For all Physicians and medicines inforcing nature, a sowning wife, families complaints, friends tears, Dirges, Masses, nænia’s, funerals, for all Orations, counterfeit hired acclamations, Elogiums, Epitaphs, herses, heralds, black mourners, solemnities, obelisks, and Mausolean tombs, if he have them at least, he like a hog, goes to hell with a guilty conscience (propter hos dilatavit infernus os suum) and a poor mans curse:

his memory stinks like the snuffe of a candle when it is put out; scurril libels, and infamous obloquies accompany him. When as poor Lazarus is Dei sacrarium, the Temple of God, lives and dies in true devotion, hath no more attendants, but his own innocency, the heaven a tomb, desires to be dissolved, buried in his mothers lap, and hath a company of Angels ready to convey his soul into Abrahams bosom, he leaves an everlasting and a sweet memory behind him.

Crassus and Sylla are indeed still recorded, but not so much for their wealth, as for their victories: Crœsus for his end, Solomon for his wisdome. In a word, to get wealth is a great trouble, anxiety to keep, grief to lose it.

Quid dignum stolidis mentibus imprecer? Opes, honores ambiant: Et cum falsa gravi mole paraverint, Tum vera cognoscant bona.

But consider all those other unknown, concealed happinesses, which a poor man hath (I call them unknown, because they be not acknowledged in the worlds esteem, or so taken) O fortunatos nimium bona si sua norint: happy they are in the mean time if they would take notice of it, make use, or apply it to themselves. A poor man wise is better then a foolish king, Eccl. 2.13.

Poverty is the way to heaven, the mistress of philosophy, the mother of religion, vertue, sobriety, sister of innocency, and an upright mind. How many such encomiums might I adde out of the Fathers, Philosophers, Orators?

It troubles many that are poor, they accompt of it as a great plague, curse, a sign of Gods hatred, ipsum scelus, damn’d villany it self, a disgrace, shame and reproach; but to whom, or why? If fortune hath envyed me wealth, thieves have robbed me, my father have not left me such revenues as others have, that I am a younger brother, basely born,

—— cui sine luce genus, surdumque parentum —— nomen,

of mean parentage, a dirt-daubers son, am I therefore to be blamed? an Eagle, a Bull, a Lion is not rejected for his poverty, and why should a man? ’Tis fortunæ telum, non culpa, fortunes fault not mine.

Good Sir, I am a servant (to use Seneca’s words) howsoever your poor friend; a servant, and yet your chamberfellow, and if you consider better of it, your fellow servant. I am thy drudge in the worlds eyes, yet in Gods sight peradventure thy better, my soule is more precious, and I dearer unto him.

Etiam servi diis curæ sunt, as Evangelus at large proves in †Macrobius, the meanest servant is most precious in his sight.

Thou art an Epicure, I am a good Christian: Thou art many parasanges before me in means, favour, wealth, honour, Claudius his Narcissus, Nero’s Massa, Domitians Parthenius, a favourite, a golden slave; thou coverest thy floors with marble, thy roofs with gold, thy wals with statues, fine pictures, curious hangings, &c. what of all this? calcas opes, &c. whats all this to true happiness?

I live and breath under that glorious heaven, that August Capitol of nature, enjoy the brightness of stars, that cleer light of Sun and Moon, those infinite creatures, plants, birds, beasts, fishes, herbs, all that sea and land affords, far surpassing all that art and opulentia can give.

I am free, and which Seneca said of Rome, culmen liberos texit, sub marmore et auro postea servitus habitavit, thou hast Amaltheæ cornu, plenty, pleasure, the world at will, I am despicable and poor; but a word overshot, a blow in choler, a game at tables, a loss at sea, a sudden fire, the Princes dislike, a little sickness, &c. may make us equal in an instant;

howsoever take thy time, triumph and insult a while, cinis æquat, as Alphonsus said, death will equalize us all at last. I live sparingly, in the mean time, am clad homely, fare hardly; is this a reproach? am I the worse for it? am I contemptible for it? am I to be reprehended?

A learned man in Nevissanus was taken down for sitting amongst Gentlemen, but he replyed, my nobility is about the head, yours declines to the taile, and they were silent. Let them mock, scoffe and revile, ’tis not thy scorn, but his that made thee so; He that mocketh the poor, reproacheth him that made him, Prov. 11.5. and he that rejoyceth at affliction, shall not be unpunished.

For the rest, the poorer thou art, the happier thou art, ditior est, at non melior, saith Epictetus, he is richer, not better then thou art, not so free from lust, envy, hatred, ambition.

Beatus ille qui procul negotiis Paterna rura bobus exercet suis.

Happy he, in that he is freed from the tumults of the world, he seeks no honours, gapes after no preferment, flatters not, envies not, temporizeth not, but lives privately, and well contented with his estate;