alk in happiness;
and, which is worst, his misery is positive and dogmatical, his
happiness is but disputable and problematical: all men call misery
misery, but happiness changes the name by the taste of man. In this
accident that befalls me, now that this sickness declares itself by
spots to be a malignant and pestilential disease, if there be a comfort
in the declaration, that thereby the physicians see more clearly what to
do, there may be as much discomfort in this, that the malignity may be
so great as that all that they can do shall do nothing; that an enemy
declares himself then, when he is able to subsist, and to pursue, and to
achieve his ends, is no great comfort. In intestine conspiracies,
voluntary confessions do more good than confessions upon the rack; in
these infections, when nature herself confesses and cries out by these
outward declarations which she is able to put forth of herself, they
minister comfort; but when all is by the strength of cordials, it is but
a confession upon the rack, by which, though we come to know the malice
of that man, yet we do not know whether there be not as much malice in
his heart then as before his confession; we are sure of his treason, but
not of his repentance; sure of him, but not of his accomplices. It is a
faint comfort to know the worst when the worst is remediless, and a
weaker than that to know much ill, and not to know that that is the
worst. A woman is comforted with the birth of her son, her body is eased
of a burden; but if she could prophetically read his history, how ill a
man, perchance how ill a son, he would prove, she should receive a
greater burden into her mind. Scarce any purchase that is not clogged
with secret incumbrances; scarce any happiness that hath not in it so
much of the nature of false and base money, as that the allay is more
than the metal. Nay, is it not so (at least much towards it) even in the
exercise of virtues? I must be poor and want before I can exercise the
virtue of gratitude; miserable, and in torment, before I can exercise
the virtue of patience. How deep do we dig, and for how coarse gold! And
what other touchstone have we of our gold but comparison, whether we be
as happy as others, or as ourselves at other times? O poor step toward
being well, when these spots do only tell us that we are worse than we
were sure of before.

XIII. EXPOSTULATION.

My God, my God, thou hast made this sick bed thine altar, and I have no
oth