and death were such that I
could not blame them who wished the like, and almost to have been
himself: almost, I say; for though we may wish the prosperous
appurtenances of others, or to be another in his happy accidents, yet so
intrinsical is every man unto himself that some doubt may be made
whether any would exchange his being, or substantially become
another man.

He had wisely seen the world at home and abroad, and thereby observed
under what variety men are deluded in the pursuit of that which is not
here to be found. And although he had no opinion of reputed felicities
below, and apprehended men widely out in the estimate of such happiness,
yet his sober contempt of the world wrought no Democratism or Cynicism,
no laughing or snarling at it, as well understanding there are not
felicities in this world to satisfy a serious mind; and therefore, to
soften the stream of our lives, we are fain to take in the reputed
contentions of this world, to unite with the crowd in their beatitudes,
and to make ourselves happy by consortion, opinion, or co-existimation:
for strictly to separate from received and customary felicities, and to
confine unto the rigor of realities, were to contract the consolation of
our beings unto too uncomfortable circumscriptions.

Not to be content with life is the unsatisfactory state of those who
destroy themselves; who, being afraid to live, run blindly upon their
own death, which no man fears by experience: and the Stoics had a
notable doctrine to take away the fear thereof; that is, in such
extremities, to desire that which is not to be avoided, and wish what
might be feared; and so made evils voluntary and to suit with their own
desires, which took off the terror of them.

But the ancient martyrs were not encouraged by such fallacies, who,
though they feared not death, were afraid to be their own executioners;
and therefore thought it more wisdom to crucify their lusts than their
bodies, to circumcise than stab their hearts, and to mortify than kill
themselves.

His willingness to leave this world about that age when most men think
they may best enjoy it, though paradoxical unto worldly ears, was not
strange unto mine, who have so often observed that many, though old, oft
stick fast unto the world, and seem to be drawn like Cacus's oxen,
backward with great struggling and reluctancy unto the grave. The long
habit of living makes mere men more hardly to part with life, and all to
be noth