The last visitation: conflicts and death of Mr. Thomas Peacock bachelor of divinity, and fellow of Brazen-nose-College in Oxford. Published by E B from the copy of that famous divine, Mr. Robert Bolton, late minister of Broughton in Northampton-shire.The last visitation: conflicts and death of Mr. Thomas Peacock batchellor of divinity, and fellow of Brasen-nose-Colledge in Oxford. Published by E B from the copie of that famous divine, Mr. Robert Bolton, late minister of Broughton in Northhampton-shire.
Robert Bolton 1572–1631London: printed for William Miller, 1660
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Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
I shall, for conclusion, desire that Reader into whose hands this ensuing discourse shall fall, to observe three things concerning M• Peacock, a man whom I well knew, •nd bless God that ever I knew •im.
I shall, for conclusion, desire that Reader into whose hands this ensu••g discourse shall fall, to observe •hree things concerning M• Pea•ock, a man whom I well knew, •nd blesse God that ever I knew •im.
1. That the forest and sharpest afflictions do very often befall the •earest and choicest servants of God: I mean, not outward and temporal afflictions, common to good and •ad: but inward and spiritual afflictions, and the heaviest of these spiritual desertions, whereby God withdraws his glorious countenance from his children: and Sa•an in lieu thereof, shows them his ⟨image 8⟩ugly visage, thereby convincing a• secure world. That it is no easy matter to go to Heaven, and tha• the safest and surest way to it, is to sail by the gates of Hell. If th• righteous can scarcely be save• (saith the Apostle) where shal• the wicked and sinner appear?
1. That the forest and sharpest •fflictions doe very often befall the •earest and choisest servants of God: I mean, not outward and temporall •fflictions, common to good and •ad: but inward and spirituall af••ictions, and the heaviest of these •pirituall desertions, whereby God •ithdrawes his glorious counte•ance from his children: and Sa•an in liew thereof, shews them his ⟨image 8⟩ugly visage, thereby convincing a• secure world. That it is no easy matter to goe to Heaven, and tha• the safest and surest way to it, is to sayl by the gates of Hell. If th• righteous can scarcely be save• (saith the Apostle) where shal• the wicked and sinner appear?
2. That the deepest humiliation of Gods children, do usually determine in the highest consolations And hereby the wicked, who like ravening wolves hunt after such opportunities, do miss of their prey and return ashamed when they consider what end God hath made. An• thus it fell out with Mr Peacock here.
2. That the deepest humiliation of Gods children, doe usually determine in the highest consolations And hereby the wicked, who like ravening wolves hunt after such opportunities, doe misse of their prey and returne ashamed when they consider what end God hath made. An• thus it fell out with Mr Peacoc• here.
3. Lastly, Though a spiritua•• desertion be the highest affliction that befalls Gods child; yet it discovers in him the greatest sincerity of an upright heart; For at such time he is so far from hiding h••⟨image 8⟩sins, that he cares not what •ame he puts upon himself, so God •ay have glory. For in a spiritual desertion, though the soul of Christian be extremely distressed ••rough the terror of sin; yet at •he same time hath it a true touch […] grace, though not of the comforts •f it: like iron touched with the •oad-stone, it stands directly Northward, though with much tremb•ng: So doth the soul of a Christian stand directly Heaven-ward in •his hellish agony: and the absence •f God and of his consolations, is •he cause of those bitter convulsion•its in the soul. And as soon as e•er the comforts of grace shine upon •t, those former tremblings of heart for grief, are presently changed in•o leapings for joy; just as the same sprinkles of the face, which serve for •rying when the heart is grieved, •erve for laughter when it is filled ⟨image 9⟩with joy. This was the case […] Mr Peacock, in this manner h• grieved, in this manner he rejoiced and this happy issue God made of h• bitter afflictions. So that amid• the numerous and various afflictions of Gods dear Saints and Children, this conclusion of the Prophet David remains sure and firm Mark the upright man, and be hold the just, for the end of tha• man is peace. So I rest,
3. Lastly, Though a spiritua•• desertion be the highest afflictio• that befalls Gods childe; yet it discovers in him the greatest sincerit• of an upright heart; For at such time he is so farre from hiding h••⟨image 8⟩sinnes, that he cares not what •ame he puts upon himself, so God •ay have glory. For in a spi••tuall desertion, though the soul of Christian be extreamly distressed ••rough the terrour of sinne; yet at •he same time hath it a true touch 〈…〉 grace, though not of the comforts •f it: like iron touched with the •oad-stone, it stands directly North•ard, though with much tremb•ng: So doth the soul of a Christi•n stand directly Heaven-ward in •his hellish agony: and the absence •f God and of his consolations, is •he cause of those bitter convulsion•its in the soul. And assoon as e•er the comforts of grace shine upon •t, those former tremblings of heart for grief, are presently changed in•o leapings for joy; just as the same •prinkles of the face, which serve for •rying when the heart is grieved, •erve for laughter when it is filled ⟨image 9⟩with joy. This was the case 〈…〉 Mr Peacock, in this manner h• grieved, in this manner he rejoyced and this happy issue God made of h bitter afflictions. So that amid the numerous and various afflictions of Gods dear Saints and Children, this conclusion of the Prophet David remaines sure and firm Mark the upright man, and be hold the just, for the end of tha man is peace. So I rest,
Master Peacock, the servant of God, in the beginning of his visitation, for the space of two weeks and four days, was full of most Heavenly consolations; showing by sweet meditations, and gracious ejaculations, the entertainment he found with his God in his sickness, with whom he so much desired to be acquainted in his health. We are (saith one coming to visit him) miserable comforters. Nay (saith he) Ye are good, for this ⟨p. 2⟩is the privilege even of Gods children, that their very presence affords comfort. Sometimes h• craved pardon for his actions, & for the circumstances by them badly observed: otherwhile h• desired to have some matter given him to meditate upon. Finally he said, his hope was firmly settled on the rock Christ Jesus He hoped that the Lord woul• give him a place, though it wer• in the lowest room of his Saints And he thanked God he had n• trouble of conscience, the Lor• did not suffer Satan to vex him In so much that some seeing hi• great comfort, feared lest h• would be overtaken with sorrow before his death: he much rejoiced that the Lord had so disposed of him, that he had see• his friends in the Country. Her• first was his yielding unto death ⟨p. 3⟩suspected, and his hoped recovery doubted. Calling some of •is friends aside, I thought (saith •e) I had been in a good estate, but […] see it now far otherwise: For •hese things my conscience lays against me: First, I brought up my scholars in Gluttony, letting them eat •heir fill of meat, when they mealed •ith me. This some endeavoured •o pull out, by putting into his mind, 1. The preventing of ma•y inconveniences. 2. His well known moderation. 3. The great care he took for good conference, when they were at table with him. But (saith he) while I was talking, they did undo themselves. And further, I did unadvisedly expound places of Scripture at the table many times; and for these I feel now a Hell in my conscience. Again, I have procured my own death, by often eating like a beast, ⟨p. 4⟩when I came jostling up and dow• to my friends in the Country; An• now I see before my face those dis• es of meat wherewith I clogged m• stomach. Well (saith one to him If all the things you accuse you self of were undone, would yo• do them again? Nay: why the• doubt not but a Reprobate woul• desire to be saved, if a desire woul• serve the turn:
MAster Peacock, the servant of God, in the beginning of his visitation, for the space of two weeks and foure dayes, was full of most Heavenly consolations; shewing by sweet meditations, and gracious ejaculations, the entertainment he found with his God in his sicknes, with whom he so much desired to be acquainted in his health. We are (saith one comming to visit him) miserable comforters. Nay (saith he) Ye are good, for this ⟨p. 2⟩is the priviledge even of Gods children, that their very presence affords comfort. Sometimes h• craved pardon for his actions, & for the circumstances by them badly observed: otherwhile h• desired to have some matter given him to meditate upon. Finally he said, his hope was firmly setled on the rock Christ Jesus He hoped that the Lord woul• give him a place, though it wer• in the lowest room of his Saints And he thanked God he had n• trouble of conscience, the Lor• did not suffer Satan to vex him In so much that some seeing hi• great comfort, feared lest h• would be overtaken with sorrow before his death: he much rejoyced that the Lord had so disposed of him, that he had see• his friēds in the Countrey. Her• first was his yeelding unto deat•⟨p. 3⟩suspected, and his hoped reco•ery doubted. Calling some of •is friends aside, I thought (saith •e) I had been in a good estate, but 〈…〉 see it now farre otherwise: For •hese things my conscience layes a•ainst me: First, I brought up my •cholars in Gluttony, letting thē eat •heir fill of meat, when they mealed •ith me. This some endeavoured •o pull out, by putting into his minde, 1. The preventing of may inconveniencies. 2. His well known moderation. 3. The great care he took for good conference, when they were at table with him. But (saith he) while I was talking, they did undoe themselves. And further, I did unadvisedly expound places of Scripture at the table many times; and for these I feel now a Hell in my conscience. Again, I have procured my own death, by often eating like a beast,
indeed he ma••• have a desire, but of bare willingness, not with an intent an• purpose in using of the means Another time a worthy friend o• his asking him how he did: h• cried out, Sin, Sin, Sin What doth any lye on your conscience? Yea. What? My unconsideratenes, I did eat too much of suc• meat to breakfast such a morning […] my self being an eye-witness o• his great abstinence, could no• choose but admire the tenderness ⟨p. 5⟩•f his self-accusing conscience. Well (said he) God be thanked •here is no greater. As we must •ot extenuate our sins, so neither must we too much aggravate our sin. Let drunkards •nd gluttons have those terrible horrors. I thank God I never continued in any known sin against my conscience. He was willing that he should pray with him: kneeling down he said, he was •hen uncapable of prayers. Afterward he kneeled down of his •own accord: shortly after he broke out into such speeches, A damnable, wretched &c. these are nor your words (saith one) you cannot deny but you have had good experience of Gods mercies. I cannot. Then be comforted, for whom he loveth once, he loveth to the end. Yet Satan took such advantage of his infirmities, that ⟨p. 6⟩though he could find some comfort, yet no particular assurance. You have lived profitably (said one) I have endeavoured. You are now humbled, and the Lord looks that you should ask mercy. M. Dod was sent for, who being come, they were private awhile, afterwards we coming in to them, M. Dod put him in mind of Gods kindness: whereof he showed to him four parts. 1. To take small things in good part. 2. To pass by infirmities. 3. To be easily entreated. 4. To be entreated for the greatest.
indeed he ma••• have a desire, but of bare willingnes, not with an intent an• purpose in using of the means Another time a worthy friend o• his asking him how he did: h• cryed out, Sinne, Sinne, Sinne What doth any lye on your conscience? Yea. What? My unconsideratenes, I did eat too much of suc• meat to breakfast such a morning 〈…〉 my self being an eye-witnes o• his great abstinence, could no• choose but admire the tenderne•⟨p. 5⟩•f his self-accusing conscience. Well (said he) God be thanked •here is no greater. As we must •ot extenuate our sinnes, so nei•her must we too much aggra•ate our sinne. Let drunkards •nd gluttons have those terrible •orrours. I thank God I never con•inued in any known sinne against my conscience. He was willing that he should pray with him: kneeling down he said, he was •hen uncapable of prayers. Afterward he kneeled down of his •own accord: shortly after he •roke out into such speeches, A damnable, wretched &c. these are nor your words (saith one) you cannot deny but you have had good experience of Gods mercies. I cannot. Then be comforted, for whom he loveth once, he loveth to the end. Yet Satan took such advantage of his infirmities, that ⟨p. 6⟩though he could finde some comfort, yet no particular assurance. You have lived profitably (said one) I have endeavoured. You are now humbled, and the Lord looks that you should ask mercy. M. Dod was sent for, who being come, they were private awhile, afterwards we comming in to them, M. Dod put him in minde of Gods kindenes: whereof he shewed to him foure parts. 1. To take small things in good part. 2. To passe by infirmities. 3. To be easily intreated. 4. To be intreated for the greatest.
Sir, there is now in you the image of the old Adam, sin and sorrow: there shall be in you the image of the new, holiness and happiness. The life to come may be set out by three things. 1. The estate of it self, happiness, ⟨p. 7⟩holiness, and glory. 2. By the […] company, every one shall ••e you better then any one, e••n the best, can love you here.
Sir, there is now in you the image of the old Adam, sin and sorrow: there shall be in you the image of the new, holines and happinesse. The life to come may be set out by three things. 1. The estate of it self, happines, ⟨p. 7⟩holines, and glory. 2. By the 〈…〉 company, every one shall ••e you better then any one, e••n the best, can love you here.
There are three differences between the afflictions of the good ••d of the bad. 1. In the cause, •r they come to the good for •ods love. 2. In the measure, […] far as they need, and are a•••e to bear. 3. In the end, for ••eir good.
There are three differences be••een the afflictions of the good ••d of the bad. 1. In the cause, •r they come to the good for •ods love. 2. In the measure, 〈…〉 farre as they need, and are a•••e to bear. 3. In the end, for ••eir good.
Of those former doubts we afterwards heard not a word ••om him. Upon the Sabbath••y he desired to be alone: after ••on he was fearfully troubled. […] his countenance appeared evident tokens of a sorrowful •inde, born up with a weak •ody; his spirit was wounded, ••tan had foiled him. Those his ••rrible wrestlings with tentations, ⟨p. 8⟩gripes of conscience, a•• restless terrors, none can under stand, (much less express but he which felt them. S• tan had winnowed him, an• showed him nothing but chaff• His tender conscience w• gored with the fiery dar• of the Devil, pointed wit• the edge of sin, an• sense of Gods heavy wra•• As through a false glass, th• dazzled eye of his astonished and amazed soul, coul• see nothing but hideously appearing sin, and th• terrible image of death an• damnation. He had drunk deeply of the cup of th• dregs of Hell. His adversary had represented unto him his once most gracious God, now as a mos• severe Judge displeased, angry, ⟨p. 9⟩and chiding with •im; yea yielding him up •nto his claws: that so by •his deadly stratagem, he •ight take from him all •ope of help that way, and •o not only stop the sensible flowing of Gods grace; •nd cut the chains of Gods •ove, whereby he had tied •im, and would draw him •fter him, but finally break •is Christian heart. Oh •hat you had seen, or that we that were present had had eyes to have seen his •eeming forlorn soul. What with barkings of conscience, and with the too heavy burden of sin, waves of fearful thoughts, •lustering blasts, and surging storms of Gods heavy displeasure, he was ⟨p. 10⟩tossed, turmoiled, dashed aga•• the rocks of despair, and m•• then in danger of his souls s•• wrack: happy were we if •• there through frowardness, […] blindness of judgement, we inconsiderately pass by, or p•• phanely deride Gods jud•• ments, by thinking that they • there happen casually, or by f•• getting of them suddenly. […] we could but rightly discern […] we should find nothing m•• profitable, then to have the • mage of this gracious (thou•• now afflicted) soul in our hear• Hereby we may see that t• righteous being scarcely save• there is no place for the wicked a•• ungodly to appear. And true we may think that God sent it •• ven for our sake, that we (w•• whom it is too usual to da• with the Lord) might kno••⟨p. 11⟩that it is a fearful thing to fall in•o his hands.
Of those former doubts we ••terwards heard not a word ••om him. Upon the Sabbath••y he desired to be alone: after ••on he was fearfully troubled. 〈…〉 his countenance appeared evi•ent tokens of a sorrowfull •inde, born up with a weak •ody; his spirit was wounded, ••tan had foiled him. Those his ••rrible wrestlings with tentations, ⟨p. 8⟩gripes of conscience, a•• restles terrours, none can unde• stand, (much lesse expresse but he which felt them. S• tan had winnowed him, an• shewed him nothing but chaff• His tender conscience w• goared with the fiery dar• of the Devil, pointed wit• the edge of sinne, an• sense of Gods heavy wra•• As through a false glasse, th• dazled eye of his astonished and amazed soul, coul• see nothing but hideousl• appearing sinne, and th• terrible image of death an• damnation. He had drun• deeply of the cup of th• dreggs of Hell. His adversary had represented unto him his once most gracious God, now as a mos• severe Judge displeased, angry, ⟨p. 9⟩and chiding with •im; yea yeelding him up nto his clawes: that so by his deadly stratagem, he ight take from him all ope of help that way, and o not onely stop the senible flowing of Gods grace; nd cut the chains of Gods ove, whereby he had tyed im, and would draw him fter him, but finally break is Christian heart. Oh hat you had seen, or that we that were present had had eyes to have seen his eeming forlone soul. What with barkings of conscience, and with the too heavy burthen of sinne, vvaves of fearfull thoughts, lustering blasts, and surging storms of Gods heavy displeasure, he vvas
Our faith is then •ryed in earnest, when as the Lord hideth his face from us. For if we love God above all things, it cannot be but upon the •osse of the relish of his favour, •r taste of his displeasure, our •ouls should be in bitterness, pricked, tormented, wounded, thrust •horow, yea, and swallowed up with desolation. It is a wonder of the world, how we carefully will seek physic, use diet, by any means to avoid a bodily pang, and how careless we •re of the unsupportable fits of •he souls mortal sickness. It is •ot in our power to apprehend •race when we will, and a harder matter is it then we can conceive, to lift up a poor soul cast ••wn with the sense of Gods wrath. If a violent passion may ⟨p. 12⟩so far transport the min•• what may we think of this re• less trembling, when the s• after long tossings, seeth it […] drowned, and wholly ov•• whelmed with the deluge […] sorrow, proceeding from the • verlasting threats, and sha•• and confusion of face in […] presence of the Almighty Consider the body loaden f•• a burden, neither portable […] evitable; and thence gather […] stranglings of an overladen so Consider a man ready to […] from an high Tower unto […] Earth; and thence gather […] estate of another falling fr•• Heaven to Hell with a spiritu•• ruin. Consider a child, wh•• the mother hideth her face fr•• it, and terrifieth it with a B•• boo; and herein take view of […] estate of a poor Christian (wh•⟨p. 13⟩chiefest happiness having therein consisted, (to wit) in being joined, and united to his Heavenly •ather, having now lost his pre•ence, or being affrighted with •he Devil, as if he were ready to ••y hands on him. Consider •he estate of a debtor, cast off by •is best Creditors: and gather •hat of a Christian being bankrupt with his God. Consider •he estate of a man, once in favour, afterwards adjudged to •eath by a Prince, without hope •f pardon or reprieving: and gather that of a Christian, who •fter his citation and arraignment at the Tribunal seat of God, •ands condemned, and is whol•• deprived of obtaining pardon, •nd delivered into the hands of •he Devil. The Lord needs •ot to seek wild beasts to punish •s, or such like cruel executioners ⟨p. 14⟩of his wrath to torment u• he may find enough within us all the furies and Devils cann•• invent a more grievous torment One by it apprehended needeth not more accusers or torment ours.
Our faith is then •ryed in earnest, when as the Lord hideth his face from us. For if we love God above all •hings, it cannot be but upon the •osse of the relish of his favour, •r taste of his displeasure, our •ouls should be in bitternes, prick•d, tormented, wounded, thrust •horow, yea, and swallowed up with desolation. It is a wonder of the world, how we care•ully will seek physick, use dyet, by any means to avoid a •odily pang, and how careles we •re of the unsupportable fits of •he souls mortall sicknes. It is •ot in our power to apprehend •race when we will, and a hard•r matter is it then we can con•eive, to lift up a poor soul cast ••wn with the sense of Gods wrath. If a violent passion may ⟨p. 12⟩so farre transport the min•• what may we think of this re• les trembling, when the s• after long tossings, seeth it 〈…〉 drowned, and wholly ov•• whelmed with the deluge 〈…〉 sorrow, proceeding from the • verlasting threats, and sha•• and confusion of face in 〈…〉 presence of the Almighty Consider the body loaden f•• a burthen, neither portable 〈…〉 evitable; and thence gather 〈…〉 stranglings of an overladen so Consider a man ready to 〈…〉 from an high Tower unto Earth; and thence gather estate of another falling fr Heaven to Hell with a spiritu ruine. Consider a childe, wh the mother hideth her face fr it, and terrifieth it with a B boe; and herein take view of estate of a poor Christian (wh
His many never-though• of sin (as if he stirred a nest […] wasps) come buzzing about h• ears, and as a man indebted once laid hold of, make him faster daily: his loving friends ma• stand by the prison and call him but he being fast fettered, canno• stir forth. You shall see hi• now in his purgatory, (not th• papistical sin-satisfying fict• on, the Popes jail) but that h•• fiery furnace wherein the Lo•• trieth his metal, whether it […] good or reprobate. And su• pose that he had died at t•• worst (as in the Lords justice […] might, to the hardening of tho••⟨p. 15⟩that will not be softened) As no man should rather judge him by •he inch of his death, then the length of his life; so I for my part neither did in him, nor do •n my self so much fear his death, as I did, and do desire his life. You may observe the •ourses which God taketh in visiting his children to be divers: some are comfortable and without any great admixture of discomfort: others heavy, but without horror: others horrible, •et all of them are in the issue gracious. But to leave any further digression, and to come again to the matter in hand.
His many never-though• of sinne (as if he stirred a nest 〈…〉 wasps) come buzzing about h• eares, and as a man indebte• once laid hold of, make him faster daily: his loving friends ma• stand by the prison and call him but he being fast fettered, canno• stirre forth. You shall see hi• now in his purgatory, (not th• papisticall sinne-satisfying fict• on, the Popes jayle) but that h•• fiery furnace wherein the Lo•• trieth his metall, whether it 〈…〉 good or reprobate. And su• pose that he had died at t•• worst (as in the Lords justice 〈…〉 might, to the hardening of tho••⟨p. 15⟩that will not be softened) As no man should rather judge him by •he inch of his death, then the •ength of his life; so I for my part neither did in him, nor doe •n my self so much feare his death, as I did, and doe desire his life. You may observe the •ourses which God taketh in visiting his children to be divers: some are comfortable and with•ut any great admixture of discomfort: others heavy, but without horrour: others horrible, •et all of them are in the issue gracious. But to leave any fur•her digression, and to come again to the matter in hand.
When one came unto him, he •rake out into these words, Oh •ow woeful and miserable is my estate, that thus must converse with •el-hounds! He being with these words strangely moved, went ⟨p. 14⟩[…] ⟨p. 15⟩[…] ⟨p. 16⟩to call some of his best ab•• friends to comfort him. T• them he complained, that t• Lord had cursed him. Being d• manded how he knew it: he answered, Why! the event showeth it. It being replied, The• such and such were cursed: h• answered, I have no grace. Ho• do those then? they once ha• none. I was a foolish glorious H• pocrite; It is against the course […] Gods proceeding to save me, […] hath otherwise decreed, he canno• Put your trust in God. I canno• no more then an horse. Do yo• desire to believe? No more the• a post, then an horseshoe. I kno• you cannot deny but that yo• have sought Gods glory. N•• sincerely. There is a secret mi• ture of pride and hypocrisy, • ven in the best. I have no mo• sense of grace then these curtain ⟨p. 17⟩••en a goose, then that block. Let •he testimony of your life past comfort you, especially in the ••lling of a Tutor. I did the ••sinesse thereof perfunctorily, when […] handled hard Authors, I came •ten unprepared, and read shamefully. Be of good courage, and ••e Lord will comfort your heart. It is ended, there is no ••ch matter. Why do you think •o? You shall see the event, God •ill yet bring it to pass. Tush, ••sh, trifles. What do you think •f your former Doctrine? Very •ood. Let it comfort you. It ••nnot. You desire it could. If […] might. There is nothing unpossible to God. Which stands with •is decree: Oh, oh, miserable, and woeful, the burden of my sin ly••th heavy upon me: I doubt it will •reak my heart. Behold your comforts. Nothing to me, I pray ⟨p. 18⟩you hold your peace, do not trou•• your self idly, you vex me, y• words are as daggers to my hea• Another time some of t•• younger sort said to him, R• member, Sir, the good counse•• that you have given us heret• fore. Those were ordinary. Y•• may see many others in the li•• estate. Not such as mine. S•• David. What do you speak to […] of David? Good Sir, endeavour to settle your mind; Yes, to pl•• with hell-hounds. Will you pray I cannot. You were wont her• tofore. Yes, by a custom and va• glory. Suffer us to pray for yo• Take not the name of God in va•• by praying for a Reprobate.
When one came unto him, he •rake out into these words, Oh •ow wofull and miserable is my e•tate, that thus must converse with •el-hounds! He being with these words strangely moved, went ⟨p. 14⟩〈…〉⟨p. 15⟩〈…〉⟨p. 16⟩to call some of his best ab•• friends to comfort him. T• them he complayned, that t• Lord had cursed him. Being d• manded how he knew it: he answered, Why! the event shewet• it. It being replyed, The• such and such were cursed: h• answered, I have no grace. Ho• doe those then? they once ha• none. I was a foolish glorious H• pocrite; It is against the course 〈…〉 Gods proceeding to save me, 〈…〉 hath otherwise decreed, he canno• Put your trust in God. I canno• no more then an horse. Doe yo• desire to beleive? No more the• a post, then an horsshoe. I kno• you cannot deny but that yo• have sought Gods glory. N•• sincerely. There is a secret mi• ture of pride and hypocrisy, • ven in the best. I have no mo• sense of grace then these curtain
He you may see the glory of G•• preferred before his own salv• tion, rather willing to have t•• means of his salvation neglecte• then the Lord dishonoured. Su••er ⟨p. 19⟩us to pray for our selves. •ook to it, you would now show your faculty in praying. Can you say, Amen? No, but in a certain genial fashion. One prayed, and •n the mean time he rested most quietly. I pray you (saith he, •hen prayer was ended) Go •ence to bed, do not trouble your •lves in vain. Let not the Devil •elude you, abusing your mind •nd tongue, I know you speak •ot these words. I wonder that intelligent Scholars should speak thus. We are persuaded you •re in as good estate as our selves Look how it is with your selves in truth. One that watched with him, asked him, Sir, how can you discern this change by the absence of God, if you never enjoyed his presence? I thought I •ad it once, but now I see it is far otherwise. But God deals with ⟨p. 20⟩you, as he dealt with the Church Isa. 54.7. He forsook it a whil• and hid his face from it, but I returned to it again, and so ([…] doubt) the case stands with yo• Never, add not affliction to the a• flicted; Oh me wretch! groani•• pitifully. Hope no worse […] your self, then we do of yo• All of us have seen clearly whi•• way your carriage was still sen• after the spirit: and we are ass• red that you will come to t•• spirit, howsoever you seem t• have lost your way. To a• particulars he would answer, desire grace generally, I did go•• outwardly, all hypocritically. O• asked him, Do you love such a one? his most dear, and wo• thy to be dear friend. Yes. Why For his goodness. Why then you a Gods child, for by this w• know we are translated fro•⟨p. 21⟩death to life, because we own •e brethren. Many like forcible •oofs he would shift off with is former evasions, and afterwards became more wary against himself, either loth to •rant any thing, or granting it •aggeringly, or, what then? ••aring lest he should be pres•ed, he wished, that some were •ut in mind, 1. Of their great care •or building, and too small care for scholars in them. 2. Their giving so long leave of absence from •he College, and desired amendment.
He you may see the glory of G•• preferred before his own salv• tion, rather willing to have t•• means of his salvation neglecte• then the Lord dishonoured. Su••er ⟨p. 19⟩us to pray for our selves. •ook to it, you would now shew your •aculty in praying. Can you say, Amen? No, but in a certain ge••all fashion. One prayed, and •n the mean time he rested most •uietly. I pray you (saith he, •hen prayer was ended) Goe •ence to bed, doe not trouble your •lves in vain. Let not the Devil •elude you, abusing your minde •nd tongue, I know you speak •ot these words. I wonder that •ntelligent Scholars should speak •hus. We are perswaded you •re in as good estate as our selves Look how it is with your selves in •ruth. One that watched with him, asked him, Sir, how can you discern this change by the •bsence of God, if you never en•oyed his presence? I thought I •ad it once, but now I see it is farre •therwise. But God deals with ⟨p. 20⟩you, as he dealt with the Churc•Isa. 54.7. He forsook it a whil• and hid his face from it, but I returned to it again, and so (〈…〉 doubt) the case stands with yo Never, add not affliction to the a flicted; Oh me wretch! groani pitifully. Hope no worse your self, then we doe of yo All of us have seen cleerly whi way your carriage was still sen after the spirit: and we are ass red that you will come to t spirit, howsoever you seem t have lost your way. To a particulars he would answer, desire grace generally, I did go outwardly, all hypocritically. O asked him, Doe you love such a one? his most dear, and wo thy to be dear friend. Yes. Why For his goodnes. Why then you a Gods childe, for by this w know we are translated fro
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⟨p. 12⟩
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⟨p. 4⟩
when I came justling up and dow• to my friends in the Countrey; An• now I see before my face those dis• es of meat wherewith I clogged m• stomack. Well (saith one to him If all the things you accuse you self of were undone, would yo• doe them again? Nay: why the• doubt not but a Reprobate woul• desire to be saved, if a desire woul• serve the turne:
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⟨p. 10⟩
tossed, turmoyled, dashed aga•• the rocks of despaire, and m•• then in danger of his souls s•• wrack: happy were we if •• ther through frowardnes, 〈…〉 blindenes of judgement, we inconsiderately passe by, or p•• phanely deride Gods jud•• ments, by thinking that they • ther happen casually, or by f•• getting of them suddenly. 〈…〉 we could but rightly discerne 〈…〉 we should finde nothing m•• profitable, then to have the • mage of this gracious (thou•• now afflicted) soul in our hear• Hereby we may see that t• righteous being scarcely save• there is no place for the wicked a•• ungodly to appeare. And tru• we may think that God sent it •• ven for our sake, that we (w•• whom it is too usuall to da• with the Lord) might kno••
⟨p. 11⟩
that it is a fearfull thing to fall in•o his hands.
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⟨p. 13⟩
chiefest happines having therein •onsisted, (to wit) in being joyn•d, and united to his Heavenly •ather, having now lost his pre•ence, or being affrighted with •he Devil, as if he were ready to ••y hands on him. Consider •he estate of a debtor, cast off by •is best Creditours: and gather •hat of a Christian being banker••ut with his God. Consider •he estate of a man, once in fa•our, afterwards adjudged to •eath by a Prince, without hope •f pardon or repriving: and ga•her that of a Christian, who •fter his citation and arraign•ent at the Tribunal seat of God, •ands condemned, and is whol•• deprived of obtaining pardon, •nd delivered into the hands of •he Devil. The Lord needs •ot to seek wilde beasts to punish •s, or such like cruell executioners
⟨p. 14⟩
of his wrath to torment u• he may finde enough within us all the furyes and Devils cann•• invent a more greivous tormen• One by it apprehended needet• not more accusers or torment ours.
⟨p. 17⟩
••en a goose, then that block. Let •he testimony of your life past •omfort you, especially in the ••lling of a Tutour. I did the ••sinesse thereof perfunctorily, when 〈…〉 handled hard Authours, I came •ten unprepared, and read shame••lly. Be of good courage, and ••e Lord will comfort your •eart. It is ended, there is no ••ch matter. Why doe you think •o? You shall see the event, God •ill yet bring it to passe. Tush, ••sh, trifles. What doe you think •f your former Doctrine? Very •ood. Let it comfort you. It ••nnot. You desire it could. If 〈…〉 might. There is nothing un•ossible to God. Which stands with •is decree: Oh, oh, miserable, and •ofull, the burthen of my sinne ly••th heavy upon me: I doubt it will •reak my heart. Behold your •omforts. Nothing to me, I pray
⟨p. 18⟩
you hold your peace, doe not trou•• your self idly, you vex me, y• words are as daggers to my hea• Another time some of t•• younger sort said to him, R• member, Sir, the good counse•• that you have given us heret• fore. Those were ordinary. Y•• may see many others in the li•• estate. Not such as mine. S•• David. What doe you speak to 〈…〉 of David? Good Sir, endeavo• to settle your minde; Yes, to pl•• with hell-hounds. Will you pray I cannot. You were wont her• tofore. Yes, by a custom and va• glory. Suffer us to pray for yo• Take not the name of God in va•• by praying for a Reprobate.
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⟨p. 21⟩
death to life, because we own •e brethren. Many like forcible •oofs he would shift off with is former evasions, and after•ards became more wary a•ainst himself, either loth to •rant any thing, or granting it •aggeringly, or, what then? ••aring lest he should be pres•ed, he wished, that some were •ut in minde, 1. Of their great care •or building, and too small care for •cholars in them. 2. Their giving so long leave of absence from •he Colledge, and desired amendment.
