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who said, 'The first glass for thirst, the second for cheerfulness, the third for pleasure, the fourth for madness?' You could teach him another lesson, the fifth for poverty, the sixth for rags, the seventh for hunger, the eighth for cold, the ninth for contempt, the tenth for vomiting, the eleventh for the devil, and the twelth for damnation; and yet you are but in the middle of your career.

Let me ask you a very important question: Do you intend ever to reform? If you do, why not now? It will be much easier to do it now, than any time hence. I remember on my speaking in this manner to a noted drunkard some years ago, he told me, he did fully intend to quit the vice, but he saw no reason for being in haste. This unhappy man continued his course for more than a year afterward, and ended it with breaking his neck in a fit of drunkenness. Have you any reason to promise yourself a better end? A young man came drunk and reeling into the school of Zeno the philosopher, who changed his subject to such a lecture against drunkenness, as roused the profligate to a sense of his folly, and to an effectual resolution never to be drunk again. Shall the word of God have less force in my mouth than mere human reasoning had in that of Zeno? Or shall you, who are now sober, be more impenetrable to religion, than that young Pagan, in the midst of a debauch, to a sort of philosophy, that was not founded on faith in the true God, nor an expectation of heaven or hell? If this is the case, tell it not to unbelievers, publish it not among the enemies of Christ, lest they take an occasion from thence to deride and blaspheme the religion you profess.

But if the force of reason, the power of God's word, and the divine grace, are now struggling with your abominable vice, turn your heart to your duty; fix a firm resolution against the vile unworthy sin; let God have the victory, and to him, in the unity of the ever blessed Trinity, be the praise, the honour, and the glory, now and for evermore. Amen.

DISCOURSE XXXVI.

PRIDE AN HUMBLER.

PROV. XXIX. 23.

A man's pride shall bring him low.

THE author of human nature hath planted in every man a greater love for himself, than for any thing else in the world; insomuch that, were he left merely to the motions of nature, he would prefer his own interest, his happiness, and his life, to those of all mankind. Now where there is so much love, there must be some esteem; there is, therefore, in every man, some degree of esteem for himself. Since, then, selfesteem is as natural to us as self-love, every degree of it cannot be culpable, for God will never judge us for that which he himself hath made a part of our nature. We We say of a man whom we think proud, He hath too good an opinion, or he sets too high a value on himself; by which it plainly appears, we do not blame him for having some esteem for himself, but only for having too much.

What, then is pride, considered as a vice? It is the having too great an esteem for ourselves on account of some inward excellence which we either have not, or over value; or on account of some outward advantages, which we are too apt to value ourselves upon, as if they made a part of ourselves. Pride, like all other vices, consists not in the natural affection itself, but proceeds from the abuse or excess of it.

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The setting too great a value on ourselves is that vice of pride, which brings a man low,' which comes before a fall;' and which is threatened in Scripture, and, by the natural make of men and things, with perpetual and grievous mortifications. The whole world, with all the persons and things of which it is composed, are so framed by their Maker, as to enter into a natural combination to pull down pride.

All men have more or less of pride; and therefore are jealous of the respect paid to others, and infinitely offended at another's seeming to respect himself. Honour and praise are things about which men contend, as if they could not be shared; for there is hardly any one who is satisfied to be commended or respected upon a level with others, but would have all the compliments and praises paid to himself: if he can be content with a preference, he is judged to have some modesty.

Again; he who does not receive some respect, will pay none: as if honour was a kind of trade, in which every man (such is his opinion of himself) thinks what he hath to give, is worth all he can receive from his neighbours. He, therefore, who seems to respect himself above others, and to set up for engrossing all the esteem of his acquaintance, cannot but miss of his aim; because he must be most distasteful to the rest of mankind, who act too nearly upon the same principles, especially if he appears to overbear or extort that esteem. The pride of one man will not suffer him to bear the pride of another. This is the spring of all that outward respect and civility with which well-bred people, and such as know the world, are obliged to treat one another; and they are of no small use among persons in whom honour, and vanity, and self-respect, run so high. However highly each of them may think of himself, and despicably of others; yet, if this is artfully concealed, he may hope to be paid in the same coin, and treated with such a shew of respect, as, being construed by vanity to its own advantage, may serve the fool almost as well as real regard.

If he desires any more than mere civility, if he would have a shew of respect more solid; for instance, if he hopes to have others speak well of him behind his back; he must pay a much higher purchase for this higher mark of esteem; he must cringe so much the lower to them; he must flatter them when present, and cry them up to the stars when absent; or, he may assure himself, they will never fill their trumpets with his praises; but, on the contrary, vilify him on all occasions. He would do well, however, to consider how low he must stoop, to raise himself in the opinion of others; how little he must make himself, in order to this

sort of greatness. Now, as there can be nothing more mean or preposterous than to beg respect, to aim at praise by flattery; or honour, by servility; to compliment him whom he hates; to applaud the man whom he despises; to tickle the vanity of others with gross lies, and base dissimulation; that they, in return, may feed his with the same chaff, so his pride, seeking to gratify itself by such means as these, miserably acts against its own intention, and brings him low, even to the ground. Christianity does not require humility itself to stoop so low.

Nothing, one would think, bids so fair to raise a man to honour and esteem, as the doing of good. But this can only recommend us to the esteem of a few, and a few can never give a man that general applause which pride looks for. The greater part of that scanty class of men, who like a man for doing good, are too apt to mistake a good action for the contrary; to attribute the good that is done to low motives; and to take our characters, after having done the best we can, from worse men than themselves, who find a pleasure in artfully giving a bad turn to every thing; and, even when these virtuous few do think well both of what is done, and him who does it, they are generally, through suspicion, having been often imposed upon by false appearances cold enough in their commendations.

The rest of the world, as they have little inclination to do good themselves, so they look with an evil eye on him who hath. His good actions reprove their evil ones. They are sometimes even twitted with them, and are forced to hear an odious comparison made between him and themselves. This is with them a sufficient cause of resentment and hatred. They think he hath traduced them by his piety, and fallen foul upon their characters by his justice and charity; for which reason they use all possible means to set him in the worst lights they can, lest he should be thought a better man than themselves. In reality, to be remarkable for going good, is to be an object of envy to all those who do less good, and a reproach to such as do none. A few good actions, indeed, may be forgiven; but if a man should persevere in such practices, the good-natured world will say, he is setting up for something extraordinary; will severely lash at him with their tongues on all occasions;

will rip up all his failings; will add a hundred more he was never addicted to; and persecute him, as often as it is in their power, with the utmost cruelty. This is almost all the glory he is to be rewarded with among men, for doing the best actions, upon the best principles.

But if his motive for doing good appears to be a love of praise (and vanity is never to be concealed from the sharpsighted world, who always suspect it before it appears), then ridicule and infamy, which he justly deserves, are sure to be his doom. All actions are to be judged of by God according to the real principles they spring from; and men, who often set up for searchers of hearts, as far as they are able, endeavour to judge the same way. The proud man loses all the merit of the little good he does, both with God and man. God sees his heart, and knows he acts on no other principle but vanity; now God hates nothing so much as pride, because it is levelled more directly against himself than any other vice; robs him of his honour; was the spring of all evil and rebellion; is most contrary to his nature, and most inconsistent with the nature of man, whom God, his Maker, knows to be so wicked, so miserable, and so vile, a creature, deserving of nothing but disgrace and shame; with which pride, be it ever so highly gratified here, must be punished at the last.

But the world never suffers it to go unmortified, even in this life, though setting itself off by the most plausible actions. Men of real worth hate the counterfeit of themselves, and can hardly be reconciled to the utmost good that vanity can do. And as to bad men, they serve the vain-glorious apes of goodness, just as the evil spirit served the sons of Sceva: "The truly good man we know, the upright man we know, but who are ye?' and, flying at their characters, they tear them to pieces. The proud man will not wait to be rewarded either by God or man; but makes his own vanity his pay-master; and, considering how little real good he does, and how high a value he sets on it, I believe he is always overpaid. This kind of hypocrisy and spiritual pride 'brings a man so low,' both in the judgment of God, and the esteem of men, that the vilest publican or sinner, whose breast is smitten with humility, stands far above him in the sight of both.

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