Of the Miseries of This Life.
THIS DAY (WHEN THOU HAST MADE THE SIGN OF THE CROSS, and prepared thyself,) thou hast to meditate upon the condition, and miseries of this life: that thou mayest by them understand, how vain the glory of this world is, seeing it is built upon so weak a foundation: and how little accompt a man ought to make of himself, being (as he is subject) unto so many miseries
Now for this purpose thou hast to consider first of the vileness of the original, and birth of man, to wit: the matter whereof he is compounded: the manner of his conception: the griefs, and pains of his birth: the frailty, and miseries of his body: according as hereafter shall be entreated.
Then thou hast to consider the great miseries of the life that he liveth, and chiefly these seven.
First, consider how short this life is, seeing the longest term thereof passeth not threescore and ten, or fourscore years. For all the rest (if any mans life be drawn a little longer) is but labor, and sorrow. And if thou take out of this the time of our infancy, which is rather a life of beasts, than of men and withal the time that is spent in sleeping, at which time we have not the use of our senses, and reason, thou shalt find that our life is a great deal shorter, than it seemeth unto us. Besides all this, if thou compare this life with the eternity of the life to come, that endureth for evermore, it shall scarcely seem so much as a minute: Whereby thou mayest perceive, how far out of the way those persons are, who to enjoy the little blast of so short a life, do hazard to lose the quiet rest of the blessed life to come, which shall endure everlastingly.
Secondly, consider how uncertain this life is, (which is an other misery besides the former.) For it is not only of itself very short, but even that very small continuance of life that it hath, is not assured, but doubtful. For how many (I pray thee) do come to the age of those threescore and ten, or fourscore years, which we spake of? In how many persons is the web cut off, even at the first, when it is scarcely begun to be woven? How many do pass away out of this world, even in the flower (as they term it) of their age, and in the very blossoming of youth. Ye know not (saith our Savior) when our Lord will come, whether in the morning, or at noonday, or at midnight, or at the time of the cock crowing: That is to say: Ye know not whether he will come in the time of infancy, or of childhood, or of youth, or of age. For the better perceiving of this point, it shall be a good help unto thee to call to mind, how many of thy friends and acquaintances are dead, and departed out of this world. And especially remember thy kinsfolk, thy companions, and familiars, and some of the worshipful and famous personages of great estimation in this world, whom death hath assaulted, and snatched away in divers ages, and utterly beguiled, and defeated them of all their fond designments, and hopes. I know a certain man, that hath made a memorial of all such notable personages, as he hath known in this world in all kind of estates, which are now dead: and some times he readeth their names, or calleth them to mind: and in rehearsal of every one of them, he doth briefly represent before his eyes the whole tragedy of their lives, the mockeries, and deceits of this world, and withal the conclusion and end of all worldly things. Whereby he understandeth what good cause the Apostle had to say: That the figure of this world passeth away. In which words he giveth us to understand, how little ground, and stay, the affairs of this life have, seeing he would not call them very things indeed, but only figures, or shews of things, which have no being, but only an appearance, whereby also they are the more deceitful.
Thirdly, consider how frail, and brickle this life is, and thou shalt find, that there is no vessel of glass so frail as it is. Insomuch as a little distemperature of the air, or of the sun, the drinking of a cup of cold water, yea the very breath of a sick man is able to spoil us of our life, as we see by daily experience of many persons, whom the least occasion of all these that we have here rehearsed, hath been able to end their lives, and that even in the most flourishing time of all their age.
Fourthly, consider how mutable and variable this life is, and how it never continueth in one self same stay. For which purpose thou must consider the great and often alterations, and changes of our bodies, which never continue in one same state, and disposition. Consider likewise, how far greater the changes, and mutations of our minds are, which do ever ebb and flow like the Sea, and be continually altered and tossed with divers winds, and surges of passions, that do disquiet, and trouble us every hour. Finally, consider how great the mutation in the whole man is, who is subject to all the alterations of fortune, which never continueth in one same being, but always turneth her wheel, and rolleth up and down from one place to an other. And above all this, consider how continual the moving of our life is, seeing it never resteth day, nor night, but goeth always shortening from time to time, and consumeth itself like as a garment doth with use, and approacheth every hour nearer and nearer unto death. Now by this reckoning what else is our life, but as it were a candle that is always wasting, and consuming, and the more it burneth, and giveth light, the more it consumeth and wasteth away? What else is our life, but as it were a flower, that buddeth in the morning, and fadeth away at noon day, and at evening is clean dried up? This very comparison maketh the Prophet in the Psalm, where he saith. The morning of our infancy passeth away like an herb, it blossometh in the morning, and suddenly fadeth away, and at evening it decayeth, and waxeth hard, and withereth away.
Fifthly, consider how deceitful our life is (which peradventure is the worst property it hath.) For by this mean it deceiveth us, in that being in very deed filthy, it seemeth unto us beautiful: and being but short, every man thinketh his own life will be long: and being so miserable (as it is in deed) yet it seemeth so amiable, that to maintain the same, men will not stick to run through all dangers, travails, and losses, (be they never so great,) yea they will not spare to do such things for it, as whereby they are assured to be damned for ever and ever in hell fire, and to lose life everlasting.
Sixthly, consider how besides this that our life is so short (as hath been said,) yet that little time we have to live is also subject unto divers and sundry miseries, as well of the mind, as of the body: insomuch as all the same being duly considered, and laid together is nothing else, but a vale of tears, and a main Sea of infinite miseries. St. Jerome declareth of Zerxes that most mighty king, (who threw down mountains, and dried up the Seas) that on a time he went up to the top of a high hill, to take a view of his huge army, which he had gathered together of infinite numbers of people. And after that he had well viewed and considered them, it is said that he wept: and being demanded the cause of his weeping, he answered, and said: I weep because I consider that within these hundred years, there shall not one of all this huge Army, which I see here present before me, be left alive. Whereupon St. Jerome saith these words: O that we might (saith he) ascend up to the top of some tower, that were so high, that we might see from thence all the whole earth underneath our feet. From thence shouldest thou see the ruins and miseries of all the world: Thou shouldest see nations destroyed 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 marriages, and mirth: in an other doleful mourning, and lamentation. In one place thou shouldest see some born into this world, and carried to the Church to be Christened: in an other place thou shouldest see some others die, and carried to the Church to be buried. Some thou shouldest see exceeding wealthy, and flowing in great abundance of lands, and riches: and others again in great poverty, and begging from door, to door. To be short, thou shouldest see, not only the huge army of Zerxes, but also all the men, women, and children of the world, that be now alive, within these few years to end their lives, and not to be seen any more in this world.
Consider also all the diseases and calamities that may happen to mens bodies, and withal all the afflictions, and cares of the mind. Consider likewise the dangers, and perils, that be incident as well to all estates, as also to all the ages of men: and thou shalt see very evidently the manifold miseries of this life. By the seeing whereof thou shalt perceive how small a thing all that is, that the world is able to give thee, and this consideration may cause thee more easily to despise and contemn the same, and all that thou mayest hope to receive from it.
After all these manifold miseries, and calamities, there succeedeth the last misery, that is death, which is as well to the body, as to the soul, of all terrible things the very last, and most terrible. For the body shall in a moment be spoiled of all that it hath. And of the soul there shall then be made a resolute determination what shall become of it for ever, and ever.
THE SECOND TREATISE, CONTAINING A CONSIDERATION of the miseries of mans life: wherein the former meditation is declared more at large.
How great the miseries are, that the nature of mankind is subject unto by reason of sin, there is no tongue able to express. And therefore St. Gregory said very well, that only our two first parents, Adam, and Eve, (who knew by experience the noble condition, and state, wherein almighty God created man,) understood perfectly the miseries of man. Because they by calling to mind the felicity and prosperous estate of that life, which they had once enjoyed, saw more clearly the miseries of the banishment, wherein they remained through sin. But the children of these our two miserable parents, as they never knew what thing prosperity, and good hap was, but were always fostered, and brought up in misery: so they know not, what thing misery is, because they never knew what prosperity was. Yea many of them are as it were persons in a mere frenzy, so far void of sense, as they would (if it were possible) continue perpetually in this life, and make this place of banishment their country, and this prison their dwelling house, because they understand not the miseries thereof. Wherefore like as they that are accustomed to dwell in places of unsavory and stinking air, do feel no pain nor trouble of it, by reason of the custom, and use, they have thereof: even so these miserable persons understand not the miseries of this life, because they are so enured, and accustomed to live in them.
Now that thou mayest not likewise fall into this foul deceit, nor into other greater inconveniences that are wont to follow hereof, consider (I pray thee with good attention) the multitude of these miseries: and before all other, consider and weigh the miseries, that are in the first beginning, and birth of a man, and afterwards the conditions of the life he liveth.
To begin this matter therefore at the very original: Consider first of what matter mans body is compounded. For by the worthiness, or baseness of the matter, often times the condition of the work is known. The holy scripture saith, that almighty God created man of the slime, or dirt of the earth. Now of all the elements, earth is the most base, and inferior: and among all the parts of the earth, slime is the most base, and vile. Whereby it may appear, that almighty God created man of the most vile, and basest thing of the world. Insomuch as even the Kings, the Emperors, and the Popes, be they never so high, famous, and royal, are even slime, and dirt of the earth. And this thing understood the Egyptians right well, of whom it is written, that when they celebrated yearly the feast of their nativity, they carried in their hands certain herbs, that grow in miry and slimy ditches: to signify thereby, the likeness, and affinity, that men have with weeds, and slimy dirt: which is the common father both to weeds, and to men. Wherefore if the matter of which we are made be so base, and vile, whereof art thou so proud, thou dust, and ashes? Whereof art thou so lofty, thou stinking weed, and dirty slime?
Now as concerning the manner, and workmanship, wherewith the work of this matter is wrought, it is not to be committed to writing, neither yet to be considered upon, but to be passed over with silence, and closing up our eyes, that we behold not so filthy a thing as it is. If men knew how to be ashamed of a thing which they ought of reason to be ashamed of, surely they would be ashamed of nothing more, than to consider the manner how they were conceived. Concerning which point I will touch one thing only, and that is, that whereas our merciful Lord, and Savior, came into this world to take upon him all our miseries, for to discharge us of them, only this was the thing, that he would in no wise take upon him. And whereas he disdained not to be buffeted, and spitted upon, and to be reputed for the basest of all men, only this he thought was unseemly, and not meet for his majesty, to wit, if he should have been conceived in such manner, and order, as men are. Now as touching the substance and food wherewith mens bodies are nourished, before they be born into this world, it is not so clean a thing, as that it ought once to be named. No more ought a number of other unclean things, that are daily seen at the time of our birth.
Let us now come to the birth of a man, and first entry into the world. Tell me I pray thee, what thing is more miserable, than to see a woman in her travail, when she bringeth forth her child? O what sharp agonies and bitter pains doth she then feel! What painful tossings and throes doth she make! What dangerous grips and qualms is she in! What pitiful skrikes and groanings doth she utter. I omit here to speak of many monstrous, strange, and overthwart births. For if I should make rehearsal of them, I should never make an end. And yet all this notwithstanding when the seely creature cometh into the world, it cometh (God wot) weeping, and crying, poor, naked, weak, and miserable: it is utterly destitute and in necessity of all things, and unable to do any thing. Other living things are born with shoes upon their feet, and apparel upon their back: some with wool: others with scales: others with feathers: others with leather: others with shells: insomuch as the very trees come forth covered with a rind, or bark, yea and sometimes for feeling they be double barked: only man is born stark naked, without any other kind of garment in the world, but only a skin, which is all riveled, foul, and loathsome to behold, wherein he cometh lapped at the time of his birth. With these ornaments creepeth he into the world, who after his coming, groweth unto such fond ambition, and pride, that a whole world is scarcely able to satisfy him.
Moreover, other living things at the very hour of their coming into this world, are able immediately to seek for such things as they stand in need of, and have ability to do the same: Some can go: others can swim: others can fly: to be short, each one of them is able without any instructor to seek for such things, as it hath need of: only man knoweth nothing, neither is he able to do any thing, but must of necessity be carried in other folks arms. How long time is it before he can learn to go? And yet he must begin to crawl upon all four, before he can go upon two. How long time is it before he can speak so much as one word? And not only before he can speak, but also before he can tell how to put meat into his own mouth, unless some others do help him? One thing only I must confess he can do of himself, that is, he can cry, and weep. This is the first thing he doeth, and this is the thing only he can do without any teacher. And although he can also laugh of himself, yet can he not do it, before he be forty days old, notwithstanding that he is ever more weeping from the first hour of his coming into this world. Whereby thou mayest understand, how far more prompt, and ready our nature is to pewling, and weeping, than to joy, and mirth. O mere folly, and madness of men, (saith a Wise man) who of so poor, naked, and base beginning, do persuade themselves, that they are born to be proud!
Now as concerning the very body of man, (whereof men esteem themselves so much, and take such a vain conceit) I would thou shouldest consider with indifferent eyes, what our bodies are in very deed, how gay and beautiful soever they appear to our outward sight. Tell me (I pray thee) what other thing is the body of a man, but only a corrupt and tainted vessel, which incontinently soureth, and corrupteth whatsoever licour is poured into it? What other thing is a mans body, but only a filthy dunghill, covered over with snow, which outwardly appeareth white, and within is full of filth, and uncleanness? What muckhill is so filthy? What sink avoideth out of it such filthy gear through all his channels, as a mans body doth by several means, and ways? The trees, the herbs, yea and certain living beasts also do yield out of them very sweet and pleasant savours: but man yieldeth, and avoideth from him, such loathsome, and foul stinking stuff, as he seemeth truly none other thing, but only a fountain of all sluttishness, and filthiness.
It is written of a great wise philosopher called Plotinus, that he was ashamed of the condition, and baseness of his body, insomuch as he was very unwilling to hear any talk of his lineage, and pedigree: neither could he ever be induced with any persuasions to give his consent that any man should portrait him out in picture: saying, that it was sufficient, that he himself carried with him all the days of his life a thing so filthy and so unworthy of the nobleness of his soul, although he were not bound to leave behind him a perpetual remembrance of his own dishonor.
It is written also of the holy Abbot Isidorus, that upon a time whilst he was at meat he was not able to refrain from weeping, and being demanded why he wept, he answered: I weep, because I am ashamed to be here feeding upon the corruptible meat of beasts: whereas I was created to be in the company of Angels, and to feed upon heavenly food with them.
OF THE MISERIES AND CONDITIONS of this life: and first of the shortness of the same.
After this, consider the great and manifold miseries of mans life, and especially these seven: to wit: How short this life is: How uncertain: How frail: How inconstant: How deceitful: and finally, how miserable it is. This done think upon the end thereof, which is death.
Consider then first of the shortness of our life, which thing the holy man Job considered, when he said: O Lord the days of man are very short, and thou knowest the number of the months, that he hath to live. We see at this day, what a great matter it is for one to live threescore and ten, or fourscore years, and this is commonly the ordinary rate of mans life: Insomuch as when they live so long, they accompt themselves not to be evil dealt withal. As the Prophet signifieth, when he saith: The days of man are at the uttermost but threescore and ten years: and if the strongest do reach to fourscore, all that followeth is but labor, and grief.
Now if thou wilt divide this accompt into parts, and not reckon it thus in a gross sum, it seemeth unto me, that thou canst not well reckon the time of our infancy for any part of our life: and much less the time, that is consumed in sleep. Because the life of infancy when we are not as yet come to the use of reason (which only sheweth us to be men) can not well be called the life of men, but rather the life of beasts, even as it were the life of a young goat, that goeth here and there skipping, and leaping: especially because we see that in all that age, there is nothing either learned, or done, that may well beseem the dignity of a man. Now as touching the time that is spent in sleep, I see not how it may be called the time of life, seeing the principal part of our life is to have the use of our senses, and reason, which as then both the one and the other are suspended in us, and as it were dead.
And therefore a certain Philosopher said, that in the half of a mans life there is no difference between the happy man, and unhappy: forsomuch as during the time of sleep all men are equal, because they be then as it were dead. It is clear, that if a king should be detained as a prisoner for the space of one or two years, we can not say (and say truly) that he reigned during that time, seeing he enjoyed not the kingdom, nor governed the same like a king. How then can it be said, that a man liveth whiles he sleepeth, seeing during that time the Seignory and use of his reason, yea and of his senses also, by which he liveth, stand as it were in suspense? For this cause a certain Poet termed sleep the cousin germane of death, for the likeness and resemblance, which he perceived to be between the one, and the other. Now then if so great a part of our life be spent in sleep, what a great part is that wherein it cannot be said that we do live at all. And if it be the common custom of men to sleep the third part of the day, and night, which is eight whole hours, (although there be a great sort, that do not content themselves therewith) it followeth by this accompt, that the third part of our life is consumed in sleep, and so consequently, that during that time we do not live. So that hereby thou mayest perceive, what a great part of our short life is spent in sleep every day. This accompt therefore being thus made, (which undoubtedly is a very true accompt) how much is that, that remaineth of a mans very life in deed, even of such I mean, as live longest?
Certainly that philosopher had very great reason to do as he did, who being demanded what he thought of the life of a man, turned himself about before them that made the demand, and suddenly departed out of their sight. Giving them thereby to understand, that our life is no more, but only a turn about, and of short continuance. Our life is no more, but as it were the shooting of a star, that passeth at a trice, and flasheth quickly away, and within a little while after, even that very sign that was left behind, vanisheth out of sight also. For within very few days after a man is departed out of this life, the very remembrance of him dieth with his life, be the personage never so great, or honorable. To conclude, this life seemed so short to many of the ancient wisemen, that one of them termed it a dream: and an other not contented therewith, called it the dream of a shadow, seeming to him that it was overmuch to call it the dream of a true thing in deed, being as he thought it none other than a dream of a vain and frivolous thing.
Again, if we compare this small remnant of the life that we here live, with the life to come, how much less will it yet appear? Ecclesiasticus saith very well: If the number of a mans days be an hundred years, it is much. Now what is all this (being compared with the life everlasting) but as it were a drop of water compared with all the whole Sea? And the reason hereof is evident. For if a star (which is far greater than all the whole earth) being compared with the rest of heaven, seemeth so small a thing, how small shall this present life (which is so short) seem to be, being compared with the life to come, that shall never have end? And if (as the astronomers affirm) all the whole earth in comparison of heaven be but as it were a little pins point, because the inestimable greatness of the heavens causeth it to seem so small a thing, what shall this little puff of our short life seem to be, if it be compared with life everlasting, which is infinite? Undoubtedly it will seem nothing at all. For if a thousand years in the sight of almighty God, be no more but as it were yesterday, which is now past, and gone, what shall the life of one hundred years seem to be in his sight, but only a very nothing?
And thus it seemeth unto the damned persons, when they make comparison between this life, which they have left behind them, with the eternity of the torments, which they shall suffer for evermore. As they themselves do confess in the book of wisdom in these words: What hath our pride availed us, and the pomp of our riches? All these things are past away, as it were a shadow that flieth, and as one that rideth swiftly in post, or as the ship that passeth by the waters, and leaveth no sign where it hath gone, or as an arrow shot at a certain mark, which so soon as the air hath once opened, and made him his way, forthwith it closeth up again, and it is not known which way it went. Even so it fareth with us. For at that very instant when we are born, we begin to decay, and we leave no memory or sign of virtue behind us. Consider then how short all the time of this transitory life shall seem there to all those miserable damned wretches, seeing they do plainly confess, that they lived not at all, but that so soon as they were born, forthwith they began to fade and vanish away. Now if this be so, what greater folly, or madness, can be imagined, than that a man for the enjoying of this short dream of so vain pleasures, and delights, should go to suffer everlasting damnation and torments in hell fire for ever, and ever. Furthermore, if the time and space of this life be so short, and the life to come so long, to wit, everlasting, what a mere folly is it, to take so great labor and pains to provide so many things for this life being so short, and not to make any provision at all for the life to come, which is so long, that it shall never have end? What a fond part were it for a man that minded to live in Spain, to spend, and consume all he hath in buying roots, and building houses in the Indies, and to make no provision for the country, whereunto he goeth to dwell, and make his abode? Now how much more foolish and mad are they, that spend all their goods, and substance, in making provision for this present life, where they shall live so short a time, and make no provision at all for the everlasting life to come, where they must dwell, and make their abode for evermore? Especially considering that they have so good means for their provision there, by transporting all their goods thither by the hands of the poor. As the Wiseman witnesseth, saying: Throw thy bread upon the running waters, for a long time after shalt thou find it again.
OF THE UNCERTAINTY OF OUR LIFE.
But although our life endure but a short space, yet if this short space were so certain, that we might be assured thereof, (as king Ezechias was, unto whom almighty God granted fifteen years of life) our misery were the more tolerable. But truly it is not so. For as our life is very short, even so that very time we have to live (how short or long so ever it be) is also uncertain, and doubtful. For as the Wise man saith: Man knoweth not the day of his end, but like as fishes when they think themselves in most safety are taken with the hook, and as birds are caught in a snare, when they think nothing less: even so death assaulteth men in an evil season, when they think least of it. Truly that is a very wise and approved sentence, which is commonly said. That there is nothing more certain than death, nor nothing more uncertain than the hour of death. And therefore a certain philosopher compared the lives of men to the bells, or bubbles, that are made in water pits, when it raineth: of the which, some do vanish away suddenly even at their very rising, others do endure a little longer, and out of hand are decayed, others also do continue somewhat more, and others less. So that although they do all endure but only some little time, yet in that little there is great variety.
Wherefore if the end of our life be so uncertain: If it be so uncertain also when the dreadful hour of our accompt shall come: why do we live with such looseness, and negligence? Why do we not consider those words of our Savior, where he saith unto us: Watch, because ye know not when the son of man will come? O that men would weigh the force of this reason! Because ye know not the hour (saith our Savior) watch ye, and be always in a readiness. As if he had said in express words: because ye know not the hour, watch every hour: because ye know not the month, watch every month: and because ye know not the year, be still in a readiness every year. For although ye know not certainly what year he will call you, yet most certain it is, that a year shall come in which undoubtedly he will call you.
But that the force of this reason may the better be perceived, let us put an example. Tell me, if there were set before thee upon a table thirty or forty several dishes of meat, and thou hadst a certain warning given thee by some of thy friends, that in one of them there were poison, durst thou give the adventure to eat of any one of them, although thou were very much a hungered? Undoubtedly thou wouldst not do it. For the very fear thou wouldst have, least thou mightest peradventure light upon that dish that were poisoned, would make thee to abstain from all the rest. Now let us examine how many years at the uttermost thou mayest hope yet to live. Thou wilt say peradventure (after thou hast well considered the matter) that thou mayest live thirty or forty years. Well then if it be certain, that in one of these years thou art assured to die, and thou knowest not in which of them, why art thou not then afraid in every one of them, seeing thou art well assured, that in one of them thy life shall be taken from thee? Thou wouldst not be so hardy, as to put thy hand into any one of the foresaid forty dishes, although thou were in a very sore hunger, because thou knowest that in one of them there is death present. And wilt thou not also be afraid of every one of these forty years, seeing thou art so well assured, that thou shalt die in one of these years? What answer canst thou make to this reason? Harken yet to an other reason, which is of no less efficacy than the other. Tell me, why do men keep a continual watch in a Castle that standeth in the frontiers upon the enemies? Is it for any other cause, but only for that they now not when the enemies will come to assault it? Assuredly for none other. So that because they know not certainly at what time the enemies will come, therefore do they continually watch it at all times. For if they knew certainly the time of their coming, they might be careless in the mean while, and reserve the diligence of their watch until that very time. Now I require thee heartily for the love of God, to be an indifferent Judge touching that, which I shall say unto thee. Let us consider well this point. If thou watch thy Castle every night, because thou art uncertain when thy enemy will come, whether today, or tomorrow, this year, or the next: why dost thou not then keep a continual watch over thy soul, seeing thou knowest not what hour death shall come to give the assault upon thee? The very same uncertainty that is in the Castle, is in thy soul also: yea this uncertainty is far more, and the matter is without all comparison of greater importance. Now what judgement have they that are always so vigilant in watching their castle, and so careless always about their souls: so careless I say, as to sleep always, without ever thinking upon them? What thing can be more against reason? Consider that thy soul is of greater value, than all the castles and kingdoms in the world. Yea if thou consider the price wherewith it was bought, thou mayest well judge that it is of more value than all the angels in heaven. Consider also that thou hast greater enemies, that do endeavor continually both day and night to assault it. Consider that thou canst by no means understand the day, or the hour of thy assault. Consider that the whole substance of the salvation or damnation of thy soul consisteth in this point, whether thou be taken provided or unprovided at that dreadful hour. Forsomuch as according to the parable of the Gospel, the virgins which were found ready, and prepared, entered into the marriage with the bridegroom, and such as were found unprovided tarried without. To conclude therefore, what cause is there why thou shouldest not always watch as well over thy soul, as over thy castle, seeing the uncertainty is greater, the danger greater, the cause greater, and all the rest without any comparison far greater, and of more importance?
OF THE FRAILTY OF OUR LIFE.
Howbeit our life is not only uncertain, but also very frail, and brickle. For I pray thee, what glass is so brickle, and so subject to knocks, and breaking, as the life of man? Some times the very air, and heat of the sun (if it be vehement) is able to spoil us of our life. But what speak I of the sun? Seeing the very eyes, yea the only looking of some person is able some times to bereave a creature of his life. It shall not need to draw any sword, or to use any kind of armor or munition for the matter, seeing the only look of some one man is able to bereave an other of his life. Consider now what a sure castle this is, wherein the treasure of our life is kept, seeing the only beholding of it afar off, is able to batter it clean down to the ground.
But this were not so much to be wondered at in the age of infancy, when the building is as yet but new, and green: but the greater wonder is, that after that the work is settled, and hath continued many years together, there happeneth some accident of no greater importance than these beforenamed that is able utterly to overthrow it. If thou enquire and ask whereof died this man, or whereof died that man, they will answer thee, that he died by drinking a cup of cold drink in a sweat: or by surfeiting at a supper: or of some other great pleasure, or grief: and some times they can give no cause at all, but that he went to his bed safe, and sound, and the next day in the morning was found stark dead at his wifes side. Is there any glass or earthen vessel in the world more brickle, or subject to breaking than this? And certainly it is not to be wondered at, that man is so brickle, considering that he is also made of earth: but it is rather to be wondered at, that being of such stuff, and making as he is, he is able to endure so long a time as he doth. Why is a clock so often times disordered, and out of frame. The reason is, because it hath so many wheels, and points, and is so full of artificial work, that although it be made of iron, yet every little thing is able to distemper it. Now how much more tender is the artificial composition of our bodies, and how much more frail is the matter of our flesh, than is the iron whereof a clock is made? Wherefore if the artificial composition of our bodies be more tender, and the matter more frail, why should we wonder, if some one point among so many wheels have some impediment, by reason of which defect it stoppeth, and endeth the course of our life? Truly, we have rather good cause to marvel, not why men do so quickly end their lives, but how they endure so long, the workmanship of their bodies being so tender, and the matter and stuff whereof they be compounded so frail, and weak.
This is that miserable frailty, which the Prophet Isaias signifieth in these words. Almighty God said unto his prophet: Cry: the Prophet answered: what shall I say? God said unto him: All flesh is hay, and all the glory thereof is like unto the flower of the field. The hay withereth, the flower fadeth away, but the word of God continueth for ever. Upon which words St. Ambrose saith thus. Truly it is even so: for the glory of man flourisheth in the flesh like unto hay, which although it seem to be great, it is in very deed but little like an herb: it buddeth like a flower, and fadeth like hay. So that it hath no more but a certain flourishing in appearance, and no firmness nor stability in the fruit. For what firmness can there be in the matter of flesh, or what good things of any long continuance are to be found in so weak a subject? Today thou mayest see a young stripling in the most flourishing time of his age, with great strength, lusty, and jetting up and down in the streets in great bravery, with a jolly lofty countenance: and if it so fall out that this very next night he be taken with some disease, thou shalt see him the next day with a face so far altered, and changed, that whereas before he seemed very amiable, and beautiful, he will now seem evil favored, miserable, and very loathsome to behold. Now what shall I say of the other accidents, and alterations of our bodies? Some are sore broken with trouble and adversities: others are weakened with poverty: others are tormented for want of good digestion: others are distempered with drinking of wines: others wax feeble with age: others become tender, and over delicate, by much cherishing themselves: and others mar their complexion with using riotous behavior. Now then according to this reckoning, is it not true (trow ye) that our flesh withereth like hay, and that the flower thereof fadeth, and vanisheth away?
Thou shalt see some other, who being descended of a very honorable parentage, of noble blood, and of a very ancient house, and family, well friended, and having good store of kindred both by father, and mother, and keeping a great house, and attended upon with a great train of his tenants and servants, and ruling the whole country where he liveth, and who there but he? Yet nevertheless if a contrary wind of fortune blow but a little against him, then is he forthwith utterly forsaken of his friends, evil entreated of his equals, and little regarded of all the world: insomuch as then very few or none will put of a cap unto him, but rather contemn him. Thou shalt see an other that hath now abundance of lands, and riches, and is generally reported in all mens mouths to be a very courteous, liberal, and bountiful man, and of great renown, and estimation, exalted to honorable dignities , and promotions, and preferred so high in the common wealth that he is a great ruler, and mighty governor, and hath the commendation of all persons to be a very wise, happy, and fortunate man: thou shalt see (I say) the times so to alter, and change, that even this man who is now so highly exalted to great dignities, and offices, and magnified in the mouths of all men, shall be utterly disgraced, and thrust into that very prison, where he himself had heretofore imprisoned many others, and shall there end his life in very great infamy, misery, and wretchedness. Unto how many also doth it happen to be waited upon, and brought home to their houses this day with a number of golden chains, footclothes, and serving men, and with all the gay pomp in the world, and the very next night following, either by means of treason of some one of his own household, or familiar acquaintance, or by other misfortune, to have all this glorious pomp obscured? Yea it may so fall out, that even a little stitch coming in his side, may mar the fashion of all this gay ruffling shew, wherein he took so great delight. O how deceitful are the hopes of men (saith Tully,) how frail is fortune, how vain are all our contentions, and strifes, which many times do break, and fall in the middle way, and are overwhelmed, and drowned in sailing, before they can come to the sight of the haven! Now what a fond madness is this in the children of Adam, upon so weak foundations to build such high castles, and towers? They consider not, that they build upon sand, and that even when the weather is most fair a wind will come, and blow down all that standeth not upon a sound and strong foundation. O what fond accompts do men make often times, because they will not turn their eyes, and look into their own consciences, and take first an accompt of themselves!
And if this be thought so great a blindness, how much greater is the blindness of those wicked persons, that are so bold, as to continue many years in sin, knowing that there is no greater distance between them and hell gates, but only this brickle and short life? Let us imagine now, that there were a man hanging by a small twined thread, and that there were directly under him a very great deep well, and he hanging in such wise over it, that when the thread happened to break he should forthwith fall into it. In what evil case (trow ye) would this man think himself to be? O how fearful, and how sore troubled would he be! How willingly would he offer all the substance he hath, to be delivered of that danger! Now thou miserable wretch that darest continue so many days and years in sin, contrary to the laws of almighty God, why dost thou not consider, that thou hangest in the like danger? Dost thou not plainly see before thy face, that whensoever the thread of this frail, and short life breaketh in sunder, thou art assured (continuing still in this thy wicked and sinful life) to fall into the deep bottomless pit of hell fire? How canst thou then sleep? How canst thou play? How canst thou laugh, or be in any quiet? How is it, that thou art so stone blind, as not to see such a terrible peril and danger as hell, and everlasting damnation, to be ready every hour to fall upon thee?
OF THE MUTABILITY OF THIS LIFE.
Our life hath yet an other defect, which is to be mutable, and never to continue in one stay: according as the holy man Job affirmeth in a pitiful discourse which he maketh of the miseries of mans life in these words. A man born of a woman, living but a small time, is replenished with many miseries, he cometh forth like a flower, and withereth away out of hand: his days pass away like a shadow, and he never continueth in one state. But now to pass over all other miseries, what thing is there in the world more fickle and mutable than man? They say that the Chameleon changeth himself in one hour into many and divers colors: And the Sea called Euripus is by reason of his often changes accompted very infamous: The Moon hath likewise for every day a peculiar form, and shape: But what is all this in comparison of the alterations of man? What proteus was ever changed into so many forms, as man changeth every hour? Some times he is sick, some times whole: Some times contented, some times discontented: Some times sorrowful, some times merry: Some times in good hope, some times in despair: Some times suspicious, some times secure: Some times pleased, some times angry: Some times he will, and some times he will not: yea many times he knoweth not himself what he would have. To be short, he altereth, and changeth himself so often, as there be accidents happening unto him every hour. For all such accidents do toss and turmoil him, each one in his several kind. That which is past is irksome unto him: that which is present troubleth, and molesteth him: and that which is to come vexeth, and disquieteth him. If he have neither lands, nor goods, he liveth in travail. If he have them, he liveth in pride: And if he lose them, he liveth in great grief, and sorrow. Now what Moon, or Sea, is subject to so many changes, and alterations, as the life of man? The Sea changeth not but when the winds turn contrary unto it. But in mans life whether it be windy, or calm weather, there be evermore divers alterations and storms.
Now what shall I say of the continual moving and wasting of our life? What minute of an hour passeth, but that we go one step forward towards our death? What other thing (trowest thou) is the moving of the heavens, but as it were a very swift wheel, which is continually spinning, and winding up our life? For like as a roll of wool is spun upon a wheel, of the which at every turning about some part is wound up, at the first turn a little, at the second turn a little more, and so forth at every turn, until all be ended: so doth the wheel of the heavens continually spin, and wind up our life, in that at every turning that it maketh, a piece of our life is spun, and wound up. And therefore holy Job said: That his days were more swift, than one that rideth in post. For he that rideth in post, though his message require never so much haste, yet some times necessity causeth him to stay. But our life never stayeth, neither will it give us so much liberty, as the space of one hour of rest.
Whereunto St. Jerome agreeth very well, saying: Whatsoever I go about, whatsoever I write, whatsoever I read over again, and correct, each thing taketh away from me some part of my life. And look how many points and minumes the notary writeth, so many are the losses and decreasings of my life. Insomuch that like as they that sail in a ship, whether they stand, or sit, are always going, and sailing, and do ever approach nearer and nearer to the end of their navigation: even so in this life all the time that we live, we walk, and sail still forwards, approaching nearer, and nearer, to the common haven, and end of our navigation, which is death.
Now then if our life be nothing else but a continual walking towards death? If the hour of death be also the dreadful hour of our judgement? What other thing is our whole life, but only a continual walking towards the tribunal seat of almighty God, and an approaching every hour nearer and nearer unto his judgement? Now what greater madness may there be, than for us going actually to be judged, to offend him (as we be going in the way thitherwards) that must give sentence upon us: and so by our offences provoke his anger more and more against us? Open thine eyes therefore (O thou miserable man,) and consider the way that thou takest: think well with thyself whither thou art going: and be ashamed, or at least take compassion of thyself, and consider how evil this that thou doest, agreeth with that which thou goest to do.
OF THE DECEITFULNESS OF OUR LIFE.
I could well bear with all these miseries of our life, if it had not yet an other misery (in my judgement) far greater and worse than all these: which is, that it is deceitful, and seemeth in appearance otherwise, than it is in very deed. For as it is true, that is commonly said: that Feigned holiness is a double iniquity: even so is it also most certainly true: that Deceitful felicity is a double misery. For if this life would shew itself plainly as it is in deed, and make no lie at all unto us, undoubtedly we would neither lose ourselves for it, nor yet trust unto it, but would always live ready prepared against it. But verily it is so full of hypocrisy, and deceit, that whereas it is indeed filthy, it is nevertheless sold unto us for beautiful, and being short, it seemeth unto us very long, and whereas it changeth itself every hour, it beareth a countenance as though it continued always firm and stable in one same state. Dost thou perceive (saith St. Jerome) when thou wast made an infant? Canst thou tell when thou wast made a stripling? Or when thou camest to mans state? Or when thou beganest to wax an old man? Good Lord, what a wonder is this, that every day we die, and every day we alter, and change, and yet for all this we persuade ourselves very fondly that we shall live here for evermore.
Upon this affiance were those proud, and sumptuous buildings of the Magarences built, of whom a certain Philosopher saith, that they builded as though they should live for ever, and they lived as though they should die the next day. Whereof (I pray you) cometh so great forgetfulness of almighty God? So great covetousness? So great vanity? So great carefulness in purchasing, and heaping together of lands, and riches? And so great negligence in preparing ourselves to die? But that we believe and persuade ourselves that our life shall be very long, and endure a great time? This false imagination maketh us to believe, that we have time enough for all things: for the world, for pleasures, for vanities, for vices, and for many other vain, and curious exercises: and that yet after all this, we shall have time enough also before we die, to provide our accompt ready, and to make our atonement with almighty God. Insomuch that like as we make our accompt of a piece of cloth when it lieth upon a table before us, appointing one piece for one purpose, and an other piece for an other: even so do we make an accompt of our lives, as though we ourselves had the seignory and government of times, and might dispose both of them, and of our life, at our own will, and pleasure. This fond deceit growth of a secret persuasion, and affiance, that every man hath within himself, grounded not upon any reason, or true foundation, but only upon self love. The which as it hateth and abhoreth death exceedingly, so will it in no case have any remembrance of it, nor be persuaded that it will come so soon to his house as to other mens. And all this is for avoiding of the great pain, and grief, which he would conceive if he believed it in very deed. And hereof it cometh, that he is easily induced to believe, that other folk shall die within a short space. For as he is not greatly in love with them, so is not the knowledge of that truth so sour, and unliking unto him, but that he can easily believe it. But as touching himself, he maketh an other manner of accompt. For as he loveth himself exceedingly, so is he very loath to believe a thing, that may be occasion of so great pain, and grief unto him, as the same would be. But we see daily that such persons are often times foully deceived, and that their dreams turn clean contrary to their fond imaginations. For as touching others, of whose lives they had small hope that they should have any long continuance, they live a longer time, than they ever imagined they could have done: And they themselves that thought to live, and remain here a long while, do lead the dance, and depart out of this world before them. So that it fareth with them, as with young sea men, that begin to sail in the Sea, who when they come forth of the haven mouth, it seemeth unto them, that the land and houses do depart away from them, (which is nothing so,) but contrariwise, it is they themselves that move, and depart away, and the land remaineth still in his old place.
OF THE MISERIES OF MANS LIFE.
Although our life be subject to all these miseries before rehearsed, yet if that little time of life were wholly life indeed, it were somewhat: but the greatest misery of all is, that the life which a man hath to live, whether it be short, or long, is altogether subject to such a number of miseries and calamities, both of body, and mind, as it may more truly be termed death, than life.
Wherefore according as a Poet said very well: Not to live, but to pass the life well, is life. So that although this life be very sparing and short in all other things: yet in troubles and miseries it is very plentiful, and long. Undoubtedly our life is but short, respecting the life itself: and if we respect the time of enjoying it, it is yet much shorter: but if we consider, how insufficient it is towards the obtaining of wisdom, it is little, or nothing at all. Howbeit although it be indeed very short for all good things: yet in one thing only I find it long, that is, in the bearing of pain, and misery. O dangerous strait, in which the less time thou hast to pass the more peril and danger thou hast in the passage! Certainly if we had eyes to consider ourselves, and to see our own case, we should always go weeping, and lamenting our own state, as men condemned by the just judgement of almighty God to suffer such great miseries. But that our misery might be yet more increased on every side, this misery is added to all the rest, that being in miserable case, we live like men in a frensy, and do neither feel nor understand our own misery, and wretchedness. Those two Philosophers Heraclitus, and Democritus, although they were infidels perceived the same better than we do, of whom it is reported, that the one passed his life always weeping, and the other always laughing: forsomuch as they saw clearly, that all our life was nothing else, but mere vanity, and misery.
If thou doubt of this, tell me (I pray thee) what mean all these carks, and cares, wherein men do live? What a number of infinite sorrows, griefs, anguishes, fears, passions, suspicions, malices, with other the like tribulations, and afflictions, is the soul of man subject unto? Unto all which passions man is so prone, that many times he is in a passion without any cause: and feareth, where there is no cause at all to fear: and when there is no other man to vex and torment him outwardly, he then vexeth, and tormenteth himself inwardly: as holy Job confessed in these words, when he said: Why hast thou (O Lord) set me against thee? I am become irksome, and burdensome even to mine own self.
Now as touching the external miseries of the body, who is able to number them? How great labor and pain must we take to gain a piece of bread, whereby to sustain our lives? The very birds and brute beasts are fed without any occupation, labor, or pain: but man is constrained to sweat day, and night, and to turmoil both by Sea, and land, to get his living. This is that misery, which the Prophet lamented, when he said: The days of our life consume away like the spiders web. For like as the spider laboreth day, and night, in spinning of her web, wasting even her own bowels, and consuming herself to bring it to an end, and all this long and costly travail is ordained to none other purpose, but only to make a fine and tender net, to catch flies withal: even so the seely miserable man doth nothing else, but labor, and toil, night both with body, and mind: and all this his travail serveth to none other end, but only to catch flies: I mean, to procure vain and trifling things, and of very small value. And some times it falleth so out, that after much travailing up, and down, and great labor and pains taken therein, when the web is fully finished, and brought to an end, there cometh suddenly a blustering blast of wind, that carrieth away the web, and the owner withal: and so both the work and the workman perish wholly together at one instant.
And yet were it so, that with all these painful travails, and labors, our life were safe, and secure, then our misery should not be so great as it is, but though our life be secure from famine, and hunger: yet is it not from the plague, and pestilence, and from infinite other dangers, and diseases, that do daily and hourly assault us. Who is able to number how many kinds and diversities of diseases nature hath ordained for mans body? The books of the physicians are full fraught with the declaration of divers diseases, and remedies for the same. And yet we see, that their science increaseth every day with the coming of new and strange diseases, insomuch as the number of the diseases, whereof we have presently experience, were utterly unknown unto the ancient physicians, that were in times past. And yet among all these remedies scarcely shall ye find one that is pleasant, or delectable: yea, and there be many of them that are more irksome and painful, than the very sickness, or diseases themselves. Insomuch as one great torment can not be remedied, without an other greater than it.
And if there be any complexions so happy, as that they have not been assaulted with these kinds of miseries, yet are they not secure and exempt from other calamities, and mischances, wherewithal we see those men to be daily molested, that have not been much vexed with sickness and diseases. How many thousands of men (trow ye) are drowned every day in the Sea? How many are devoured in wars? How many are endangered by earthquakes? How many with overflowing of rivers, and great waters? How many with falling down of houses? How many with the stinging and striking of venomous beasts? How many woeful women in travail of their children do purchase full dearly the childrens lives, with their own painful deaths?
Now although it be so, that the brute beasts do fight against us, and although in a manner all things that were made to serve us, be no less noisome than serviceable unto us, (yea rather it seemeth that they all have as it were conspired against us:) yet for all this (I say) there might be some remedy found, if men would accord and agree together among themselves, and were as conformable in peace, as they are in nature. But alas it is far otherwise. For even they themselves are in arms against themselves: and among all creatures in the world, there is none against whom man is more cruelly bent, than against the companion of his own nature. How many kinds of engins, artillery, munition, and weapons have men invented to defend themselves, and to offend others? How many threatenings, robberies, injuries, wounds, deaths, reproaches, slanders, and imprisonments, do men daily sustain by the malice, and cruelty of other men? We see that neither the land, nor the sea, nor the high ways, nor the common streets, are free from thieves, robbers, murderers, pirates, and enemies. The cruel anger and rage of the furious man is at all times ready to be revenged of his enemy: yea and he taketh great pleasure in it. What mean so many kinds of weapons? Such diversity of artillery? Such store of munition? Such abundance of gunpowder? So many devisors and inventors of new kinds of stratagems, and cruel practices of war, but only to multiply, and increase on every side the miseries, and calamities of mankind? Insomuch as when we are not molested with the air, nor with the elements, we are persecuted by the companions of our own very nature. It is written of one only man called Julius Ceasar, (who among all the Emperors was most commended for clemency,) that even he alone with his armies slew in divers battles above a million, and a hundred thousand men. Consider now, how many more would he have slain, if he had been cruel, seeing he slew so many being commended, and praised for a very gentle, and merciful prince?
Tully also maketh mention of a notable Philosopher, who wrote a book concerning the deaths of men, wherein he rehearseth many occasions of mens deaths, that have happened in the world: as by floods, plagues, pestilences, destructions of Cities, concourse of wild beasts, which coming suddenly upon some nations, have utterly slain and devoured them. And yet after all this he concludeth, that a far greater number of men have been destroyed by men, than be all the other kinds of calamities, though they were all joined together. Now what thing can be more ruthful, and of greater grief and admiration than this? This is that politique and sociable creature, that is born without nails, without weapons, and without poison, to live in peace and concord with other living creatures: and yet he is full of hatred, cruelty, and desire of revengement.
But now if we would make a discourse, and run throughout the miseries that are incident to all the ages, and states of this life, we should find ourselves to be yet in far worse case. How full of ignorance is the time of our infancy? How light, and wanton are we, when we grow to be striplings? How rash, and headlong be we in the time of our youth? How heavy, and unwieldy, when we wax old men? What else is an infant, but a brute beast in the form of a man? What is a young boy, but as it were a wild untamed colt, and unbridled? What is a heavy, and unwieldy old man, but even a sack stuffed with griefs, and diseases? The greatest desire that men have, is to live until they be old: at which age a man is in far worse case, than in all his life time before, and then he standeth in most need, and hath least help, and succor. For the old man is forsaken of the world: He is forsaken of his own kinsfolk, friends, and acquaintance: He is forsaken of his own members, and senses: yea he forsaketh himself, in that the very use of reason forsaketh him. And he is only accompanied with his painful aches, griefs, and diseases. For his company and conversation is then very irksome and troublesome unto the whole house where he dwelleth. This is the mark forsooth whereupon the eye of man is so earnestly fixed: This is the happy state, which all men do so greedily desire: and hereunto tendeth the worldly felicity, and the ambition of long life.
As concerning the states of men we should never make an end, if we should rehearse the little contentation that is to be found in each of them, and the great desire that every one hath to change his own state, and condition, with the state of others: thinking that he should have greater hearts ease in an other mans state, than he hath in his own. And thus do men continually vex, and turmoil themselves like unto a sick man, that doth nothing else but tumble and toss in his bed from one side to an other, persuading himself that by means of these often changes and removings he shall find more ease and rest than he had before, and yet he findeth in very deed that he is foully deceived: Forsomuch as the cause of his disquietness resteth within himself, which is his own grief, and disease.
To conclude, such is the miserable state and condition of this life, that the Wise man had good cause to say: Great and heavy is the yoke, that the children of Adam carry on their necks, even from the day they come forth of their mothers womb, until the day of their burial, which is the common mother of all. And St. Bernard was not afraid to say, that he thought this life little better than the life of hell itself, were it not for the hope we may here have to attain unto the kingdom of heaven.
And albeit all these miseries do come unto us as a punishment for sin: yet was it a very merciful and medicinable punishment. For the providence of almighty God did so ordain it, meaning thereby to withdraw and separate our hearts from the inordinate love of this life. The very cause why he put so much bitter mustard upon the breasts of this life, was to wean us from it. The cause why he suffered our life to become so filthy, was that we should not set our love upon it. The cause why he would have us to be molested and vexed so often times in this life, was that we might the more willingly forsake it, and sigh continually for the true life, which is in the world to come. For if we be so unwilling to forsake this life, being wholly so miserable as it is: if we be now ever whimpering, and whining for the fruits, and fleshpots of Egypt, what would we do, if all our life were sweet, and pleasant? And what would we do, if it were wholly liking and delightful to our taste, and appetite? Who would then (trow ye) contemn it for Gods sake? Who would then exchange it for heaven? Who would then say with St. Paul, I have a desire to be loosed from this flesh, and to be with Christ?
OF THE LAST MISERY OF MAN: WHICH IS DEATH.
After all these miseries, succeedeth the last, and of all others most terrible, which is death. This is that misery, whereof a certain Poet lamented, saying: The best days of mortal men are those that pass first away, and then succeedeth a number of sicknesses, and diseases, and with them heavy and doleful age, and continual trouble, and above all, the sharpness of cruel death. This is the lodge and end of mans life, whereof holy Job said: I know well O Lord, that thou wilt deliver me over to death, where there is a house prepared for all men living.
How many the miseries are that be included in this misery alone, I will not take upon me to declare at this present. Only I will rehearse what a certain holy father saith by way of exclamation against death in this wise. O death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee? How quickly and suddenly stealest thou upon us? How secret are thy paths, and ways? How doubtful is thy hour? And how universal is thy seignory, and dominion? The mighty can not escape thy hands: the wise can not hide themselves from thee: and the strong lose their strength in thy presence. Thou accountest no man rich: forsomuch as no man is able to ransom his life of thee for money. Thou goest every where: thou searchest every where: and thou art every where. Thou witherest the herbs: thou drinkest up the winds: thou corruptest the air: thou changest the ages: thou alterest the world: thou stickest not to sup up the sea: all things do increase, and diminish, but thou continuest always at one stay. Thou art the hammer that always striketh: thou art the sword that never blunteth: thou art the snare whereinto every one falleth: thou art the prison wherein every one entereth: thou art the sea wherein all do perish: thou art the pain that every one suffereth: and the tribute that every one payeth.
O cruel death, why hast thou not compassion of us, but comest stealing suddenly upon us, to snatch us away in our best times, and to interrupt our affairs when they are well begone, and brought to a good forwardness! Thou robbest from us in one hour, as much as we have gained in many years. Thou cuttest of the succession of kindreds, and families: Thou leavest kingdoms without any heirs. Thou fillest the world with widows, and orphans: Thou breakest of the studies of great clerks: Thou overthrowest good wits in their ripest age: Thou joinest the end with the beginning, without giving place to the middle: To conclude, thou art such a one, as almighty God washeth his hands of thee, and cleareth himself in plain words, saying: That he never made thee, but that thou hadst thine entry into the world by the very envy and craft of the devil.
WHAT FRUIT, AND COMMODITY, MAY BE taken of the foresaid considerations.
These are the miseries of our life, with infinite others: the consideration whereof a man ought to direct unto two principal ends among others: the one, to the knowledge and contempt of the glory of this world: and the other, to the knowledge and contempt of ourselves. For this consideration serveth very well both for the one, and the other. But wilt thou understand in one word what the glory of this world is? Mark and consider with attention the state and condition of mans life, and thereby shalt thou perceive, what the glory of this life is. Tell me (I pray thee) can the glory of man be more long or more stable than the life of man? It is most certain that it can not. For this glory is an accident, which is grounded upon this life, as upon his subject, or foundation, and therefore when the foundation and subject faileth, the accidents must needs fail withal. And for this very cause no riches, no pleasures, no delights can continue any longer time with a man until his grave. Forsomuch as then faileth the foundation, whereupon all these things are built, and have their stay: which foundation is our life. Now tell me then, if this life be such as thou hast now heard described unto thee: to wit: short, uncertain, frail, inconstant, deceitful, and miserable, how long can the building endure, that shall be framed upon this foundation? How long can the accidents continue, that shall be grounded upon so weak a substance? When thou hast considered this point well with thyself, thou must needs say, that they shall endure no longer than the foundation and substance itself endureth: and thou must needs confess, that many times they endure not so long: as we see by daily experience in the goods of fortune, which with many men have an end before their life endeth.
Now if that saying of the Poet Pindarus be true: to wit, That this life is no more but a dream of a shadow: What thinkest thou then is the glory of this world, which is of shorter continuance then our life? What accompt wouldst thou make of a goodly building, in case it stood upon a false foundation? What accompt wouldst thou make of an image of wax, very richly and curiously wrought, in case it were set against the sun, where it is certain that so soon as the wax should be molten, forthwith the form of the image would utterly be defaced, and leese his beauty? Why do we make so little accompt of the beauty of a flower, but because it groweth upon so weak a subject? For so soon as it is nipped of from the stalk, incontinently it loseth his fair gloss, and beauty? It is not possible to have beauty of any firm continuance in a matter so frail, and corruptible. It followeth therefore that the glory of man is such as the life of man is. For although glory do continue after the end of our life, yet what shall that glory avail him that hath no sense, nor feeling thereof? What doth it avail Homer now whilst thou so highly praisest and commendest his Iliads? Undoubtedly no more, but as St. Jerome saith speaking of Aristotle, Woe be unto thee Aristotle, that art praised where thou art not, to wit, here in the world: and art tormented where thou art indeed: to wit, in hell.
Other inestimable commodities mayest thou gather out of this consideration. For if thou consider all these miseries with good attention, thine eyes shall be opened forthwith, and thou shalt wonder at the great blindness of men, yea the very strangeness of it shall cause thee to say to thyself: Good Lord, what cause is there, why this miserable lineage of Adam should wax proud! From whence cometh such puffing and arrogancy of mind, such haughty and lofty courages, so great contempt of others, such estimation of ourselves, and so great forgetfulness of almighty God? What cause hast thou to be proud thou dust, and ashes? Why dost thou magnify, and advance thyself, thou seely wretch of the earth? Why dost thou not hold down thy peacocks tail, beholding thy foul feet, to wit, the vileness of thy state, and condition? What cause hast thou to seek so carefully for the glory of this world, seeing it is mingled with so many miseries? What thing is there so sweet, but that it may be made bitter with the mixture of so many sour, and bitter sauces?
Moreover, if this life be a vale of tears, a prison of guilty persons, and a banishment of them that be condemned, now canst thou settle so great vanity, so great pomp, and pride of the world, such gay ornaments, and stately furniture of houses, and families, in the place of tears? How canst thou imagine to make this a place of pastimes, and pleasures, of feasts, and banquets? How canst thou be so diligent to heap so greedily together for the provision of this world, and be so forgetful of the world to come, as if thou were born only to live here in earth with brute beasts, and hadst no part in heaven with the Angels. Surely I must needs say, that thou art very much wedded to misery, and that thou camest out of a marvelous miserable stock, if so many arguments of the miseries of this world be not able to open thine eyes, and make thee to discern so gross and so palpable a blindness.
OF PRAYER AND MEDITATION 