an otherguise man than he; you have a much handsomer body than he; and, to your great comfort, it is apparelled too much more finely and fashionably: you live in a far more splendid equipage, and have a larger purse to maintain it; and your name is much more in vogue, and makes a far greater noise in the world. But is this all the difference between your mighty selves and this wretched neighbour of yours? Alas, poor man! a few days more will soon put an end to all this; and when once your rich attires are reduced to the windingsheet, and all your past possessions to six foot of earth, what will become of all these little trifles by which you value yourselves? where then will be the beauty, the wealth, the port, and garb, which you are now so proud of? Then this lovely body will look as pale and ghastly, this puffed and lofty soul will be left as bare, as poor, and naked, as this poor despised neighbour's: and should you now meet his wandering ghost in the vast world of spirits, what would you have to boast of more than he, now that your beauty is withered, your wealth vanished, and all your outward pomp and splendour shrouded in the horrors of a silent grave? Now you will have nothing to distinguish you from the most contemptible, unless you have wiser and better souls and by how much the more you were respected for your beauty, wealth, garb, and equipage in this world; by so much you will be the more despised for your pride and insolence, sensuality and covetousness in the other. Let us therefore learn to value ourselves by that which will abide by us, by our immortal souls, and by those heavenly graces which do adorn and accomplish them; by our humility and devotion, our charity and meekness, our

temperance and justice; which are such preeminences as will survive our funerals, and distinguish us from base and abject souls for ever. But for an immortal soul to value itself by any of these temporary advantages is in the same degree ridiculous, as it was for the emperor Nero to value himself for being an excellent fiddler.

Inference II.

2. From hence I infer what little reason there is for men who have any good hope of a better life to be afraid of death: for if death itself be, upon a just computation, preferable to this life, why should that man be afraid of exchanging this life for death, who hath just ground to hope for eternal life into the bargain? If death be an advantage, considered only as it is an exit from the troubles of this life, how much more is it so, considered as it is an entry into the glories and beatitudes of the other! And therefore, if you will allow it to be unreasonable for sick men to be afraid of their recovery, for slaves to tremble at the news of a jubilee, for prisoners to be grieved at their gaol-delivery, how much more unreasonable is it for a good man to be afraid of dying, which to him is but a momentary passage from sickness to eternal health, from labour to eternal rest, from confinement to eternal liberty!

Consider, I beseech you, what great goods are there in this life that you have just reason to be fond of? what evils in the other, that you have any cause to be afraid of? Suppose that your departed soul were this moment upon the wing, mounting upwards towards the celestial abodes; and that at some convenient stand between heaven and earth, from whence you might take a full prospect of both, you were now

making a pause to survey and compare them with one another: suppose, that having viewed over all the glories above, that having heard the melodies of angels, and tasted the beatifical joy, you are now looking down again (with your minds filled and ravished with those glorious ideas) upon this miserable world, and that all in a view you beheld the vast number of men and women that at this time are fainting for want of bread; of young men that are bleeding under the sword of war; of orphans that are lamenting over the graves of their parents; of mariners that are shrieking in a storm, under the dismal apprehension of being stranded or foundered; of miserable people that are groaning upon sick beds, or racked with agonies of conscience; that are weeping with want, or mad with oppression, or desperate by too quick a sense of a continued infelicity. Suppose, I say, you had seen at two distinct views all those glorious things above, and those dismal things below, would you not be glad at your hearts that you were gone from hence, that you were out of the noise and participation of so many evils and calamities? Would you not be a thousand times more afraid of returning from thence, than ever you were of going from hence thither? Doubtless you would. Why then should not your experience of the miseries here, and your belief of the felicities there, produce in you the same effect, and make you cheerfully willing, whenever God pleases to call you, to exchange this wretched life for that blessed immortality?

Inference III.

3. And lastly, From hence I infer what is the proper end and use of living; namely, that it is so to live here, as that we may live happily hereafter.

For if death itself be better than this life, then it can be upon no other account good for us to live, than as we live in order to our living for ever. And indeed it seems very strange, that any reasonable beings should ever entertain such mean and sordid thoughts of themselves, such narrow scantlings of their own capacities, as to think that they were born to no other purpose but only to eat, and drink, and sleep, and wake, for twenty or thirty years together; and all this while to be only made the sport of an inconstant fortune, and bandied to and fro, like tennisballs, upon the rackets of every cross turn and revolution of things; from pain to pleasure, and from pleasure to pain; from fulness to want; from honour to infamy, and so back again; and never to rest in one state till the game is played out, and then to return into eternal silence and insensibility. I profess, in my most serious thoughts, I cannot but wonder, that one who thinks so abjectly of himself should ever have the patience to outlive such a thought, to avoid the temptation of despatching himself out of this crowd and hurry of impertinencies, into the dark retirement of a quiet grave. For upon what other

account can this vain wretched life be desirable, than as it is a state of trial and probation for immortality and happiness? And if upon this account alone it is desirable, O good God! how do those men cheat and abuse themselves, who build their tabernacles here, and aim at no other happiness than this present state of things affords; who, though they have capacities large enough for a heaven of immortal joys, faculties great enough to converse with angels, and communicate with them in their highest glories and beatitudes, can yet sit down tamely, satisfied with a

condition so wretched and miserable! In the name of God therefore, let us now at last remember, that we are born for higher things than these, for far more solid and substantial enjoyments: and considering this, for shame, let us rouse up ourselves, and shake off this sordid and degenerate temper, that makes us act so infinitely unbecoming the dignity of our rational and immortal natures. And since we are not only fitted for a higher happiness, but also assured of enjoying it, upon condition we qualify ourselves for it, by acquiring these heavenly dispositions of soul, without which it is impossible for us to relish it; let us now at length arise and dress ourselves for eternity, by first putting off our old man, with all its corrupt lusts and affections, and then putting on a new, which consists in repentance from dead works; in fervent love and profound veneration of God, and a sincere subjection to his heavenly will; in temperance, humility, and justice, and universal charity to all men. And when we have thus arrayed ourselves, thus excellently adorned and beautified our natures, we have lived to admirable purpose indeed; lived to live happily for ever, to accomplish ourselves for the eternal embraces of the God of love, and for the society and happiness of angels and of blessed spirits.

And so I have done with the text, and shall only add a few words upon the sorrowful occasion, viz. the funeral of sir John Chapman, late lord mayor of this famous city: and that I may not say any thing of him that shall look like flattery, or an overkind partiality to his memory, I will say nothing of him but what I am sure that all that knew him as I did will justify; and for those that knew him not, I am