The ARGUMENT.

_Canonizing, or entring the incomparable Man_, John Reuclin, _into the Number of the Saints, teaches how much Honour is due to famous Men, who have by their Industry improv'd the liberal Sciences_.

None that has liv'd Well, dies Ill.

POMPILIUS, BRa.s.sICa.n.u.s.

_Po._ Where have you been, with your Spatter-Lashes?

_Br._ At _Tubinga_.

_Po._ Is there no News there?

_Br._ I can't but admire, that the World should run so strangely a gadding after News. I heard a _Camel_ preach at _Lovain_, that we should have nothing to do with any Thing that is new.

_Po._ Indeed, it is a Conceit fit for a Camel. That Man, (if he be a Man,) ought never to change his old Shoes, or his Shirt, and always to feed upon stale Eggs, and drink nothing but sour Wine.

_Br._ But for all this, you must know, the good Man does not love old Things so well, but that he had rather have his Porridge fresh than stale.

_Po._ No more of the Camel; but prithee tell me, what News have you?

_Br._ Nay, I have News in my Budget too; but News which he says is naught.

_Po._ But that which is new, will be old in Time. Now if all old Things be good, and all new Things be bad, then it follows of Consequence, that that which is good at present, has been bad heretofore, and that which is now bad, will in Time come to be good.

_Br._ According to the Doctrine of the Camel, it must be so; and therefore, hence it follows, that he that was a young wicked Fool in Time past, because he was new, will come to be a good One, because he is grown old.

Po. But prithee, let's have the News, be it what it will.

_Br._ The famous triple-tongu'd Phoenix of Learning, _John Reuclin_, is departed this Life.

_Po._ For certain?

_Br._ Nay, it is too certain.

_Po._ Why, pray, what Harm is that, for a Man to leave an immortal Memory of a good Name and Reputation behind him, and to pa.s.s out of this miserable World, into the Society of the Blessed?

_Br._ 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, _Bra.s.sica.n.u.s_, 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 Gra.s.s 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 h.e.l.l, than snuff up such a Perfume again.

_Po._ A Curse upon these Pests.