tui cruciatus, merita tua, tua obedien tia, vita, mors, resurrectio, as censio, intercessio, gloria, imò et tua beatissima Humanitas, et Divinitas gloriosissima, virtute juris in te nostri, unionisque nobiscum tuæ, ita nostri sunt, ut ne mille quidem mundi nostram in te partem redemptitare pos

sint.

O misericors et beneficen.

canst not but love and cherish this poor and unworthy soul of mine, which thou hast mercifully espoused to thyself: so give me grace to honour and obey thee; and, forsaking all the base and sinful rivalry of the world, to hold me only unto thee while I live here, that I may perfectly enjoy thee hereafter.

On the sight of a snake.

tissime Servator, ut tu non potes non amare ac fovere pauperculam hanc indignamque animam, quam tu tibi ipsi desponsasti: ita et indulge mihi reciprocè gratiam hanc, ut te colam, tibi obediam; spretisque vilibus vitiosisque procantis mundi blandimentis, me tibi totum dum hìc superero unicè servem, ut te deinceps æternùm fruar postmodum.

I KNOW not what horror we find in ourselves at the sight of a serpent. Other creatures are more loathsome; and some no less deadly, than it: yet there is none, at which our blood riseth SO much as at this. Whence should this be, but out of an instinct of our old enmity? We were stung in paradise; and cannot but feel it. But, here is our weakness: it was not the body of the serpent, that could have hurt us, without the suggestion of sin; and yet, we love the sin, while we hate the serpent.

Every day are we wounded with the sting of that old serpent, and complain not: and so much more deadly is that sting, by how much it is less feit. There is a sting of guilt; and there is a sting of remorse: there is mortal venom in the first, whereof we are the least sensible; there is less danger, in the second. The Israelites found themselves stung by those fiery serpents in the desert; and the sense of their pain sent them to seek for cure. The world, is our desert: and, as the sting of death is sin; so the sting of sin,

Conspecto angue.

NESCIO quis nobis ad conspectum serpentis horror oboriatur. Deformiora sunt animalia quædam alia; sed et quædam etiam illis, non minùs mortifera: nullum tamen est, quo viso, æquè resilit sanguis noster obrigetque. Unde fieri potest hoc, nisi ex quodam veteris inimicitiæ instinctu? Percussi olim fuimus in paradiso, venenato hujus aculeo; neque non adhuc sentire possumus lethale illud virus. O nostram, tamen, fatuitatem: ipsum serpentis illius corpus nobis nocere non potuerat, absque suggestione peccati; et tamen, peccatum diligimus, odimus

is death. I do not more wish to find ease, than pain. If I complain enough, I cannot fail

of cure.

O thou, which art the true Brazen Serpent, lifted up in this wilderness, raise up mine eyes to thee, and fasten them upon thee. Thy mercy shall make my soul whole; my wound, sovereign.

cati, mors. Non medelam magis opto, quàm dolorem. Si satis dolere ac queri possim, non sanari quidem non potero.

O tu, qui verus es Serpens ille æneus, palam in deserto e.evatus, tolle oculos ad te meos, eosque in te fige. Misericordia tua et animam meam sanam faciet; et vel ipsum vulnus, medicinam.

On the ruins of an abbey. It is not so easy to say, what it was, that built up these walls; as what it was, that pulled them down: even the wickedness of the possessors. Every stone hath a tongue, to accuse the superstition, hypocrisy, idleness, luxury of the late owners. Methinks, I see it written all along, in capital letters, upon these heaps, A fruitful land maketh he barren, for the iniquity of them that dwell therein. Perhaps, there wanted not some sacrilege in the demolishers. In al the carriage of these businesses, there was a just hand, that knew how to make an wholesome and profitable use of mutual sins. Full little did the builders or the in-dwellers think, that this costly and warm fabric should so soon end violently in a desolate rubbish.

It is not for us to be highminded, but to fear. No roof is so high, no wall so strong, as that sin cannot level it with the dust. Were any pile so close, that it could keep out air; yet it could not keep out judgment, where sin hath been fore-admitted. In vain shall we promise stability to those houses, which we have made witnesses of and

stitionem, hypocrisin, otium, luxuriam subincuset. Videor mihi, videre in unâquaque harum congerie, majusculis characteribus, inscriptum, Terram frugiferam sterilem reddit, ob iniquitatem incolentium. Non defuit, fortè, aliquod in demolitoribus ædium istarum sacrilegii. In toto quidem negotio hoc, justa quædam manus fuit, que mutua hominum peccata ad sanum salubremque usum redigere noverat. Parùm profectò cogitârant vel architecti vel incolæ, tam sumptuosam commodèque constructam fabricam adeò citò violenterque in desertis ruderibus desituram.

Non est quòd nos efferamur animo, sed timeamus. Nullum ita altum tectorium est, nullus paries tam firmus, quem peccatum solo pulverique æquare non possit. Esto moles quæpiam tam accuratè fabricata clausaque, ut ne aerem quidem ipsum admittat; peccatum intromiserit modò, judicium Dei frustra excludere tentaverit, Nequicquam

accessaries to our shameful uncleannesses the firmness of any building, is not so much in the matter, as in the owner. Happy is that cottage, that hath an honest master; and woe be to that palace, that is viciously inhabited.

profectò stabilitatem ædibus illis pollicebimur, quas nos turpissimæ immunditiæ nostræ et testes et reas usque fecerimus: ædificii cujusque firmitudo, non tam materia adscribenda est, quàm domino. Fœlix illa casa est, quæ honestum sortita est dominum; væ palatio, cui vitiosus obtigit habitator.

On the discharging of a piece. GOOD Lord, how witty men are, to kill one another! What fine devices they have found out, to murder afar off; to slay many at once; and so to fetch off lives, that, while a whole lane is made of carcases with one blow, nobody knows who hurt him! And what honour do we place in slaughter! Those arms, wherein we pride ourselves, are such, as which we or our ancestors have purchased with with blood: the monuments of our glory, are the spoils of a subdued and slain enemy. Where, contrarily, all the titles of God sound of mercy, and gracious respects to man: God the Father, is the Maker and Preserver of men: God the Son, is the Saviour of mankind: God the Holy Ghost, styles himself the Comforter. Alas, whose image do we bear, in this disposition; but his, whose true title is, The Destroyer? It is easy, to take away the life: it is not easy, to give it. Give me the man, that can devise, how to save troops of men from killing: his name shall have room in my Calendar. There is more true honour in a civic garland, for the preserving of one subject; than in a laurel, for the victory of many enemies.

Ad displosionem bombarda. DEUS Bone, quàm ingeniosi sunt homines, se trucidandis invicem! Quàm bellas excogitârunt machinas, quibus se à longè possint mutuò occidere; atque ita vitam adimere, ut, dum phalanges tota uno ictu prosternuntur, nemo nôrit quis se læserit! Quantum verò honoris in cæde mutuâ collocamus! Illa insignia, quibus superbimus, ejusmodi sunt, quæ aut nos aut provi nostri sanguine comparavimus: gloriæ nostræ monumenta quid aliud sunt, nisi victi occisique hostis spolia? Ubi, è contrà, tituli omnes Divini misericordiam sonant, summamque erga genus humanum benignitatem: Deus Pater, Creator est hominum Conservatorque: Deus Filius, humani generis Servator: Spiritus denique Sanctus, Consolatorem seipsum indigitat. Væ mihi, cujus imago est quam nos, ita ferociter affecti, gestamus; nisi illius, cui verus titulus est, Homicida ab initio? Vitam quidem auferre, facile est: non ita facile, restituere. Cedo mihi hominem, qui rationem adinvenire possit totas hominum cohortes, ab occisione conservandi: sacrum illi erit in Calendario meo ас rubricatum nomen. Plus veri honoris est in coronâ civicâ, unius subditi fidelis ser

O God, there are enough, that bend their thoughts, to undo what thou hast made: enable thou me, to bestow my endeavours, in reprieving or rescuing that, which might otherwise perish. O thou, who art our common Saviour, make thou me both ambitious and able, to help to save some, other besides myself.

vati causâ; quàm in laureâ, plurimis devictis hostibus.

O Deus, satis illorum hominum est, qui animum in id unum intendunt, ut quæ tu fecisti destruant: inde tu mihi, excitaque et animum et operam, ut servare quoquo modo possim ac redimere peritura. O tu, qui communis es nostrum omnium Servator, indulge mihi et ambitionem et facultatem, alium aliquem, præter meipsum, ad salutem perducendi.

bell.

How doleful and heavy is this summons of death! This sound is not for our ears, but for our hearts: it calls us not only to our prayers, but to our preparation; to our prayers, for the departing soul; to our preparation, for our own departing. We have never so much need of prayers, as in our last combat: then is our great Adversary most eager then are we the weakest then nature is so overlaboured, that it gives us not leisure, to make use of gracious motions. There is no preparation, so necessary, as for this conflict all our life is little enough to make ready for our last hour. What am I better than my neighbours? How oft hath this bell reported to me, the farewell of many more strong and vigorous bodies than my own; of many more cheerful and lively spirits! And now what doth it, but call me to the thought of my parting? Here is no abiding for me: I must away too.

cujusdam obitum præmonentis. Quàm tristis ac lugubris est hæc mortis summonitio! Sonus iste non aures nostras ferire debet, sed pectora: neque modò preces nostras exigit, sed apparatum; preces quidem, pro decessura statim animâ; nostri verò decessûs, apparatum. Nusquam profectò æquè precibus indigemus, ac in ultimo hoc certamine: tunc etenim, et nos ferocissimè aggreditur dirus ille Hostis, et nos illi resistendo maximè impares sumus: tunc ita opprimitur natura, ut parum suppetat otii, sanctos motus aut eliciendi aut revocandi quidem. Nihil quicquam occurrere potest, quod æque præparationem nostram requirat, atque pugna hæc ultima: tota vita nostra vix sufficit

extreme huic horæ. Quis ego sum, aut quò tandem melior vicinis? Quoties retulit mihi campana hæc ipsa, exitum multorum robustiorum magisque vividorum corporum; spirituum alacriorum vivaciorumque! Nunc verò quid, nisi me revocat ad seriam egressus mei cogitationem? Non est quòd istic morari sperem: abeundum est mihi quoque.