itself were done for the signification's sake: but whether the signification goes before or follows, it comes all to the same point. There are three sorts of lightning; the first is so pure and subtle that it pierces through whatever it encounters: the second scatters and breaks every thing to pieces: the other burns, either by blasting, consuming, inflaming, or discoloring, and the like. Some lightnings are monitory, some are menacing, and others they fancy to be promising. They allot to Jupiter three sorts; the first is only monitory and gentle, which he casts of his own accord: the second they make to be an act of council, as being done by the vote and advice of twelve gods. This, they say, does many times some good, but not without some mischief too; as the destruction of one man may prove the caution of another. The third is the result of a council of the superior deities, from whence proceeds great mischiefs, both public and private. Now, this is a great folly to imagine that Jupiter would wreak his displeasures upon pillars, trees, nay, upon temples themselves, and yet let the sacrilegious go free; to strike sheep, and consume altars, and all this upon the consultations of the gods; as if he wanted skill or justice to govern his own affairs by himself, either in sparing the guilty, or in destroying the innocent. Now, what should be the mystery of all this? The wisdom of our forefathers found it necessary to keep wicked people in awe by the apprehension of a superior power; and to fright them into their good behavior, by the fear of an armed and an avenging justice over their heads. But how comes it, that the lightning, which comes from Jupiter himself, should be said to be harmless, and that which he casts. upon counsel and advice to be dangerous and mortal? The moral of it is this, that all kings should have Jupiter's example; do all good by themselves, and when severity is necessary, permit that to be done by others: beside that, as crimes are unequal, so also should be the punishments. Neither did they believe that Jupiter to be the thunderer, whose image was worshiped in the capitol, and in other places; but intended it for the Maker and Governor of the universe by what name soever we shall call him. Now, in truth, Jupiter does not immediately cast the lightning himself, but leaves Nature to her ordinary method of operation; so that what he does not immediately by himself, he does yet cause to be done: for, whatsoever Nature does, God does. There may be something gathered out of all things that are either said or done, that a man may be the better for: and he does a greater thing that masters the fear of thunder, than he that discovers the reason of it. We are surrounded and beset with ill accidents; and since we cannot avoid the stroke of them, let us prepare ourselves honestly to bear them. But how must that be? By the contempt of death we do also contemn all things in the way to it; as wounds, shipwrecks, the fury of wild beasts, or any other violence whatsoever; which, at the worst, can but part the soul and the body. And we have this for our comfort, though our lives are at the mercy of Fortune, she has yet no power over the dead. How many are there that call for death in the distress of their hearts, even for the very fear of it! and this unadvised desire of death does in common effect both the best and the worst of men; only with this difference, the former despise life, and the other are weary of it. It is a nauseous thing to serve the body, and to be so many years doing so many beastly things over and over. It is well if in our lives we can please others; but whatever we do in our deaths, let us be sure and please ourselves. Death is a thing which no care can avoid, no felicity can timé it, no power overcome it. Other things are disposed of by Chance and Fortune, but Death treats all men alike. The prosperous must die as well as the unfortunate; and methinks the very despair of overcoming our fate should inspire us with courage to encounter it: for there is no resolution so obstinate as that which arises from necessity. It makes a coward as bold as Julius Cæsar, though upon different principles. We are all of us reserved for death; as Nature brings forth one generation she calls away another. The whole dispute is about the time, but nobody doubts about the thing itself. EPISTLE XXVIII. A contemplation of heaven and heavenly things. Of God: and of the soul. THERE is a great difference between philosophy and other arts; and a greater yet between that philosophy itself, which is of divine contemplation, and that which has a regard to things here below. It is much higher and braver; it takes a larger scope; and being unsatisfied with what it sees, it aspires to the knowledge of something that is greater and fairer, and which Nature has placed out of our ken. The one only teaches us what is to be done on earth; the other reveals to us that which actually is done in heaven: the one, discusses our errors, and holds the light to us, by which we distinguish in the ambiguities of life; the other surmounts that darkness which we are wrapt up in, and carries us up to the Fountain of light itself. And then it is that we are in a special manner to acknowledge the infinite grace and bounty of the nature of things, when we see it, not only where it is public and common, but in the very secrets of it; as being admitted into the cabinet of the Divinity itself. There it is that we are taught to understand what is the matter of the world, and who is the Author and Preserver of it. What our God is; and whether he be wholly intent upon himself, or at any time descends to consider us. Whether he has done his work once for all; or whether he be still in action; whether he be a part of the world, or the world itself: whether he be at liberty or not to determine any thing anew to-day, and to control or derogate from the law of Fate: whether it be any diminution of his wisdom or any confession of error, to do and undo; or to have caused things that were afterward to be altered: for the same things must of necessity always please him, who can never be pleased but with that which is best. Now, this is no lessening either of his liberty, or of his power; for Nature is his own necessity. Without the benefits EPISTLE XXV. A wise and a good man is proof against all accidents. Of fate, XXVI. All things are produced of cause and matter PAGE 358 361 thunder and lightning; with the Author's con templations thereupon, 364 XXVIII. A contemplation of heaven and heavenly 367 Postscript 372 EPISTLE XXVIII. A contemplation of heaven and heavenly things. Of God: and of the soul. THERE is a great difference between philosophy and other arts; and a greater yet between that philosophy itself, which is of divine contemplation, and that which has a regard to things here below. It is much higher and braver; it takes a larger scope; and being unsatisfied with what it sees, it aspires to the knowledge of something that is greater and fairer, and which Nature has placed out of our ken. The one only teaches us what is to be done on earth; the other reveals to us that which actually is done in heaven: the one, discusses our errors, and holds the light to us, by which we distinguish in the ambiguities of life; the other surmounts that darkness which we are wrapt up in, and carries us up to the Fountain of light itself. And then it is that we are in a special manner to acknowledge the infinite grace and bounty of the nature of things, when we see it, not only where it is public and common, but in the very secrets of it; as being admitted into the cabinet of the Divinity itself. There it is that we are taught to understand what is the matter of the world, and who is the Author and Preserver of it. What our God is; and whether he be wholly intent upon himself, or at any time descends to consider us. Whether he has done his work once for all; or whether he be still in action; whether he be a part of the world, or the world itself: whether he be at liberty or not to determine any thing anew to-day, and to control or derogate from the law of Fate: whether it be any diminution of his wisdom or any confession of error, to do and undo; or to have caused things that were afterward to be altered: for the same things must of necessity always please him, who can never be pleased but with that which is best. Now, this is no lessening either of his liberty, or of his power; for Nature is his own necessity. Without the benefits |