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Tewsdaie Nighte. of the Miseries of This Lyfe

THIS DAIE (WHEN THOV HAST MADE THE SIGNE OF the Crosse, and prepared thy selfe,) thou hast to meditate vpon the condition, and miseries of this lyfe: that thou mayest by them vnderstande, how vayne the glory of this worlde is, seinge it is built vpon so weake a foundation: and how litle accompt a man ought to make of him selfe, beinge as he is subiect vnto so many miseries.

NOW for this purpose thou hast to consider first of the vylenes of the original, and birthe of man, to witt: the matter whereof he is cō pounded: the maner of his conception: the greifes, and paynes of his birthe: the frailtie, and miseries of his bodie: accordinge as hereafter shalbe entreated.

Then thou hast to consider the great miseries of the lyfe, that he liueth, and cheiflie these seuen.

First consider how shorte this life is, seinge the longest tearme thereof passeth not threescore and tenne, or fowerscore yeares.1 For all the rest (if anie mans lyfe be drawen a litle longer) is but labour and sorrowe. And if thou take out of this the time of our infancie, which is rather a lyfe of beastes, than of men, and withall the time, that is spent in sleepinge, at which time we haue not the vse of our senses and reason, thou shalt finde that our lyfe is a great deale shorter, than it seemeth vnto vs. Besides all this, if thou compare this lyfe with the eternitie of the lyfe to come, that endureth for euermore, it shall scarsely seeme somuche as a minute: Whereby thou mayest perceiue, how farre out of the waie those persones are, who to enioye the litle blast of so short a lyfe, do hazarde to loose the quiet rest of the blessed lyfe to come, which shall endure euerlastingly.

Secondlye, consider how vncertaine this lyfe is,2 (which is an other miserie besides the former. For it is not onely of it selfe very shorte, but euen that very smale continuance of lyfe that it hath, is not assured, but dowtfull. For how manie (I praie thee) doe come to the age of those threescore and tenne, or foure score yeres, which we spake of? In how manie persones is the webbe cut of, euen at the first, when it is scarsely begonne to be wouen? How manie doe passe awaie out of this worlde, euen in the flower (as they tearme it) of their age, and in the verye blossomynge of yowthe.3 Ye knowe not (saieth our Sauiour) when our Lorde will come, whether in the morninge, or at noonedaie, or at midnight, or at the time of the cocke croweinge: That is to saie: Ye knowe not whether he will come in the time of infancie, or of childhoode, or of youthe, or of age. For the better perceauinge of this pointe, it shalbe a good helpe vnto thee, to call to minde, how manie of thy fryendes, and acquaintance, are deade, and departed out of this worlde. And espetially remember thy kynsfolke, thy companions, and familiars, and some of the worshipfull and famous personages of great estimation in this worlde, whom death hath assaulted, and snatched awaie in diuers ages, and vtterlie beguyled, and defeyted them, of all their fonde designementes and hopes. I knowe a certaine man, that hath made a memoriall of all such notable personages, as he hath knowen in this worlde in all kinde of estates, which are now dead: and sometimes he reedeth their names, or calleth them to minde, and in reheresall of euerie one of them, he doth breifly represente before his eies, the whole tragedie of their lyues, the mockeries, and deceites of this worlde, and withall the conclusion and ende of all worldly thinges. Whereby he vnderstandeth what good cause the Apostle had to saie: That the figure of this worlde passeth awaie. 4 In which wordes he geueth vs to vnderstande, how litle grownde, and staie, the affaires of this lyfe haue, seinge he woulde not calle them verie thinges indeede, but onely figures, or shewes of thinges, which haue no beinge, but onely an apparance, whereby also they are the more deceitefull.

Thirdly, consider how fraile, and bryckle this lyfe is, and thou shalt finde,5 that there is no vessell of glasse so fraile as it is. Insomuche as a lytle distemperature of the aier, or of the sonne, the drinkinge of a cuppe of colde water, yea the verie breathe of a sicke man is able to spoyle vs of oure lyfe, as we see by dailie experience of manie persones, whom the least occasion of all these that we haue here reheresed, hath bene able to ende their liues, and that euen in the most florishinge tyme of all their age.

Fourthly, consider how mutable and variable this lyfe is,6 and how it neuer continueth in one selfe same staie. For which purpose, thou must consider the great and often alterations, and chaunges of our bodies, which neuer continewe in one same state, and disposition. Consider likewise, how farre greater the chaunges, and mutations of our mindes are, which doe euer ebbe and flowe like the Sea, ād be cō tinuallie altered and tossed with diuers wyndes, and surges of passions, that doe disquiet, and trouble vs euerie howre. Fynally, consider how great the mutation in the whole man is, who is subiecte to all the alterations of fortune, which neuer continueth in one same beinge, but alwaies turneth her wheele, and rowleth vp and downe from one place to another. And aboue all this, consider how continuall the mouinge of our life is, seinge it neuer resteth daie nor night, but goeth alwaies shorteninge from time to time, and consumeth it selfe like as a garment doth with vse, and approcheth euerie howre nearer and nearer vnto death. Now by this reckenynge what els is our life, but as it were a candle that is alwaies wastinge and consuminge,7 and the more it bourneth, and geueth light, the more it consumeth and wasteth awaie? What els is our life, but as it were a flowre, that buddeth in the morninge, and fadeth awaie at noone daie, and at eueninge is cleane dried vp? This verie comparison maketh the Prophet in the Psalme, where he saieth.8 The morninge of our infancie passeth awaie like an herbe, it blosommeth in the morninge, and sodeinlie fadeth awaie: and at eueninge it decaieth, and waxeth harde, and withereth awaie.

Fiftly, consider how deceitfull our life is (which peraduenture is the worst propertie it hath.)9 For by this meane it deceaueth vs, in that beinge in verie deede filthy, it seemeth vnto vs beawtifull: and beinge but shorte, euerie man thinketh his owne lyfe wilbe longe: and beinge so miserable (as it is in deede) yet it seemeth so amiable, that to mainteine the same, men will not sticke to ronne through all daungers, trauells, and losses, (be they neuer so great) yea they will not spare to doe suche thinges for it, as whereby they are assured to be damned for euer and euer in hell fier, and to loose lyfe euerlastinge.

Sixtly, consider how besides this that our lyfe is so short (as hathe bene saied) yet that litle time we haue to liue is also subiecte vnto diuers and sundrye miseries as well of the minde,10 as of the bodie: insomuche as all the same beinge dewlie considered, and layed together is nothinge els, but a vale of teares, and a maine Sea of infinite miseries. S. Ierome declareth of Zerxes that most mightie kinge, (who threwe downe mountaines, and dryed vp the Seas, that on a tyme he went vp to the toppe of a highe hill, to take a vewe of his huge armie, which he had gathered together of infinite nombers of people. And after that he had well vewed and considered them, it is said that he wepte, and beinge demaunded the cause of his weepinge, he answered, and saied: I weepe because I consider that within these hundred yeares, there shall not one of all this huge Armie, which I see here present before me, be lefte aliue. Wherevpon S. Ierome saieth these wordes: O that we might (saieth he) ascende vp to the toppe of some towre, that were so highe, that we might see from thence all the whole earth vnderneath our feete. From thence shouldest thou see the ruins and miseries of all the worlde: Thou shouldest see nations destroied by nations: and kingdoms by kingdoms. Thou shouldest see some hanged, and others murdered: some drowned in the Sea, others taken prisoners. In one place thou shouldest see mariages and myrthe, in an other dolefull mourninge and lamentation. In one place thou shouldest see some borne into this worlde, and caried to the Church to be christened, in an other place thou shouldest see, some others die, and caried to the Church to be buried. Some thou shouldest see exceadinge wealthie, and flowinge in greate abundance of landes and riches, and others againe in great pouertie, and begginge from dore to dore. To be short, thou shouldest see, not onelie the huge armie of Zerzes, but also all the men, women, and children of the worlde, that be now aliue, within these fewe yeres to ende theire liues, and not to be seene anye more in this worlde.

Consider also all the diseases and calamities that maie happen to mens bodies,11 and withall all the afflictions, and cares of the minde. Consider likewise the daungers, and perilles, that be incident aswell to all estates, as also to all the ages of men: and thou shalt see verie euidentlye, the manifolde miseries of this lyfe. By the seinge whereof thou shalt perceaue how smalle a thinge all that is, that the worlde is able to geue thee, and this consideration maye cause thee more easily to despise and contemne the same, and all that thou mayste hope to receaue from it.

After all these manifolde miseries, and calamities, there succeedeth the last miserie,12 that is death, which is aswell to the bodie, as to the soule, of all terrible thinges the verie last and most terrible. For the bodie shall in a momente be spoyled of al that it hathe. And of the soule there shall then be made a resolute determination what shall become of it for euer and euer.

THE SECOND TREATISE CONTEYNINGE A CONSIDERAtion of the miseries of mans lyfe, wherein the former…

HOW great the miseries are, that the nature of mankinde is subiect vnto by reason of synne, there is no tongue able to expresse. And therefore S. Gregorie said verie well,13 that onely our two first parentes, Adam, and Eue, (who knewe by experience the noble condition, and state, wherein almightie God created mā,) vnderstode perfectly the miseries of man. Because they by callinge to minde the felicitie and prosperous estate of that lyfe, which they had once enioyed, sawe more clearly the miseries of the bannishement, wherein they remained through sinne. But the children of these our two miserable parentes, as they neuer knewe what thinge prosperitie, and good happe was, but were alwaies fostered, and brought vp in miserie: so they knowe not, what thinge miserie is, because they neuer knewe what prosperitie was. Yea manie of them are as it were persones in a mere frensie, so farre voide of sense, as they woulde (if it were possible) continewe perpetuallye in this lyfe, and make this place of bannissement their countrey, and this prison their dwellinge howse, because they vnderstand not the miseries thereof. Wherefore like as they that are accustomed to dwell in places of vnsauorie ād stinckinge aier, doe feele no payne nor trouble of it, by reason of the custome, and vse, they haue thereof: euen so these miserable persones vnderstande not the miseries of this lyfe, because they are so enured, and accustomed to liue in them.

Now that thou mayst not likewise falle into this foule deceit, nor into other greater inconueniences that are wont to followe hereof: Consider (I praie thee with good attention) the multitude of these miseries: and before all other, consider and weighe the miseries, that are in the first beginninge, and birth of man, and afterwardes the conditions of the lyfe he liueth.

14 To beginne this matter therefore at the verie original, Consider first of what matter mans bodie is compounded. For by the worthines, or basenes of the matter, oftentimes the condition of the worcke is knowen. The holie scripture saieth,15 that almightie God created man of the slyme, or dyrte of the earth. Now of all the elementes, earthe is the most base, and inferior: and emonge all the partes of the earthe, slyme is the most base, and vile. Whereby it maie appeare, that almightie God created man of the most vile, and basest thinge of the worlde. Insomuch as euen the Kinges, the Emperors, and the popes, be they neuer so highe, famous, and royal, are euē slyme, and dyrte of the earthe. And this thinge vnderstoode the Egiptians right well, of whom it is written, that when they celebrated yearly the feast of their natiuitie, they caried in their handes certaine hearbes, that growe in myrie and slymie diches? to signifie thereby, the likenes and affinitie, that men haue with weedes, and slymye dyrte: which is the common father both to weedes, and to men. Wherefore if the matter of which we are made,16 be so base, and vyle, whereof art thou so prowde, thou dust, and asshes? Whereof art thou so loftye, thou stinckinge weede, and dyrtie slyme?

Now as concerninge the maner, and workmanshippe, wherewith the worke of this matter is wrought, it is not to be committed to writinge, neither yet to be considered vpon, but to be passed ouer with sylence, and closinge vp our eies, that we beholde not so filthie a thinge as it is. If men knewe how to be ashamed of a thinge which they ought of reason to be ashamed of, suerlie they woulde be ashamed of nothinge more, than to consider the maner how they were conceaued. Concerninge which point I will towche one thinge onely, and that is, that whereas our mercifull Lorde, and Sauiour, came into this worlde to take vpon him all our miseries, for to dischardge vs of thē, onely this was the thinge, that he woulde in no wise take vpon him. And whereas he disdained not to be buffeted, and spitted vpon, and to be reputed for the basest of all men, onely this he thought was vnsiemely, and not meete for his maiestie, to witt, if he shoulde haue bene conceiued in such maner, and order, as men are. Now as towchinge the substance and foode wherewith mens bodies are nourished, before they be borne into this worlde, it is not so cleane a thinge, as that it ought once to be named. No more ought a nomber of other vncleane thinges, that are daylie seene at the tyme of our birthe.

17 Let vs now come to the birthe of a man, and first entrie into the worlde. Tell me I praie thee, what thinge is more miserable, than to see a woman in her trauell, when she bringeth forthe her childe? O what sharpe agonies and bitter panges dothe she feele? What painfull tossinges and throwes doth she make? What daungerous grypes and quames is she in? What pittiefull skrykes and growninges dothe she vtter? I omitt here to speake of manie monstruous, straunge, and ouerthwart birthes. For if I shoulde make reheresall of them, I shoulde neuer make an ende. And yet all this notwithstandinge when the seelie creature commeth into the worlde, it commeth (God wotte) weepinge, and cryenge, poore, naked, weake, and miserable: it is vtterlye destitute and in necessitie of all thinges, and vnable to doe anie thinge. Other liuinge thinges are borne with showes vpon their feete, and apparell vpon their backe: some with wolle: others with scales: others with feathers: others with leather: others with shells: insomuche as the verie trees come forthe couered with a rynde or barke, yea and sometimes for failinge they be dowble barked: onelie man is borne starcke naked, without anie other kinde of garment in the worlde, but onely a skynne, which is all riueled, fowle, and lothsome to beholde, wherein he commeth lapped at the time of his birthe. With these ornamentes creepeth he into the worlde, who after his comminge, groweth vnto such fonde ambition, and pryde, that a whole worlde is scarselie able to satisfie him.

Moreouer, other liuinge thinges at the verye houre of their comminge into this worlde, are able immediatlie to seeke for such thinges as they stand in neede of, and haue abilitie to doe the same: Some can goe: others can swyme: others can flie: to be short, each one of them is able without anie instructor to seeke for such thinges, as it hath need of: onely man knoweth nothinge, neither is he able to doe anie thinge, but must of necessitie be caried in other folkes armes. How longe time is it before he can learne to goe? And yet he must beginne to crawle vpon all fowre feete, before he can goe vpon two. How longe tyme is it, before he can speake so muche as one worde? And not onely before he can speake, but also before he can tell how to put meate into his owne mowth, vnles some others doe helpe him? One thinge onely I must confesse he can doe of him selfe, that is, he can crie and weepe. This is the first thinge he doethe,18 and this is the thinge onely he can doe without anie teacher. And although he can also laughe of him selfe, yet can he not doe it, before he be fowrtie daies olde, notwithstandinge that he is euer more weepinge from the first hower of his comminge into this worlde. Whereby thou mayest vnderstande, how farre more prompt, and readie our nature is to pewlinge, and weepinge, than to ioye, and mirthe. O mere follye, and madnes of men, (saieth a Wise man) who of so poore, naked, and base beginninge, doe perswade themselues, that they are borne to be prowde.

Now as concerninge the verie bodie of man,19 (whereof men esteime them selues so muche, and take suche a vaine conceite) I woulde thou shouldest consider with indifferent eies, what our bodies are in verie deede, how gaye and beawtifull soeuer they appeare to our outwarde sighte. Tell me (I praie thee) what other thinge is the body of a man, but onely a corrupt and teynted vessell, which incontinentlie sowreth, and corrupteth what soeuer lycour is powred into it? What other thinge is mans bodie, but onely a filthie donghill, couered ouer with snowe, which outwardlie appeareth white, and within is full of filth, and vncleannes? What muckhill is so filthie? What sincke auoideth out of it such filthie geare through all his channells, as a mans bodie doth by seuerall meanes, and waies? The trees, the hearbes, yea and certaine liuinge beastes also do yeelde out of them verye sweete and pleasaunte sauours: but man yeeldeth, and auoydeth from him, such lothsome, and fowle stynckinge stuffe, as he seemeth trewlie none other thinge, but onely a fountaine of all sluttishnes, and filthines.

It is written of a great wise philosopher called Plotinus,20 that he was ashamed of the condition, and basenes of his bodie, insomuch as he was verie vnwillinge to heare anie talke of his lignage, and pedegree: neither coulde he euer be induced with anie perswasions to giue his consent that anie man shoulde purtraite him out in picture: sayeinge, that it was sufficient, that he him selfe caried with him all the daies of his lyfe a thinge so filthie and so vnworthie of the noblenes of his soule, although he were not bownde to leaue behinde him a perpetuall remembrance of his owne dishonour.

It is written also of the holie Abbot Isidorus,21 that vpon a time whilest he was at meate he was not able to refraine from weepinge, and beinge demaunded why he wepte, he answered: I weepe, because I am ashamed to be here feedinge vpon the corruptible meate of beastes, whereas I was created to be in the companie of Angels, and to feed vpon heauenly foode with them.

Of the myseries and conditions of this lyfe: and first of the shortnes of the same. § II

AFTER this, consider the great, and manifolde miseries of mans lyfe, and espetially these seuen: to witt: How shorte this lyfe is: Hou vncertain: Hou fraile: Hou inconstant: How deceitfull: and finally, how miserable it is. This done thinke vpon the ende thereof, which is deathe.22

Consider then first of the shortnes of our lyfe, which thinge the holie man Iob considered, when he saied: O Lorde the daies of man are verie shorte, and thou knowest the nomber of the monethes, that he hath to liue. We see at this daie, what a great matter it is for one to liue three score and tenne, or foure score yeares, and this is commōly the ordinarie rate of mās lyfe: Insomuch as when they liue so longe, they accompt them selues, not to be euill delt withall. As the Prophet signifieth, when he saieth:23 The daies of mā are at the vttermost but threescore and tenne yeares: and if the strongest do reach to fourescore, all that that followeth is but labour and greiffe.

Now if thou wilt deuyde this accōpte into partes, and not recken it thus in a grosse somme, it seemeth vnto me,24 that thou canst not well recken the tyme of our infancie for anie part of our lyfe, and much lesse the time, that is consumed in sleepe, because the lyfe of infancie when we are not as yet come to the vse of reason, (which onely shewethe vs to be men,) can not well be called the lyfe of men, but rather the lyfe of beastes, euen as it were the lyfe of a yonge goate, that goeth here and there skippinge, and leapinge: espetiallie bycause we see that in al that age, there is nothinge either learned, or done,25 that maie well beseeme the dignitie of a man. Now as towchinge the time that is spent in sleepe, I see not how it maye be called the time of lyfe, seinge the principall parte of our life is to haue the vse of our senses and reason, which as then both the one and the other are suspended in vs, and as it were deade.

And therefore a certayne Philosopher saied, that in the halfe of a mans lyfe there is no difference betwene the happie man, and vnhappie: forsomuch as duringe the tyme of sleepe all men are equall, because they be then as is were deade. It is cleare, that if a kinge shoulde be detained as a prisoner for the space of one or two yeares, we can not saie (and saie trulie) that he raigned duringe that time, seinge he enioyed not the kingdome, nor gouerned the same lyke a kinge. How then can it be saied, that a man liueth whiles he sleepeth, seinge duringe that time, the Seignorie and vse of his reason, yea and of his senses also, by which he liueth, stande as it were in suspense? For this cause a certain Poët tearmed sleepe the cosin germayne of death, and an other called it the brother of deathe, for the likenes and resemblance, which he perceaued to be betwene the one, and the other. Now then if so great a parte of our lyfe be spent in sleepe, what a great part is that wherein it cannot be sayed that we doe liue at all. And if it be the common custome of men to sleepe the thirde parte of the daie, and night, which is eight whole howres, (although there be a great sorte,26 that doe not content them selues therewith) it followeth by this accompte that the thirde parte of our lyfe is consumed in sleepe, and so consequently, that duringe that time we doe not liue. So that hereby thou mayst perceaue, what a great parte of our short lyfe is spent in sleepe euerie daie. This accompte therefore beinge thus made, (which vndowtedly is a very true accompt) how muche is that, that remaineth of a mans verie lyfe in deede, euen of suche I meane, as liue longest?

Certainlie that philosopher had verie great reason to doe as he did, who beinge demaunded what he thought of the lyfe of a man, tourned him selfe about before them that made the demaunde, and sodeinly departed out of their sight. Geuinge them thereby to vnderstand, that our lyfe is no more, but onely a tourne about, and of shorte continuance. Our lyfe is no more, but as it were the shotinge of a sterre, that passeth at a tryce, and flassheth quickly awaie, and within a litle while after, euen that verie signe that was left behinde, vanisheth owt of sight also. For within verie fewe daies after a man is departed owt of this lyfe, the verie remembrance of him dieth with his lyfe, be the personage neuer so great, or honorable. To conclude, this lyfe seemed so shorte to manie of the auncient wisemen, that one of them tearmed it a dreame: and an other not contented therewith, called it the dreame of a shadowe, seeminge to him that it was ouermuch to calle it the dreame of a true thinge in deede, beinge as he thought it none other than a dreame of a vaine and friuolous thinge.

27 Againe, if we compare this smalle remanent of the lyfe that we here liue, with the life to come, how muche lesse will it yet appeare? Ecclesiasticus saieth verie well: If the numbre of a mans dayes be an hundred yeares, it is muche. Now what is all this (beinge compared with the lyfe euerlastinge) but as it were a droppe of water compared with all the whole Sea? And the reason hereof is euident. For if a sterre (which is farre greater than all the whole earthe) beinge compared with the rest of heauen, seemeth so smalle a thinge, how smalle shall this present lyfe, (which is so shorte) seeme to be, beinge compared with the lyfe to come, that shall neuer haue ende? And if (as the astronomers affirme) all the whole earthe in comparison of heauen, be but as it were a litle pinnes point, because the inestimable greatnes of the heauens, causeth it to seeme so smalle a thinge, what shall this litle puffe of our short lyfe seeme to be, if it be compared with lyfe euerlastinge, which is infinite? Vndowtedly it will seeme nothinge at all. For if a thowsande yeares in the sighte of almightie God,28 be no more but as it were yesterdaie, which is now past, and gone, what shall the lyfe of one hundered yeares seeme to be in his sight, but onely a verie nothinge.

And thus it seemeth vnto the damned persones, when they make comparison betwene this lyfe, which they haue left behinde them, with the eternitie of the tormentes, which they shall suffer for euermore. As they themselues doe confesse in the booke of wisedome, in theyse woordes:29 What hath our pride auayled vs and the pompe of our riches? All these thinges are past awaie, as it were a shadowe that flieth, and as one that rideth swyftelie in post, or as the shippe that passeth by the waters, and leaueth no signe where it hath gone, or as an arrowe shotte at a certaine marke, which so sone as the aier hath once opened and made him his waie, forthwith it closeth vp againe, and it is not knowen which waie it went. Euen so it fareth with vs. For at that verie instant when we are borne, we beginne to decaie, and we leaue no memorie or signe of vertue behinde vs. Consider then how shorte all the time of this transitorie lyfe shall seeme there to all those miserable damned wretches, seinge they doe playnelie confesse, that they liued not at all, but that so sone as they were borne, forth with they beganne to fade and vanishe awaie. Now if this be so, what greater follie, or madnes, can be imagined, than that a man for the enioyinge of this short dreame of so vaine pleasures, and delightes, shoulde goe to suffer euerlastinge damnation and tormentes in hell fier for euer and euer.30 Furthermore if the time and space of this lyfe be so shorte, and the lyfe to come so longe, to witt, euerlastinge, what a mere follie is it, to take so great labour and paines to prouide so manie thinges for this lyfe beinge so shorte, and not to make anie prouision at all for the lyfe to come, which is so longe, that it shall neuer haue ende? What a fonde parte were it for a man that mynded to liue in Spayne, to spende, and consume all he hath in byenge rootes, and buildinge howses in the Indees, and to make no prouision for the countrie, whereunto he goethe to dwell and make his abode? Now how muche more foolishe and madde are they, that spende all their goodes, and substance, in makinge prouision for this present lyfe, where they shall liue so shorte a time, and make no prouision at all for the euerlastinge lyfe to come, where they must dwell, and make their abode for euermore? Espetially consideringe, that they haue so good meanes for their prouision there, by transportinge all their goodes thither by the handes of the poore. As the Wiseman witnesseth,31 sayeinge: Throwe thy bread vpon the ronninge waters, for a longe time after shalt thou finde it againe.

Of the vncertaintie of our lyfe. § III

BVT althoughe our lyfe endure but a shorte space, yet if this shorte space were so certaine,32 that we might be assured thereof (as kinge Ezechias was, vnto whom almightie God graunted fyftiene yeares of lyfe) our miserie were the more tollerable. But trulie it is not so. For as our lyfe is verie short, euen so that verie tyme we haue to liue (how shorte or longe so euer it be) is also vncertain, and doutfull. For as the Wise man saieth:33 Man knoweth not the daie of his ende, but lyke as fisshes when they thinke them selues in most saftie are taken with the hooke, and as birdes are cawghte in a snare, when they thinke nothing lesse: euen so death assaulteth men in an euill season, when they thinke least of it. Trulie that is a verie wise and approued sentence which is commonlie saied.34 That there is nothinge more certaine than deathe, nor nothinge more vncertain than the houre of deathe. And therefore a certaine philosopher compared the liues of men to the belles, or bubbles, that are made in water pittes, when it raineth: of the which, some doe vanishe awaie sodenlie euen at their verie risinge, others doe endure a litle longer and out of hande are decaied, others also doe continewe somewhat more, and others lesse. So that although they doe all endure but onely some litle time, yet in that littell there is great varietie.

Wherefore if the ende of our lyfe be so vncertaine: If it be so vncertein also when the dreadfull houre of our accompt shall come: why doe we liue with such loosenes, and negligence? Why doe we not consider those wordes of our Sauiour, where he sayeth vnto vs:35 watche, because ye knowe not, when the sonne of man shall come. 36 O that men woulde waighe the force of this reason.37 Because ye knowe not the howre (sayeth our Sauiour) watche ye, and be alwaies in a readines. As if he had sayed in expresse wordes: because ye knowe not the howre, watche euerie howre: because ye knowe not the moneth, watche euerie moneth: and because yee knowe not the yeare, be still in a readines euerie yeare. For although ye knowe not certainly what yeare he will call you, yet most certaine it is, that a yeare shall come in which vndowtedlie he will call you.

But that the force of this reason maie the better be perceaued, let vs put an example. Tell me if there were set before thee vpon a table thirtie or fourtie seuerall disshes of meat, and thou haddest a certaine warninge geuen thee by some of thy friendes, that in one of them there were poison: durst thou geue the aduenture to eate of anie one of them, althoughe thou were verie muche a hungered? Vndowtedlie thou wouldest not doe it. For the verie feare thou wouldest haue, least thou mightest peraduenture light vpon that dishe that were poysoned, woulde make thee to abstaine from all the rest. Now let vs examin how manie yeares at the vttermost thou mayst hope yet to liue. Thou wilt saie peraduenture (after thou hast well considered the matter) that thou mayest liue thirtie or fourtie yeares. Well then if it be certaine, that in one of these yeares thou art assured to die, and thou knowest west not in which of them, why art thou not then affraide in euerie one of them, seinge thou art well assured, that in one of them thy lyfe shalbe taken from thee? Thou wouldest not be so hardie, as to put thy hande into anie one of the foresaied fourtie disshes, although thou were in a verie sore honger, because thou knowest that in one of them there is death present. And wilt thou not also be affraide of euerie one of these fourtie yeares, seinge thou art so well assured, that thou shalt die in one of these yeares? What answere canst thou make to this reason?

Harken yet to an other reason, which is of no lesse efficacie than the other. Tell me, why doe men keepe a continuall watche in a Castell that standeth in the frontiers vpon the enemies? Is it for anie other cause, but onely for that they knowe not when the enemies will come to assaulte it? Assuredlie for none other. So that because they knowe not certainly at what time the enemie will come, therefore doe they continuallie watche it at all tymes. For if they knewe certainlie the time of their comminge, they might be careles in the meane while, and reserue the diligēce of their watche vntill that verie time. Now I require thee hartely for the loue of God, to be an indifferent Iudge towchinge that, which I shall saye vnto thee. Let vs consider well this poynte. If thou watche thy Castle euerie nighte, because thou art vncertain when thy enemie will come, whether to daie, or to morrowe, this yeare, or the next: why doest thou not then kepe a continuall watche ouer thy soule, seinge thou knowest not what howre death shall come to geue the assault vpon thee? The verie same vncertaintie that is in the Castle, is in thy soule also: yea this vncertaintie is farre more, and the matter is without all comparison of greater importance. Now what iudgement haue they that are alwayes so vigilant in watchinge their castle, and so careles alwayes abowt their soules: so careles I saie, as to sleepe alwaies, without euer thinkinge vpon them? What thinge can be more against reason? Cō sider that thy soule is of greater valewe, than all the castels and kingdoms in the worlde. Yea if thou consider the price wherewith it was bought, thou mayest well iudge that it is of more valewe than all the angels in heauen. Cō sider also that thou hast greater enemies, that doe endeuour cōtinuallie both daie and night to assault it. Consider that thou canst by no meanes vnderstand the daye, or the houre of assault. Consider that the whole substance of the saluation, or damnation of thy soule, consisteth in this point, whether thou be taken prouided or vnprouided at that dreadefull howre. Forsomuch as accordinge to the parable of the Gospell, the virgins which were founde readie, and prepared, entered into the mariage with the bridegrome,38 and such as were founde vnprouided taried without. To conclude therefore, what cause is there why thou shouldest not alwaies watche as well ouer thy soule, as ouer thy castell, seinge the vncertaintie is greater, the daunger greater, the cause greater, and all the rest without anie comparison farre greater, and of more importance?

Of the frailtie of our lyfe. § IIII

HOWBEIT our lyfe is not onely vncertaine; but also verie fraile, and brickle. For I praie thee, what glasse is so brickle and so subiecte to knockes and breakinge, as the lyfe of man? Some times the verie aier, and heat of the sonne (if it be vehement) is able to spoyle vs of our lyfe. But what speake I of the sonne? seinge the verie eies, yea the onely lookinge of some persone is able sometimes to bereaue a creature of his lyfe. It shall not neede to drawe anie sworde, or to vse anie kinde of armour or munition for the matter, seinge the onely looke of some one man is able to bereeue an other of his lyfe. Consider now what a sure castell this is, wherein the treasure of our lyfe is kept, seinge the onelie beholdinge of it a farre of, is able to batter it cleane downe to the grownde.

But this were not so much to be wondered at in the age of infancie, when the buildinge is as yet but newe, and griene: but the greater wonder is, that after that the worke is setled, and hath continued manie yeares together, there happeneth some accident of no greater importāce than these beforenamed that is able vtterlie to ouerthrowe it. If thou enquire and aske whereof dyed this man, or whereof died that man, they will answere thee, that he died by drinkinge a cuppe of colde drinke in a sweat: or by surfetinge at a supper: or of some other great pleasure, or greife: and some times they can geue no cause at all, but that he went to his bed saffe, and sounde, and the next daie in the morninge was founde starke dead at his wiues syde. Is there any glasse or earthen vessell in the worlde more brickle or subiecte to breakynge than this? And certainle it is not to be wondered at, that man is so brickle, consideringe that he is also made of earth: but it is rather to be wondered at, that beinge of such stuffe, and makinge as he is, he is able to endure so longe a time as he doth. Why is a clocke so often times disordered, and out of frame? The reason is because it hath so manie wheeles, and pointes, and is so full of artificiall worke, that although it be made of yron, yet euerie litle thinge is able to distemper it. Now how much more tender is the artificiall composition of our bodies, and how much more fraile is the matter of our fleashe, than is the yron, whereof a clocke is made? Wherefore if the artificiall composition of our bodies be more tender, and the matter more fraile, why shoulde we wonder if some one pointe emonge so manie wheeles haue some impediment, by reason of which defect it stoppeth, and endeth the course of our lyfe? Trewlye, we haue rather good cause to meruayle, not why men doe so quickly ende their liues, but how they endure so longe, the woorckmanshippe of their bodies beinge so tender, and the matter and stuffe whereof they be compounded so fraile and weake.

This is that miserable frailtie, which the Prophet Esaie signifieth in these wordes. Almightie God saied vnto his Prophet: Crie: 39 the Prophet answered: what shall I saie? God saied vnto him: All fleash is haie, and all the glorie thereof is like vnto the flower of the feild. the haie wythereth, the floure fadeth awaye, but the worde of God continueth for euer. 40 Vpon whiche wordes S. Ambrose saieth thus. Trulie it is euen so, for the glorie of man florisheth in the fleashe like vnto haie, which althoughe it seeme to be great, it is in verie deede but litle like an hearbe: it buddeth like a floure, and fadeth like haie. So that it hath no more, but a certain florishinge in apparance, and no firmenes nor stabilitie in the fruite. For what firmenes can there be in the matter of fleashe, or what good thinges of anie longe continuance are to be founde in so weake a subiect? To daye thou mayest see a yonge striplinge in the most florishinge time of his age, with great strēgth, lustie, and iettinge vp and downe in the streetes in great brauerie, with a iolye loftie countenance: and if it so fall out that this verie next night he be taken with some disease, thou shalt see him the next daie with a face so farre altered, and chaunged, that whereas before he seemed verie amiable and beautifull, he will now seeme euill fauored, miserable, and verie irck some to beholde. Now what shall I saie of the other accidentes, and alterations of our bodies? Some are sore broken with troubles, and aduersities: others are weakened with pouertie: others are tormented for want of good digestion: others are distempered with drinkinge of wines: others waxe feeble with age: others become tender, and ouer delicate by much cherishinge them selues: and others marre their complexion with vsinge ryotous behauiour. Now then accordinge to this reckeninge, is it not true (trow ye) that our fleash withereth like haie, and that the floure thereof fadeth, and vanisheth awaie?

Thow shalt see some other, who beinge descended of a verie honorable parentage,41 of noble bloode, and of a verie auncient howse, and familie, wel friended, and hauinge good store of kinred both by father and mother, and keepinge a great howse, and attended vpon with a great trayne of his tennantes and seruantes, and rulynge the whole countrey where he liueth, and who there but he? yet neuerthelesse if a contrarie winde of fortune blowe but a litle against him, then is he forthwith vtterlie forsaken of his friendes, euill entreated of his equales, and litle regarded of all the worlde: insomuch as then verie fewe or none will put of a cappe vnto him, but rather comtemne him. Thou shalt see an other that hath now abundance of landes, and riches, and is generallie reported in all mēs mowthes to be a very courteous, liberall, and bountifull man, and of great renowme, and estimation, exalted to honorable dignities, and promotions, and preferred so highe in the common wealth that he is a great ruler, and mightie gouernour, and hath the commendation of all persones to be a verie wise, happie, and fortunat man: thou shalt see (I saie) the times so to alter and chaunge, that euen this man who is now so highelie exalted to great dignities, and offices, and magnified in the mowthes of all men, shalbe vtterlie disgraced, and thrust into that verie prison, where he himselfe had heretofore imprisoned manie others, and shall there ende his lyfe in verie great infamie, miserie, and wretchednes. Vnto how manie also doth it happen to be wayted vpon, and brought home to their howses this daie with a nomber of goldē chaynes, footeclothes, and seruinge men, and with all the gaye pompe in the worlde, and the verie nexte night followynge, either by means of treason of some one of his owne howsholde, or familiar acquaintance, or by other misfortune, to haue all this glorious pompe obscured? yea it maie so falle out, that euen a litle stitche comminge in his syde, maye marre the fashion of all this gaie ruffelinge shewe, wherein he tooke so great delighte. O how deceitfull are the hopes of men (saieth Tully,) how fraile is fortune, how vaine are all our contentiōs, and strifes, which manie times doe breake and falle in the middle waie, and are ouerwhelmed, and drowned in saylinge, before they can come to the sight of the hauē. Now what a fonde madnes is this in the children of Adā, vpō so weake foundations to buylde such highe castles, and towers? They consider not, that they buylde vpon sande, and that euen when the weather is most fayre a wynde, will come, and blowe downe all that standeth not vpon a sownde and stronge foundation. O what fonde accomptes doe men make often times, because they will not tourne their eies, and looke into their owne consciences, and take first an accompt of them selues!

And if this be thought so great a blindnes, how much greater is the blindnes of those wicked persones, that are so bolde, as to continewe manie yeares in synne, knoweynge that there is no greater distance betwene them and hell gates,42 but onely this brickle and short lyfe? Let vs imagine now, that there were a man hanginge by a smale twyned threede and that there were directlie vnder him a verie great deepe well, and he hanginge in such wise ouer it, that when the threede happened to breake he shoulde forthwith falle into it. In what euill case (trowe yee) woulde this man thinke himselfe to be? O how fearfull, and how sore troubled woulde he be? How willinglie woulde he offer all the substance he hath, to be deliuered of that daunger? Now thou miserable wretche that darest continewe so manie dayes and yeares in synne, contrarie to the lawes of almightie God, why doest thou not consider, that thou hangest in the like daunger? Doest thou not plainlie see before thy face, that when soeuer the threede of this fraile, and short lyfe breaketh in sonder, thou art assured (continueinge still in this thy wicked and synfull lyfe) to fall into the deepe bottomles pitt of hell fier? How canst thou then sleepe? How canst thou plaie? How canst thou lawghe, or be in anie quiet? How is it, that thou art so stone blynde, as not to see such a terrible perill and daunger as hell and euerlastinge damnation, to be readie euerie houre to falle vpon thee?

Of the mutabilitie of this lyfe. § V

OVRE lyfe hath yet an other defect, which is to be mutable, and neuer to continewe in one staie: accordinge as the holie man Iob affirmeth in a pittiefull discourse which he maketh of the miseries of mans lyfe in these wordes.43 A man borne of a woman, liuinge but a smalle time, is replenished with manie miseries, he commeth forthe like a floure, and withereth awaie out of hande: his daies passe awaie like a shadowe, and he neuer continueth in one state. But now to passe ouer all other miseries, what thinge is there in the worlde more fickle and mutable than man? They saie that the Cameleon chaungeth him selfe in one houre into manie and diuers colours: And the Sea called Euripus is by reason of his often chaunges accompted very infamous: The Moone hath likewise for euerie daie a peculiar forme and shape: But what is all this in comparison of the alterations of man? What protheus was euer chaunged into so many formes, as man chaungeth euerie houre? Sometymes he is sicke, sometimes whole: Sometimes contented, sometimes discontented: sometimes sorowfull, sometimes merie: sometimes in good hope, sometimes in despaire: sometimes suspitious, sometimes secure: sometimes pleased, sometimes angrie: sometimes he will, and sometimes he will not: yea manie times he knoweth not himselfe what he woulde haue. To be short, he altereth, and chaungeth himselfe so oftē as there be accidētes happeninge vnto him euerie houre. For all such accidentes doe tosse and turmoyle him, each one in his seuerall kinde. That which is past is ircksome vnto him: that which is present troubleth, and molesteth him: and that which is to come, vexeth, and disquieteth him. If he haue neither landes, nor goodes, he liueth in trauell. If he haue them he liueth in pride: And if he lose them, he liueth in great griefe, and sorrowe. Now what Moone, or Sea, is subiect to so manie chaunges, and alterations, as the lyfe of man? The Sea chaungeth not but when the windes tourne contrarie vnto it. But in mans lyfe whether it be wyndie, or calme weather, there be euermore diuers alterations and stormes.

Now what shall I saye of the continuall mouinge and wastinge of our life:44 What minute of an houre passeth, but that we goe one steppe forewarde towardes our deathe? What other thinge (trowest thou) is the mouinge of the heauens, but as it were a verie swifte wheele, which is continually spynninge, and windinge vp our lyfe? For like as a roole of wolle is sponne vpon a wheele, of the which at euerie tourninge abowt, some parte is wounde vp, at the first tourne a litle, at the seconde tourne a litle more, and so forthe at euerie tourne, vntill all be ended: so doeth the whiele of the heauens continuallie spynne, and wynde vp our lyfe, in that at euerie tourninge that it maketh, a peice of our lyfe is sponne, and wounde vp. And therefore holie Iob saieth: That his daies were more swyft, 45 than one that rydeth in […]st. For he that rideth in post, though his m[…]ge require neuer so much haste, yet some[…] necessitie causeth him to staie. But our ly[…] […]euer staieth, neither will it geue vs so much libertie, as the space of one houre of rest.

Wherevnto S. Ierome agrieth verie well sayeinge:46 Whatsoeuer I goe about, what soeuer I write, what soeuer I reade ouer againe, and correct, each thinge taketh awaie from me some parte of my lyfe. And loke how manie pointes and minumes the notarie writeth, so manie are the losses and decreasinges of my lyfe. Insomuche that like as they that saile in a shippe, whether they stande or sit, are alwaies goeinge and sailinge, and doe euer approche nearer, and nearer to the ende of their nauigation: euen so in this lyfe all the time that we liue, we walke, and saile still forwardes approchinge nearer, and nearer, to the common hauen and ende of our nauigation, which is deathe.

47 Now then if our lyfe be nothinge elz, but a continuall walkinge towardes death? If the houre of death be also the dreadfull houre of our iudgement? What other thinge is oure whole lyfe, but onely a continuall walkynge towardes the tribunall seate of almightie God, and an approchinge euerie hower nearer and nearer vnto his iudgement? Now what greater madnes maye there be, than for vs goeynge actually to be iudged, to offende him (as we be goeynge in the waye thitherwardes) that must geue sentence vpon vs: and so by our offences prouoke his anger more and more against vs? Open thine eies therefore (ô thou miserable man) and consider the waie that thou takest: thinke well with thy selfe whither thou arte goeynge: and be ashamed, or at least take compassion of thy selfe, and consider how euill this that thou doest, agrieth with that which thou goest to doe.

Of the deceitfulnes of our lyfe. § VI

I cowlde well beare with all these miseries of our lyfe, if it had not yet an other miserie (in my iudgement) farre greater and worse than all theise: which is, that it is deceitfull, and seemeth in apparance otherwise, than it is in verie deede. For as it is true, that is commonly sayed, that Fayned holines is a double iniquitie: euen so is it also most certainly true, that Deceitful felicitie is a double miserie. For if this lyfe woulde shewe it selfe plainlie as it is in deede, and make no lye at all vnto vs, vndoutedlye we woulde neither loose our selues for it, nor yet trust vnto it, but woulde alwaies liue redie prepared against it. But verely it is so full of hypocrisie and deceit, that whereas it is indeede filthie, it is neuerthelesse solde vnto vs for beautifull, and beinge shorte, it seemeth vnto vs verie longe, and whereas it chaungeth it selfe euerie houre, it beareth a countenaunce, as thoughe it continued alwaies firme and stable in one same state. Doest thou perceaue (saieth S. Ierome) when thou wast made an infant?48 Canst thou tell when thou wast made a striplinge? or when thou camest to mans state? or when thou begannest to waxe an olde man? Good Lorde what a wonder is this, that euerie daie we die, and euerie daie we alter and chaunge, and yet for all this we perswade our selues verie fondelie that we shall liue here for euermore.

Vpon this affiance were those prowde, and sumptuous buildinges of the Magarēces built, of whom a certaine Philosopher saieth, that they builded as thoughe they shoulde liue for euer,49 and they liued as though they should dye the next daye. Whereof (I praie you) commeth so great forgetfulnes of almightie God? so great couetousnes? so great vanitie? so great carefulnes in purchasinge, and heapinge together of landes and riches? and so great negligēce in preparinge our selues to die? but that we beleue and perswade our selues that our life shalbe verie longe and endure a great time? This false imagination maketh vs to beleue, that we haue time enough for all thinges: for the worlde, for pleasures, for vanities, for vices, and for many other vaine, and curious exercises: and that yet after all this, we shall haue time enough also before we dye, to prouyde our accompte redie, and to make our attonemente with almightie God. Insomuch that like as we make our accompt of a piece of clothe when it lieth vpon a table before vs, appointinge one piece for one purpose, and an other piece for an other: euen so doe we make an accompt of our liues, as thoughe we our selues had the seignorie and gouernement of times, and might dispose both of them, and of our lyfe, at our owne wil and pleasure. This fonde deceit growethe of a secreat perswasion and affiance, that euerie man hath within himselfe, grownded not vpon anie reason, or true foundation, but onely vpon selfe loue. The which as it hateth and abhorreth death exceadinglie, so will it in no case haue any remembrance of it, nor be perswaded, that it will come so soone to his howse as to other mens. And all this is for auoydinge of the great paine, and griefe, which he woulde conceaue if he beleued it in verie deede.50 And hereof it commeth, that he is easilie induced to beleue, that other folkes shall die within a short space. For as he is not greatly in loue with thē, so is not the knowledge of that trueth so sowere, and vnlikinge vnto him, but that he can easelie beleue it. But as towchinge himselfe, he maketh an other maner of accompt. For as he loueth himselfe exciedingly, so is he verie lothe to beleue a thinge, that maie be occasion of so greate paine, and griefe vnto him as the same woulde be. But we see daylie that such persons are oftentymes fowly deceyued, and that their dreames tourne cleane contrarie to their fonde imaginations. For as towchinge others, of whose liues they had smalle hope that they shoulde haue anie longe continuance, they liue a longer time, than they euer imagined they coulde haue done: And they themselues that thought to liue, and remaine here a longe while, doe leade the daunce, and depart owt of this worlde before thē. So that it fareth with thē, as with younge sea men, that beginne to saile in the Sea, who when they come forth of the hauen mowth, it seemeth vnto them, that the lande and howses doe depart awaie from them (which is nothinge so) but contrariewise, it is they themselues that moue, and depart awaie, and the lande remaineth still in his olde place.

Of the miseries of mans lyfe. § VII

ALTHOVGH our lyfe be subiect to all these miseries before rehearsed, yet if that litle time of lyfe, were wholie lyfe indeede, it were somewhat: but the greatest miserie of all is, that the lyfe which a man hath to liue, whether it be shorte, or longe, is altogether subiect to such a nomber of miseries, and calamities, both of bodie, and minde, as it maie more trulie be tearmed deathe than lyfe.

Wherefore accordinge as a Poët saied verie well: Not to liue, but to passe the lyfe well, is lyfe. So that although this lyfe be verie sparynge, ād shorte in all other thinges: yet in troubles and miseries it is verie plentifull, and longe. Vndoutedlye our life is but shorte, respectinge the lyfe it selfe: and if we respect the time of enioyenge it, it is yet much shorter: but if we consider, how insufficient it is towardes the atteyninge of wisedome, it is litle, or nothinge at all. Howbeit although it be indeede verie shorte for all good thinges, yet in one thinge onely I fynde it longe, that is, in bearinge of paine, and miserie. O daungerous straite, in which the lesse time thou hast to passe the more perill and daunger thou hast in the passage! Certainlie if we had eies to consider our selues, and to see our owne case, we shoulde alwaies goe weepinge, and lamentinge our owne state, as men condemned by the iust iudgement of almightie God to suffer such great miseries. But that our miserie might be yet more increased on euerie side, this miserie is added to all the rest, that beinge in miserable case, we liue like men in a frensie, and doe neither feele nor vnderstande our owne miserie, and wretchednes.51 Those two Philosophers Heraclitus, and Democritus, although they were infidels perceyued the same better than we doe, of whom it is reported, that the one passed his lyfe alwaies weepinge, and the other alwaies laughinge, forsomuch as they sawe clearly that all our lyfe was nothinge els, but mere vanitie, and miserie.

If thou dowte of this, tell me (I praie thee) what meane all these carkes, and cares, wherein men doe liue? What a nomber of infinite sorowes, griefes, anguishes, feares, passions, suspitions, malices, with other the like tribulations, and afflictions, is the soule of man subiect vnto? Vnto all which passions man is so prone, that manie times he is in a passion without anie cause: and feareth, where there is no cause at all to feare: and when there is no other man to vexe and tormente him outwardlie, he then vexeth, and tormenteth himselfe inwardly: as holie Iob confessed in these wordes when he sayde: why hast thou (ô Lorde) sett me against thee? 52 I am become ircksome, and burdensome euen to myne owne selfe.

53 Now as towchinge the externall miseries of the bodie, who is able to nomber them? How great labour and paine must we take to gaine a piece of bread, whereby to sustein our liues? The verie birdes and brute beastes are fed without anie occupation, labour, or paine: but man is constrained to sweat daye and night and to turmoyle both by Sea, and lande, to get his liuinge. This is that miserie, whiche the Prophet lamented, when he saied:54 The daies of our lyfe consume awaie like the spyders webbe. For like as the spyder laboureth daye and night, in spynninge of her webbe, wastinge euen her owne bowels, and consuminge her selfe to bringe it to an ende, and all this longe and costly trauell is ordeyned to none other purpose, but onely to make a fine and tender nett, to catche flies withall: euen so the seely miserable man doth nothinge elz, but labour, and toile, night, and daie, both with bodie and minde: and all this his trauell serueth to none other ende, but onely to catche flies: I mean to procure vayne and trifelinge thinges, and of very smalle valewe. And sometimes it falleth so out, that after much trauailinge vp, and downe, and great labour, and paines taken therein, when the webbe is fully finished and browght to an ende, there commeth sodainly a blusteringe blast of winde, that carieth awaie the webbe, and the owner with all: and so both the worke, and the workman perishe who lye together at one instant.

And yet were it so, that with all these paynfull trauels, and labours,55 our lyfe were safe and secure, then our miserie shoulde not be so great as it is, but though our lyfe be secure from famine, and honger: yet is it not from the plague, and pestilence, and from infinite other daungers, and diseases, that doe dailie and howrelie assault vs. Who is able to numbre how manie kindes and diuersities of diseases nature hath ordained for mans bodie? The bokes of the phisitions are full fraught with the declaration of diuers diseases, and remedies for the same. And yet we see, that their science increaseth euerie daie with the comminge of newe and straunge diseases, insomuche as the number of the diseases, whereof we haue presently experience, were vtterlye vnknowen vnto the auncient phisitions, that were in times past. And yet emonge all these remedies scarcely shall ye finde one, that is pleasant or delectable: yea, and there be manie of them that are more irckesome and painfull, than the verie sicknes, or diseases them selues. Insomuche as one great tormente can not be remedied, without an other greater than it.

And if there be anie complexions so happie, as they haue not bene assaulted with these kinde of miseries, yet are they not secure and exempte from other calamities, and mischaunces, wherewithall we see those men to be dayly molested, that haue not bene much vexed with sicknes and diseases. How manie thowsandes of men (trow yee) are drowned euerie daie in the Sea? How manie are deuowred in warres? How manie are endaungered by earthequakes? How manie with ouerflowinges of riuers, and great waters? How manie with fallinge downe of howses? How manie with the stinginge and strikinge of venemous beastes? How manie wofull women in trauaile of their children doe purchase full dearlie their childrens liues, with their owne painfull deathes?

Now althoughe it be so, that the brute beastes doe fight against vs, and although in a maner all thinges that were made to serue vs, be no lesse noysome than seruiceable vnto vs, (yea rather it seemeth that they all haue as it were conspired against vs:) yet for all this I saye there might be some remedie founde, if men woulde accorde and agree together emonge them selues, and were as conformable in peace, as they are in nature. But alas it is farre otherwise. For euē they themselues are in armes against them selues:56 and emonge all creatures in the worlde, there is none against whom man is more cruelly bent, than against the companion of his owne nature. How many kindes of engins, artillarie, munition, and weppons haue men inuented to defende them selues, and to offende others? How manie are dailie spoiled of their liues by the cruell swoorde of their enemies? How manie threatninges, robberies, iniuries, woundes, deathes, reproches, sclaunders, and emprisonmentes, doe men daily susteine by the malice, and crueltie of other men? We see that neither the lande, nor the sea, nor the highe waies, nor the cōmon streetes, are free from theiues, robbers, murderers, pirates, and enemies. The cruell anger and rage of the furyous man is at all times redie to be reuenged of his enemie, yea and he taketh greate pleasure in it. What meane so many kinde of weapons? Such diuersitie of artillarie? Such store of munition? Such abū dance of gonpowder? So manie deuisors and inuentors of newe kindes of stratagemes, and cruell practices of warre, but onely to multiplie, and increase on euerie side the miseries, and calamities of mākinde? Insomuch as when we are not molested with the aier, nor with the elementes, we are persecuted by the companions of our owne verie nature. It is written of one onely man called Iulius Cesar,57 (who emonge all the Emperors was most commended for clemencie) that euen he alone with his armyes slewe in diuers battells, aboue a million, and a hundered thowsand men. Cō sider now how manie more woulde he haue slaine, if he had bene cruell, seinge he slewe so manie beinge commended, and praised for a verie gentle, and mercifull prince?

Tullye also maketh mention of a notable Philosopher who wrote a booke concerninge the deathes of men,58 wherein he rehearseth many occasions of mens deathes, that haue happened in the worlde: as by fluddes, plagues, pestilences, destructions of Cities, concourse of wylde beastes, which comminge sodainly vpon some nations, haue vtterlie slaine and deuowred them. And yet after all this he concludeth, that a farre greater nomber of men haue bene destroied by men, than be all the other kindes of calamities, though they were all ioyned together. Now what thinge can be more ruethfull, and of greater greife and admiration than this? This is that politique and sociable creature, that is borne without nayles, without weapons, and without poyson, to liue in peace and concorde with other liuinge creatures: and yet he is full of hatred, crueltie, and desire of reuengement.

59 But now if we woulde make a discourse, and ronne throughout the miseries that are incident to all the ages, and states of this lyfe, we shoulde finde our selues to be yet in farre worse case. How full of ignorance is the time of our infancie? How light, and wanton are we when we growe to be striplinges? How rashe, and headlonge be we in the time of our youth? How heauie, and vnweldie, when we waxe olde men? What els is an infant, but a brute beast in the forme of a man? What is a yonge boie but as it were a wylde vntamed colte and vnbrydled? What is a heauie, and vnweldie olde man, but euen a sacke stuffed with greifes, and diseases? The greatest desire that men haue, is to liue vntill they be olde: at which age a man is in farre worse case, than in all his lyfetime before, and then he standeth in most neede, and hath least helpe, and succoure. For the olde man is forsaken of the worlde: He is forsaken of his owne kinsfolke, friendes, and acquaintance: He is forsaken of his owne members, and senses: yea he forsaketh himselfe, in that the verie vse of reason forsaketh him. And he is onely accompanyed with his paynefull aches, greifes, and diseases. For his companie and conuersation is then verie ircksome and troublesome to the whole howse where he dwelleth. This is the marcke for sooth wherevpon the eie of man is so earnestlie fixed: this is the happie state, which all men doe so griedelie desire: and hereunto tendeth the worldlie felicitie, and the ambition of longe lyfe.

As concerninge the states of men we shoulde neuer make an ende,60 if we shoulde rehearse the litle contentation that is to be founde in each of them, and the great desire that euerie one hath to chaunge his owne state, and condition, with the state of others: thinkinge that he shoulde haue greater hartes ease in an other mans state, than he hath in his owne. And thus doe men continually vexe, and turmoyle themselues like vnto a sicke man, that doth nothing els but tomble and tosse in his bed from one side to an other, perswadinge himselfe that by meanes of these often chaunges and remouinges, he shall finde more ease and rest than he had before, and yet he findeth in verie deede that he is fowlie deceyued: Forsomuch as the cause of his disquietnes resteth within him selfe, which is his owne greife, and disease.

To conclude, such is the miserable state and condition of this lyfe that the Wise man had good cause to saie:61 Great and heauie is the yooke, that the children of Adam carie on their neckes, euen from the daie they come forth of their mothers wombe, vntil the daie of their burial, which is the common mother of all.62 And S. Barnarde was not affraied to saie, that he thought this lyfe litle better than the lyfe of hell it selfe, were it not for the hope we maye here haue to atteyne vnto the kyngedome of heauen.

63 And albeit all these miseries doe come vnto vs as a punnishement for synne: yet was it a verie mercifull and medicinable punnishement. For the prouidence of almightie God did so ordaine it, meaninge thereby to withdrawe and separate our hartes from the inordinate loue of this lyfe. The verie cause why he put so muche bitter mustarde vpon the breastes of this lyfe, was to weane vs from it. The cause why he suffered our lyfe to become so filthie, was that we shoulde not set oure loue vpō it. The cause why he woulde haue vs to be molested and vexed so often times in this lyfe, was that we might the more willinglie forsake it, and sighe continuallie for the true lyfe, whiche is in the worlde to come. For if we be so vnwillinge to forsake this lyfe,64 beinge wholye so miserable as it is: if we be now euer whymperinge, and whyninge for the fruites, and fleashpottes of Egipt, what woulde we doe, if al our lyfe were sweete, and pleasant? And what woulde we doe, if it were wholie likinge and delitefull to our taste, and appetite? Who woulde then (trowe yee) contemne it for Gods sake? Who woulde then exchaunge it for heauen?65 Who woulde then saie with S. Paule, I haue a desire to be loosed from this fleashe, and to be with Christ?

Of the last miserie of man: which is deathe. § VIII

AFTER all these miseries, succeedeth the last, and of all others most terrible, which is death. This is that miserie, whereof a certaine Poët lamented, sayeinge: The best daies of mortall men are those that passe first awaie, and then succedeth a nomber of sicknesses, and diseases, and with them heauie and dolefull age, and continuall trouble, and aboue all the sharpenes of cruell deathe. This is the lodge and ende of mans lyfe, whereof holie Iob saied: I knowe well ô Lorde, 66 that thou wilt deliuer me ouer to deathe, where there is a howse prepared for all men liuinge.

How manie the miseries are that be included in this miserie alone, I will not take vpon me to declare at this present. Onely I will rehearse what a certaine holie father saieth by waie of exclamation against death in this wise. O death how bitter is the remembrance of thee? How quicklie and sodenly stealest thou vpon vs? How secrete are thy pathes and waies? How doutfull is thy houre? And how vniuersall is thy seignorie, and dominion? The mightie can not escape thy handes: the wise can not hide them selues from thee: and the stronge loose their strengthe in thy presence. Thou accomptest no man riche, forsomuch as no man is able to raunsome his lyfe of thee for money. Thou goest euerye where, thou searchest euerye where, and thou art euerie where. Thou witherest the hearbes: thou drinkest vp the windes: thou corruptest the aier: thou chaungest the ages: thou alterest the worlde: thou stickest not to sup vp the sea: all thinges doe increase and diminishe, but thou continuest alwaies at one staie. Thou art the hammer that alwaies striketh:67 thou art the sworde the neuer blunteth: thou art the snare whereinto euerie one falleth: thou art the prison wherein euerie one entereth: thou art the sea wherein all doe perishe: thou art the paine that euerie one suffereth: and the tribute that euerie one paieth.

O cruell death why hast thou not compassion of vs, but commest stealinge sodenlie vpon vs, to snatche vs awaie in our best times, and to interrupt our affaieres when they are well begonne and brought to a good forwardnes? Thou robbest from vs in one houre, as much as we haue gained in manie yeares. Thou cuttest of the succession of kinredes, and families. Thou leauest kingdomes without anie heires. Thou fillest the worlde with wydowes, and orphanes: thou breakest of the studies of great clerckes: thou ouerthrowest good wittes in their rypest age: thou ioynest the ende with the beginninge, without geuinge place to the myddle. To conclude, thou art such a one, as almightie God wassheth his handes of thee, and cleareth himselfe in plaine wordes, sayenge:68 That he neuer made thee, but that thou haddest thine entrie into the worlde by the verie enuie and craft of the diuell.

What fruite, and commoditie, maye be taken of the foresaied considerations. § XI

THESE are the miseries of our lyfe with infinite others: the cōsideration whereof a man ought to direct vnto two principal endes emonge others: the one, to the knowledge and contempt of the glorie of this worlde; and the other, to the knowledge and contempte of our selues. For this consideration serueth verie well both for the one, and the other. But wilt thou vnderstande in worde what the glorie of this worlde is? Marke and consider with attention the state and condition of mans lyfe, and thereby shalte thou perceyue, what the glorie of this lyfe is. Tell me (I praie thee) can the glorie of man be more longe or more stable than the lyfe of man? It is most certaine that it can not. For this glorie is an accident, which is grownded vpon this lyfe, as vpon his subiecte, or foundation, and therefore when the foundation and subiecte faileth, the accidentes must needes faile withall.69 And for this verie cause no riches, no pleasures, not delightes can cōtinewe any lōger tyme with a man than vntill his graue. Forsomuch as then faileth the foundation, wherevpon all these thinges are built, and haue their staie, which foundation is our lyfe. Now tell me then, if this lyfe be such as thou hast now hearde described vnto thee: to witt: shorte, vncertain, fraile, inconstante, deceitfull, and miserable, how longe can the buildinge endure, that shalbe framed vpon this foundation? How longe can the accidentes continewe, that shalbe grounded vpon so weake a substance? When thou hast considered this point well with thy selfe, thou must needes saye, that they shall endure no longer than the foundation and substance it selfe endureth: and thou must needes confesse, that manie times they endure not so longe: as we see by dailie experience in the goodes of fortune, which with manie men haue an ende before their lyfe endeth.

Now if that sayeinge of the Poët Pindarus be true: to witt, That this lyfe is no more, but a dreame of a shadowe, What thinkest thou then is the glorie of this world, which is of shorter continuance than our lyfe? What accompt wouldest thou make of a goodly buildinge, in case it stood vpon a false foundation? What accompte wouldest thou make of an image of waxe, very richlie and curiouslie wrought, in case it were set against the sonne, where it is certayne that so soone as the waxe shoulde be molten, forthwith the forme of the image woulde vtterlie be defaced, and leese his beautie? Whie doe we make so litle accompt of the beautie of a flowre, but because it groweth vpon so weake a subiect? For so soone as it is nypt of from the stalke, incontinentlie it looseth his faire glosse and beautie? It is not possible to haue beautie of anie firme continuance in a matter so fraile, and corruptible. It followeth therefore that the glorie of man is such as the lyfe of man is. For although glory doe continewe after the ende of our lyfe, yet what shall that glorie auayle him that hath no sence, nor feelinge thereof? What dothe it auayle Homere now whilest thou so highelie praisest and commendest his Iliades? Vndoutedly no more but as S. Ierome saieth speakinge of Aristotle, Woo be vnto thee Aristotle, that art praised where thou art not, to witt, here in the worlde: and art tormented where thou art indeede: to witt, in hell.

Other inestimable commodities mayest thou gather owt of this consideration. For if thou doe consider all theise miseries with good attention, thine eies shalbe opened forthwith, and thou shalt wonder at the great blindnes of men, yea the verie straungenes of it shall cause thee to saie to thy selfe: Good Lorde, what cause is there, why this miserable lignage of Adam shoulde waxe prowde! From whence commeth such puffinge and arrogancie of minde, such hawtie and loftie courages, so great contempt of others, such estimation of our selues, and so great forgetfulnes of almightie God? What cause hast thou to be prowde thou dust, and asshes? Why doest thou magnifie, and aduaunce thy selfe thou seely wretche of the earthe? Why doest thou not holde downe thy peacockes taile, beholdinge thy fowle feete, to witt, the vylenes of thy state and condition? What cause hast thou to seeke so carefullie for the glorie of this worlde, seinge it is myngled with so manie miseries? What thinge is there so sweete, but that it maie be made bitter with the mixture of so manie sower, and bitter sawces?

Moreouer, if this lyfe be a vale of teares, a prison of guiltie persons, and a bannishement of them that be comdemned, how canst thou settle so greate vanitie, so great pompe, and pride of the worlde, such gaye ornamentes, and statelie furniture of houses, and families, in the place of teares? How canst thou imagine to make this a place of pastymes, and pleasures, of feastes, and bankettes? How canst thou be so diligente to heape so greidelie together for the prouision of this worlde, and be so forgetfull of the worlde to come, as if thou were borne onely to liue here in earth with brute beastes, and haddest no parte in heauen with the Angels. Suerlie I must neides saie, that thou art very much wedded to miserie, and that thou camest out of a meruaylous miserable stocke, if so manie argumentes of the miseries of this worlde be not able to open thine eies, and make thee to discerne so grosse and so palpable a blindenes,

Footnotes

  1. Of the shortnes of this life. Psalm. 89. ↩

  2. Of the vncertayntie of our life. ↩

  3. Marc. 13. ↩

    1. Cor. 7.31
    ↩

  5. Of the frayletie and brycklenes of this lyfe. ↩

  6. Of the mutabilitie of this lyfe. ↩

  7. Our lyfe wastethe awaye lyke a burninge candle. ↩

  8. Psal. 89. ↩

  9. Of the deceytefulnes of this lyfe. ↩

  10. How that litle tyme we haue to lyue is also subiecte to many miseries both of bodie and mynde. ↩

  11. Of the diseases and calamities that happē to mens bodies, and of the afflictions, and cares of the mynde. ↩

  12. Of deathe. ↩

  13. Our two first parentes onelie (Adam and Eue) vnderstoode perfectelie the miseries wherein mankinde remayneth throughe synne. ↩

  14. Of the originall and byrthe of man. ↩

  15. Genes. 2. ↩

  16. Slymye dyrte is the common father, bothe to weedes and to men. ↩

  17. Of the byrthe of a man, and of his first entrie into this worlde. ↩

  18. A man weepethe so soone as he is borne into this worlde, but he laugheth not vntill fourtye dayes after his byrthe. ↩

  19. Of the bodye of mā. ↩

  20. Plotinus. ↩

  21. Isidorus. ↩

  22. Of the shortenes of our lyfe. Iob. 1.14. ↩

  23. Psal. 89. ↩

  24. The tym[…] of infancye. ↩

  25. The tyme consumed in sleepe. ↩

  26. The thirde parte of our lyfe is consumed in sleepe. ↩

  27. To compare this smalle remanente of our lyfe with the lyfe euerlastinge that is to come. Eccles. 18. ↩

  28. Psal. 49. ↩

  29. Sap. 5. ↩

  30. It is a mere follie to make so greate prouision for this shorte lyfe, and not to prouide for the euerlastinge lyfe to come. ↩

  31. Eccles. 11. ↩

  32. Esay. 38. ↩

  33. Eccles. 9. ↩

  34. A notable sentence. ↩

  35. Matth. 24. ↩

  36. Marc. 13. ↩

  37. Luc. 12. ↩

  38. Math. 25. ↩

  39. Esay. 40. ↩

  40. S. Ambrose. ↩

  41. what greate alteratiō and inconstancie is in this worlde. ↩

  42. There is no more distaunce betwene vnrepentāt synners ād hell fier, but onelye this brickle and shorte lyfe. ↩

  43. Iob. 14. ↩

  44. Of the cō tinuall mouinge and wastinge of our lyfe. ↩

  45. Iob. 9. ↩

  46. S. Ierome. ↩

  47. Our lyfe is a continual walkinge towardes deathe, and the hower of our deathe is the dreadfull hower of our iudgement. ↩

  48. S. Ierome. ↩

  49. The cause why manie be so carefull to prouide for this worlde, and so careles and negligent to prepare them selues to dye. ↩

  50. we can easelie be persuaded that others will dye within a shorte tyme but we will not beleue but that we our selues shall liue verie lōge. ↩

  51. Heralitus. Domocritus. ↩

  52. Iob. 7. ↩

  53. Of the externall miseries of the bodie. ↩

  54. Psalm. 89. ↩

  55. Our shorte lyfe is not safe and secure, […] […]nite daungers, and diseases. ↩

  56. Emonge all creatures man is most cruell against the companiō of his owne nature. ↩

  57. Iulius Cesar. ↩

  58. Tullye. ↩

  59. Of the miseries incident vnto all the ages and states of this life. ↩

  60. There is litle contē tation in the states of men, and eche one desireth to chaunge his state with the states of others. ↩

  61. Eccles. 40. ↩

  62. S. Barnarde. ↩

  63. The miseries of this lyfe are ordeyned as a punnishmente for synne, and to withdrawe our hartes frō the inordinate loue of this lyfe. ↩

  64. Exod. 16. ↩

  65. Philip. 1. ↩

  66. Iob, 30. ↩

  67. Iob. 1[…]. ↩

  68. Sap. 1. & 2. ↩

  69. The riches pleasures and delites of this lyfe cannot contynewe anie longer than the lyfe it selfe. ↩

Chapter 16 of 29