_Direct._ XV. Look well upon thyself, both body and soul, and think whether thou be a person fit for pride. God hath purposely clothed thine immortal soul in the coarse attire of corruptible flesh, and placed it in so poor and ruinous a cottage, that it might be kept from pride: yea, he made this frail and corruptible body to be a constitutive part of our very person, that in knowing it, we may know ourselves. Some will have a dead man's skull stand by them, in their studies or chambers, as an antidote against pride. But God hath fastened us yet closer to mortality: death dwelleth in our bowels. We are apt to marvel that so noble a soul should be lodged in so mean a body, made of the earth to which it must return![236] A stone is durable and clean; but my flesh is corruptible, and must turn to loathsome filth and rottenness. A marble pillar will stand firm and beautiful from age to age, but I must perish and consume in darkness. The seats we sit upon, the pillars we lean to, the stones we tread upon, will be here, when we are turned to dust. The house that I build, may stand when I am rotten in the grave. A tree will live, when he that planted it is dead. Our bodies are of no better materials than the brutes; our substance is in a continual flux or waste, and loseth something every day; and if it were not repaired and patched up by daily air and nourishment, it would soon be spent, and our oil consumed. If you were chained to a dead carcass, which you must still carry about with you, it were not a matter so fit to humble you, as to be united so nearly to so vile a body of your own. We carry a dunghill continually within us. Alas! how silly a piece is the greatest, the strongest, and the comeliest of you all! What is that flesh which you so much pamper, but a skin full of corruption? a bag of filth, of phlegm, or choler, or such like excrements? If the curiousest dames had but a sight of the phlegm in their heads and bowels, the choler about their liver and galls, the worms or filth in other parts, they would go near to vomit at such a sight: the swine or beast hath as clean an inside. And what if this filth be covered with a whiter skin or clearer colour than your neighbours have, is there any cause of pride in that? When sickness hath altered and consumed you, then where is that which you call beauty? If but the leprosy or the small pox deform it, or a fever, consumption, or dropsy waste it, or the stone, or gout, or any such torment seize upon thee, thou wilt feel or see that which may shame thy pride. Should such a worm be proud, that cannot, though he be a Herod, keep the worms from eating him alive? that in a flux cannot retain his excrements? that cannot bear easily the aching of a tooth? If thou be fit for pride, forbid diseases to touch thy flesh, or stain thy beauty; do not be sick, nor weak, nor pained; let not the worm and corruption be thy guests. Or if thou be so poor a thing, as cannot hinder any of these, then know thyself, and be ashamed of pride.
And when thou art in sickness, thou wilt be burdensome to others. It is likely thou must have their helps, even to feed thee, to dress thee, to turn thee, and keep thee clean; and when all is done, thou must die, and be laid in darkness in a grave! There must thou lie rotting night and day, till thy flesh be turned into earth. The grass doth wither when it is cut down, but yet it is sweet; the tree that is cut down will rot in time, but not with such a loathsome stink as we. He that had seen what the late doleful wars did often show us, when the fields were strewed with the carcasses of men, and when they lay by heaps among the rubbish of the ditches of towns and castles that had been assaulted, would think such loathsome lumps of flesh should never have been proud. When once death hath deprived thy body of its soul, thy best friends will quickly be weary of the remainder, and glad to rid thee out of sight and smell. Go to the churchyard, and look on the dust and bones that are there cast up and scattered, and bethink thee whether those that must come to this have reason to be proud? See whether there be any differing mark of honour upon the dust of the rich, or strong, or beautiful? and whether the bones there strive for principality and dominion? Therefore the desire of adorned monuments upon men's graves, is one of the most odious sorts of pride; when the neighbourhood of rottenness and dust doth shame it. As our serious poet Herbert saith,
When the hair grows sweet with pride and lust, The powder doth forget the dust.