That hath learned to read himself more than all books, and hath so taken
out this lesson that he can never forget it; that knows the world, and
cares not for it; that, after many traverses of thoughts, is grown to
know what he may trust to, and stands now equally armed for all events;
that hath got the mastery at home, so as he can cross his will without a
mutiny, and so please it that he makes it not a wanton; that in earthly
things wishes no more than nature, in spiritual is ever graciously
ambitious; that for his condition stands on his own feet, not needing to
lean upon the great, and can so frame his thoughts to his estate that
when he hath least he cannot want, because he is as free from desire as
superfluity; that hath seasonably broken the headstrong restiness of
prosperity, and can now manage it at pleasure; upon whom all smaller
crosses light as hailstones upon a roof; and for the greater calamities,
he can take them as tributes of life and tokens of love; and if his ship
be tossed, yet he is sure his anchor is fast. If all the world were his,
he could be no other than he is, no whit gladder of himself, no whit
higher in his carriage, because he knows contentment lies not in the
things he hath, but in the mind that values them. The powers of his
resolution can either multiply or subtract at pleasure. He can make his
cottage a manor or a palace when he lists, and his home-close a large
dominion, his stained cloth arras, his earth plate, and can see state in
the attendance of one servant, as one that hath learned a man's
greatness or baseness is in himself; and in this he may even contest
with the proud, that he thinks his own the best. Or if he must be
outwardly great, he can but turn the other end of the glass, and make
his stately manor a low and straight cottage, and in all his costly
furniture he can see not richness but use; he can see dross in the best
metal and earth through the best clothes, and in all his troupe he can
see himself his own servant. He lives quietly at home out of the noise
of the world, and loves to enjoy himself always, and sometimes his
friend, and hath as full scope to his thought as to his eyes. He walks
ever even in the midway betwixt hopes and fears, resolved to fear
nothing but God, to hope for nothing but what which he must have. He
hath a wise and virtuous mind in a serviceable body, which that better
part affects as a present servant and a future companion, so cherishing
his flesh as one that would scorn to be all flesh. He hath no enemies;
not for that all love him, but because he knows to make a gain of
malice. He is not so engaged to any earthly thing that they two cannot
part on even terms; there is neither laughter in their meeting, nor in
their shaking of hands tears. He keeps ever the best company, the God of
Spirits and the spirits of that God, whom he entertains continually in
an awful familiarity, not being hindered either with too much light or
with none at all. His conscience and his hand are friends, and (what
devil soever tempt him) will not fall out. That divine part goes ever
uprightly and freely, not stooping under the burden of a willing sin,
not fettered with the gyves of unjust scruples. He would not, if he
could, run away from himself or from God; not caring from whom he lies
hid, so he may look these two in the face. Censures and applauses are
passengers to him, not guests; his ear is their thoroughfare, not their
harbour; he hath learned to fetch both his counsel and his sentence from
his own breast. He doth not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as one
that loves to torment himself with the honour of much employment; but as
he makes work his game, so doth he not list to make himself work. His
strife is ever to redeem and not to spend time. It is his trade to do
good, and to think of it his recreation. He hath hands enough for
himself and others, which are ever stretched forth for beneficence, not
for need. He walks cheerfully in the way that God hath chalked, and
never wishes it more wide or more smooth. Those very temptations whereby
he is foiled strengthen him; he comes forth crowned and triumphing out
of the spiritual battles, and those scars that he hath make him
beautiful. His soul is every day dilated to receive that God, in whom he
is; and hath attained to love himself for God, and God for His own sake.
His eyes stick so fast in heaven that no earthly object can remove them;
yea, his whole self is there before his time, and sees with Stephen, and
hears with Paul, and enjoys with Lazarus, the glory that he shall have,
and takes possession beforehand of his room amongst the saints; and
these heavenly contentments have so taken him up that now he looks down
displeasedly upon the earth as the region of his sorrow and banishment,
yet joying more in hope than troubled with the sense of evils. He holds
it no great matter to live, and his greatest business to die; and is so
well acquainted with his last guest that he fears no unkindness from
him: neither makes he any other of dying than of walking home when he is
abroad, or of going to bed when he is weary of the day. He is well
provided for both worlds, and is sure of peace here, of glory hereafter;
and therefore hath a light heart and a cheerful face. All his
fellow-creatures rejoice to serve him; his betters, the angels, love to
observe him; God Himself takes pleasure to converse with him, and hath
sainted him before his death, and in his death crowned him.