No More Learning

_ How do you know that to be the Case?

_Po. _ It is plain, for he can't die otherwise, who has liv'd as he did.

_Br. _ You would say so, indeed, if you knew what I know.

_Po. _ What's that, I pray?

_Br. _ No, no, I must not tell you.

_Po. _ Why so?

_Br. _ Because he that entrusted me with the Secret, made me promise
Silence.

_Po. _ Do you entrust me with it upon the same Condition, and, upon my
honest Word, I'll keep Counsel.

_Br. _ That honest Word has often deceived me; but however, I'll venture;
especially, it being a Matter of that Kind, that it is fit all honest
Men should know it. There is at _Tubinge_, a certain _Franciscan_, a Man
accounted of singular Holiness in every Bodies Opinion but his own.

_Po. _ That you mention, is the greatest Argument in the World of true
Piety.

_Br. _ If I should tell you his Name, you'd say as much, for you know the
Man.

_Po. _ What if I shall guess at him?

_Br. _ Do, if you will.

_Po. _ Hold your Ear then.

_Br. _ What needs that, when here's no Body within Hearing?

_Po. _ But however, for Fashion Sake.

_Br. _ 'Tis the very same.

_Po. _ He is a Man of undoubted Credit. If he says a Thing, it is to me,
as true as the Gospel.

_Br. _ Mind me then, and I'll give you the naked Truth of the Story. My
Friend _Reuclin_ was sick, indeed very dangerously; but yet, there was
some Hopes of his Recovery; he was a Man worthy never to grow old, be
sick, or die. One Morning I went to visit my Franciscan, that he might
ease my Mind of my Trouble by his Discourse. For when my Friend was
sick, I was sick too, for I lov'd him as my own Father.

_Po. _ Phoo! There's no Body but lov'd him, except he were a very bad Man
indeed.

_Br. _ My Franciscan says to me, _Brassicanus_, leave off grieving, our
_Reuclin_ is well. What, said I, Is he well all on a sudden then? For
but two Days ago, the Doctors gave but little Hopes of him. Then, says
he, he is so well recover'd, that he will never be sick again. Don't
weep, says he, (for he saw the Tears standing in my Eyes) before you
have heard the Matter out. I have not indeed seen the Man this six Days,
but I pray for him constantly every Day that goes over my Head. This
Morning after Mattins, I laid myself upon my Couch, and fell into a
gentle pleasant Slumber.

_Po. _ My Mind presages some joyful Thing.

_Br. _ You have no bad Guess with you. Methought, says he, I was standing
by a little Bridge, that leads into a wonderful pleasant Meadow; the
emerald Verdure of the Grass and Leaves affording such a charming
Prospect; the infinite Beauty, and Variety of the Flowers, like little
Stars, were so delightful, and every Thing so fragrant, that all the
Fields on this Side the River, by which that blessed Field was divided
from the rest, seem'd neither to grow, nor to be green; but look'd dead,
blasted, and withered. And in the Interim, while I was wholly taken up
with the Prospect, _Reuclin_, as good Luck would have it, came by; and
as he past by, gave me his Blessing in _Hebrew_. He was gotten half Way
over the Bridge before I perceived him, and as I was about to run to
him, he look'd back, and bid me keep off. You must not come yet, says
he, but five Years hence, you shall follow me. In the mean Time, do you
stand by a Spectator, and a Witness of what is done. Here I put in a
Word, says I, was _Reuclin_ naked, or had he Cloaths on; was he alone,
or had he Company? He had, says he, but one Garment, and that was a very
white one; you would have said, it had been a Damask, of a wonderful
shining White, and a very pretty Boy with Wings followed him, which I
took to be his good Genius.

_Po. _ But had he no evil Genius with him?

_Br. _ Yes, the Franciscan told me he thought he had. For there followed
him a great Way off, some Birds, that were all over Black, except, that
when they spread their Wings, they seem'd to have Feathers, of a Mixture
of White and Carnation. He said, that by their Colour and Cry, one might
have taken them for Magpies, but that they were sixteen Times as big;
about the size of Vultures, having Combs upon their Heads, with crooked
Beaks and Gorbellies. If there had been but three of them, one would
have taken them for Harpyes.

_Po. _ And what did these Devils attempt to do?

_Br. _ They kept at a Distance, chattering and squalling at the Hero
_Reuclin_, and were ready to set upon him, if they durst.

_Po. _ What hindred them?

_Br. _ Turning upon them, and making the Sign of the Cross with his Hand
at them, he said, _Be gone, ye cursed Fiends to a Place that's fitter
for you. You have Work enough to do among Mortals, your Madness has no
Power over me, that am now lifted in the Roll of Immortality. _ The
Words were no sooner out of his Mouth, says the Franciscan, but these
filthy Birds took their Flight, but left such a Stink behind them, that
a House of Office would have seem'd Oyl of sweet Marjoram, or Ointment
of Spikenard to it. He swore, he had rather go to Hell, than snuff up
such a Perfume again.

_Po. _ A Curse upon these Pests.

_Br. _ But, hear what the Franciscan told me besides: While I was intent
upon these Things, says he, St. _Jerome_ was come close to the Bridge,
and saluted _Reuclin_ in these Words, _God save thee, my most holy
Companion, I am ordered to conduct thee to the Mansions of the blessed
Souls above, which the divine Bounty has appointed thee as a Reward for
thy most pious Labours. _ With that he took out a Garment, and put it
upon _Reuclin_. Then, said I, tell me in what Habit or Form St. _Jerome_
appear'd, was he so old as they paint him? Did he wear a Cowl or a Hat,
or the Garb of a Cardinal? Or had he a Lion by his Side? Nothing of all
these, said he; but his Person was comely, which made his Age appear
such as carried in it much Comeliness, but no Deformity. What Need had
he to have a Lion by his Side, as he is commonly painted? His Gown came
down to his Heels, as transparent as Crystal, and of the same Fashion of
that he gave to _Reuclin_. It was all over painted with Tongues of three
several Colours; some imitated Rubies, some Emeralds, and others
Sapphires; and beside the Clearness of it, the Order set it off very
much.

_Po. _ An Intimation, I suppose, of the three Tongues that he profess'd.

_Br. _ Without doubt: For he said, that upon the very Borders of the
Garments were the Characters of these three Languages inscrib'd in their
different Colours.

_Po. _ Had _Jerome_ no Company with him?

_Br. _ No Company, do you say? The whole Field swarm'd with Myriads of
Angels, that fill'd the Air as thick, as those little Corpuscles they
call Atoms, fly in the Sun Beams; pardon the Meanness of the Comparison.
If they had not been as transparent as Glass, there would have been no
Heaven nor Earth to have been seen.

_Po. _ O brave, I am glad with all my Heart, for _Reuclin_'s, Sake; but
what follow'd?

_Br. Jerome_, (says he) for Honour's Sake, giving _Reuclin_ the
Right-Hand, and embracing him, conducts him into the Meadow, and up a
Hill that was in the middle of it, where they kiss'd and embrac'd one
another again: In the mean Time, the Heavens open'd over their Heads to
a prodigious Wideness, and there appear'd a Glory so unutterable, as
made every Thing else, that pass'd for wonderful before, to look mean
and sordid.

_Po. _ Can't you give us some Representation of it?

Br. No, how should I, that did not see it? He who did see it, says, that
he was not able to express the very Dream of it. He said, he would die a
thousand Deaths to see it over again, if it were but for one Moment.

_Po. _ How then?

_Br. _ Out of this Overture of the Heavens, there was let down a great
Pillar of Fire that was transparent, and of a very pleasant Form: By
this the two holy Souls were carried into Heaven, in one anothers
Embraces; a Choir of Angels all the While accompanying them, with so
charming a Melody, that the Franciscan says, he is never able to think
of the Delight of it without weeping. And after this there follow'd a
wonderful fragrant Smell. When he waked out of his Dream, if you will
call it a Dream, he was just like a mad Man. He would not believe he was
in his Cell; he called for his Bridge and his Meadow; he could not speak
or think of any Thing else but them. The Seniors of the Convent, when
they found the Story to be no Fable, for it is certain that _Reuclin_
dy'd at the very Instant that the holy Man had this Vision, they
unanimously gave Thanks to God, that abundantly rewards good Men for
their good Deeds.

_Po. _ What have we to do, but to set down this holy Man's Name in the
Calendar of Saints?

_Br. _ I should have done that if the Franciscan had seen nothing at all
of this, and in Gold Letters too, I'll assure you, next to St. _Jerome_
himself.

_Po. _ And let me die if I don't put him down in my Book so too.

_Br. _ And besides that, I'll set him in Gold in my little Chapel, among
the choicest of my Saints.

_Po. _ And if I had a Fortune to my Mind, I'd have him in Diamonds.

_Br. _ He shall stand in my Library, the very next to St. _Jerome_.

_Po. _ And I'll have him in mine too.

_Br. _ If they were grateful, every one who loves Learning and Languages,
especially, the holy Tongues, would do so too.

_Po. _ Truly it is no more than he deserves. But han't you some Scruple
upon your Mind, in as much as he is not yet canoniz'd by the Authority
of the Bishop of _Rome_?

_Br. _ Why, pray, who canoniz'd (for that's the Word) St. _Jerome_? Who
canoniz'd St. _Paul_, or the Virgin _Mary_? Pray tell me whose Memory is
most sacred among all good Men? Those that by their eminent Piety, and
the Monuments of their Learning and good Life, have entitled themselves
to the Veneration of all Men; or _Catherine_ of _Sien_, that was sainted
by _Pius_ the Second, in favour of the Order and the City?

_Po. _ You say true: That's the right Worship, that by the Will of
Heaven, is paid to the Merits of the Dead, whose Benefits are always
sensibly felt.

_Br. _ And can you then deplore the Death of this Man? If long Life be a
Blessing, he enjoyed it. He has left behind him immortal Monuments of
his Vertue, and by his good Works, consecrated his Name to Immortality.
He is now in Heaven, out of the Reach of Misfortunes, conversing with
St. _Jerome_ himself.

_Po. _ But he suffer'd a great Deal tho' in his Life.

_Br. _ But yet St. _Jerome_ suffered more. It is a Blessing to be
persecuted by wicked Men for being good.

_Po. _ I confess so, and St. _Jerome_ suffer'd many unworthy Things from
the worst of Men, for the best of Deeds.

_Br. _ That which Satan did formerly by the Scribes and Pharisees against
the Lord Jesus, he continues still to do by Pharisaical Men, against
good Men, who have deserved well from the World by their Studies. He now
reaps the blessed Harvest of the Seed he has been sowing. In the mean
Time, it will be our Duty, to preserve his Memory sacred; to honour his
Name, and to address him often in some such Manner as follows. _O holy
Soul, be thou propitious to Languages, and to those that cultivate them:
Favour the holy Tongues, and destroy evil Tongues that are infected with
the Poison of Hell. _

_Po. _ I'll do't myself, and earnestly persuade all my Friends to do it.
I make no Question but there will be those that will desire to have some
little Form of Prayer, according to Custom, to celebrate the Memory of
this most holy Hero.

_Br. _ Do you mean that which they call a Collect?

_Po. _ Yes.

_Br. _ I have one ready, that I provided before his Death.

_Po. _ I pray let's hear it.

_Br. O God, that art the Lover of Mankind, that hast by thy chosen
Servant_ John Reuclin, _renew'd to Mankind the Gift of Tongues, by which
thy holy Spirit from above, did formerly furnish thy Apostles for their
Preaching the Gospel; grant that all thy People may every where, in all
Languages, preach the Glory of thy Son Jesus Christ, to the confounding
of the Tongues of false Apostles; who being in a Confederacy to uphold
the impious Tower of_ Babel, _endeavour to obscure thy Glory, and to
advance their own, when to thee alone, together with thy only Son Jesus
Christ our Lord, and the holy Spirit, is due all Glory to eternal Ages. _
Amen.

_Po. _ A most elegant and holy Prayer. As I live, it shall be mine daily.
And I account this a happy Opportunity, that has brought me to the
Knowledge of so joyful a Story.

_Br. _ Mayst thou long enjoy that Comfort, and so farewell.

_Po. _ Fare you well too.

_Br. _ I will fare well, but not be a Cook.




_A LOVER and MAIDEN. _


The ARGUMENT.
_This Colloquy presents you with a very chaste Wooing,
mingling many philosophical Notions with pleasant Jokes.
Of not being hasty in marrying; of chusing, not only for
the Sake of the outward Person, but the inward Endowments
of the Mind; of the Firmness of Wedlock; of not
contracting Matrimony without the Consent of Parents; of
living chastly in Matrimony; of bringing up Children
piously; that the Soul is not where it animates, but
where it loves. The Description of a deformed Man. That
Wedlock is to be preferr'd before a single Life, and is
not, as it is vulgarly called, a Halter. That we must not
consult our Affections so much as Reason. _


PAMPHILUS _and_ MARY.

_PA. _ Good Morrow, Madam, cruel, hard Heart, inflexible.

_Ma. _ Good Morrow to you too, Mr. _Pamphilus_, as often, and as much,
and by what Names you please: But you seem to have forgotten my Name,
'tis _Mary_.

_Pa. _ It should rather have been _Martia_.

_Ma. _ Why so, pray, what is _Mars_ to me?

_Pa. _ Because just as _Mars_ makes a Sport of killing Men, so do you;
saving that you do it the more cruelly of the two, because you kill one
that loves you.

_Ma. _ Say you so! pray where's the great Slaughter of Men that I have
made? Where's the Blood of the Slain?

_Pa. _ You may see one dead Corpse before your Face, if you look upon
me.

_Ma. _ What strange Story is this? Does a dead Man talk and walk? I wish
I may never meet with more frightful Ghosts than you are.

_Pa. _ Ay, indeed, you make a Jest of it; but for all that, you kill poor
me, and more cruelly too, than if you stuck a Dagger in my Breast. For
now I, poor Wretch as I am, die a lingering Death.

_Ma. _ Prithee tell me, how many Women with Child have miscarried at the
Sight of thee?

_Pa. _ My Paleness shews I have no more Blood in my Body than a Ghost.

_Ma. _ Indeed you are as pale as a Violet; You are as pale as a ripe
Cherry, or purple Grape.

_Pa. _ You coquet it with my Misery.

_Ma. _ If you can't believe me, look in the Glass.

_Pa. _ I would never desire a better Glass, nor do I believe there is a
better in the World than I am a looking in already.

_Ma. _ What Looking-Glass do you mean?

_Pa. _ Your Eyes.

_Ma. _ You Banterer! that's like you. But how do you prove yourself to be
dead? Do dead Folks eat?

_Pa. _ Yes, they do; but Things that have no Relish, as I do.

_Ma. _ What do they feed upon?

_Pa. _ Mallows, Leeks, and Lupines.

_Ma. _ But you feed upon Capons and Partridges.

_Pa. _ If I do, I relish them no more than Beets without Pepper or
Vinegar.

_Ma. _ Poor Creature! but yet you're in pretty good Case, for all that.
And do dead Folks talk too?

_Pa. _ Just as I do, with a weak Voice.

_Ma. _ But when I heard you rallying your Rival a little While ago, your
Voice was not very low then. But, prithee, do Ghosts walk, wear Cloaths,
and sleep?

_Pa. _ Yes, and enjoy one another too, after their Manner.

_Ma. _ Thou art a merry Fellow.

_Pa. _ But what will you say, if I prove it by undeniable Arguments, that
I am dead, and that you have kill'd me too.

_Ma. _ God forbid, _Pamphilus_; but let's hear your Arguments, however.

_Pa. _ In the first Place, I think you will grant me this, that Death is
only a Separation of Soul and Body.

_Ma. _ I grant it.

_Pa. _ But you must grant it so as not to eat your Words.

_Ma. _ No, I will not.

_Pa. _ You will not deny, I suppose, that the Person that takes away
another's Life, is a Murtherer.

_Ma. _ I grant that too.

_Pa. _ I suppose you will grant that which has been allow'd by the
greatest Men of many Ages, that the Soul of a Man is not really where it
animates, but where it loves.

_Ma. _ Make that a little plainer, I can't well understand it then.

_Pa. _ You might as well bid me make an Adamant sensible of it.

_Ma. _ I am a Maid, not a Stone.

_Pa. _ Tis true, but harder than an Adamant Stone.

_Ma. _ Go on with your Inferences.

_Pa. _ Those that are in a Trance, do neither hear, nor see, nor smell,
nor feel, if you kill them outright.

_Ma. _ Indeed I have heard so.

_Pa. _ What do you think is the Reason?

_Ma. _ Do you, Philosopher, tell that.

_Pa. _ Because their Mind is in Heaven, where it enjoys what it dearly
loves; and therefore is absent from the Body.

_Ma. _ Well, what then?

_Pa. _ What then, hard-hearted Creature? Then it follows, that I am dead,
and you have killed me.

_Ma. _ Where is your Soul then?

_Pa. _ Where it loves.

_Ma. _ Who took this Soul of yours away? What do you Sigh for? Tell me
freely: There's no Hurt in it.

_Pa. _ A cruel Maid, that I could not be angry with if she kill'd me
outright.

_Ma. _ You're very good-humour'd; but why don't you take her Soul from
her too, and pay her in her own Coin, according to the old Proverb.

_Pa. _ I should be the happiest Man in the World, if I could make that
Exchange, that her Heart would pass as wholly into my Breast, as mine
has into hers.

_Ma. _ But may I play the Sophister with you now?

_Pa. _ The Sophistress.

_Ma. _ Can one and the same Body be both alive and dead?

_Pa. _ Not at the same Time.

_Ma. _ Is the Body dead, when the Soul is out of it?

_Pa. _ Yes.

_Ma. _ Nor does it animate it, but when it is in it?

_Pa. _ No, it does not.

_Ma. _ How comes it to pass then, that when it is there where it loves,
it yet animates the Body it is gone out of? And if it animates when it
loves any where, how is that called a dead Body which it animates?

_Pa. _ Indeed, you argue very cunningly, but you shan't catch me there.
That Soul, which after some Sort governs the Body of the Lover, is but
improperly call'd a Soul, when it is but some small Remains of the Soul;
just as the Smell of a Rose remains in the Hand, when the Rose is gone.

_Ma. _ I see it is a hard Matter to catch a Fox in a Trap. But answer me
this Question, does not the Person that kills, act?

_Pa. _ Yes.

_Ma. _ And does not he suffer who is kill'd?

_Pa. _ Yes.

_Ma. _ And how comes it about then, that when he that loves, acts, and
she that is lov'd, suffers, she that is lov'd should be said to kill,
when he that loves, rather kills himself?

_Pa. _ Nay, on the Contrary, 'tis he that loves that suffers, and she is
lov'd, that acts.

_Ma. _ You will never prove that by all your Grammar.

_Pa. _ Well, I'll prove it by Logic then.

_Ma. _ But do so much as answer me this one Question, do you love
voluntarily, or against your Will?

_Pa. _ Voluntarily.

_Ma. _ Then since a Person is at Liberty, whether he will love or no; he
that does love, is guilty of _Felo de se_, and accuses a Maid
wrongfully.

_Pa. _ A Maid does not kill in being lov'd, but in not loving again. He
is guilty of killing, that can save and don't save.

_Ma. _ What if a young Man should fall into an unlawful Love, as suppose
with another Man's Wife, or a Vestal Virgin? Must she love him again, to
save the Lover?

_Pa. _ But the young Man, meaning myself, loves one whom he ought to
love, and by Right and good Reason, and yet am murthered. If Murther be
a light Matter, I could indict you for Witchcraft too.

_Ma. _ God forbid, do you make a _Circe_ of me?

_Pa. _ You are more barbarous than _Circe_ herself, I had rather be a Hog
or a Bear, than as I now am, half dead.

_Ma. _ By what Sort of Enchantments do I kill Men?

_Pa. _ By the Witchcraft of your Eyes.

_Ma. _ Would you have me take my noxious Eyes off of you then.

_Pa. _ No, by no Means, rather look more upon me.

_Ma. _ If my Eyes are so infectious, how comes it about they don't throw
others I look upon into a Consumption too? I therefore rather believe
the Infection is in your own Eyes than mine.

_Pa.