A Seige, is when an Enemy sits down before a Town, or Garrison, the Assay­lants resolved to carry it, and the Defendants to keepe to the utmost of their power. Amongst the many waies of enmity, whereby in a declared Warre men use to expresse their endeavours to ruine one another; This of a Seige is the sharpest and the saddest, if we consider the difficul­ty both of assayling and defending.

The difficulty of assayling a well fortifi­ed Garrison is such, that in reason a man may well wonder at every passage in it: that the Commander should value his men so cheape as to put them on upon so desperate an attempt; that he should force them forward when they are averse, [Page 2] and drive them into the mouth of danger, wherein he doth foresee that they must perish, and knowes that though he have their hands he hath not their hearts in that enterprise; that the Souldier can be either perswaded or constrained to enter the jawes of Death, and undertake the work, wherein he knowes there is scarce one of a hundred that doth not miscarry: that so poore a hope as of the pillage should be a motive sufficient to draw him on: that the carrying of it at the last, should be a sufficient compensation for so many lives as are usually last in the attempt. The diffi­culty of defending is full of wonder too, wherein to try the courage and patience of the Defendants are presented to their view, the power of a whole Army, furnished with the instruments of Death, and all kind of Weapons and Engines to offend or fright them, set down before the Garrison, confi­dent of their own strength to take it, and commonly well informed of the Defen­dants strength to hold it, and upon those grounds resolved to goe through with it. Nor can they possibly be ignorant with how much shame & dishonour the Enemy [Page 3] shall recede if he miscarry? with how much obstinacy he will contend to perfect it? with how much rage and fury he will conclude if he prevaile in it? After these, there offer themselves likewise unto his thoughts the vast labour he must un­dergoe to keep it: the danger more then the toyle: the want of sleep and rest, the scarcity of all things necessary to support nature, and to maintaine life: Against all which he hath nothing to put into the bal­lance, but his Conscience to God, his Loy­alty to his Prince and Country, and his Honor in the Enemies repulse. And truely he that hath these hath enough. What good man, for his Conscience, would not sacrifice his life, much more endanger it? What Subject, to save his Loyalty, would not venture all that worldlings count deare or pretious? especially, where the goodnesse of his Soveraigne makes his du­ty double, and strengthens the obligation? What Gentleman or Souldier cannot de­spise his safety, whilest he regards his ho­nour? They owe their byrth and breeding to the Pesantrie, that have no sense of it: He that hath the bloud of a true Gentle­man [Page 4] flowing in his veines, cannot devest it though he would; and though some pri­vate discontent may lay it a while asleep, yet in the pinch of tryall it will rouse him up, to doe things brave and noble, and worthy of himselfe, in spight of any con­trary intention or resolution. If this faile in any few particulars, they are Mushromes of a late & sodaine growth, that beside the Title and Habit, weare nothing of a Gen­tleman, or of a Souldier: And surely accor­ding to the old Maxime, That the passive part of Fortitude is the noblest; he that rides out a Seige, and gives his Enemy the check, beares away the greatest honour: though, if the active part of Fortitude in services were to be disputed, he hath a faire Title too. Such honour they shall never want, that with the integrity of an un­changeable resolution, have devoted them­selves to serve their God, their King, their Country and their Fame.

AFter a generall view, particulars claime their turnes; amongst which Hunger deserves to lead in Front, as being the cruellest engine where­by to subdue the strongest resolutions. In this particular the disadvantage of the Be­seiger, and the advantage of the Beseiged, is the intervening of time: Which, where the dangers threaten death, is to be recko­ned no small benefit, for thereby wisdome hath oportunity to mature her designes, and to lay all things handsomly for the per­fecting her worke: thereby patience growes better arm'd to beare the event, because she hath the lesse reason to com­plaine that expectation was deceived. The greatest spirits and resolutions are subject to be surprised, nor is every man so much master of himselfe as to call all his strengths about him on a sodain: but when we have seene the clouds a long time in gathering, and the storme grow upon us by sensible [Page 6] and slow degrees, he that doth not fit and prepare for the worst, hath more of heart then of braine, and of courage then discre­tion. It is therfore God's great mercy to us, that in so sharp a tryall as this of famin, men should have the full advantage of pre­paration, that so they may resolve what best becomes a Christian and a loyal Sub­ject. But this storme which comes on so slowly, falls heavily at last; a speedy death by the Sword, or by a bullet, being but a trifle in comparison of those insufferable torments which they endure that are pinch't with famine. Examples are plen­teous of those that have eaten their own children, nay their own flesh from their armes; and those that had food in private, have not found oportunity to eate in safety, but have had it snatch't out of their hands, nay even out of their mouthes by those that have broke in upon them, and they have paid their lives into the bargaine, the price of the concealement. This misery of a Seige, pinches none more bitterly, then great and populous Cities. whose nume­rous inhabitants make all provisions quick­ly scarce, so soone as they are cut off from [Page 7] supplies. And God in justice many times suffers this calamity to fall upon them, that their punishment may be the better suited to their sinnes: The noted sinne of such Cities as boast themselves the Queens and Ladies of their Provinces, is Luxurie and excesse of meates and drinkes, which they lavish out even with pride and vanitie, glo­rying in the cost and change of studied de­licacies, rak't from all quarters, as much for ostentation as for use; with these, the pamper'd body swels and growes fat, and is stall-fed for wantonnesse and lust; that be­ing (too too often) the prime intention of such excesse to spur dull nature up, and by prepared incentives to kindle that hellish fire, which Religion teaches us rather to quench by studied temperance and acts of mortification. Now then thou wretched Epicure, whose belly hath been thy god, and luxury thy happinesse, in which thou hast weltred with securitie, and with con­tempt of all pious admonitions so many yeares; when God hath brought thee to these streights, think how much bitterer thy cup will be then other mens, whose hearts shall not check them with the remem­brance [Page 8] of thy madd excesse, or thy unsati­ated lust. It is gall and wormwood, in the want of foode, to remember how much we have vainly lavish't both with sinne and shame. It is as daggers stab'd into the heart, when the enfeebled body faints and pines, and consumes and languishes with­out hope of reliefe, to thinke how high 'twas kept before, chiefly for this cause; that it might not faile to serve us in our lewd delights. Then you despised the poore, and would not relieve them though you might: now they'l despise you, and force reliefe from you whether you will or not; nay even that little which is all that you have left for to relieve your selves. Then varietie of dainties found no relish with you: now you would think your selves feasted with the driest crust. Then perhaps drunkennesse was your habituall sinne, now you would give all you have but for any thing that were wholsome to quench your thirst. O! how heavy is the scourge, when God thus findes us out in our beloved sinnes. To sinne by intempe­rance is bad at all times; but in the times of warre, when this danger overtakes many, [Page 9] and threatens all, if we think our selves ob­liged to no moderation, to no abatement of our former height, vengeance will reach us at the last, and we shall fall a spectacle to others, of those whom God doth punish in the same kind they sinne.

REST is the great refreshment of decayed nature, whereby she re­covers new strength and vigour, after she hath been spent and exhausted by tough labour of the body, by long continu­ed and multiplied dangers, by sharp and incessant cares, by alternate feares and hopes, by the vicissitudes and revolutions of comforts and discontents, which being violent and high in proportion to their cau­ses and occasions, doe afflict the mind, and tyre and decay the spirits, as toyle and la­bour doth the bodie. All which passions and perturbations, in a Seige, have com­monly their turnes; and those, in such an intensive height, in such an eminent de­gree, [Page 10] as must force us to confesse the cau­ses and occasions to be exceeding sharp from which they flow. By these accidents nature is defrauded of her due, and though she beg rest earnestly (as deeply sensible of the concernment) yet she cannot obtain it. For want of it, she is the lesse able to un­dergoe those cares of the mind, and those labors of the body, which in these streights abide her. And not only so, but besides, she finds her selfe threatned with feavers, & distempers, and inflammations, through the want of rest, which should concoct those crudities whence they arise; And though she feele the symptomes grow upon her, and know whereto they tend▪ yet she can have no truce from these incum­brances to compose her selfe (for any fixt or certain time) to sweet and quiet slum­bers. All she can get is forc't, catch't now and then by snatches, a man's judgement e­ven then directing him to wish, that he could wake longer, when short slumbers overtake him whether he will or not. And lest those slumbers should not be short e­nough, from which men haste to rise full of thought, and fore-seen businesse, new occa­sions [Page 11] intervene and break in upon him while he sleeps, that at his first awaking he knowes not whether it be sleep or death that hovers over him, he findes them both so like, and both so neare together. If his own cares and dangers give him truce, and a sound judgement tells him that he may rest secure, yet others panick terrors shall disturbe him, whose shreiks, and cries, and noise, and tumult, and unseaso­nable, and disordered, and indiscreet re­course to those, on whom they think their safetie doth depend, creates him new un­rest, so much more incomportable, as it is causlesse: A guise in them far different from their old wont, that used to sleepe till noon, and pleas'd themselves to languish out much more time, then was fitting in the sloathfull bed; that turned, like a doore upon the hinge, and folded the armes to sleep, composing the body and the mind to further rest, even then when nature cry'd, it is enough: That call'd in Physick to their help, and bought artificiall slumbers at costly rates, as if to surcharge Nature were desireable, or stupefaction were a blessing: That taught all the familie (kept in aservile [Page 12] awe) to move neither hand, nor foot, not tongue, untill high noone were come, and the effeminate Lord or wanton Lady did give the word, That now they were plea­sed to wake. Those pleasing slumbers chang'd to this sad unrest, will teach them what they are, which before they were in mighty danger to forget. And it may teach us all to set our hearts and minds upon that place, where true and uninterrupted rest is to be found. There we shall cease from la­bour, and no wearinesse shall afflict the bo­dy: There we shall cease from perturba­tions, and no feares nor sorrowes shall af­flict the mind. Receive me, ô my God, in thy due time unto thy self, that with thee I may rest for ever, and then what ever my toyle or labour in this life shall be; what ever my feares, and sorrowes, and pertur­bations, or what ever the effects of them; I shall with an upright heart, and with the best of my endeavours fit my neck to the yoake, and my shoulder to the burden which thou hast apointed for me.

THE desire of Liberty is naturall to every living creature, and by Man, above the rest, may be the more desired, by how much more then they, he understands the benefit and use of it. Restraint simple in it selfe, is justly reckoned an affliction, and receives more or lesse, measur'd by the degree. But when it hath concomitant the accesse of feares, and dangers, of a higher na­ture, which every minute may be added unto that affliction, such ungrate­full circumstances make the restraint more greivous, and wind vp the affliction of it to the highest pitch. I touch not up­pon paradoxes; How much liberty a re­solved minde may enjoy in the severest re­straint; or how much slavery a base mind endures with the greatest liberty: they are speculations beside our purpose, though I would not haue it forgotten, how much a wise man may ease his burthen by Philo­sophicall, or Theologicall helps, which no [Page 14] man can with discretion cast off, nor with­out impiety neglect. yet a just latitude must be left, for the full resentment of the crosse, lest we should either seeme stupid under God's visitation, when we are the sufferers; or not to value other mens courage and patience to the full worth, when we are spectators. They are observations obvious to ordinary capacities, that men are hereby deprived of their lawfull, and usuall con­tentments and delights, that health is there­by endangered whilst many are pestered together in a little room, and the very ayre they breathe thereby made more offensive; that the supply of things necessary is debar­red. & the besieg'd enforc't to content themselves with what they have, though never so farre short of what were fitting; that all kinde of devotion is disordered and put out of course, and the tranquillitie of minde (from which devotion takes her surest pitch) almost quite lost in such varietie of successive troubles. yet in the recovery of this last, we should above all approve our selves stout assertors of our owne liberty, & vindicate our selves from that wretched captivity, wherby Sathan would by sorrow [Page 15] enthrall us unto sinne; If my body be con­fin'd, if my feete be fetter'd, if my hands be manacled; yet if my mind and soule be free, I have enough: Free from the base vassalage to those sinnes which make me Sathan's slave in a dissolute life, and vitious conver­sation; free from presumptuous prophana­tion, and dareing to doe any act whereby my God, and my religion are dishonour'd; and the professed enemyes of them both take an occasion to blaspheme; free from disloyalty and treachery unto my King and soveraign, to whom I have sworn my allei­geance, so many times! free from the sur­prisall of violent passions, which may blinde my judgment for the time! and leade me into such actions on a suddaine, for which I shall afterwards condemn my selfe, when I am my selfe; free from that unhappy flexiblenesse, and softnesse of dis­position! which may make me yeild to o­ther mens importunities, and comply with them in those wayes which my owne heart condemnes: This freedome if I can keepe I need wish no more: and this freedome I am oblig'd to strive for; and to goe no lesse; I am not sure to reach it though I [Page 16] endeavor it: yet I will wish it, yet I will pray for it, yet I will greive if I come short of it: and if I can attaine it, I will triumph and glorie in the midst of my bodily re­straint, as being much more truely free; then those that have coopt me up.

MAn's power being finite, his a­bilities weake, and his time short to provide for himselfe so many things as he stands in need of in this life, God hath been therefore gratiously pleased to lay the common tye of charity upon us all, whereby to make us ready (as we are able) upon all occasions, to assist one another. Besides this generall tye, there is a particular bond of duty be­twixt those, whom either nature or divine institution have joyn'd in extraordinary neerenesse: and it is generally presum'd of them, that they will willingly assist those to whom they are so related in their [Page 17] distresses, so far as possibly they may. This hope boyes many a man up, when he is rea­dy to sinke under the burden of his afflicti­ons. Now therfore, in the extremity of affli­ction, to be deprived of the oportunitie to know whether our freinds, whom we most esteem, or on whom we most depend, be alive or dead; of oportunitie to enform them of our distresse, and let them know our condition; of oportunitie to receive releife, or so much as comfort from them; of oportunity to let them know our resolu­tions, and our immutabilitie to God and goodnesse; must needs be a great greife. And it cuts like a two-edged sword, both wayes: it greives us that we cannot heare from them, and it greives us that they cannot heare from us, whereby they may know the truth, and apprehend things neither better, nor worse, but just as indeed they are: and both those greifes touch them reciprocally; again. For the mind of man suspended in uncertainties enclines to beleive the worst, and oftentimes af­flicts it selfe with feares beyond the truth; which (though a vanitie) is not easily shaken off, nor quicklie mastered, no not [Page 18] in the stronger sex: the more equall should our censure be upon the female, whose passions (usually more violent) make their feares greater to their own tormenting. Ab­sence, and separation from freinds is heavy enough, but when all intercourse of Messages or Letters is cut off; when their condition is seal'd up in silence, and the darke night of utter ignorance clowds every beam of light, that not the least spark of knowledg can break through those im­pediments that are interposed, it leaves them for the present as mutualy dead to one another. Let the faithfull husband of a good and loving wife, or the tender father of sweet and duteous children judge of this bitternesse. In some sense death it self were lesse then this: for there the surviving part only should be sensible of the sorrow: but here both are alike. All the comfort in this case is (and that God knowes is very little too) that from the separation and silence by death there can be no erturn here in this world: but from this by a seige, there may and oft-times is: Which to attayne, the surest way is, with meek­nesse and patience to submit unto the will [Page 19] of God in this, and in all other tryalls that he shall lay upon us.

IN a Seige, the Assailant hath the command of time, to come on when he please, or to make a shew of comming on, when he doth not intend it: The defendant must be still in readi­nesse, lest he be surprized. How brittle is the condition of humane securitie, when one minutes negligence ruines that, which many moneths vigilance & care was scarce enough to preserve! Neither day nor night can secure us from dangers, or from feares: they threaten us both when we see them, and when we see them not. The Enemie wakes one night, or perhaps one houre of the night to give us an Alarm, and we must wake every night, and every houre of the night, because we doe not know what night, or w^t houre of the night he will attempt us. yet a few by turnes sup­ply that office, and by dividing their watches make the burthen easie: but [Page 20] when the Alarm comes, and the warning is given, the whole Garrison hastens to armes, and with all speed and diligence prepares for a serious defence, when per­haps the enemy intended but to fright them & having attained his end, goes off, laughing to thinke that he hath created so much trouble unto them, whom at that time he intended not to hurt; yet he resolves, that the beseiged shall heare of him often in the same kind: twice or thrice in a weeke, perhaps twice or thrice in a night: for thus he drives on to his main end, which is to breake the defendant with continued toyle and watching, untill he grow so tame, that he may admit conditions of sur­render. During the progresse of these at­tempts, if at any time the assaylant find the beseiged remisse, he then changes his pur­pose, and makes his assault in truth, which he intended but for tryall; and therein per­haps proves succesfull beyond his expecta­tion. How much need have we then both in the temporall, and in the spirituall war­fare to keepe a strict guard upon our selves, that the enemie may find no advan­tage through our neglect? If I be over­powred [Page 21] it is no shame unto me; if I be over-reacht, it is my negligence I can never answer, my misfortune I may: let me do my part unto the full, and then, though the successe suit not with my desires, it shall not trouble me. Care, and heede, and vigilance, and attention, are of the essence of warre, and it is an indiscreet levitie, and of a desperate consequence, to connive at any oversight in this nature. Military discipline, that should be rigid in all things, should be most severe in this, as drawing with it such an error as can never be repaired. Give the enemie by negligence an advantage but once, and he will not aske a second: or if he doe, he may shake hands in folly with him that gave it. Let it be the beseigers glory to give frequent alarms, let it be the be­seiged's to be provided for them: let it be the assailants province to watch his opor­tunity of advantage, the defendants not to give it. I am sure the enemie will Alarm me: I am not sure whether in earnest, or in jest: let me expect the worst, and pro­vide for it, and beleive firmly there is no other way to be secure. Thus resolved, and [Page 22] thus provided I shall not much need to feare neither when a visible enemie doth beseige my body, nor when an invisible my soule; their alarms are expected to me, their designes not unknown, their spight not hidden: my centries are set, my guards doubled, my strengths in readinesse, my powers at command: if the enemie come on for tryall, he shall find small en­couragement; if in truth, he shall find strong resistance: the rest I leave to God, who will either so prosper my endea­vors, that I shall not miscarrie; or else dis­pose of that disaster (which overtakes me without my fault) some other way, so as, may be both for his glory, and for my good.

THE severall Armes, and En­gines, and Instruments both of offence and defence used in a Seige, are likewise worthy of a distinct and a particular view. The use of [Page 23] of Ordnance with the beseigers is to make their battery: for which purpose they commonly rayse workes in the night time where to plant their Canon, that so the enemy may not see, nor hinder them▪ untill their workes be finished. If they doe, they are sure to be impeach't from the Garrison in the attempt, and to be visi­ted with their Canon, and to be gall'd with their small shot, if they be within musket reach, and to be attempted by sallies, if the Garrison be strong enough; Both parts ha­ving maintain'd the contest, the one to raise their works, the other to hinder them, till they be done; at last, in spight of oppo­sition (which though it may retard them for a while, is not enough to hinder them for altogether) the enemy then plants his Canon usually on severall sides of the gar­rison, and plyes them to make his breach: the defendant having little all that while to doe, because the enemy is almost out of reach of danger, the musket shot of the garrison being uselesse in regard of di­stance, and the Canon unlike to doe any hurt, the Enemies batteries where he plants his Canon commonly being little, [Page 24] and blinded besides with trees, of purpose, to make his ayme that shootes at them more uncertaine. So the Beseiged langui­shes in this condition; he sees the buil­dings of the garrison beaten about his eares, his walls broken, his works chefly aym'd at, and continually plaid upon to make a breach, and all this while little or nothing he can doe either to hinder the enemy, or to annoy him. If the Enemy either by view of the place, or by information can discover what part of the garrison is weak­est, there he plies it hottest; yet in judge­ing the weaknesse of a place, it is the ad­vantage of the beseiged, that the enemy may be deceived in it, he cannot. His charge is therfore during the battery, to consider all parts of the garrison well, to fortifie those that are weake, to observe where the Ca­non doth most mischiefe, or is likeliest to make a breach, and there to make new works, or place his choycest engines of offence for slaughter and execution, and to that place to assigne his ablest and his stout­est men, that when the enemie shall attempt to enter, he may finde such a welcome, as shall give lirle encouragement to presse [Page 25] forwards. It cannot but touch a generous spirit with a high indignation, to see him­selfe brought to such a condition that he must suffer all, and can doe nothing to an­noy the Enemie: Yet this is the conditi­on of our spirituall war-fare; Sathan doth us all the mischeife that he can, we doe him none at all: and surely in the tempo­rall warfare, although in all the harme we doe, or would doe our enemy, one of our ends be to rid our selves of the danger and vexation, yet another (in most men) is re­venge: for which God having left us no place in our contest with Satan (his misera­ble condition being uncapable of any accesse from us) God hath thereby instructed us to apply our minds wholly to our owne defence, that so in the conclusion we may come off without considerable losse. In this case it is our dutie to consider advised­ly where our chiefe weakenesse lies, and to expect the enemie should there assaile us, if we doe not in due time fortifie against him: to observe heedfullie what hurt the enemie doth us, where, and how we de­cay, what new dangers grow upon us by the contest, and where we find him like­liest [Page 26] to make his entrance, there to plant our cheife strengths to beate him off a­gaine. Be it the temporall, or the spiri­tuall warfare, woe be unto me if I know and see where my fort is weakest, and regard it not; or if I doe not know it be­cause I care not to looke after it; or if mine enemie know it better then my selfe; if I see and discerne my daily decaies, and am not moved at them; or if I discern them not because I am wilfullie blinde and will not see them. If these accusations lye just against me, what can save me from ex­treame calamitie, which my owne guilty soule, and all the world besides shall say falls justly on me, because my negligence hath been supine, and my obstinate per­sisting therein extream notorious.

A Granadoe is an extraordinarie great Bullet of drossie iron made hollow, with a fuzie or neck coming out of one side; which fuzie or neck, is filled with severall mixtures, [Page 27] and all the hollow part of the bullet with powder and other thinges combustible and violent: it is shot out of a mortar­peice set in the ground with the mouth up­wards, and level'd to mount up into the ayre untill it come just over the place at which it was aym'd: upon the discharge­ing of it, the mixtures in the fusie or the neck of the Granadoe is kindled, which burning slowely while it mounteth in the ayre, first the very weight of it (falling from such a height) breakes through the roofe it falls upon, and the next floore, and makes way before it till it come unto the ground: then the powder enclosed in the hollow part of the bullet, and the other combustible things taking fire from the fuzie or neck of the Granadoe, breake the bullet all in peeces, and those peeces, flying every way, endanger all that are neare them; they breake every thing about them; teare up the earth beneath them, and if they chance to light upon any thing easilie susceptible of fireing, they some­times kindle it, and that way endanger the place wherein they fall. They are inten­ded both for terror and for destruction: [Page 28] destruction both of the places and of the persons whereat they are aymed. And it is of all hands acknowledged, that no engine or instrument of warre dothmore mischief, nor imprints a greater, or a juster terror. How unhappily witty men are to invent daily new instruments of mischief to one ano­ther! Me thinks it should be but a melan­cholie speculation in a man's serious retire­ment to think, that he could never devise a­ny thing to save the life of one, and yet he hath devised that which hath taken away the lives of thousands: that he hath been the author of much mischiefe to them, to whom he never was the authour of any good: that many places curse his fatall wit, that never had the hap to see his face. And however the expediencie of such en­gines and instruments for militarie service may be defended from necessitie, yet no man will deny but the necessitie is hard which forces men to use helps so destru­ctive to mankinde. Miserable man! whose life spunne out unto the longest is but short, and is yet encompas't with so many kinde of dangers, mustered together in such hideous shapes, threatning to cut it off. [Page 29] Yet I confesse there is more in the opinion, then in the truth of these things to disquiet us. If I die by a Canon shot, or a Granadoe, I die sodainly, and my paine is quickly at an end; and yet I count it not a sodaine death in regard of my Soule, because I saw the occasion of my triall coming, and had time enough to prepare my selfe before it came, by making my peace with God, and with the world: That granted, how much more wretchedly might I have died in my bed, perhaps languishing of a tedious sick­nesse, till I grew a burthen both to my selfe, and all my friends; perhaps rackt and tor­mented with cruell fits of the stone, or of the cholick, or of some ulcer in the tender parts, before which I would preferre death a thousand times, and yet should often wish it when I could not have it; perhaps rot­ting and decaying part by part, with an in­tolerable stench, which neither I my selfe, nor any of my freinds, nor those whom hire makes stoope to any offices, are able to en­dure; perhaps smitten by the hand of hea­ven with a contagious infection, which leaves me desolate in death, with none a­bout me, but those whose sordid avarice [Page 30] strikeing at petty gaine, shall make them more readie to set me packing for their owne advantage, then to attend me with care and faithfullnesse in that distresse. Be­sides, he that dies in his bed acquires no honour: he that dies in service doth; if Conscience and Loyaltie engag'd him to it. Lord, grant me but thy grace to live, whilst I live, so as I should; and I will not wish to know when or how I shall die; but shall resolve to think that best which thou shalt send, and to welcome it with that content­ednesse and resolution which doth become a man, and much more a Christian.

FIRE-Balls made of powder and pitch and turpentine, and such o­ther stuffe, are shot at a house, and where they light they stick and burne for a quarter of an houre together, sometimes longer, and are not to be quench't with wa­ter, or any other liquor cast upon them: the usuall remedie is to cast wet skinnes [Page 31] upon them, which (if done in time) doth stifle the fire, and so put it out. Where those helps are not in readinesse, they many times doe much mischiefe in a little time. For nothing is more violent then fire, when it hath got the masterie, both de­stroying all before it, and endangering them likewise very much that come to quench it. How many endeavouring to save that out of the ravenous flames which was deare unto them, have lost themselves? How many have so escaped, that it had been little worse, nay perhaps better for them to have perished? Where the effects of it are most milde, they are sad enough, and extreme full of terror, both to the suf­ferers, and to the spectators too. Nothing is more in a wise man's care then to pre­vent this danger, or to suppresse it, if it be possible, ere it break out too farre. The ordinarie casualties of peace instruct us e­nough how horrid the effects are which follow such disasters: But warre adds so much to the horror of them, that here the enemie endeavours to fire severall places at once, to the end that men distracted in their cares and feares, may not know which [Page 32] way to turne: And here the usuall helps are more to seeke, whether of men, or meanes to put it out; the one having work enough in tending their defence, the other being either not provided, or rather not to be got in every place. Hence it comes many times to passe, that all is left a Sacrifice to the mercilesse flames, and they rage without restraint, till they have turned all into ashes and desolation. A rue­full spectacle for a long time after, to every eye that sees it, and on which a man can­not fixe his thoughts, but his heart shall earne, to think how much they suffer'd that were concern'd. From thence how easilie may we transferre our thoughts to that sad day, when the whole world shall burne in flames, and the elements shall melt with fer­vent heate, and therein not only we, and all that we can call ours shall be lost together, but besides, those flames shall be the fore­runners of our greatest tryall, wherein we must give our accompt to an impartiall judge of all our enmities and contestations, of the justnesse of the warres that we have undertaken, of the advised and deliberate injuries and mischiefes that we have done, [Page 33] dureing our enmitie to one another; wherein if the Conscience doe not ac­quit us, remaines nothing for us but to be cast into the fire of hell, the fire that shall torment us for ever, and yet not consume us; the fire from which we must hope neither release, nor mitigation; the fire which, though it shall have intensive heate, yet it shall have no light, and so the darknesse shall double both the tor­ment, and the terror on us. Who can dwell with this everlasting fire? Or who can abide these continuall burnings? And yet abide we must, for escape we cannot, unlesse the Conscience of a well-led life stand up in judgement to pleade for us. Wherein the integritie of an honest heart and the sinceritie of a true endeavour to form our actions according to Gods will revealed in his word, will be our best as­surance. That (we shall not neede to doubt) but for Christ his sake it will be accepted; his merits and satisfaction a­bundantly supplying what we want. This will create in us a confidence towards God, which being once well setled, nei­ther the eternall fire of hell prepared for [Page 34] the devill and his angells, nor the univer­sall fire which shall consume the World and all things in it, at the last day, nor any accident of fire which may annoy or ru­ine either our persons, or our estates, or both, here in this world, shall be able to affright us: For even in all these we shall be more then Conquerours through him that loved us.

AMongst other things; the Beseigers sometimes shoote great stones, either in one peice made into the forme of a Bullet, or in great rag­ged peices, to scatter as they fall. Their use is, either to advance the bat­tery, or to cut off, as it may happen, some of the souldiers in the Garrison. For those purposes their Canon shot, and their Granadoes are more advanta­geous, but more chargeable: and these added to other helpe to amuse the be­seiged, [Page 35] and to distract them by their varied, and multiplyed dangers. What should we say but that we live in an age fertile in teeming mischeife, and luxu­riant in inventing varied wayes of de­struction? It were not hyperbolicall to averre that their hearts are as hard, as are the stones they shoote, and as uncapeable of melting or of inteneration. For though the law of armes make it faire to doe any thing in the way of open force that may annoy the enemie, yet no law ever did allow men to engage themselves in a desperate contest, and in declar'd hostilitie, without first weighing unpar­tially the justinesse of the cause, and the faire grounds they goe upon to be enga­ged. The neglect of that makes it a mur­der to him that kills his foe, which he can never answer either to God or man. And in this case, the more active a man is the worse, and the more eager the more wretched, for so his guilt swells higher, and he hath the more to answere for what he doth. Varied inventions to annoy the foe, are but varied sinnes; and he never hurts his enemie, but he more [Page 36] hurts himselfe. 'Tis but a deare purchase, if I procure other mens sorrowes, by mine own sinnes, and to damnifye them in their estates, or in their persons, damn my own soule. But that assurance, and peace of conscience which the one party wants, the other lightly hath; and if the beseiger erre in assayling; the beseiged erres not in defending. Hence they come forth many times the prodigies of pati­ence, and of courage, doing, and suffering things beyond beleife; and in the varie­tie, and change of dangers that beset them remaine themselves unchang'd in spirit, and resolution. Multiplyed en­gines, and instruments to assaile them are but so many spurres to whet their dili­gence, to rowse up their attention, to quicken their care, to perfect their cir­cumspection, that nothing on their parts may be wanting to their defence, whom (they are throughly perswaded) God hath also taken into his protection.

THose that are called poysoned bullets, are either chawed with mens teeth, or beaten with the sharp end of a hammer to make them ragged; which where they enter, if they lye any time in the flesh, presently rancle, and gangrene, to the endangering of the limbe, and many times of the life. Such accidents in the cure enforce al­wayes large and dangerous incisions, and sometimes abtruncations, to the great ha­zard of the patient. We cannot accompt such inventions lesse then deeply maliti­ous, and finde them most frequent a­mongst the baser sort of people, in whose bosome candor and ingenuitie could never finde a harbor. A generous minde when it is forc'd unto it, useth to exercise a faire and noble enmitie, scor­ning to make advantage of those assist­ances which it cannot owne with honor. But a base minde climbes to her end by [Page 38] any means, and deemes nothing unworthy that is prosperous. Any villany is amiable in her eyes, that is successefull, and she thinkes not how, but what she may at­tayne. We may with envie, in this point reflect upon the honor of the aintient Ro­mans, whose carriage in all hostilitie was so faire, and open, that we may blush to thinke (being convicted of so sowle a difference) it should be said that they were heathens, and we are Christi­ans. They shall one day rise up against us, and condemne us for it, when con­fusion shall fill our faces, and stop our mouthes, leaveing us nothing to plead in excuse of such sowle play. I cannot hope to winne them from such courses, that are wedded to them; for course dis­positions are scarce capeable of culture; nor the base vulgar to be wonne to any thing that is generous. Leaving them therefore on the Lees of that bad liquor wherewith their earthen vessels were so season'd at the first that the taste will never out, I shall endeavor to confirm them in the waies of honor, whose birth and breeding hath made them capeable [Page 39] of such counsells, and their whole car­riage and deportment is of the same peece. Though I scarce thinke they need it, yet I am confident I cannot offend them by it; and I am sensible withall, that my taske is the easier, and I need say the lesse. Goe on, brave martiall spirits, in the pursuite of virtue, and of same, which you only know how to court and how to winne. The lawrell wreath is your due, and will become you richly, when victorie shall finde her selfe disho­nor'd to have lent any countenance to your pesantlye opposers. They may per­haps commit a rape upon her, and force her for a while, but the just clay me and title unto her is yours, and she is but dishonested by such corrivalls. Doubt not but though she absent her selfe a while, she will returne, and loathing their sor­did courtship which got her but by chance and know not how to keepe her, she will cast them off againe, and divest them of that wrongfull possession which they had usurped. For you she hath treasur'd up her choycest glories, and will not prove coy when you wooe her back, but [Page 40] will come, being sought to, in such noble wayes; and being come, will not depart for ever.

A Petarre is an Engine fast­ned to a Gate, to blow it open, which when it is fired, shivers the Gate to peeces, and laies the en­trance open to the assay­lant. The danger on their part, is the com­ing neare to fasten it, which the beseiged endeavor by all possible meanes to hin­der. But be the danger never so great, there want not them which will venture, and come on to fasten it, though they be never so likely to perish in the attempt. In the condition of martiall service it is alwayes so, that all important actions are full of danger. The way to victorie is stor'd with precipices, and death in seve­rall kindes lurking in every corner, nay sometimes with open face presented in [Page 41] the most hideous formes, stands away­ting them that venture. Honor is sel­dome bought at a cheape price: yet it is not accompted deare where a man doth not part with his conscience to purchase it. He that will list himselfe for the feild, must expect the hazard, and resolve to runne it: for being once enroll'd he can neither goe on with safety, nor goe back with honor. And sure he that cannot despise danger, was never layd out for a souldier. Be the danger what it will, the commands of a Generall are to be executed not disputed, and a chearfull and exact obedience best becomes a mar­tiall spirit. They should not know feare that wage warre: at least they should be able to cast it out, where judgement tells them that it misbecomes them, and is a hindrance to the perfecting of that worke wherein they are engaged. One timorous man, nay one timorous carriage of one man in an army, many times over­throweth the whole enterprise, and drawes many thousands with him into one common ruine. Sure he that well considers it, hath not much to feare, [Page 42] where he is sure either to dye a Martyr, or come off a conquerour; where he shall not want honor whilst he lives, nor peace of conscience when he dies. Many a man lives too long, that lives with shame: but no man dies too soone, that dies with honor. What is it that I was borne into the world, and that I live for, but to serve my God, my King, and Country with my life, and with my fortunes? And this if I have done, although I die at twenty, I have lived more then he that hath spunne out a hundred uselesse yeares. They are not properly said to live, that live but to themselves, haveing atcheiv'd nothing of goodnesse, or of glory be­yond other men To have fill'd up the mus­ter, or made one in the number of an armie for many yeares together, and in all that time to have no name, or note, is worse then to have been a droane a­mongst the Bees; because sense only is their guide, but reason should be ours. The weaknesse of one timorous man doth much mischiefe, but his example doth a great deale more. And there is nothing wherein it concerns a Generall to be more [Page 43] vigilant, then to find such cowards out, and to casheire them. A few resolved men, whom danger cannot daunt, shall doe wonders; and a man shall scarce at­tempt any thing, which he shall not find feisible with such assistance. Bequeath feares to women, old men, and children, in whom they are pardonable: in a man they are not: and in a souldier least. Yet I would not have rashnesse mistaken in stead of valour, nor foole-hardinesse in stead of courage. Fortitude is not blinde, nor a just resolution void of judgement. What he attempts, and why, how he may likeliest carry it, and when the nick of time is to put on, he hath it all preme­ditated that is truly valiant. The danger of the enterprise comes in but upon the by, and troubles not his thoughts, he reckons it a thing of course, which if it should stop his speed he would reckon that he did stumble at a straw. If any such poore thought steale in upon him at una­wares, it is but an inmate, that unregar­ded may sojourn for a while, but must not dwell nor tarry in a noble bosome. For if he once take notice of it, it must flie. A well [Page 44] resolved man should know no other feare but the feare of God: and if that leade him into the quarrell, no other feare can beate him off againe; but he goes on till he arrive (as at his port and haven) either at an honourable death, or a victorious tri­umph.

ONE of the essentiall things in the discipline of warre, is to have good intelligence from the ene­mies quarters, what his strengths are, what his weakenesses, what his store and provisions, what his numbers, what his designes, what his hopes or feares, what his encombrances: A thing not ea­silie to be learn'd, nor without great ex­pence; besides that, the parties to be therein imployed must be of tried fidelity, of undaunted resolutions, and of no meane parts. A sleight recompence will not countervaile such an undertaking: Nor is it a businesse for one man alone to goe [Page 45] through with, but he is usually forced to take in many to his assistance, and it is but reason they should share in the reward, that share in the worke: Amongst whom if any one prove false, they all miscarrie, and the action too. They must be there­fore singled out with choice; and a man must be very warie whom he boords in such a businesse; For, it is a high point of credulitie to beleeve he will be true to me, whom I endeavor to make false where he owes his Faith. Nor are men of ordinarie parts fit to be embarqu'd as the cheife agents in such an affaire. The art of carrying two faces under one hood, and conversing as a friend with them, whom as an enemie he studies to ruine; of corrupting others to betray their trust, and to tread with him the same pathes of danger for advantage (when discoverie brings certaine death, and no lesse certain shame) askes a practic'd Machivilian, verst in all kinde of subtleties and guiles, and perfect in disguising his intents. That these Arts are honest, is more then I dare affirme: yet that they are necessarie, in time of warre, is that which most men a­verre. [Page 46] But God helpe us, if that were necessarie which were not honest. So much I shall venture to determine; That he which gaines his Soveraigne intelli­gence of any thing that may conduce unto his safetie, doth but what is honest, and that to which he is tyed by the oath of alleigeance: But he that discovers his Soveraignes designes unto his enemie, or corrupts his Subjects in their Loyaltie, making them, for private gaine, the in­struments of a publique ruine, is a traytor in the highest kinde, and ayming at wick­ed ends, endeavors to compasse them by as unlawfull meanes. Let such men be as­sured, that both a certaine, and a great damnation doth attend them; from which they have lesse hope than other men to e­scape by repentance, because we doe not find, that God ever gave it unto such a traytor. How miserable in the meane time is their condition, that bargain their own certain damnation on such tearmes? the danger great, the reward little, the performance doubtfull, the infamy cer­taine, even with those whom they have so basely serv'd, but much more with the [Page 47] other party; for even those that most court their assistance, doe hate their per­sons, and when their use is at an end, cast off the property with which they acted. If fordid avarice did not blinde them, they must needs see, that those which have once falsified their saith, must ne're be trusted more; and they that would be once corrupted, must ne're be used a­gaine. If they faile of their promised re­wards, with what face can they complaine of others falshood, that are conscious of their own? or murmure because their fel­lowes have deceived them, when they have deceived their Master? Poore, and wretched, and discontented may they perish, begging their bread in desolate places, where they shall finde no hand to relieve them, nor no eye to pitie them, whose Faith gold can corrupt, and make them disloyall to their King and Country. Leaving them to him that will finde them out in their falshood, we may without of­fence bewaile our own condition, whose greatest danger is from one another, and that so close and secret, that it is not easily avoided. Suspition and circumspection [Page 48] are our only helps, which though they be both equally necessarie, yet suspition is lyable to construction, and scarce thought consistent with the candor of an ingenu­ous natur. For it is usually said; Good men doe not misdoubt that in others, which they would not doe themselves; and therefore are as tender to wrong o­ther men by suspition, as they would be sensible to be so wronged themselves. Truely I should wish that suspitions might not be discovered till presumpti­ons growe strong, and begin to neigh­bour upon proofe; yet in publique con­cernments I would have them alwaies wakeing, and even then most busie when they are least detected; for suspition quickens observation, and observation drawes probabilities, and probabilities make conjectures, which by the weight of circumstances laid together, at length amount to proofes, whereby when we have discovered what we sought, we need not blush that they tooke their rise from such beginings. It is the best advan­tage in this case to be quick-sighted, and quick-sented, that we may prevent these [Page 49] treacheries, which being once enacted, can ne're be cur'd.

THE chiefe strength of a Gar­rison is their store of powder, and shot, and match; if these once faile, the Garrison (though never so strong by situation, or by art) is no longer tenible. The powder amongst the rest, is subject to most casual­ties, and the mischeife that followes by any mischance coming to it, both most fearefull in the effects, and most irrecove­rable in the losse: for all flyes up in an in­stant, and all remedies come too late to prevent that desolation which such an ac­cident doth leave behind it. Therefore it is safest lodged under ground, in some bat­tery made every way both on the top, and on the sides, Canon and Granadoe proofe. Yet the enemy, not ignorant of the advan­tage to reach that store, learning first [Page 50] where it lyes, (which every workeman that hath been imployed in the garrison cannot but know) takes all his aime that way, and directs all his shot both with his Canon, and with his mortar-peeces to the magazine, as to the center of his hopes. In a word, to destroy that is the assaylant's cheifest care, and to preserve it, the defendants. And surely it must not be accompted a small matter upon which all depends: nor is it sufficiently atten­ded by an ordinary care, which hath an extraordinary concernment▪ who would not lift hard at that part, which must needs quickly set a period to the whole? The things that are most necessary, and most usefull are most in danger: the rest we can permit unto an enemie, and not grutch him the fruition; because the cheife being mastered the rest will follow upon course. In the preservation of these how many times is providence deceiv'd? how many tymes is all the care, and paines and cost bestow'd to save, and to secure them utterly cast away? and in the twincling of an eye those stores blowne up, which were a long time in [Page 51] providing, and we reckoned that a long time they should have lasted. Such is the flitting vanitie of all humane hopes, a long time in hatching, and in cherishing, but blasted in an instant: much care, and cost, and toyle to gather that together, which by some undreamt of accident vanishes of a suddaine. No follie therefore so great, as to count their fruition certain; or to reckon that our own, which every minute may be taken from us. A wise man enjoyes them so that he beares al­wayes a minde prepar'd to loose them; and though he have resolv'd to slacken nothing of that fit care which may secure them, yet he forgets not that chance o­ver masters providence, and unexpected accidents in spight of all our care will in­tervene, to disturbe our affayres, and elude our expectation. Yet in these ac­cidents he reades a higher providence then his own, to which all those things are certaine which are contingent unto us. That providence can never be deceiv'd, ours may, and is. And if we have but patience to waite the event, we shall ea­sily discerne how it formes all things for [Page 52] the best, even those which seem'd most casuall in their nature, and most bitter for the present. It is true, that commonly our affection to these things is more, or lesse, as was the time, and care, and cost, and paines which were imploy'd about them: for those things we love better, and part with more unwillingly, which are set off to our acceptation by such in­deerements. Yet when we are conscious to our selves of no neglect in that fitting, though not anxious care, which we did use to keepe them, if an unexpected acci­dent, which we could neither probably have foreseene, nor easily have prevented force them out of our hands, we are to reckon that God requires them backe a­gaine, against whose pleasure to repine cannot become our duty. Thou ô God that hast given all, take what thou wilt, take it how, and when thou pleasest, take it in an instant, take it when I least suspect it, one­ly take not my patience from me, nor my obedient submission unto thy blessed will, take not my faith from me, whereby I am throughly perswaded that all my suffe­rings shall turne to my advantage, nor take [Page 53] not thy love and mercy from me, which may preserve my soule, however my body or my estate miscarry.

OF how much importance to the lives of the Besieged their provisions of foode are, sto­red up for many daies, no man but understands. The destroying of those provisions when they are laid in, is likewise a maine endeavour of the adver­sarie, which, when he doth or can learne where they are stor'd, he failes not to at­tempt. For if those faile, he knowes they cannot hold out: His designe therefore is eyther to let in water upon them, if they lie lowe, or to fire or blowe them up, if they lie high, or by any meanes to destroy that of a suddaine, which should have maintained the Garrison for many moneths. The Governour's care must be to secure it where it lies, and to husband it with thrift, that neglect may not lavish [Page 54] that in a few, which discretion might have drawn out for many monthes. If in these things he leave the Souldier to him­selfe, he shall finde them, in the generall, addicted to enjoy the present, improvi­dent of the future; indulgent to them­selves, studious of ease and plenty, averse to labour, impatient to be stinted, and ne­ver sitting down by such conditions, but when they are over-rul'd; What there­fore he doth not encline to of himselfe, he must be made by discipline; let him feed to day as he may feed to morrow: let him work to day, as he may feed to morrowe: spare not his paines where it may save his life: bring him to his allowance before it be too late: if his store be not safe, let him make it: if by any endeavour of the as­saylant it be endangered, let him remove it: if it be like to faile by the continu­ance of the Seige, let him spare it: what providence hath laid in, let discretion dispense: what wisedome hath laid up, let diligence preserve. Let not the enemy without destroy, nor the garrison within consume what may well be saved. Want of foode allwaies pinches, but never so [Page 55] sharply, as when our own hearts tell us, that if we had beene so carefull as we should, we had not wanted it. Lord, let me not want discretion to moderate my selfe at all times, that I may never offend thee by excesse! Let me not want judge­ment to discerne the difference of times, to temper my selfe more strictly when there is more neede! if I want these my selfe, let me not want governours and tu­tors, or overseers, by whose timely pro­vidence I may be more safe then I had been by my owne! nor let them want sharpnesse to discerne, nor courage to e­xecute what should be done in such exi­gencies; nor I, will for to obey them! and then I doubt not, but that in the greatest straights I shall never want bread, or at least never want thy support, who hast taught me, that man lives not by bread on­ly, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.

HUNGER and THIRST are coupled commonly as fellowes, both sorely annoying the health, and equallie endangering the life of man. Yet of the two, (both naturalists, and experience it selfe attesting the same) it is confest, that thirst is the sharper, and the more incomportable. Besides that the annoyance of unholsome beveridg is more destructive, then of unwholsome foode, and the sad effects of it more suddaine, and more pernicious. For many things may be found for food, when customary provisi­ons faile, w^ch though they be not so agree­able with our constitution, yet they are not contrary in an extream degree, but so as even unto them the stomack may enure it selfe by degrees, and be able in some measure to beare the change: but if it come once to that passe that water cannot be had, all other liquors (of which [Page 57] such a proportion may be hoped, as to sustaine life) must needs be such, as a small tryall shall evince to be destructive unto nature. Not to speake of the want of it to dresse any kinde of foode, nor of the noysome stench, and inevitable nasti­nesse which follows upon the want of it for other uses. If therefore the spring or rivers that water a garrison can be dreyned, or cut off, there will need no o­ther sword to cut the gordian knot of that contest. Surely it is not easie to conceive but by tryall (which God graunt we ne­ver may) how intolerable the torments are which they endure, whose bowels are shrunke with thirst, their flesh dried up, and withered, their inwards flameing with intensive heate, their hearts, and spirits fainting, their tongues cleaving to their drie pallats, the light of their eyes dimm'd, and the whole man flave­scent and decay'd, and wearied with the drought which he can beare no longer. Civility scarce beares the mention of those things, which in such extreames are eagerly hunted after, and greedily drunke off to quench thirst. Nor is it onely in a [Page 58] siege that men are so opprest, in hot servi­ces, and cruell battailes, disputed long and eagerly on both sides; in long and speedy marches; in necessitated journeyes by se­cret, and untroden pathes for feare of e­nemies men meet the same affliction. And when I remember how frequent all these are amongst us in these times, and how many men have been brought, by these severall meanes, to the very gates of death, if not utterly destroyed by ex­treame thirst, it makes me apt to thinke that God intends to upbraide us with that infamous, and sinfull height of drinkeing which hath been so universally receiv'd, and practised among all sorts of people. It is but just that they should want water, that would endure no stint in wine; that they that wanton'd in varietie of li­quors should want any that is wholsome: that they which drunke continually when they had no thirst, should thirst when they have no drinke: that they which inflam'd themselves willingly by excesse, should be enflam'd by drought against their wills, for want of a cup of cold wa­ter to refresh their entrailes. Those that [Page 59] are now most deafe to these instructions, will resent them most deeply then; and their own guilt awakened by their affli­ction will double their sorrowes on them, and make that crosse more heavie unto them then others. Besides that the habit of drinking makes an unnaturall thirst, and calls more eagerly for those supplies, which being not to be had, make the want more afflictive. A temperate man beares thirst a great deale better; and is also free from those secret stings of guilt, and bath a stronger hope, and better grounded, that God will one way, or other send him release. If it come not, yet his ac­compt is cast, and he submits unto the will of God: by whose speciall favor (no man ever did deny it) in one and the same condition of want either of meats, or drinkes, all men doe not feele the same degree of torment, nor have not the same sharpnesse of hunger, or of thirst upon them. God makes the diffe­rence where he pleases: never without just cause, alwayes well known to him, though sometimes unknown to us.

WHERE the Trenches without the workes are drie, and the ground not rock, or stonie, on which the Garrison stands, it is an usuall practice to under-mine, and when they have brought the Mine unto the Works, to blow it up with powder. The endea­vour of the beseiged is to find out the pra­ctice (for which they have certaine proofes) to marke which way they worke, and counter-mine them. What in open view cannot be attempted, seems to be undertaken with more safety under ground. Yet no sooner is a new way found out to annoy, then new waies are found out on the other side to prevent that annoyance: God having made man as ingenious to invent things for his owne defence, as to doe mischiefe. And it is well provided for humane safetie, that where malice hath a sword, innocence should have a buckler; and where the as­saylant [Page 61] may infest, the defendant may not want a cure. Wherein it is just with God that the mischeife of the first mover should fall sometimes upon his own head, and he be caught in his own craft, and ta­ken in his own snare; that a Myne should by a counter-Myne be brought to no­thing, and not only their labour lost that wrought in it, but many times their per­sons too. Such are the hazards of these attempts, which yet cannot deterre the undertakers from adventuring. But it is no news to see desperate gamesters wage great stakes, and ventrous Merchants en­gage themselves farre, when they are come to such a state that a small adventure cannot keepe them up. It is the highest part of wisedome to weigh things well at first, whilest yet a man is free, and hath as full power of himselfe, as he can wish; many a man hath wisht that he could have gone back, when it hath been too late; and hath repented in vaine his rash en­gageing of himselfe to those dangers, which perhaps he had never known if he had not tried. In the bowels of the earth he that digges out new waies, and [Page 62] through that covert darknesse makes his passage, must not wonder to meete with accidents to which he is a stranger, and those such as doe bring dangers with them, for which he could provide no re­medie, because he did not expect them. In those cavernes, what more usuall then suddain eruptions of waters, somtimes in great aboundance; then strange and ma­lignant sulphureous vapors, which suffo­cate the spirits, and prove suddainlie mor­tall to those that meete them in so pent a passage? Many have gone into those Mines as to their graves, and have come out no more; the very place it selfe, with­out any person to annoy them, proving their Sepulchre. Yet few can be perswa­ded that they dig their owne graves, but (carried on with rage and with desire) promise themselves a safe returne from thence, where death in more then one shape doth attend them. He needes no goade or spurre that is pricktt on by ava­rice, by envie, or ambition, by spleene or malice, or any of those vices which in the weakest mindes take greatest hold, and blind the judgement so, that it can­not [Page 63] iustly weigh what it doth undertake. Hence it is that they presse on to danger after danger, and cannot rest or stop, till they have tried all the waies either above ground or under, which may leade unto their ends. Nor doe they at all consider how full they are of hazard, or how sin­full, but how necessarie for their designes, which they resolve to carrie (if it be pos­sible) although both soule and body pe­rish in the attempt. Lord, keepe us from the masterie of these vices, which drive men over all precipices into destruction! and let us so conscientiously weigh that which we undertake, that whether we live, or die in the attempt, we may be thine, and no danger, no not all the dan­gers of this life be able to separate our soules from thee!

THE entering of a breach, is of all the services in warre the most desperate: for it is the entering upon the mouth of the Canon, upon the muzle of the musket, upon the point of the pike, besides traynes of pow­der to be expected from beneath, and showres of stones, and bullets from a­bove, with the mortall stroake of the bill or halbert when they come within the reach, and the carbyne and pistol, and pole-axe standing at the receipt, if they breake through the rest: insomuch that it seemes almost a miracle any man should escape that comes on with the first, till multitude (oppressing, and tireing the defendants) have made the passage both more safe and easie. Yet after all this losse many times the attempt miscarries, when the defendant perceiving where the breach was likely to be made, hath raised [Page 65] new works within, and so beates the assaylant off with no small detriment. How hard and desperate are the services which avarice, and ambition, and sto­mack, we may say (but too often) which the world and the devill puts us on upon! and yet how chearefully, how resolvedly doe we undergoe them! How faire, and easie, how safe and secure those that God puts us on upon, and yet how hardly are we drawen on, and how soone doe we recoyle! How few are they that venture their estates, their lives, or limbes to save their Consciences? or that are willing to endanger themselves to serve their God? A better Master I am sure we cannot serve; whose commands are more just, whose ends are more noble, whose re­wards are more certaine, whose accepta­tion of our endeavours is more gratious, whose love to us is more unchangeable, whose care of us is greater, whose prote­ction is more safe, or whose service is more honourable. Yet not only danger, but the very shadow of danger staggers us in our obedience towards him. Full we are of delaies and of excuses; cold and [Page 66] timorous and doubtfull, and full of scruples: One while a beame, a­nother while a mote is in our eyes, and they cannot be cast out: one while we stumble at a block, another while at a straw, and cannot be got forwards: af­ter much spurring on, if we begin, we straight grow faint and wearie: every discouragement puts us off againe, and makes us looke back after we have put our hands unto the Plough, It is ea­sie to inferre that our affection unto God and goodnesse, is lesse then to these world­ly things, when we may have them, and yet will not buy them at a farre easier rate. If my tie to God were not greater, my sinne were lesse; now my fault is dou­ble, that where I owe more, I pay lesse; and where I owe lesse, I pay more. Yet I would not be understood, as if I went a­bout to discourage a Souldier in his obe­dience to his commander set over him by his Prince, so long as he continues loyall to him that placed him; the Souldiers o­bedience (be the danger what it will) can­not be too chearefull, too punctuall, or too resolved. Yet God must not be for­gotten [Page 67] to whom our obedience is due in the first place. I am sure he cannot erre in his cōmands, but all men may: What he requires is ever just and lawfull; they may (and doe require somtimes) that which is otherwise. Shall every man be judge then of his Superiors commands, and take upon him to dispute them, or sus­pend his obedience till he be satisfied? farre be that from my thoughts; neither the rules of policie, nor of divinitie allow it. In things not simply, indisputably, and manifestly evill, they must be obeyed, and that without disputing: wherein if they should erre that doe obey, being put on that which were not lawfull, God would require it at their Superiours hands, which did not weigh with judgement what they did command; but not at theirs, whose dutie was obedience. Our obedience to God can admit no exception, and yet we halt in that a great deale more: But a weake eye may discern the fountaine of this difference. A corporall, a visible, a sensible, a present punishment which may be inflicted doth over-awe us, when we neglect the execution of their commands [Page 68] whom a Prince hath set over us: And the discipline of warre requires that it be ri­gorously inflicted, lest that disobedience be drawne into example; but the punish­ment of our disobedience to God being invisible, and the time uncertaine when it shall be inflicted, encourages fond men to be over-indulgent to themselves, when they see they cannot serve God but with losse and danger. Such are we all, if God leave us to our selves, cold for the most part in his cause, though forwards, and stowte enough in other things.

TO mount up the Works, whether they storme with, or without a breach, is on the assay­lants part, an atchieve­ment for men of no mean resolutions: For when it comes to that pinch the annoyances of great and small shot grow hot and thick, the pike, and [Page 69] the bill, and the sword are not idle, eve­ry stone is mov'd by the defendants that may retard the worke, or put it back. The ladder hath not more rounds, then the whole worke hath steppes of danger from the first unto the last. Yet this slow matureing of their hopes, bought at such a vast expense of blood, and cost, men are content with patience to expect. Lord, what a ticeing bayt is golden hope! how unwillingly are men brought to lay it downe? how small a glimpse of it gives them full high content? how easily they beleive, that all things tend that way which they would have them? how apt are they to boast the little they have done, whilst they utterly forget the much that is behinde? No wings are swifter then the wings of hope, which measure the greatest distances, and o­vercome the sorest heights, and seize the richest preyes even in an instant. Diffi­cultie is a trifle, & danger is a toy before her: she knowes no limits, but desire; & whatever that fancies, or fastens on, she reckons it her own. But such hastie teemers many times bring forth blind [Page 70] whelpes. Golden dreaimes doe not fill wakeing purses. The anchor of hope doth not alwaies find firme ground to fasten on; nor doth it alwaies take, though the ground serve. Both pietie, and pru­dence must attend it if hope make us not ashamed: for successe it selfe cannot take off the disparagement of that designe, which was ill layd. Not what may come to passe, but in probability what will, is the wise mans rule: and then he reck­ons too, that the gaine must countervaile the hazard, and that he will not pay more for the purchase then it is worth: above all, that he will not cast his soule into the scale, nor his conscience into the bar­gaine, nor venture himselfe, nor his men into those dangers, wherein they cannot hope for God's assistance. These things first weigh'd, though he give his hope the wing, yet he lets her flie but at command. This makes him speed so well, whilst other wanton gamsters, after their large promises unto them­selves, and their vaine braggs to others, carry nothing home with them out of the feild, but shame, and discontent.

IF the Assaylant intend not a suddaine storme, then he casts up Trenches to secure his men, and raises batteries to plant his ordnance, from whence they may play upon the garrison with more advantage. In the trenches the beseiged can annoy him lesse: from the batteries he can annoy them more: and both parts are equally in his thoughts, as well to preserve his owne men, as to destroy the enemy. Indeed the great masters of warre have determined that it more concernes a Generall to save one of his owne men, then to destroy ten of the enemies: And if they be veterane bands, and tried souldiers, the reasons are apparent: their approv'd fidelitie, and affection to their leader, their courage and valour discover'd by many trialls, their judgm̄ent to know in service what should be done, and their readinesse to doe, springing from use and exercise, [Page 72] sets the price upon them. If they perish and miscarrie, though those that shall be listed in their roomes may have as much spirit and courage, as much faith and ho­nestie, yet their Leader cannot have so much confidence of them till he have tried them: besides that their knowledg, and activitie for service must be a worke of time. Adde to these that nothing can be more pernicious to a Commander, then to have it reported, and beleived of him that he values his Souldiers cheape, and cares not how many of them he casts rashly away in any desperate imployment. It is but just that he should want souldiers when he needs them, that will not che­rish and spare them when he hath them: make but their hearts your owne, and you shall not need to feare that you shall want their hands. Just as they thinke they are esteemed they make their returne, and he must never hope to have their service, that doth not seeme carefull both of their safety, and their accommodation. To provide well for the destruction of the e­nemy, and to order and contrive all things for the best advantage for the perfecting [Page 73] of that worke, is a noble care, and well becoming a Commander: but they seeme things inconsistent, to be carefull to de­stroy the enemie, and to be carelesse to preserve his own, without which the e­nemie can never be destroy'd. And in the long processe of a warre, he that in every new action or expedition is put to use new men, because his old are lost, in pro­babilitie, if he succeed in one action shall miscarie in many; and if he perfect his worke at last to his desire, he shall owe it more to fortune, then to prudence, as having gone against the Principles of warre, and reason. Nor must he ever hope to be listed amongst great names in after­times which carries a businesse with so great a losse, that he hath scarce any of his soudiers left, to share with him in the successe; that shar'd in the first undertake­ing. Protection, is the first, and greatest thing expected from a leader, and he wrongs both himselfe, and all his under­takeings, which doeth not studie to make that vertue so conspicuous, that thereby he may both endeare his own, and allure other men unto his service. It is a noble [Page 74] and a brave approach to the divine na­ture, and makes men like to God, whose glory it is to keepe them safe that have given up their names to him, and to pro­vide so that none of them may perish, nor any man be able to take them out of his hands.

SUCH places as are naturally ei­ther stonie or mountainous, are easiliest made tenible, and fittest to plant a Garrison: for in such places the accesse is difficult, the ascent disad­vantageous, the undermining some times impossible, and in all these respects, the defence both more easie, and more certaine. And trulie it is no wonder to finde, that nature should out-doe art, and such a pettie circumstance as the si­tuation of a place advantage a businesse more, then humane industrie. Indeed Art perfects nature, and some small addi­tion it may make, where she finds the [Page 75] most materiall parts of the worke readie done to her hand: but if God, and na­ture (subordinate to him, working all things acording to the good pleasure of his will) did not in most things provide better for us, then we can for our selves, we should soone perceive that Art were beggerly, and humane industrie a toy, for the effecting of such mightie workes as we confidently propound unto our selves, and hope to carrie. How often we have found our selves in these things deceiv'd, how often we have come off with shame, and losse, and miscarried in our undertakeings, none of us but re­member. The vanitie of dareing much many are guilty of, and it hath been their punishment to find by tryall that they attempted things beyond their strength. To follow nature as a guide, and tread heedfully in those steppes wherein she goes before us, and hath prepar'd the way for our atcheivements, not arrogateing, or ascribeing too much to our owne art, and industrie▪ nor swelling our hopes too high when their foundation is but sandie, is a safe rule, which they that heedfully [Page 76] observe, seldome miscarrie. It is a great ingratitude, not to acknowledge the helps and advantages of businesse that Nature lends us; and not to use them is not to ac­knowledge them. But necessitie (a good schoolemistresse, though a sharpe one) en­forces us to use them; and when we have us'd them, the world sees how much we owe for them, though we would dissemble it. It is Gods wisdome so to provide, that in great undertakings, and in sore distresses, the least part of mans safetie should come from himselfe, who being the searcher of the heart knowes full well, how apt we are to arrogate too much un­to our selves, and how loath to impart the glory of an action to any second causes. Nothing more necessary then to beate downe that pride: and that is done no way better then when it is made visible to sense, so that he that runnes may reade it, how much Nature (God's great vice­gerent) hath contributed to those works, whereof vaine man assumes the glory to himselfe. Lord, so direct me in all world­ly things (those especially that concerne my owne safetie, and defense, with o­ther [Page 77] mens) that I may never neglect any thing which art or industry may adde to perfect nature: yet withall that I may in all humilitie acknowledg what helpes thou the God of nature doest afford me, that I may thereby make thy glory the more, though mine owne be the lesse.

A Mote large and deepe, fed with naturall springs, is one of the best defences to a Garrison: for many things concurre to make it difficult to be passed over: the uncertaintie of the depth in severall places, the slipperinesse of the footing, the mud in the bottom, the precipicies of the banks, besides the strengths planted on the other side, to im­peach both the entering and the landing. If boates, or bridges be put over, they are easilie broke or sunke. Horses are as ea­silie disordered, and not easilie managed, or commanded in such an onset: and the wading of foote, above the rest most hopelesse, and most desperate. Every slip [Page 78] brings almost certain death, and there is almost as much danger from the water beneath, as from the enemie above. Wa­ter is the emblem of trouble, and in such attempts men have both the shadow and the substance before their eyes, both the type, and the affliction typified at once before them. But what is it which industrie and courage doth not perswade it selfe that it may overcome? Sure it hath overcome so many difficulties, and effe­cted things so strange, and so unlikelie, as have scarce found beleife, when they have been acted. If the cause be good, and the attempt just, wherein men may hope God's assistance shall not be wanting to them, it is their glory not to deale with a slack hand; but both in assaulting and de­fending to acquit themselves like men, re­membring their dutie and their obligati­ons. 'Tis a sad spectacle in such an onset, to see how many men miscarrie on both sides, and in how many sorts: but tender pitie can have no place in such extremi­ties. After the service done, it may per­haps not misbecome a Souldier to shed a teare over a noble enemie, whose gallan [...] [Page 79] carriage in the action forced a kind of en­vie and esteeme even from the very foe (for it is the power of vertue, even there to winne applause, where it doth most mischeif, and to gain their approbation, who are most damnified by it). yet dureing the time of action, pitie must have no place in a martiall breast; nor can it become a souldier to thinke what he hath done, how sadde, how cruell, how hideous, how universall a destruction he hath made, how many, or how gallant men he hath cut off, till danger give him breath, and action allow him truce from execution, and securitie afford him leasure to entertain those speculations. Then let him put on pitie, and it shall not misbe­come him; let him sheath his sword, and sound his retreat, and set a period to his rage and spare those in cold bloud whom he is not enforc'd to kill. If he have pro­vided both for his present, and his future safetie, we can expect no more, and pity takes place in him too soone, if he pro­vide for lesse. He shall never acquit him­selfe in point of discretion, which hath spar'd them that afterwards may ruine [Page 80] him; nor he in point of honour, who hath cruelly butcher'd them, that could not hurt him. The eye must not see their wounds, nor the eare heare their groanes, nor the heart pitie their distresses, which fall in the heate of contestation, whilst yet the fortune of the enterprise hangs in suspense, and the controversie is undeci­ded. All that while valour stirres up valor, and courage provokes courage, and the eagernesse of opposing whets the eager­nesse of defending, and those that decline no danger, nor spare no labour whilst they strive to winne, teach the enemie to spare no labour, nor decline no dan­ger for to keep his fort. To drown them, to shoote them, to blow them up, to knock them down, mangle, and dismem­ber them, any way to force them back, or disable them from coming on, is all his care; and he cares not which way he doth it, so he can doe it at all. When all is done, he will not envie him (that did deserve it) the acknowledgment of a brave assault, of a gallant onset; nor the enemie him, of a stout repulse, and a re­solv'd defence. For those that miscarried, [Page 81] then comes in pitty too, although too late; too late I meane for the partie pittied to receive any benefit, more then a sprinkling of honour upon his ashes, and the crowning his memory with a faire report. Such are the sadde enforcements of bloudie warre, unfit to be committed to their managing in whose tender bo­somes compassion is known to dwell, or pittie to make an easie entrance.

WHERE Nature hath done little, Art and Industrie must doe the more to make a place strong. Waters must be drawn (if it be possible) about the works, where they were not before. The works must be rays'd high, and made thick and deepe. The batteries must be made at a convenient distance, that they may scowre the trenches. An equall Care must be had in all, that the souldiers in the garrison, may both with ease annoy the enemie without, and him­selfe [Page 82] be safe within from their annoyance. The thought of cost or trouble are in this case to be lay'd aside, for these things are not to be done as they should, without a vast charge. They may be justly reckoned amongst workes of magnifience, where­in men are to be guided by their honour, not their expence, and to consider how the work may be done most exactly, not most cheape. Sordid avarice, of all men, doth least become a souldier, and he to whom his honor is not dearer then his ad­vantage, was in an unluckie minute trust­ed with these imployments. They are not without much caution to be entertain'd that make the warre a trade, and have an eye upon the raysing of a fortune by their undertakings. Pettye sparings many times bring great mischiefs, and a litle sav'd proves a great deale lost. They have commonly but narrow minds, that desire to have large purses: for how should they venture much, that are willing to spend nothing? I confesse I have not of­ten known a truely valiant spirit hide­bound, or covetous: they rather encline unto the other extreame, and lavish madly, [Page 83] what they get easily. But for their own particular let it be as it may, questionlesse for the publique good it were better, that a souldier should be prodigall, then cove­tous: though he beares away the palme, that knowes both where to spend, and how to spare. And let him spare, in these occasions, no more his souldiers paines, then his own purse. When the fortifica­tion is finished they may be allow'd their ease; but till then, they must be encou­raged that are willing, and forced that are unwilling to undergoe their taske. Yet I remember it was a maine part of the Roman discipline (who did wonders in warre above all other people) never to let the common souldier rust in sloth, and idlenesse. If the warre found them no imployment, they kept them exercis'd in making cawsewayes, and bridges, and aqueducts, and raysing towers, and bul­warks, in forraging the countryes, and bringing in provisions for store before they needed them: whereby they did not only much advance their maine de­signes, and prevent many mutinies (which floth and idlenesse use to breed (but be­sides [Page 84] (which was their cheifest aime) they hardned the souldier to endure, and made him patient of labour, that when an extrordinary occasion of tryall came, he could goe through with that, under which other men did usually faint, and sinke. It is an error in discipline, by all meanes to be rooted out of the souldiers minde, that his worke is but to fight; and that he must be maintayn'd many monthes uselesse and idle, for one dayes service; and for that daies service too, he is become more unfiting by his sloath and idlenesse. If this could be cur'd. I should make little doubt, but that they which doe nothing now might doe much, and they which doe little, might doe more. Yet when they doe what they can, assistance must be taken in upon the Commanders charge, that under many hands the worke may goe on apace: for in forti­fying speed is of great concernment, it being the height of honor to have such a work fiinish't, before the enemie know that it was undertaken. If he have ink­ling of it, it is to be expected that he will doe all he can to hinder it: and all the [Page 85] Governours cost, and souldiers paines is vtterly cast away, if that be not preven­ted. Here therefore he must clap on both wings and spurres, and spread all his sailes to catch a faire gale, whilst occasion lasts, that within his works finish't unto his mind, he and his may ride as in a harbour secure and quiet.

PALLISADOES are flat stakes driven three or foure foote deepe into the earth, and made sharp at the top; and they have somtimes spikes of iron driven through neere the toppe, or turned back againe like hookes to catch off their apparell that would climbe over them: they are driven in some of them into the earth on the outside of a mote, where they stand upright like a pale round about the mote, some of them into the sides of the workes and bat­teries in a continued rowe with the points outwards; and where the workes [Page 86] are high, there is a double rowe of them, to hinder the enemie from clymbing up when he comes to storme, and to beare off the scaleing ladders from the workes. For these, as for other occasions, it is easilie discern'd. that of all other trades Carpenters, and smithes are essentiall to a garrison, it cannot subsist without them. Which they know so well, that they value their labours accordingly, and see most excessive rates upon those that are most necessitated for to use them. A base, and wicked practice, though very com­mon, and which savours little of a man, lesse of a christian. Humanitie teaches men to shew a chearefullnesse to help in the time of need: and charitie, to afford that helpe at easier rates then at other times, and to consider, not so much the neede men have of our assistance, as the ill condition they are in to buy it at too high a price. But we sing these lessons unto them, whose eares are deafe to coun­saile, their breasts meere strangers to compassion, and their rude mindes un­capeable of civill, or of sacred culture▪ Artisans, and mechanicks have commonly [Page 87] a genius by themselves quite of another ayre from other men, and you shall not find amongst them one of a thousand, varying in disposition from his fellow, or made (in the least degree that can be imagin'd) of a better mould. Their eyes are all fixt upon their profit, and you shall not drive them from their hold, or make them turne one haires breadth from their bias, to doe any thing out of pittie, or out of conscience. A true souldier can­not converse with them without indig­nation: for then him, nothing is more generous, then them, nothing more base. And that may well be reckoned one of the miseries of warre, that necessitie should enforce a noble spirit to take their assistance, which he can neither want with safetie, nor have for reason. And, which must needs trouble him more, he hath not that refuge left, to cudgell them into manners, or beate sense into them: for if he once doe so, the first opportuni­tie they have to depart, he heares of them no more, but hath his businesse left in the suddes, when it concernes him most to have it finished. But it is the wisdom of [Page 88] a Commander not to see what he cannot helpe, and not to check at those distastes, which after a contest he shall be forced to swallow upon worse conditions. Scorne, and neglect are the best fense against these annoyances, and a resolution not to let his undertakings stand, how ever unrea­sonable, or unconscionable they be, in de­manding excessive rates, or in their sloath­full doing of the worke whom he is con­strayn'd to use. Their sinne be to them­selves, his patience is his honor, which triumphs over their unworthinesse, and will carrie him without perturbation to his noble ends, in spight of all discourage­ments from them, which can never doe him wrong, because they never come un­expected.

THE Centries office is to looke to every part of the coast, and give notice if the enemie ap­proach, or any stranger or suspected per­son: [Page 89] and when he comes neere to que­stion him, and to stay him, or to shoote at him, and give warning to the garrison. To this purpose he is set on a tower, or a batterie, the places most advantageous from whence he may discover any thing: Other Centries placed at the doores or en­trances into a Governours, or a Com­manders lodging, are rather growen mat­ter of state, and forme, then of concern­ment. It is an office of much consequence, and a high degree of trust, and such a one as upon which depends the whole good of the garrison; wherein a litle negligence may doe much mischeife. He supplies the place of the eye in the naturall bodie, which if it be asleepe when it should wake, the neglect may prove pernicious, and irrecoverable. It is therfore well provided in the way of discipline, that the punishment of such offenders should be severe, sometimes no lesse than death; because the lives of so many doe de­pend upon it. And truly a discreet man may think himselfe rather honoured then burthened in this office, and should need no spurre to quicken him to the discharge [Page 90] of it. Nature it selfe instructs everie man so farre in the concernments of it, that he undergoes it for the most part, with much cheerfullnesse, and much fidelitie: for he knowes, that if he doe not take his turne to wake whilst others sleepe, he must not sleepe whilst others wake; if he be not willing to looke out for other mens safetie, why should other men looke out for his? God hath in wisedom provided, that all men should need these offices, to make them the more willing to undergoe them. When, or from whence, or by what meanes the enemie will attempt us, we cannot tell: perhaps by day, perhaps by night, perhaps from such a quarter where we do least suspect him; perhaps in troops, or with united strengths, perhaps alone upon particular designe: a carefull watch to discover all, makes men to feare no­thing. The danger is to be surpriz'd, to be found unprovided, and taken in disor­der, and unreadinesse; thereupon followes confusion, and where that leades, de­struction for the most part followes after. To be forewarn'd of approaching dangers is the life of safetie: if I miscarrie be­cause [Page 91] the watchman warns me not, the sin is his; if after he hath warn'd me, the sinne is mine: in this case my blood falls upon mine own head, in that on his. Which since it holds for an undoubted truth, as well in spirituall, as in temporall dangers, in how sad a condition must the most of us needs thinke our selves to be, who have so often turn'd a deafe eare unto the spirituall charmer, and being warn'd of those dangerous enemies that lie in wayte for our soules, and of their frequent at­tempts to doe us mischeife, yet sleepe in securitie, and will not be drawen off from our sensuall, and worldly pleasures, and delights to save our poore soules from ut­ter perishing? But what shall we say? the glory of the whole worke must be al­mightie God's: he must give the Seer, the spirituall watchman grace for to dis­charge his dutie, and give us warning: and he must give us grace to take that warning, when it is given us. Let us there­fore make it our daily request to God, that they may never be wanting unto us, nor we wanting to our selves, they that are entrusted with that office in discover­ing, [Page 92] nor we in avoyding those dangers, which may bring certaine ruine and de­struction, either to soule, or body.

THE Guards are to se­cond the Centries upon all occasions, either by their united strength, if there be occasion for them to interpose, or by a more strict examination of any person, that is transmitted to them as suspected. They are kept night, and day, and releived, as the Centries, by turnes; He that hath the charge of the Guard in the night time, is to walke the round at times: and to see that the Guard tend in their places with their armes in readinesse, and the Centrie be not out of his station, nor found sleep­ing. How brittle a point is man's safetie? and upon how many tickle points it hangs? One neglect is enough to ruine us, many cares scarce enough to save us: [Page 93] in a minute comes a mischeife without cure, and robbes us of the fruit of that vigilance, and circumspection, that had been kept erect for many monthes toge­ther. The life of man were hardly worth the anxieties, and cares that goe to the keeping of it: and many men would give the world cause to beleive they thinke so, but that their honor lies at stake with it, and with that their conscience, more pre­tious to them by much oddes then life can be. To be conscious of the least degree of neglect, whereby all these may be ship­wrackt together must needs trouble a good man, and you shall not find him liable to that accusation. When his own safety, and other mens, his reputation, and loyaltie, and Religion are all bound in one bundle, and all lie at one stake, he will not loose that game by oversight, but play it with all the heede, and skill he hath. An errour in the first concoction (say the Naturalists) is not easilie correct­ed afterwards: and any error that is not afterwards corrected, had neede to be avoided with all the care, and circum­spection that is possible: and such are [Page 94] the errors of warre more often then of a­ny other businesse: seldome that a man hath oportunity to commit a second over­sight, because he finds the first pernicious: and upon all services of warre so much depends, that a man can hardly account any of them sleight or triviall. This we now treate of, hath beene alwaies recko­ned amongst the weightiest, and doth exact that a diligence and care be used in it suiteable to the concernment. In such cares, and watches we spinne out our short lives, and can scarce promise our selves any certaintie of recompence, hardly so much as of acceptation, more then the conscience of the dutie done. That motive, if we propound it to our selves, will never faile us, others may. Resolve therefore upon that, and thou shalt need no other spurre to goodnesse.

DUring a Seige, to Sallie out some­times, either to annoy the ene­mie, upon an advantage espied of their securitie and remissenesse: or to bring in provisions to releive the Garrison, is a service, as of much courage, and dan­ger, so of much benefit too; for if those Sallies prosper, the enemie is both weak­ned by the losse, and as much in his hopes by finding the Garrison able to hold up the contest, and to spinne out the time by the advantage of his new supplies. If there be nothing else, even time it selfe will weary out the assaylant, whose de­signe when it goes not forwards, goes backwards, and comes to nothing, if he can doe nothing. The defendants taske is but to keepe his owne; the assaylant loses if he doe not gaine; he loses time, and cost, and labour, and reputation, and remaines branded for that undertaking, wherein he did not rightly measure his [Page 96] owne strength. Every losse that he re­ceives, though it be never so little, and every supply that the beseiged gets, though it be never so small, is a steppe backwards in his journey. In the meane time, the heart, and courage that his par­tie looses, the other partie gaines, and are emboldned to stand out, and to en­dure by the successe. Every attempt that they succeed in, they take both for an omen, and a pledge to them of a good con­clusion, and (according to the common fashion of the world) from a litle pro­mise themselves much. The two sides be­ing like two buckets in a well; for just as the one sinkes the other rises; or the two scales in a ballance, of which one is pro­portionably the heavier, by how much the other is the lighter. In such attempts, it most concernes them that will sally forth, to be suddaine, and resolv'd; and if they find they cannot carry the designe, then to retreat in time, and in good order: for he that comes off without losse, hath gain'd enough for once, but to let the e­nemie see he feares not to assayle him. The second adventure may be more prospe­rous, [Page 97] and the frequencie of attempting, begets a confidence in the souldier almost habituall, and at length brings successe beyond expectation. Yet no action, wherein prudence had more need to be call'd to counsaile, and deepe circum­spection us'd to make good the retreat at least: which shall hardly be effected. if they engage either too soone, or too farre; too soone, without advantage, and too farre, without moderation. They are two maine points of wisdome to know both the just nick of time when to goe on, and likewise when he hath gone farre e­nough▪ Many a man hath marr'd all by not knowing when all was well. and by over­doeing, hath undone himselfe. What could not be done at the first sallie, may be done at a second, or at a third; nor should he that leads the partie consider how much he doth at once, but how well. He shall breake the enemie at times, as surely, and more safely; and it is folly to catch at that harvest, which he may reape by leisure. Patiently to a waite the ripening of our hopes, is the great rule of humane undertakings: and he that so conquers [Page 98] the enemie hath a double honor of it. be­cause he hath first conquer'd himselfe, and made his desires stoope unto his reason, and his affections to his judgment. Better to goe out, and doe nothing of conse­quence ten times, then to miscarrie once. Yet if discretion steere the course, and the cause be just, God usually gives the blessing, and a man may with reason hope both to doe good service in a sallie, and to come off unhurt.

WHAT Weapons soever may be of use to keep off the assay­lant, either at distance, or in his nearer approaches, are carefully provided, layd all in readinesse, and with all diligence used upon occasion. For all actions, all instruments are not fit; to know their severall uses, and to [Page 99] be expert, and readie in them is a souldi­ers office. Judgement advantageth in this kind, as much as strength, or valour, and he is but ill provided that fights without it. But judgment is not perfected in these things without experience. The face of things in action alters on a suddaine, and requires suddain changes both of mens purposes, and of their endeavours. A ma­riner must know how to shift his sailes with the winde, and a souldier his armes with the occasion. It is impossible that any man should foresee the various accidents of service, or give such perfect rules as shall not neede to be alter'd. Much must of necessitie be permitted to the discreti­on of them that are engaged, of which they cannot make a judgment, but by time, and place, and the full view of circum­stances as they rise. Yet the maine part of action must be reserved to the Cōmander in cheife as his prerogative, upon which the common souldier must looke as upon a thing sacred, and divine, not to be pro­phan'd by his rash attempt, or indiscreet intrusion. If that gappe should be open'd the whole discipline of warre were lost; [Page 100] and obedience would be thrust out by presumption, with the indeleble shame, and losse, both of him that so weakly would let goe his hold, and of them that did usurpe it. It is but in pietie, and infe­riour things, that common men are left to their own choice and guidance; great ones they are not made to manage. Yea even in these lesser things it is best when they act by command, and have time to expect the word that should be their di­rection. But necessitie doth not alwayes allow it, and the heat of action hath so much of tumult and disorder in it (sim­ply inevitable) that the souldier is not oblig'd to awaite particular instructions in every point, but left to make the best of the present service, as discretion shall direct him. How busie is this game of warre, and how full of hazard! The hand never empty, nor idle, out imploying sometimes one kinde of weapon, some­times another; nor the head vacant nei­ther, but busie to consider, and to deter­mine what the hand should doe; the minde in the meane time perplexed with the ingratefull vicissitudes of cares, and [Page 101] hopes, and feares, and joyes, and sor­rowes; and the whole body exposed to so many dangers, as were enough to ap­pale a man if he had leisure to consider them. All these things well weigh'd, who can blame him that doth wish his warfare were accomplished, and that he might put off this earthly tabernacle, and change for that condition, in which the bodie shall sleepe unmolested in the dust, and the soule dwell in everlasting rest? That we may safely wish, though we must waite with patience untill the appointed time of our change come▪ which by what meanes soever God shall please to bring upon us, we are great strangers to the miseries of humane life, if we be not contented, nay willing to embrace it.

IT is to be presum'd that in such exigencies men will make use not only of such instruments as art hath invented and made proper for the time, but of what ever else reason may probably induce them to beleive, that it may advantage them, though but snatch't up of a suddaine, and not thought of, till by accident the eye meeting with it, upon the first sight, reason suggests the fitnesse of it for their purpose. And in these cases they likewise take in such helpes, and admit such assistance, as could not be use­full to them in bearing armes: for to cast stones, or powre downe from a higher place upon them that are beneath melted pitch, and lead, and scalding oyle, or the like, for such purposes I say women, and boyes are as fit as men, and should not be spar'd at such a time from any labour to [Page 103] which their strength can reach. For though it be a rule very necessarie by the Governor of a garrison to be observ'd, to keepe himselfe free from incombrances, and not clogge, or pester his garrison with women, and children, who in such a place doe (for the most part) but help to destroy provisions, and to spend the store, and to dishearten and discourage the souldier in the time of danger by their feares, and passions, which they are not able to master, or overcome; yet it can­not be avoyded but they must be allowed for necessarie uses, for suttlers, for laun­dresses, to tend the sick, and the like. These also in the pinch of service should be forced to put to their helping hands, and undergoe any imployment to which their strength and capacitie can reach. No helpe that may be usefull, can be unaccept­able to a discreete man, nor is it dispa­ragement to take in such coadjutours. Per­haps that sex would assist, if they could, in greater services, let them not be reject­ed in what they can. It is a good correct­tive to mans pride (into which he falls too often, and too easilie) that he is many [Page 104] times necessitated to admit such helps, as of women, and children, which other­wise perhaps he would despise. But God would have us taught by severall waies; how litle we can doe of our selves though we boast much, and how often we are brought into those streights, that we are constrain'd to aske their assistance whom we are most apt to scorne, and owe a great part of our safetie and deliverance to those meanes, which we would least have chosen. But a pious, and a prudent man laies it down for his rule, let safety be the end, and let what will be the meanes: let successe crowne the action, and he will never blush to be interrogated who were the instruments. It is God's mercy to me that he sends me any help in my di­stresse: it becomes me not to dispute it with him, why it was no better. It were a strange kind of petulancie in a patient dangerously sick, if he would take no physick▪ or admit no cure but what him­selfe might choose; and would rather cast away his owne life, then not please his fancie. By weake and contemptible meanes very great things have many [Page 105] times been brought to passe, and it is a high point of wisdome to neglect, or to despise nothing, especially where reason tells us it may be of importance to help out at a dead lift. Lord we acknowledge with thankfull, and with humble hearts, that all help is from thee: Let us not want it when we are distressed, nor want judgement to discerne which way it may be most usefull, and then whether it come by one hand, or by many, by weake hands or by strong ones, we shall equally be con­tented, and ascribe thee the glory of our deliverance.

CASE-SHOT is the proportion of a dozen or twentie musket bullets (more or lesse) put into a tinne case covered at the top with a woodden stopple, and fastned with a slight wire unto the case, which being dis­charged out of a Canon disperses and scat­rers so, that it Commonly kills many at [Page 106] once, and endangers many more. It is therefore usually aim'd either at a body of the enemie coming on, so soone as they are within reach, or in a storme at those that climbe up the workes, to take many of them off together. Against this kind of shot that scatters so, there is the least de­fence, all parts of the bodie from head to foot being equally exposed to it: and if the markes-man be master of his art, he seldome failes to doe much mischeife: so much as makes it a sad spectacle to see, but much sadder to be endur'd. It is a pro­digie to think how little they regard it, or how vnpre pared they are commonly for death, which know it doth awaite them in so many kinds. If a man consider advi­sedly the customary manner of a souldi­ers life, how boldly he lets loose the raines to all licenciousnesse, how pro­phanely he spends his time, how his common talke is full of fearefull oathes, and imprecations, how his thoughts are wholly taken up either with vanitie, or sinne, and rarelie any thing of God, or goodnesse in them, how habituall drun­kennesse is with him, and how often he [Page 107] is surpris'd by death even in his brutish excesse, what outrages he commits, and what crueltie he exercises for a small ad­vantage, how utter a stranger he is to repentance, and how litle mindfull of the great accompt that he must make to God he cannot tell how soone, he would thinke such men had made a covenant with death and hell, that they dare doe such things. If a man died like a beast, and were sure that all his miserie should determine in the grave, yet one would thinke mortalitie it selfe were curb enough to restraine him from such madnesie. But having been instructed as a Christian how much more miserie attends them in another life whose actions are so disorder'd, it is almost past beleife, that men should be so stupid in the midst of danger, and so regardlesse of their change. Virtues are all of kinne, and neerly related to one another. True fortitude is not divided from temper­ance, nor temperance from prudence, nor prudence from justice; and he hath none of them in perfection, that hath not all of them in some reasonable measure. A man may see them all sometimes [Page 108] (though but rarelie) in a souldier in such an eniment degree, that they make him accomplisht in all points, and shine with such a lustre, that they bewitch men with the love of him in whom they are, and force a veneration. And that vene­ration is paid universally, not only to their persons whilst they live, but to their memorie likewise when they are dead: whereas the other (names of no price) live without love, and die without being desired; they are counted brutish both in life, and death, and fall, as they stood, without regard. When they have paid their due to nature, a ditch, or a pit, or the open feild in which they are left neg­lected, and forgetfullnesse with the liv­ing, are their hire; unlesse infamy revive their faults, not permitting them to sleep quiet in the dust. It is but an error to i­magine, that he must needes feare death that thinks of it often, or that the medi­tation of mortalitie (so often presented to the eye in time of warre) should blunt the edge of Valour. His discourse of rea­son is weake, and his spirit weaker, that cannot fortifie himselfe against it, especi­ally, [Page 109] if he have the great help of a well led life to build upon, and the conscience of his pious care to decline those vices, which make death terrible to a wicked man. He is most truly valiant, that best knowes why; and he most able to despise death, that hath given the strongest proofes he best knew how to live. Neither the thought of death before, nor the sense of death when it comes is able to daunt him, though the shape of it be never so hideous, nor the time never so suddaine. Lord give us thy grace so to live; and then come death when, or how it will, it can not be unwelcome.

IT is a great advantage for an enemy that comes to sit down before a Garrison, to finde the ground neare about it well woodded: for therby he may with [Page 110] more safetie view the place, entrench his men, raise his works, and play upon the besieged as under coverture, where the woods are his defence. It is therfore one of the first things that they doe, where they intend to make a Garrison, to cut downe all trees, and hedges, and lay all open and levell, that an enemie may not move any way undescryed, or attempt any thing undiscovered. From a Garri­son the fairer the prospect is, the better, not more for delight, then for use, nor for pleasure, then for conveniencie. If the enemie can act behinde a traverse, and keepe the beseiged ignorant where he is, or what he doth, he needs wish no more: for that will quickly sort unto his great advantage. Trees therefore planted neare the place, whether to defend it from the annoyance of sharpe, and peirceing windes, or to releive it by the coole shade, when the dog-starre beats upon it with excessive heate, or to have timber in a convenient neerenesse upon all occasions of repaire, must downe to the ground, and the thought of all lesser accommoda­tions must be speedily, and resolutely cast [Page 111] off, when they come to stand in compe­tition with our safetie. They are thoughts becoming women and not men, or effe­minate gallants, not souldiers, how things may be husbanded to best advantage, without wasting, or defaceing of a seat, which not without much time, and paines, and cost was brought to that perfection, by the continued care of the familie in many generations. Such speculations suite well with times of peace, but not of warre; and are commendable in him that hath the managing of a private fortune, not in him that hath the managing of publique trust, with which that private thrift is incon­sistent, It is one thing to defend it for his Prince, another to preserve it for the ow­ner; one thing when the proofe of his love, another, when of his loyaltie is concerned in it. I would willinglie de­stroy nothing that might be saved, e­specially which a commendable industrie, and discreet providence hath stor'd up for succession, and intended for a benefit to posteritie: but when they ly as rubbes in the way to concernments of a higher nature, I must cast them off with­out [Page 112] regard, whether they be my owne or other mens: nor may I in reason ex­pect, that other men should be in this case any more tender of mine, then I am of theirs, To wish it, were an error, either in me, or them, and to yeild it, were a greater. And I goe in the meane time upon a safe principle, whilst I do nothing unto them, which I would not be content should be done to me likewise in the same case.

WHEN A towne lies neere a Gar­rison, the houses thinne, and scattered, so that they cannot conveniently be enclosed within the works, or are not worth enclosing, and their neighbour hood may make them ad­vantageous to the enemie for annoying the garrison, it is usuall either to pull them down to the ground, or (if the enemies [Page 113] suddaine approach allow not time for it then) to fire them suddainly, and burne them down. In which case besides the detriment of the inhabitants who are sud­dainly turn'd out of house, and home, and forced with their whole families to seeke new habitations where they can get them, and by their hastie remove must needs suffer much losse in the things they have about them, besides the interest which perhaps they had in those tene­ments either by lease, or of inheritance; there is also a publique calamitie which doth attend it, and that is depopulation: a mischiefe of so much consequence in a Kingdome, that the wisdome of state hath enacted many lawes to prevent it, as that which if not well look't to, in time must needes bring desolation with it. All that can be said for it in this case is, that it is a lesser evill, that some few towns in this way should perish, then that the enemy should be suffered to overcome all, & bring an universall calamity upon the kingdom. When these sad effects of warre are inevitable, how much have they to an­swere before God, that have been the [Page 114] wicked authors, and beginners of such disasters? The guilt of all lies upon their accompts, when all the other partie doth in their owne just defense is enforced, and it lies not in their power to avoid it. The hurt they doe to the very enemy they doe unwillingly, and would not doe it, if they could excuse it: but with a farre greater reluctation in themselves they doe these kinde of hurts to all sorts of People, whom fortune hath rather cast into their way by mischance, then any personall action or desert, for which they should be afflicted. A generous minde in such exigences even then smarts when it hurts, and suffers with them, that suffer under him. Their losse is not without his greife, nor their affliction without his compassion. If he can finde a way to ease their burthen, he doth it chearefully; or if they can finde it for themselves, he easily assents unto it. Spare them he cannot though he would; outrage and oppresse them cruelly he will not, though he can. All they suffer he thinkes too much though it be ne're so litle: and so he carries himselfe in it, that he leaves them fully satisfied, how litle he would [Page 115] have wisht it, and that nothing but ne­cessitie could have enforced him to make it so much. In other things they find him a firme freind, and from thence beleive, that in this he was but an unwilling ene­mie. Such should be the carriage and temper of men whom the necessitie of their service puts upon these extremi­ties, which (though justifiable in them­selves) yet leave a bitter relish in them that feele the smart, and an odious re­membrance with them that have under­gone the losse (which perhaps they lodge, and watch their time to repay) if they be not sweetned a litle for the pati­ent, by the discreet managing of the Commander.

SOMETIMES it falls out so unluckily in a seige, that a Church, or chappell, neere neighbouring to the Garrison, can nei­ther be taken in within the works, nor left standing with any safetie, because it will command the Garrison by advantage of the situation, and is of it selfe (from the very nature of the fabricke) both a great defence to them that enter it, and easily made defensible, by them that will make no scruple to prophane it to such uses. In this case they hold it necessary to pull it downe to the ground: but whe­ther it be lawfull or no, may be disputed: and I should readily determine the nega­tive if the sparing of it by the one side, could save and secure it from being prophaned on the other. Of the two, better the religious use of it should cease, then it should be made an instrument of [Page 117] villanie, and left for their advantage, whose impious vndertakings in the fowlenesse of their cause, proclaimes them to all the world to be men that make no conscience. or scruple of any thing that may advance their ends. I cannot without horror name the offices to which such places haue oft times been imployed when they have come into their hands, nor in what case they have left them, when their turnes have been served. Not to speake of their impudence in that height of villanie, who glorie in defacing of those sacred places, and raceing the monuments of piety and devotion which our fore fathers left as proofes of their zeale, and arguments of their desire to dignifie God's outward worship. They that are not ashamed to have it known they doe this every where, where they come, it is not hard to guesse, how much further they can easily perswade themselves to goe, till they come to the most damnable height of prophanation that can be imagined. I should wish their villanie alwayes prevented, by some o­ther way then pulling downe Churches, [Page 118] if it were possible, yet by that way too, rather then not at all. To make the house of Prayer a denne of theeves, was very high: but to make it a denne of murther­ers, a cage of uncleane birds, a stye of swine, a customarie draught-house, and at last a slaughter-house, where they will make no scruple (having attain'd their ends) to sacrifice innocent blood upon that Altar, on which the blood of Christ hath been presented in the Sa­crament, and strewe that pavement with slaughter'd carkases and mangled limbes, which their feete should not touch with­out heed, nor their knees without feare and reverence, is that which all men are obliged to their power to forbid, and hinder, and in this case of further danger too, even by demolishing the place, if there be no other helpe. But to doe this hastily, and rashlie, with no other mo­tive then of providing for their owne safetie, which perhaps might have been done as well another way, if ma­ture advice had been taken in it, is an act so impious, as I hope every generous mind would tremble to be guiltie of. [Page 119] When it is concluded with advisement that it cannot be helped, it should not then be done without feare and trem­bling, without a particular addresse to God, not to impute to them the strict necessitie that doth enforce it, nor with­out a tacit vow, or promise plighted un­to him, (if ever he make them able) ei­ther in the same place againe, or else­where at least to doe some magnificent worke of pietie, which may adde as much to the visible dignitie, and honor of his service, as this tooke away: And in the meane time to provide strictlie, that though the place dedicated to so re­ligious a use be lost, yet that the religious duties of the place be not slackned, but kept up at the full height in some other place of the Garrison which may be most convenient, lest they seeme to have sought an occasion to cast God off. With these limitations a man may have peace within himselfe, which perhaps he shall want, if he build his action only upon consideration of his own safetie, and theirs that are about him; wherein selfe­love makes men apt to be both partiall, [Page 120] and precipitate. To conclude, better one Church pull'd downe, then they suffer'd to carrie all before them without stop, whose impietie we doe not know whe­ther it will not come unto that height, to pull all Churches downe; and we see they promise faire for it already.

WHEN musket, and can­non shot, granadoes, and fire-balls, and stones are plyed thick, so that com­mon places of shelter are debarr'd, there must be a provision for those that arr sick, or wounded, for those that after long, and tough labour must take their turne for rest, till they bee sufficiently re­fresht, and fitted for further service: and for such uses Cells, and Hutts under the workes are fittest, because safest. With­out these provisions to releive them, [Page 121] men would be discouraged, and would not venture themselves into that danger which the service doth require. And truly that Commander but ill deserves a mans service when he is well, that takes no thought what shall become of him when he is sick, or hurt. But to doe them right, no Garrison is without conveni­encie both of places, and persons for such occasions: they have their physitians, and chirurgions at hand, and such drugs and medicines in readinesse as they could finde opportunitie to provide: their fee they have from the Garrison, not from the Common souldier, whose cure it is but reason, that it should come as freely, as did his hurt, since his pay, or stipend (although he receive it punct­uallie, which all doe not) will scarce finde him food, and rayment. A man is not to be cast off like a beast so soone as he is thought uselesse: nay a good man will scarce cast off a beast of that fashion, that hath done him good service: I would some did not value their beasts above a man: but their disposition when it is known (as long it cannot be unknown) [Page 122] proves litle to their advantage. A wise man will be studious of their love, with­out whose assistance he can doe nothing, and will slip no opportunitie to give them assurance how much they are in his care. Upon tryall of it, those that have been brought downe even unto the jawes of death, after recoverie, are as willing to venture their lives for him the second time, as they were the first; and by their example others are also whetted on, to dare things beyond beleife. He never wants mens hands, that hath their hearts; and he shall never want their hearts, that declares himselfe tenderly affectionate to them, and carefull to provide for their securitie both in sicknesse and in health, both in action and after it. And truly the obligation is strong, then to take care for them most, when they have most neede, and are so farre spent either by intensive labour, or by their hurts, that they are not in case to take care for themselves. such offices have an ample reward, both from God himselfe, the great rewarder of all good actions, and from the con­science of the fact, and from the honor [Page 123] and esteeme of it with all good men, and from the acceptation of those that are concerned in it, and from their thankfull acknowledgment, and returne in after­services.

WHEN a Garrison is sur­rendered up unto the ene­mie, it alwayes under­stands it selfe of course, that the Garrison it selfe be left entire to all intents, and purposes, with all the armes, and ammunition, all the provisions and store: and this is the least. Surely to relinquish so much unto an enemie cannot but trouble him that hath any thing of a souldier in him and the motives had need be strong, and good, and the necessitie sharpe and pi­cant that enforce him to it. If his pro­visions be quite wasted, and consumed, and his men readie to faint, and dye after long hardnesse, and much enduring for [Page 124] want of foode; if his store of powder and shot be spent, and he have no meanes left him any longer to annoy the enemie, or keepe him off; if by search he discover any part of the Garrison to be indefensi­ble, whether by neglect of strengthening it from the begining, or by some action of the enemy during the siege, by which he findes the Garrison is not tenable, and is able to give satisfaction therein, if he be call'd to an accompt, in these cases the surrender is not to be accompted volunta­rie, but enforced; and such a one as hath more of infelicity in it, then of fault, and of misfortune, then of shame. Yet the con­siderations of the event make it a sad dis­aster: they are not many that shall come to know the truth of their condition, and with them that know it not, they shall suffer in point of reputation for the sur­render: they are not allwayes sure to finde equall hearing, or to be beleiv'd when they report the truth, neither from them that must be their Judges, nor from others that will be their censurers, who sometimes out of hatred, sometimes out of envie report things worse then they [Page 125] are. Surely the hazard of misconstru­ction in these things is unavoydible, and he shall very hardly save his fame in these things, that saves his conscience. Yet Garrisons have been held with spirit and resolution so long, till all the world hath been amply satisfied of the surrender, and willingly acknowledge as much done, and suffer'd for the holding of it, as hu­mane possibilitie could reach. Others a­gaine have surrender'd in such haste, that they can never wipe out of mens mindes the suspicion that is universally upon them, that feare, not neede made them give up so quicklie, and that they want­ed rather courage, then meanes, to have held out longer before they yeilded. The truth is a surrender is a nice point, and the greatnesse of the losse filling mens mindes with indignation, makes it more lyable to suspicion, and however men may flatter themselves, they will finde it no easie matter to give satisfaction in it. Men are not apt to favour one another in their censures, especially where they can finde any colour to traduce, and that they never faile of in this case. He knowes [Page 126] very litle of the world that is not warn'd, not to venture his honor upon so nice a point, if there be any possibilitie to avoide it. There is litle difference to the world betwixt having deserv'd to be ill spoken of, and being thought to have so: for though his heart tell him he is blamelesse, yet he fares as if he were not. It is I con­fesse a most uncharitable fault, to be over­forward in suspicion, or rash in censure, or prejudicate in a cause, or hard to admit purgations, or willing to foment jealou­sies, or to depresse any mans fame out of an envie towards him: but it is an Epi­demicall disease, and such a one as will never be cured. It is wisdome therefore for a man not to cast himselfe upon these hazards, wherin to miscarrie is very common, to escape very rare: and he must accompt it the last, and worst of refuges, to redeeme his danger, by the surrender of the place.

THE Nice point of honour is not thought of by many, is understood by few, and those that understand it rightly, are yet so prepedited, and blinded by pas­sion and selfe interest, that they seldome determine of it according to the dictates of reason, or the rules of a sound & cleare judgement. This one rule is generally held and observ'd by all men in case of a sur­render, to make the conditions for them­selves as favourable, and advantageous as they may: yet many times it falls out that when they have provided very well for their safetie, they have provided but meanely for their fame; and when they are free from their enemies, they fall into the ill opinion of their freinds, who judge impartially of the carriage of the businesse, and give a sentence of it (upon the full view of circumstances) farre [Page 128] different from theirs, that were concer­ned in it. It is not the departing with colours flying, or with part of their armes, with their numbers full, or any of those visible ensignes of bravery that catch the sence, and winne their applause that looke no further then to the super­ficies of things, that can acquit men in this case. He that goes much lesse, oft times carries away more honour, which is rooted in the bravery of the mindes, and the materiall parts of action, where­in whosoever hath been defective, must never hope to cure his blasted fame by these sleight fomentations. To doe much and to suffer much, much more then most would, much more then in reason could have been expected, much more then en­vie can blast, or malice ecclipse, or time obliterate, this is the ayme and resolution of an heroick minde, which is insepara­bly attended by never dying honour. The other things before named helpe but to make up the pompe and ceremonie of it, th [...]se have the substance: and without these, the other are but painted gew­gawes, to catch Fooles and children with. [Page 129] Upon the point, honour is eyther sped or lost before it comes to the making of con­ditions, though even in that too, a noble mind can never stoope to basenesse, or admit any termes unworthie, nor can the judgment be befooled; for to the very last all things are so carried, that e­very eye may discerne, they come off with bravery, and with discretion too. The esteeme men winne in these things is so much, that they are gainers in their greatest losses, and whilst they loose one hould, they winne many hearts: where­as on the contrarie, they that have done litle, and suffer'd lesse, can never make such a capitulation, as shall not redound to their eternall shame. Conscience is therefore the best conservation of honor, and every man the most competent judge of his own carriage: if his owne heart testifie unto him, that he hath faithfully done all things that could be expected at his hands in discharge of the trust to him conmitted, his honor is unblemish­ed: if he have halted, or faultered in the least degree for any sinister respect, he must first condemn himselfe, and then [Page 130] he cannot wonder (notwithstanding all his diligence to skinne it over) though other men condemne him too. Only it may, I thinke, be taken for granted, that he which presently yeilds up a Garrison upon summons, without striking a stroke, or making any resistance, can make no conditions that shall be honorable for him.

WHEN A fort or Garrison can­not be gotten neither by treatie, nor by streightning, the last at­tempt is commonly by storming. And trulie reason saies, that it should be the last, both in respect of the assaylant, and of the defendant: if the assaylant can carrie it any other way he hath it cheap­er: if the defendant be resolved to make opposition to the last, he sells it dearer. The dearer it costs the assaylant, the more he is enraged; and the more he is enra­ged, the more mischeife he doth after he [Page 131] enters; and it is more pardonable the mischeife that he doth in the height of rage, and in the heate of blood, to which he should not be drawne if it may be a­voided: and whether it may be avoided or not he cannot tell, untill he have first tried all other meanes, when he hath tried them, and found them unsuccesse­full, 'tis a faire way of open hostilitie to goe on to storming, though he foresee clearely that many brave men must fall in it on either side. Great and good things are purchased many times at so deare a rate that they undoe the buyer; yet when they be in the way to greater, and that these without them cannot be obtained, a man must be content to buy them as they may be had. Yet these kinde of purchases are commonly the unluckiest, where both the buyer and the seller repent the bargaine, and both go off loosers at the parting. It may well be call'd a storme wherein so many men are so wretchedly cast away, and (like earthen vessells dasht against one another) are broken all to peeces. This is the bloudie scene in which horror rides in triumph, [Page 132] and crueltie is made drunke with blood, and slaughter glutted with excesse. To depaint such actions (if a man could, un­to the life, were to afflict the reader. When quarter is not expected, or will not be given, what remaines but for one part to be even quite extinguished? Here men take their turnes in miserie: in the assault he that comes on hath the worst, & loses extreamly much by disadvantage: but when the place is enter'd, the scale turnes totherway, and the beseiged are then so overmaster'd by fresh and con­tinued assaylants that breake in upon them on every side, like an overflowing streame, that they fall like sheepe unto the slaughter, and pay the heavie price of all the dammage that they did before. This is the sadde minute in which exe­cution plies her taske, and death hastens to dispatch away all that she meetes, so that often times a few minutes sees a whole Garrison alive, and dead. It is a Commanders part to tempet, and miti­gate that rage in the common souldier, and when he findes that he hath fully master'd the place, to spare as many lives, [Page 133] as the consideration of his owne safetie will give him leave. And however it may goe in a small, yet in a great Garrison, if this should not be done, whole townes, and cities should be turned into feilds of blood, and the infamie of it be a perpe­tuall brand, both to the actors them­selves, and to them that suffered it as carelesse spectatours when they might have forbidden it. And it is not a simple guilt in them of not hindering evill, but a guilt that receives aggravation, from the tye of dutie which lyes upon them, to moderate the outrage of the souldier in such occasions. And it is a dutie which a man may have both comfort and ho­nor too in the discharge of it: it being the noblest part of enmitie to spare the vanquished; and to give life (if it may be without danger) where it was neither deserved, nor expected. This mercy they that will not shew, let them never looke to finde mercy in the time of need, either at the hands of men, or of their maker.

THE Garrison once mastered, the first thing the souldiers set themselves to, is to robbe and spoyle those that were in it, of all they had worth the taking. What they had beene a long time in gathering, with much paines, and perhaps no little danger, they see taken away from them, and can make no resistance, nay they durst make none if they could, nay they dare not so much as murmure, or repine, scarce so much as bemoane themselves, or their hard for­tune, nor give by their lookes or beha­viour any occasion of distast to the in­sulting foe. Thus a man that hath been a long time a weaving himselfe a fortune, is cast back againe in an instant to his first povertie, and utterly ruined in his estate without remedie, and without re­dresse. A sufficient warning to us, not to set our hearts, and our affections upon the things of this world, whose purchase [Page 135] is so troublesome, and so dangerous, and whose tenure so uncertaine. Shall I ven­ture my soule to get that by unlawfull meanes, or venture my life to get that by infinite hazards, which I cannot keepe when I have it? shall I fixe my joy and contentment upon a transitorie toy, which every minute may be taken from me? shall I court that with a fond affection, which both with levitie, and scorn takes winges and flies away? If use did not give wealth an esteeme, what a trifle were it? or who would regard it? yet they that love it most, use it least, and instead of serving themselves with it, become servants nay slaves unto it. The best servant in the world, were so much lesse to be esteemed, if he had a light and fickle humor to change his masters▪ and wealth doth so, nor is there any way to helpe it; either it serves us upon that con­dition, or not at all; many masters it hath had, and many more it will; and though it abide with some men longer then with others, yet no man ever did, nor no man ever shall, or can know, how long it will tarrie with him: we are all apt to be­leive, [Page 136] till death, nay even after death, with our posterity; but most men find them­selves deceived in that reckoning, and too late learne to repent the vaine trust which they reposed in that wealth, which is not permanent. Lord enable me there to settle my he art and my affections where true riches are, even with thee in heaven! and for these transitory things below (which are mine to day, and to morrow another mans) let me never straine my conscience to get them, let me not doate on them while I have them, let me not be much dejected for them if I loose them! but let me comfort my selfe in this, that the way to heaven is as sure by povertie, as by prosperitie, and that thou my God doest not regard what I have, but what I am: if rich in grace, and goodnesse it is enough; for that will leade me to another kinde of riches, the riches of thy glory, and the riches of thy mercie, which shall never fade away, but be powred out upon us for ever in thy heaven lie Kingdome.

SOMETIMES the cove­tousnesse, & crueltie of the e­nemie is such, that where he suspects treasure is hidden, he will torture, and torment any bodie that he thinkes can discover it, untill he finde it. Which mercilesse resolution when he hath once put on, the reverence of old age doth not stoppe him, the esteeme of the weaker sexe doth not move him, the ten­dernesse of sweet children doth not af­fect him: nay he studies to make af­fliction heavier by circumstance, tor­menting the husband in the presence of the wife, and the children in the sight of the parents, conceiving that there can be no treasure so deare unto them, which they would not part with, to redeeme them from torment, whom they so ten­derly affect. The height of this miserie is, that it is all one to the enemie, whether a [Page 138] a man have hidden treasure, or whether he doe but suspect him to have it; whether he discover all, or whether he doe but dis­cover part. For if he thinke a man hath treasure hidden (though he have none) he shall be tormented as much, nay per­haps more then if he had, and all his oaths and protestations to cleare himselfe, shall not satisfie. If he discover all, yet he shall be suspected to keepe back part, and to make him discover more, he shall be as much tormented, as if he had dis­covered nothing. Miserable condition, that when a man really hath nothing, or when he hath discovered all he hath without dissimulation, that this should not save him; when there is no man in the world so devilishlie cruell, that would not spare a man if he did beleive, either that he had nothing, or that he had dis­covered all (for to think that any man doth delight in unprofitable and fruit­lesse crueltie, is an extreame uncharita­ble opinion, and without any ground.) The infelicitie is in this, that we cannot credit one another. Men are so apt to ly, and to forsweare themselves where [Page 139] it makes for their profit, nay some are so besotted with the love of their wealth that they will rather endure any torment then part with it, or discover it (I name that latter as the greater tryall, though that former be the greater sinne, for men are generally more indulgent to the sense then carefull of the soule, and will rather forsweare themselves often, then be tor­mented once▪) so that it is no wonder if they finde no faith: besides that, the greedinesse of mans covetous nature make him hard to receive satisfaction, or to beleive, that he is dealt clearly with, where it is his advantage, that is questioned, to dissemble. How many cases happen in the course of a mans life which make him think it a happinesse to be reputed poore, or knowne to have nothing! He that is lam'd and crippled by being thus tormented, how much more wretched is he, then he that had nothing? for he hath the use of his limbes to releive his povertie; the other hath lost all he had, and perhaps the totall use of his limbes too wherewith he should get more. We leave him to those spiri­tuall [Page 140] comforts that he must hope for from above in such extremities, and turne our discourse a little to the tormentor; whom we must admonish (whether he will heede it, or not) that the very act of tak­ing what he findes ready, though from an enemie, will hardly be proved lawfull (un­lesse you take the lawes of warre and armes to helpe it out) save where the just part of the quarrell makes it so to one partie; we must instruct him further, that extreamities in such cases are not to be used, nor all lawfull for a man, that is within his power; where thou thinkest thou mayest take, do it with pitty, and compassion, and leave him whom thou doest pillage somewhat, that he may blesse thee when thou art gone, and say, sure it was God sent thee to him, and he had not found so much mercie with another man: we must also tell him clearly, that to torment men, and force them by extremitie of paine to confesse what they have hidde, is utterly unlawfull; alas they have gone too farre alreadie, that have lyed, or forsworne themselves to conceale that litle which [Page 141] is left; wilt thou may me their bodyes that have maym'd their soules? it is just with God, that they should suffer this, but not just with thee to doe it: lastly we must let him know, that to torment men for more, when they have confest all alreadie, to torment them long who give all the sacred pledges of Christia­nitie that they have nothing to discover, is a crueltie so horrid as hath no presi­dent in hell, because under it men suffer meerly innocent, and are press't by tor­ment unto that, which to them is simply impossible: cursed be their avarice, for it is fierce, and their action for it is cruell! and let every noble minde say with Jacob, Into their secrets let not my soule come, nor unto their assemblies let not mine honour be united.

AMONGST other harsh u­sages of the souldier after the taking of a garrison, that com­monly is one, to take away from the vanquished the very apparell from their backs, and sometimes so farre to proceed therein as to stripp them starke naked, and scarce give them their owne lowsie, and ragged apparell in exchange, to hide their nakednesse. To those that have been well-bred, and are utterly unacquainted before with such usage, it must needs come very unwelcome. Yet in this, more then in any other part of his harshnesse; the common souldier is to be excused, whose wants doe generally enforce it. For the cloathing of the souldier though it be of much and deepe concernment to keepe him in health, and heart, yet is not for the most part so much regarded by the Generall, as it should: and the soul­dier seldome takes any care to cloath [Page 143] himselfe; nor indeed can he well, out of his pay if he did punctually receive it (but that is likewise many times in long ar­reares:) the wonder therefore is the lesse, and the pardon should be the easier, if he forget civilitie, where he findes an op­portunity to supply his wants. Who would not rather that another man should want clothes, then himselfe? or can frame his minde to let his enemie enjoy what himselfe hath not, nor cannot well be without? Besides that if one souldier out of civilitie, or respect would spare that which were necessarie, another would take that which were superfluous, and his pittie would turne nothing to the advantage of the vanquished. Yet all this, though it be reason, makes not the affliction ever a whit the easier to him that suffers it. To goe bare-foot, and litle lesse then naked, is a hard lesson to them that never practised it. When such a crosse doth happen, it should reduce to our remembrance our former vanities, the follies of our youths, and the ill-fruits of peace, and long prosperity, when forget­ing in apparell the safe rules, of what was [Page 144] necessary, or what was convenient in the ranke wherein God had placed us, we made our habits the ensignes of our pride, and gloried to out-vie others (though never so expensive) in costly braverie; when invention was almost at a stand, and that which was rich and costly did not please, unlesse it were new too, and unusuall; when our attire was a great part of our studie, and to come forth bright, and glorious as the sunne, our cheifest ayme. If such follies should not have a check, and such pride should not meete a fall, many a one would perish, whom affliction now brings home unto repentance. Lord, thou knowest that we have all enough to answere (even those that have least) for the errors of our youth, sinnes that plentie and aboundance did occasion in us, bring us home, we be­seech thee, to repentance, whether with, or against our wills, and then by whatsoe­ver meanes it is, and how harsh soever or unpleasant to the sense, it is no matter: it is an easie purchase, by a litle corporall affliction, to againe our peace with thee.

IN the time of warre, one kinde of crosse or affliction seldome goes alone, nay sometimes ma­ny come hudling together, one in the neck of another, like the waves of the sea driven by a mightie winde. It is some advantage toward the bearing of them, that some of them are to be expected from the enemie of course, and though they come unwelcome, they come not unlookt for. Such a one is this that we are now to speake of, of the disaccom­modation in diet, and lodging. Where there are many to be provided for, it cannot easily be avoided, although the conqueror were willing to doe rea­son; it sitts most heavie, where it may be helpt, and is not, either through the neglect, and barbarous incivilitie of those to whom the care of it belongs; or (which is worse) out of spight, and malice, [Page 146] and an ignoble, and base delight to tri­umph over men, and insult upon them in their affliction. A wicked and hellish disposition, and becoming neither Chri­stians, nor men. It were lesse crueltie to put the vanquished to the sword, and so put a period both to their sufferings and their lives at once, then to wire▪draw their torments, and spinne out their miserie by long continuance, when perhaps their death by those meanes is both desired, and intended. It goes high when a man shall scarce find those conveniences amongst them, that they would afford a dogge; and his dyet and lodging are purposely so order'd, as not only shall not stand with conveniencie, but not with health nei­ther, no nor so much as with life, if they hold on the resolution any time to use them so despightfullie. It is a mightie de­gree of patience, w^ch must enable a man to beare such a crosse, and to which que­stionlesse humane frayletie cannot reach without divine support. To God only in such extremities men must have re­course, who can either mollifie the cru­ell, and hard hearts of those that so op­presse [Page 147] them; or stir up others to give them secret rereleife & ease under-hand without their privitie, or send deliverance (if he please) by some such way, as they could not have hoped for: if none of these, then he can enable them to beare, beyond any thing that they could have beleived of their owne strenght; and will at last re­compence their sorrowes, and afflictions (which they undergoe in a good cause, and with a good conscience) with such a weight of glory, to which they could not thinke their tryalls worthy to be compared.

IMPRISONMENT though a common consequent of being overcome, admits a great deale of difference, and is sometimes more easie, sometimes more rigid, and severe. Then it is deem'd most harsh, when the prisoner is loaden [Page 148] with irons, or kept close, like some noto­rious malefactor; or when his exchange is either utterly denyed him, or set at such rates, as seeme to necessitate a perpetuity of his endurance. These things (I con­fesse) do seldom happen to any man, that hath not given high occasion of offence by revolt, or treachery where he had been entrusted, unlesse there happen to be somewhat of a private spleene, or a parti­cular grudge. If a man have justly drawne such harshnesse upon himselfe, he must not wonder to finde from an enemie such usage as he hath deserved, when a freind would hardly put it up, to finde himselfe so abused: And it is not easie to finde what to plead for him that hath deceiv'd a trust, and been false to them from whom he hath receiv'd pay. If he will say their cause was naught, he should have lookt to that before he was engaged: for though he did well in quitting that side, where he thought he could not serve with a safe conscience (if that were really his motive) yet he suffers justly now for the assistanee that he gave them then, and it is just with God, to let him fall [Page 149] into this affliction, that was once per­haps the author of as much affliction unto them, with whom afterwards (upon a rectified judgment) he thought fit to joyne: besides that he deserves to smart that would engage himselfe in a quarrell without mature deliberation, and not sa­tisfie his conscience, before he drew his sword; and he must not be his owne chooser when, or how he shall pay for such an oversight. If the cause were good, and he was false in it, he is clearly inex­cusable, and can have little comfort in his sufferings, though they be never so hea­vie, or long continued. But if all this befall him, by reason of some old grutch, or some new-taken displeasure, & spight or malice lay it on so heavie, whilst he is conscious to himselfe of nothing, why his case should be disstinguished from o­ther mens, he may beare up the better, as being secure that such usage in the end shall bring both glorie, and renown to him, and shame, and infamie to those, whose unworthynesse did prompt them to such hatefull crueltie. And truly to ride out such a storme, I should thinke [Page 150] it no very hard matter to a man of spirit, and resolution. Irons and close impri­sonment, and to want the hope of an ex­change, are a great affliction, yet such a one as is comportable. Many have en­dured them for many yeares together, and have found wayes to spend that time with comfort, and by little, and little, at last with some kind of contentment. And it is a great point of wisdome to fit the shoulder to the burden, and the neck. unto the yoake that we must neede beare. He is an ill proficient in the schoole of affliction, to whom it doth not grow familiar by tract of time, and whom dire necessitie doth not worke to some maste­rie of his fortune, and enable by degrees to triumph in his patience, to triumph over the spight and malice of all his e­nemies. If I should bate Christianitie, and yet exact this too, I should not be accompted a rigid Stoick in it. Morali­tie could goe thus farre; let us blush if we be Christians, and come short of it. Resolve therefore to endure without shrinking, as long as thy trouble shall endure; and the hope of end, and of re­lease [Page 151] take in, but as helps upon the by.

THE mutilation and maym­ing of the body, and the deforming of it by multiplied scarres, is reckoned one of the worst kinde of accidents in warre: and truly if it extend to the losse of those limbes, which in all humane and naturall actions are most necessarie, and by the losse wherof a man is disabled to the greatest, and most important offices of humane life (such as are the leggs, and armes, and eyes, and the like) the losse is unvaluable. Lesser hurts, which leave but scarrces behind them, and can be raised no higher then to be cal'd a blemish whether in the face it selfe, or in an o­ther part, received in a good cause, they are to be accompted badges of honor, and memorialls of that danger which men did cheerfully undergoe, in discharge of their duty to their God, and to their [Page 152] Prince. And however fancie may over­sway their opinions that want a solid judgment, yet reason tells us, that the most exact, and harmonious symetrie of an effeminate face, is not halfe so love­lie, as one markt with such scarres. For that fading beautie, which in the flower of youth is in the prime, and in a little time alters, and withers of it selfe, and by a fit of sicknesse, or a disease is so lost, that it never returnes againe, and which in men it is a vanitie at least, if not a sinne to be sollicitous, or studious to conserve, is here nobly exchanged, and devested with more honor then it could have been kept. He that perhaps before had more of the we aker, shall now have more of the wiser sex to be enamour'd of his mind, then they were with the linea­ments of the body: and there is lesse danger to have ten such lovers, then one of tother. But when a man happens to be so disabled▪ that he hath no hands to work, nor feete to walke, nor an eye to see, wherby he becomes in a high degree uselesse both to himselfe, and to his freinds, and runnes the hazard of wanting [Page 153] necessaries before he dies, because he can­not provide them for himselfe, such losses wound deepe: besides that the securing of life, and present cute of the part so affected, causes extreame torment, and askes much patience to be indured. To which it is a new accesse, and a great increase of miserie, when a man falls in­to the hands of a Chirurgion, that either wants skill to manage the cure, or ho­nestie to dispatch it, by which meanes the patient languishes in torment a great deale longer then he need, and perhaps is brought to a necessitie at last of have­ing that limbe cut off, that might have been saved. How high doth man value life, when he buyes it on such hard con­ditions! and yet he may not part with it any cheaper although he would, but is obliged in point of conscience to suffer all this, and more, to save life, if it may possibly be preserved. Let it teach me how much higher I should value my soule, and how much more I should be contented patiently to endure (if God call me to the tryall) rather then make shipwracke of a good conscience, or doe [Page 154] such things as I know must needes be extreamely offensive unto him.

DEATH we consider here under a double notion: as it referres to them that suffer it, and as it referres to them that inflict it. As it re­ferres to them that inflict it, we may im­pute it unto severall causes. Some­times hot blood occasions it, and long and violent resistance drawes it upon them that suffer it, sometimes it pro­ceeds from malice, and is inflicted in the way of revenge, either upon some old grudge, or some new provocation, some­times there is a petulsnt wantonnesse in execution, and the conqueror doth heedlessely destroy, where he might safe­ly spare. Sometimes there is an inhumane delight in cruelty, and a barbarous thirst of blood, even more then brutish. Some­times necessitie enforces that more be don in that kinde, then the conquerour would [Page 155] either desire, or permit, if he could ma­ster the place, and persons without that rigour. This last case onely is excusable, the rest are not: and here likewise the pretence is easily made when other and worse motives put men on to doe it: besides that even in this case too, all lies in the conquerors bosom, and he hath a huge latitude wherein to act, and may ei­ther take up sooner, or lash out farther, and yet keepe under covert of this ex­cuse. If this were a deliberate act, as it is alwayes a suddaine, it would aske a se­vere scrutinie, and the conscience could not easily be satisfied in this case, what bounds to set, or where to stoppe. As things are, I am confident, that in this case all men have need, and I should ad­vise that all men would begge of God, to overrule them by his providence in the time of action; that they may not be more cruell then the necessitie of their owne safetie doth enforce; and that he would not lay that blood unto their charge which in such occasions they have shed, when they might have spar'd it. As death in this case referres to them [Page 156] that suffer it, we consider it as the thing that of all others▪ they have most fear'd, and shunn'd; fear'd not simplie as it is death, nor as it is a violent death, nor as it is a suddain death, for against all these we presume them fortified that enter a warre, or list themselves for souldiers: but as it is a weakning of the cause, as it is a discouragement of the partie, as it is an occasion for the enemies of God to blaspheme. And out of all these respects to feare it, doth neither misbecome a good man, nor a souldier. Besides that the justnesse of that feare makes it dis­cretion in him, by all possible meanes to shunne, and to avoide it. Yet notwith­standing all the care to avoide it, God pleases to let that fall upon them, which they so much, and so justlie feared. How unsearchable are his judgments, and his pathes past finding out! My undestanding may be gravel'd in these accidents, his justice cannot be tainted: I may be to seeke in the cause why he suffers these thinges to come to passe, but I am sure his wisdome and his goodnesse orders, and disposes all things for the best. Whe­ther [Page 157] by life or by death, if I may glori­fie him I am happy: and the riches of his mercy is doubled on me, if when I have glorified him by my life, he please to have me glorifie him likewise by my death; if when my actions have been to his honor, my sufferings be so too; if when I have lived a Christian, I must afterwards dy a Martyr. I am sure that to such a life, & such a death there is a crowne reserved, which; if I have but patience and constan­cie to hold out unto the end, I shall not misse of.