Socios sibi jungier instat.
The Phisician desires to have others joyned with him.
THERE is
more feare, therefore
more cause. If the
Phisician desire help, the burden grows great:
There is a growth of the
Disease then; But there must bee an
Autumne to; But whether an
Autumne of the
disease or
mee, it is not my part to choose: but if it bee of
mee, it is of
both; My disease cannot
survive mee, I may
overlive it. Howsoever, his desiring of others, argues his
candor, and his
ingenuitie; if the danger be
great, he
justifies his proceedings, and he
disguises nothing, that calls in
witnesses; And if the danger bee not
great, hee is not
ambitious, that is so readie to divide the thankes, and the honour of that work, which he begun alone, with others. It diminishes not the dignitie of a
Monarch, that hee derive part of his care upon others;
God hath not made many Suns, but he hath made many
bodies, that
receive, and
give light. The
Romanes began with one
King; they came to
two Consuls; they returned in
extremities, to one
Dictator: whether in
one, or
many, the
Soveraigntie is the same, in all
States, and the danger is not the more, and the providence is the more, where there are more
Phisicians; as
the State is the happier, where
businesses are carried by more
counsels, than can bee in one breast, how large soever.
Diseases themselves hold
Consultations, and conspire how they may multiply, and joyn with one another, and
exalt one anothers force, so; and shal we not call
Phisicians, to
consultations? Death is in
an olde mans dore, he appeares, and tels him so, and
death is at a young mans
backe, and saies nothing;
Age is a
sicknesse, and
Youth is an
ambush; and we need so many
Phisicians, as may make up a
Watch, and spie every inconvenience. There is scarce any thing, that hath not killed some body; a
haire, a
feather hath done it; Nay, that which is our best
Antidote against it, hath donn it; the best
Cordiall hath bene
deadly poyson; Men have dyed of
Joy, and allmost
forbidden their friends to weepe for them, when they have seen them dye
laughing. Even that
Tiran Dyonisius (I thinke the same, that suffered so much after) who could not die of that sorrow, of that high fal, from a
King to a
wretched private man, dyed of so poore a
Joy, as to be declard by the
people at a
Theater, that hee was a good
Poet. We say often that a
Man may live of a litle; but, alas, of how much lesse may a Man dye! And therfore the more assistants, the better; who comes to a day of hearing, in a cause of any importance, with one
Advocate? In our
Funerals, we our selves have no interest; there wee cannot
advise, we cannot
direct: And though some
Nations, (the
Egiptians in particular) built themselves better
tombs, than
houses because they were to dwell
longer in them; yet, amongst our selves, the greatest
Man of Stile, whom we have had,
The Conqueror, was left, as soone as his soule left him, not only without persons to assist at his
grave, but without a grave. Who will keepe us then, we know not; As long as we can, let us admit as much
helpe as wee can; Another, and another
Phisician, is not another, and
another Indication, and
Symptom of
death, but another, and another
Assistant, and
Proctor of
life: Nor doe they so much feed the imagination with apprehension of
danger, as the understanding with
comfort; Let not one bring
Learning, another
Diligence, another
Religion, but every one bring all, and, as many Ingredients enter into a Receit, so may many men make the Receit. But why doe I exercise my Meditation so long upon this, of having plentifull helpe in time of need? Is not
my Meditation rather to be enclined another way, to condole, and commiserate their distresse who have
none? How many are sicker (perchance) than I, and laid on their wofull straw at home (if that corner be a home) and have no more hope of helpe, though they die, than of preferment, though they live? Nor doe no more expect to see a
Phisician then, than to bee an
Officer after; of wkome, the first that takes knowledge, is the
Sexten that buries them; who buries them in
oblivion too? For they doe but fill up the number of the dead in the Bill, but we shall never heare their Names, till wee reade them in the
Booke of life, with our owne. How many are sicker (perchance) than I, and thrown into
Hospitals, where, (as a fish left upon the Sand, must stay the tide) they must stay the
Phisicians houre of visiting, and then can bee but
visited? How many are sicker (perchaunce) than all we, and have not this
Hospitall to cover them, not this straw, to lie in, to die in, but have their
Grave-stone under them, and breathe out then soules in the eares, and in the lies of passengers, harder than their bed, the flint of the street? That taste of no part of our
Phisick, but a
sparing dyet; to whom ordinary porridge would bee
Julip enough, the refuse of our servants,
Bezar enough, and the off-scouring of our Kitchen tables,
Cordiall enough. O my
soule, when
thou art not enough awake, to blesse thy
God enough for his plentifull mercy, in affoording thee many
Helpers, remember how many lacke them, and helpe them to them, or to those other things, which they lacke as much as them.
...back to
Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions