til
)» |)almer
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY IN THE SON
NETS OF SHAKSPERE. Ingersott Lecture.
THE PROBLEM OF FREEDOM.
THE TEACHER AND OTHER ESSAYS AND AD
DRESSES ON EDUCATION. By George H. Palmer
and Alice Freeman Palmer.
THE LIFE OF ALICE FREEMAN PALMER. With
Portraits and Views. New Edition.
THE ENGLISH WORKS OF GEORGE HERBERT.
Newly arranged and annotated, and considered in rela
tion to his life, by G. H. Palmer. Second Edition. In
3 volumes. Illustrated.
THE NATURE OF GOODNESS.
THE FIELD OF ETHICS.
THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. Books I-XII. The
Text and an English Prose Version.
THE ODYSSEY. Complete. An English Translation
in Prose.
THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES. Translated into
English. With an Introduction.
A SERVICE IN MEMORY OF ALICE FREEMAN
PALMER. Edited by George H. Palmer. With Ad
dresses by James B. Angell, Caroline Hazard, W. J.
Tucker, and Charles W. Eliot. With Portraits.
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
THE ENGLISH WORKS OF
GEORGE HERBERT
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOLUME I
Pencil drawing on vellum by R. White, probably the original of
all known portraits of Herbert. See Vol. I, p. 50.
•-": • .^.1 .\ ..t-A \\»
THE ENGLISH WORKS OF
NEWLY ARRANGED AND ANNOTATED AND
CONSIDERED IN RELATION TO HIS LIFE
BY GEORGE HERBERT PALMER
VOLUME I
ESSAYS AND PROSE
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
MDCCCCXV
COPYRIGHT 1905 BY GEORGE HERBERT PALMER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published October IO
PR
V.I
NOTE TO THE SECOND EDITION
IN this edition, called for unexpectedly soon,
many small changes have been made, a few
errors corrected, two title-pages added, — complet
ing the list of the original title-pages of Herbert's
English works, — two indexes changed in position,
and two new ones introduced. One of these in
dexes, placed at the end of the first volume, cata
logues Herbert's biblical allusions ; the other, for
which I am indebted to Mrs. Grace R. Walden,
at the end of the third volume, gives access to the
extensive notes, essays, and prefaces.
HARVARD UNIVERSITY,
April 3, 1907.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
VOLUME I
PAGE
CHRONOLOGY 1
INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS
I. THE LIFE 15
II. THE MAN 47
III. THE POETRY 85
IV. THE STYLE 121
V. THE TEXT AND ORDER 169
HERBERT'S PROSE WORKS
THE COUNTRY PARSON 193
CORNARO ON TEMPERANCE 329
VALDESSO'S DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS 359
LETTERS 387
HERBERT'S WILL 413
NOTES 417
INDEXES 431
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME I
WHITE'S DRAWING FRONTISPIECE
WHITE'S ENGRAVING IN THE TEMPLE, 1674 PAGE 14
SPURT'S ENGRAVING IN THE TEMPLE, 1709 46
PAGE OF THE BODLEIAN MANUSCRIPT 84
ENGLISH POEM FROM THE WILLIAMS MANUSCRIPT 120
LATIN POEMS FROM THE WILLIAMS MANUSCRIPT 168
TITLE-PAGE OF THE COUNTRY PARSON 203
PORTRAIT OF Louis CORNARO 328
TITLE-PAGE OF THE TEMPERATE MAN 337
FERRAR'S CHURCH AT LITTLE GIDDING 358
TITLE-PAGE OF THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS 366
INTERIOR OF FERRAR'S CHURCH 386
TITLE-PAGE OF JACULA PRUDENTUM 412
PREFACE
PREFACE
fTlHERE are few to whom this book will seem
_A_ worth while. It embodies long labor, spent
on a minor poet, and will probably never be read
entire by any one. But that is a reason for its exist
ence. Lavishness is in its aim. The book is a box
of spikenard, poured in unappeasable love over one
who has attended my life. When I lay in my cradle,
a devotee of Herbert gave me the old poet's name,
so securing him for my godfather. Before I could
well read, I knew a large part of his verse, — not
its meaning, but (what was more important then)
its large diction, flexible rhythms, and stimulating
mysteries. As I grew, the wisdom hidden in the
strange lines was gradually disclosed, and in daily
experience,
His words did finde me out, and parallels bring,
And in another make me understood.
For fifty years, with suitable fluctuations of inti
macy, he has been my bounteous comrade. And
while his elaborate ecclesiasticism has often re
pelled me, a Puritan, and his special type of self-
centred piety has not attracted, he has rendered
me profoundly grateful for what he has shown of
himself, — the struggling soul, the high-bred gen-
xii PREFACE
tleman, the sagacious observer, the master of lan
guage, the persistent artist. I could not die in peace,
if I did not raise a costly monument to his benefi
cent memory.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that
an elaborate edition of a subordinate poet is excus
able only on grounds of personal devotion. There
are public reasons too. The tendencies of an age
appear more distinctly in its writers of inferior
rank than in those of commanding genius. These
latter tell of past and future as well as of the years
in which they live. They are for all time. But
on the sensitive, responsive souls, of less creative
power, current ideals record themselves with clear
ness. Whoever, then, values literary history will be
glad to seek out the gentle and incomplete poet, be
willing for a while to dwell dispassionately in his
narrow surroundings, without praise or blame will
examine his numbered thoughts, and never forget
that even restricted times and poets work out neces
sary elements of human nature and appropriately
further its growth. A small writer so studied be- '
comes large. So would I study Herbert, laying
chief stress on his psychological, social, and liter
ary significance, and marking his connection with
the world-movements of his age.
That there is room for such a study, a brief
sketch of the present condition of Herbert-scholar
ship will show. His poetry has had two periods of
popularity and a century of neglect. He has been
PREFACE xiii
revived after an interval, and even now has not
quite come to his own. Between his death, in 1633,
and 1709 thirteen editions were published. He so
immediately hit the taste of his day that in the first
year a second edition of his book was called for,
and in 1670 Walton estimated that twenty thou
sand copies had been sold. But between 1709 and
1799 not a single edition appeared. Herbert was
despised, and only here and there a Cowper ad
mired him. At the opening of the nineteenth cen
tury Coleridge called attention to him again; and
in 1835 Pickering began to publish editions of his
works more complete than had ever before ap
peared. The period of Romanticism was at hand,
the Oxford ecclesiastical movement, and the inter
est in our early literature, — all influences favorable
to Herbert. In 1874 Dr. Grosart brought to light
the important Williams Manuscript and edited his
two elaborate editions. Unhappily he left a worse
text than he found ; and when he attempted a
reprint of Ferrar's first edition, he seriously dam
aged its worth by careless proof-reading. In 1899
Dr. Gibson was more successful in reproducing
the original text and in adding the readings of the
Williams Manuscript. During the last quarter
century a new edition of Herbert has appeared
almost every other year.
Yet in this period of Herbert's second popularity
he is more bought than read. Half a dozen of his
poems are famous; but the remainder, many of
XIV
PREFACE
them equally fitted for household words, nobody
looks at. They lie hidden beneath ancestral en
cumbrances which editors have not had the cour
age to clear away. A fairly accurate text has been
established, but the arrangement of the book pre
serves its original chaos. No attempt has ever been
made to set the poems in intelligible order. The
many religious, artistic, and personal problems
which they involve remain unexamined. Probably
no other poet except Donne stands so much in need
of elucidation. Yet only half a dozen editions of
Herbert have any notes, and these are generally
slight and copied from book to book. Perhaps edi
tors have feared to come to close quarters with him,
knowing how much there is to do. How loosely he
is published appears in the fact that his book is
still without an index of first lines. Present means
of access to him are, in short, elementary.
It is these defects, then, which I would meet.
Let there be applied to Herbert those comparative
and encyclopaedic methods which have already
been accorded to Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton,
Pope, Byron, Wordsworth, Shelley, Tennyson, and
Browning. No one man can accomplish so much.
But a beginning may be made, and to it I seem to
be called by a long and enriching intimacy. This
book will not supersede the many handy editions
which are issued for devotional purposes. They
will still serve their hallowed ends. My aim is dif
ferent. I am attempting a kind of critical diction-
PREFACE xv
ary of Herbert, in which his meaning may be sys
tematically fixed with reference to the text itself,
to the facts of the author's life, and to the literary
conditions under which his poetry arose.
My plan is this : After a chronological survey of
his age, such matters as are essential to a general
understanding of his poetry are discussed in a
series of Introductory Essays. These deal with the
events of his life, the traits of his character, the
type of his religious verse, the technique of his
expression, and our means of knowing what he
wrote. The most important of them for an under
standing of my book — and the one which should
be read by whoever can read but one — is the last,
on the text and order. It there appears that no exact
chronological arrangement of the poems is possible.
By using, however, certain broad indications of
time, and combining them with the subject-mat
ter, I am able to form twelve significant Groups.
To the Groups brief Prefaces are prefixed, giving
the reasons for putting together these particular
poems, and indicating the features of Herbert's
life which they involve. By this association of
Essays, Prefaces, and Groups of poems I hope
my poet may find that opportunity for self-por
traiture which a prose writer usually obtains in a
Life and Letters.
Desiring the book to be a Variorum Edition, I
have gathered into it whatever of importance has
been proposed by previous commentators, and
XVI
PREFACE
have myself steadily turned toward fulness of
comment ; but a simple classification renders the
voluminous notes easy of reference. All are not
intended for any one person. They are of five
sorts: explanations of words, of phrases, of con
nections of thought, similar passages in Herbert,
and similar passages in his contemporaries. Some
notes are for beginners, who want to know what
this antique and cloudy poet is talking about. For
them I try to copie fair what time hath blurr'd, and
offer a paraphrase of every sentence at which a
fairly intelligent person might hesitate. Others are
for those who already know Herbert so well that
they would like to apply a microscope and develop
his minuter beauties. For them I treat of subtler
matters, and especially for them are intended the
cross-references, showing Herbert's curious tena
city of thought and even of phrase. By these he
is made to comment on himself, and out of his own
mouth to explain his peculiar locutions. Wherever,
too, in his prose writings similar thoughts or words
occur, I quote the passages; as I also bring out of
Ferrar, Oley, or Walton whatever illustration those
early eulogists afford.
To trace the external sources from which Her
bert derived material is uncertain business. I have
ventured on it sparingly. Wide as his learning is,
he has fully assimilated it, and rarely quotes or
directly mentions other writers. Yet his incessant
allusion to the Bible is so evident that I have felt
PREFACE xvii
obliged to refer to such Biblical phrases as he
probably had in mind. And rarely as he mentions
contemporary poets, I have thought it instructive
to cite parallel passages from those who immedi
ately preceded him; but I offer no opinion about
the nature or degree of his debts. Donne, how
ever, may fairly be called his master, and to Donne
his obligations are of a more palpable sort. Among
those who came after him, Henry Vaughan was in
so special a sense his follower, besides being him
self a delicate and highly individual poet, that I
have felt justified in calling attention to his longer
imitations. To trace his smaller ones would be
tedious, as Vaughan seldom writes a dozen lines
without remembrance of Herbert.
In the photographic illustrations I attempt to
exhibit whatever portions of Herbert's visible
world have survived the centuries. Here are the
homes of his childhood, youth, and maturity; here
the many churches with which in divers ways his
life was connected ; here are his portraits, the
original drawing and the two early engravings
from it ; here the handwriting of his ordination
subscriptions, preserved in the Record Office at
Salisbury ; and here that hand may again be
traced in pages of the manuscripts of his poems.
While these things can afford no such pleasure to
one who finds them in a book as to him who has
gathered them by pilgrimage to every spot where
Herbert's feet have stood, I believe they will all
XV111
PREFACE
be looked at with interest; and some, especially
the handwriting and White's drawing, will throw
fresh light on problems of the verse.
My first plan was to publish only the poems, and
I still desire to concentrate attention on them, pay
ing little regard to anything else. THE COUNTRY
PARSON, however, itself almost a poem, has such
intimate relations with THE TEMPLE that each
suffers in the other's absence. The letters, too, can
hardly be omitted. Better than anything else they
show Herbert in his every-day dress, especially in
the years before he became a priest. The beauty of
the translation of Cornaro, and the theologic inter
est of the notes on Valdesso, justify their inclusion.
When these are added, we have the complete Eng
lish works of Herbert; for nothing is his in the
JACULA PRUDENTUM except the collection, and at
least two thirds of that is the work of later editors.
I cannot bring myself to include the Latin
verse. It would double the size of my book and
halve its quality. Unless Latin verse is excellent it
is worthless ; and surely no one will call Herbert's
excellent. The reasons for its inferiority are ob
scure. With his lifelong practice in Latin, with his
love of refinement, condensation, and verbal ele
gance, one might expect from Herbert as exquisite
Latin poetry as Milton wrote. But unless my judg
ment is at fault, it is ordinary and conventional.
He would be a hardy adventurer who should read
five successive pages of it. But Herbert wrote a
PREFACE
xix
hundred pages, and added more in Greek. The
Latin orations, also, and the Latin letters are too
stilted and official for ordinary mortals. When
Herbert touches Latin, he leaves simplicity behind.
I omit these pieces, then, not merely because they
are uninteresting, but because they reveal so little
of the man.
While I have derived much from those who have
previously written about Herbert, especially from
Coleridge, Willmott, Macdonald, Palgrave, Gro-
sart, and Beeching, my most stimulating aid has
come by word of mouth. In the ten years during
which my book has been growing, friends have
made generous gifts of suggestion and criticism.
Especially large are my obligations to Mr. Lewis
Kennedy Morse of Boston, the best Herbert
scholar of my acquaintance and my perpetually
watchful helper; to Miss Lucy Sprague of the
University of California, who, in pursuance of
studies in Herbert, subjected the whole body of my
notes to a searching revision ; to my brother, Rev.
Frederic Palmer of Andover, who so freely placed
at my disposal his minute knowledge of ecclesi
astical conditions under the Stuarts that parts of
my discussion, especially the seventh section of the
second Essay, may be said to have been supplied
by him; to Professor A. V. G. Allen of the Epis
copal Theological School, Cambridge, for similar
guidance in the broader fields of church history;
to Professor J. B. Fletcher of Columbia Univer-
XX
PREFACE
sity, for help in comparative literature ; to Pro
fessor Charles Eliot Norton for many valued con
sultations, besides the loan and gift of precious
books; and to the late Dr. Horace E. Scudder of
Cambridge, for granting me during long years a
share in that sober judgment of literary products
and that imaginative guidance of inexperienced
writers on which he was ever wont to expend
himself.
All this aid, however, is insignificant compared
with that furnished by my wife, Alice Freeman
Palmer. In reality the book is only half mine. It
was begun at her instance, enriched by her daily
contributions, sustained through difficulties by her
resourceful courage, the tedium of its mechanical
part lightened by her ever ready fingers. When
she was dying she asked for its speedy publication.
Alas, that she should not see what through more
than half her married life she eagerly foresaw, and
that the book must miss that ultimate perfection
which her full cooperation might have secured!
HABVABD UNIVERSITY,
March 19, 1905.
CHRONOLOGY
CHRONOLOGY
The dates of this list are stated according to the New Style
of reckoning. Those printed in small capitals refer to Herbert
and his immediate circle ; those in italics, to political and
public events ; those in ordinary type, to literature.
1580. Montaigne's Essais, Bks. I, II.
1581. Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata.
1583. EDWARD HERBERT, GEORGE HERBERT'S
ELDEST BROTHER, BORN.
1584. Giordano Bruno's Delia Causa, and Dell'
Infinite Universe.
1585. Pierre de Ronsard dies.
1586. Sir Philip Sidney killed at Ziitphen.
1588. G. Fletcher, Hobbes, and Wither born.
Defeat of Spanish Armada.
1589. Henry IV King of France.
1590. Sidney's Arcadia. Spenser's Faerie Queene,
Bks. I-III.
1591. Sidney's Astrophel and Stella. Shake
speare's Plays begun. Herrick born.
1592. Quarles born. Montaigne dies.
1593. APRIL 3. GEORGE HERBERT BORN AT
MONTGOMERY CASTLE, NORTH WALES.
4 CHRONOLOGY
Ferrar and Walton born. Marlowe dies.
1594. Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, Bks. I-
IV.
1595. Sidney's Apology for Poetry. Spenser's
Colin Clout. Tasso dies.
1596. EDWARD HERBERT MATRICULATES AT UNI
VERSITY COLLEGE, OXFORD.
Spenser's Faerie Queene, Bks. IV-VI.
1597. RICHARD HERBERT, GEORGE HERBERT'S
FATHER, DIES.
Bishop Hall's Satires. Bacon's Essays.
1598. LADY HERBERT MOVES TO OXFORD.
Chapman's Iliad. Jonson's Every Man in
His Humor.
Edict of Nantes. Philip II of Spain dies.
1599. Globe Theatre built. Davies' Nosce
Teipsum. Spenser dies.
1600. MONUMENT TO RICHARD HERBERT
ERECTED IN MONTGOMERY CHURCH.
G. Bruno and Hooker die.
1601. John Donne marries Anne More.
1602. Bodleian Library founded.
1603. LADY HERBERT MOVES TO LONDON.
Elizabeth dies, James I succeeding. Plague
in Oxford.
1604. Hampton Court Conference.
CHRONOLOGY 5
Melville's Anti-Tami-Cami-Categoria.
1605. HERBERT ENTERS WESTMINSTER SCHOOL.
Bacon's Advancement of Learning. Sir
T. Browne born. Cervantes' Don Quixote.
Gunpowder Plot.
1606. Waller and Corneille born. Lyly dies.
1607. Jamestown, Virginia, founded.
1608. EDWARD HERBERT GOES ABROAD.
Beaumont and Fletcher's Philaster. Mil
ton born.
1609. LADY HERBERT MARRIES SIR JOHN DAN-
VERS. HERBERT APPOINTED KING'S
SCHOLAR AT TRINITY COLLEGE, CAM
BRIDGE, MAY 5; AND MATRICULATES DE
CEMBER 18.
Shakespeare's Sonnets published.
Douai Translation of the Bible.
Robinson's Puritans settle at Leyden.
1610. HERBERT'S SONNETS TO HIS MOTHER.
John Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess. Giles
Fletcher's Christ's Victorie.
The Great Contract. Henry IV of France
assassinated, Louis XIII succeeding.
1611. King James' Translation of the Bible.
1612. HERBERT TAKES B. A. DEGREE. His TWO
LATIN POEMS ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE
6 CHRONOLOGY
HENRY PRINTED IN CAMBRIDGE COLLEC
TION OF ELEGIES.
Webster's White Devil. Samuel Butler
born.
Death of Prince Henry.
1613. Drayton's Polyolbion. Browne's Britannia's
Pastorals. Crashaw and Jeremy Taylor
born.
The Princess Elizabeth marries Frederic V,
Elector Palatine. Death of Sir T. Over-
bury.
1614. HERBERT APPOINTED MINOR FELLOW.
Ralegh's History of the World. Henry
More, the Cambridge Platonist, born.
1615. Wither's Shepherd's Hunting. Baxter and
Denham born.
1616. HERBERT TAKES HIS M. A. DEGREE, AND
is APPOINTED MAJOR FELLOW.
Shakespeare and Cervantes die.
Condemnation of Somerset. Rise of Buck-
1617. HERBERT APPOINTED SUBLECTOR QUARTAE
CLASSIS AT TRINITY.
Cudworth born. Donne's wife dies.
1618. HERBERT APPOINTED PRAELECTOR IN RHE
TORIC.
CHRONOLOGY 7
Cowley and Lovelace born.
Execution of Ralegh. Beginning of Thirty
Years9 War.
1619. HERBERT APPOINTED PUBLIC ORATOR AT l
CAMBRIDGE. His LATIN POEM ON DEATH
OF QUEEN ANNE PRINTED IN CAMBRIDGE
COLLECTION OF ELEGIES. EDWARD HER
BERT APPOINTED AMBASSADOR TO FRANCE.
Visit of Ben Jonson to Drummond of
Hawthornden. Campion and Daniel die.
1620. HERBERT WRITES THANKING THE KING FOB
HIS BASILIKON DORON, AND BACON FOR
HIS INSTAURATIO MAGNA.
Marvell born.
Plymouth in New England settled.
1621. Donne becomes Dean of St. Paul's. Bur
ton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
Fall of Bacon.
1622. Vaughan and Moliere born. Andrew
Melville dies.
1623. HERBERT RECEIVES FROM THE KING THE
SINECURE LAY RECTORSHIP OF WHITFORD.
ORATIO QUA AUSPICATISSIMI SERENISSIMUM
PRINCIPIS CAROLI REDTTUM EX HISPANIIS
CELEBRATED GEORGIUS HERBERT. ORATIO
DOMINI GEORGII HERBERT HABITA CORAM
8 CHRONOLOGY
DOMINIS LEGATES CUM MAGISTRO IN ARTIB.
TITULIS INSIGNIRENTUR. His BROTHER
HENRY APPOINTED MASTER OF THE REVELS
AT COURT AND KNIGHTED.
First folio of Shakespeare published.
Pascal born.
Duke of Richmond dies.
1624. EDWARD HERBERT RECALLED FROM PARIS,
AND PUBLISHES HIS DE VERITATE.
George Fox born. Duke of Lenox dies.
1625. BACON DEDICATES TO HERBERT CERTAIN
PSALMS.
Milton matriculates at Christ's College,
Cambridge. Grotius' De Jure Belli et
Pacis. John Fletcher and Lodge die.
Plague in London. King James dies,
Charles I succeeding. Marquis of Hamilton
dies.
1626. HERBERT APPOINTED PREBENDARY OF
LEIGHTON ECCLESIA IN DIOCESE OF LIN
COLN. LATIN POEM ON BACON'S DEATH.
Ferrar settles at Little Gidding. Bishop
Andrewes, Bacon, and Sir J. Davies die.
War declared against France.
1627. HERBERT'S MOTHER DIES. HE RESIGNS THE
ORATORSHIP. His PARENTALIA (LATIN
CHRONOLOGY 9
AND GREEK POEMS) APPENDED TO DONNE'S
SERMON IN COMMEMORATION OF LADY
DANVERS.
Bossuet born.
1628. HERBERT, THREATENED WITH CONSUMP
TION, VISITS HIS BROTHER HENRY AT
WOODFORD, ESSEX. SIR JOHN DANVERS
MARRIES ELIZABETH DAUNTSEY.
Bunyan born.
Petition of Right. Wentworth President of
Council of North. Laud Bishop of London.
Assassination of Buckingham.
1629. HERBERT LIVING AT DAUNTSEY, WILTS,
WITH THE EARL OF DANBY, SIR JOHN
DANVERS' ELDEST BROTHER. MARRIES
JANE DANVERS, MARCH 5. EDWARD HER
BERT MADE BARON OF CHERBURY.
Parliament dissolved for eleven years.
1630. HERBERT INSTITUTED AT BEMERTON,
APRIL 26. ORDAINED PRIEST, SEPTEMBER
19. WILLIAM, EARL OF PEMBROKE, DIES,
APRIL 10, HIS BROTHER PHILIP SUCCEED
ING.
Settlement of Boston, Massachusetts.
1631. Dryden born. Donne and Drayton die.
1632. HERBERT SENDS NOTES ON VALDESSO TO
10 CHRONOLOGY
FERRAB. His NIECE, DOROTHY VAUGHAN,
DIES AT BEMERTON.
Locke and Spinoza born.
Battle of Lutzen and death of Gustavus
Adolphus.
1633. HERBERT BURIED AT BEMERTON, MARCH 3.
His WILL PRO VED MARCH 12. THE TEMPLE
PUBLISHED AT CAMBRIDGE, SOME UNDATED
COPIES AND TWO EDITIONS. (THE OTHER
EDITIONS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
ARE 1634, 1635, 1638, 1641 WITH SYNA
GOGUE, 1656 WITH TABLE, 1660, 1667, 1674
WITH PORTRAIT AND LIFE, 1679, 1695.)
Laud Archbishop of Canterbury. Went-
worth Lord Deputy of Ireland. Galileo ab
jures Copernican system.
1634. A TREATISE OF TEMPERANCE AND SOBRI
ETY TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF
LUD. CORNARUS BY HERBERT, AND PUB
LISHED WITH A TRANSLATION OF LEONARD
LESSIUS' LATIN HYGIASTICON, AND A TRANS
LATION OF AN ANONYMOUS ITALIAN DIS
COURSE ON TEMPERANCE.
Crashaw's first publication, Epigrammata
Sacra. Milton's Comus acted. Chapman
and Marston die.
CHRONOLOGY 11
1637. HERBERT'S WIDOW MARRIES SIR ROBERT
COOK OF HlGHNAM COURT, GLOUCESTER
SHIRE.
Nicholas Ferrar dies.
1638. FERRAR'S TRANSLATION OF THE DIVINE
CONSIDERATIONS OF JOHN VALDESSO,
CONTAINING A LETTER AND NOTES BY
HERBERT.
1640. OUTLANDISH PROVERBS SELECTED BY MR.
G. H.
1645. HIGHNAM COURT BURNED. R. WHITE,
ENGRAVER OF HERBERT'S PORTRAIT, BORN.
1652. HERBERT'S REMAINS, CONTAINING A LIFE
BY B. OLEY, A PRIEST TO THE TEMPLE,
JACULA PRUDENTUM (WITH TITLE-PAGE
DATED 1651), PRAYER BEFORE AND AFTER
SERMON, THE LETTER TO FERRAR ON VAL
DESSO, TWO LATIN POEMS TO BACON AND
ONE TO DONNE, WITH AN ADDITION OF
APOTHEGMES BY SEVERALL AUTHOURS.
1655. SIR JOHN DANVERS DIES.
1662. GEORGII HERBERTI, ANGLI MUSAE RE-
SPONSORIAE AD ANDREAE MELVINI, SCOTI,
ANTI-TAMI-CAMI-CATEGORIAM, APPENDED
TO ECCLESIASTES SoLOMONIS, PER JA. Du-
PORTUM.
12 CHRONOLOGY
1665. LADY COOK DIES AT HIGHNAM.
1670. THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT
WRITTEN BY IZAAK WALTON. To WHICH
ARE ADDED SOME LETTERS WRITTEN BY
MR. GEORGE HERBERT AT HIS BEING IN
CAMBRIDGE, WITH OTHERS TO HIS MOTHER,
THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT. (Six NOT
BEFORE PRINTED. THE LlFE OF HERBERT
WAS ADDED TO THE OTHER LlVES WRIT
TEN BY WALTON, AND ALL WERE PUBLISHED
TOGETHER IN THE SAME YEAR.)
1671. A PRIEST TO THE TEMPLE. THE SEC
OND EDITION, WITH A NEW PREFACE BY
B. OLEY. (THE FIRST SEPARATE EDITION.)
1764. AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF EDWARD, LORD HER
BERT OF CHERBURY, FIRST PUBLISHED
BY HORACE WALPOLE, STRAWBERRY HILL
PRESS. (BEST CRITICAL EDITION, EDITED
BY SIDNEY LEE, 1886.)
1818. EPISTOLARY CURIOSITIES, EDITED BY RE
BECCA WARNER, CONTAINING FOUR ADDI
TIONAL LETTERS.
1835. PICKERING'S EDITION OF HERBERT'S
WORKS, CONTAINING COLERIDGE'S ANNOTA
TIONS, ADDING SEVENTEEN LATIN LETTERS
FROM THE ORATOR'S BOOK AT CAMBRIDGE,
CHRONOLOGY 13
SEVERAL LATIN POEMS, AND AN ENGLISH
POEM SUPPOSED TO BE BY HERBERT.
1874. REV. A. B. GROSART'S EDITION OF HER
BERT'S WORKS, ADDING six ENGLISH POEMS
AND TWO GROUPS OF LATIN POEMS (EN
TITLED PASSIO DlSCERPTA AND LUCUS)
FROM THE Ms. IN THE WlLLIAMS LIBRARY,
ALSO SEVEN PSALMS POSSIBLY BY HERBERT.
1893. LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT, BY J. J. DAN-
IELL, PUBLISHED BY THE SOCIETY FOB
PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE. (RE
VISED EDITION IN 1898.)
Portrait engraved by R. White far THE TEMPLE, 1674.
See Vol. I, p. 50.
.to .< A
I
OUTLINES OF THE LIFE
OUTLINES OF THE LIFE
r I THE brief period of Herbert's life forms a turn-
1 ing-point in English history. Whatever oc
curred before it seems ancient ; whatever after,
modern. Within its compass of forty years are
included nearly a quarter of Elizabeth's reign,
the whole of that of James, and a third of that of
Charles. While the third centennial of Herbert's
birth was passed twelve years ago, he being born
but a century after Columbus set sail and but five
years after the Armada, he lived through half of the
Thirty Years' War. He saw the beginning of the
religious colonization of America, and almost its
end. During his life the institutions of England
and the temper of its people underwent radical
change ; a novel religious spirit appeared, soon
showing revolutionary power; from healthy ob
jectivity men's minds turned to introspection, per
sonal interests taking the place of national. At his
birth English literature was in its infancy; at his
death it had become one of the great literatures of
the world and was already in decline. Enumerat
ing all the notable English writers who died before
Herbert was born, we arrive at little more than a
18 THE LIFE
dozen. There is far-away Chaucer and his imme
diate group, Wiclif, Gower, Lydgate, and the au
thor of Piers Plowman. In another century come
Malory, Skelton, and the Balladists. Just preced
ing Herbert's birth appear Tyndale, Coverdale,
More, Foxe, Ascham, Wyatt, Surrey, Gascoigne,
Sidney. All the rest of our vast company of writ
ers were either the contemporaries or successors
of Herbert. In his childhood the plays of Lyly,
Greene, Peele, and Nashe were still being printed,
the first books of Spenser's Faerie Queene had
just appeared, those of Hooker's Ecclesiastical
Polity being issued in Herbert's second year.
Shakespeare was busy with his poems and his
early plays. Neither Marlowe's Edward II, nor
Sidney's Apology for Poetry, nor Chapman's Iliad,
nor Bacon's Essays were yet printed. But when
Herbert died, the period of constructive develop
ment in the drama, the lyric, the sonnet, was over.
Locke and Dryden were born; Davenant, Ran
dolph, and Shirley were in vogue upon the stage ;
Cowley's and Crashaw's first works were being
published. Most of the great Elizabethans were
in their graves ; where Donne, the leader of the
new poetry, had recently joined them. Milton's
Hymn On the Nativity, his Allegro and Penseroso,
were written, and in the following year his Comus
was acted. A period of equal length more markedly
transitional cannot be found in English history.
Living at a time when our literature reached
THE LIFE 19
such sudden and briefly sustained eminence, Her
bert enjoyed the society of a wonderful company of
Englishmen. An anonymous reviewer has gathered
his associates into a few picturesque groups : " Her
bert was a resident of London before the glorious
names which have made the reign of Elizabeth
bright to all generations had become names only,
— when Camden, Selden, Ralegh, Sackville, Dray-
ton, most of our great dramatists, and Shakespeare
himself walked our streets. He was at Cambridge
when Herrick, Giles Fletcher, Fanshawe, Jeremy
Taylor, Milton, Cromwell, were fellow students;
and was a visitant at a court to whose pleasures
Inigo Jones, Marston, Middleton, and Ben Jonson
ministered, — a court where Andrewes, Wotton,
Donne, Coke, Bacon, held high place. All these
he must have looked upon, and with many he
must have exchanged formal courtesies and quaint
compliments."
His life divides itself most naturally into four
unequal periods, those of Education, Hesitation,
Crisis, and Consecration : the first carrying him up
to his twenty-sixth year and to his application for
the Cambridge Oratorship, about 1619; the second
extending through the next eight years, to the death
of his friends, his resignation of the Oratorship, and
his plans for rebuilding Leighton Church in 1626-
27 ; the third covering the time of illness and uncer
tainty till his taking orders in 1630; and the fourth,
his three years as a priest at Bemerton. To each
20 THE LIFE
of these periods I devote a section of this essay, and
add a final section on his early biographer, Walton.
II
GEORGE HERBERT (the name was pro
nounced and often written Harbert) was
born April 3, 1593, at Montgomery in North Wales.
There his father owned two estates, Montgomery
Castle and Black Hall. In which of them the poet
was born is uncertain. Since Montgomery Church
has no record of his baptism, he may have been
born, like his brother Edward, at Eyton in Shrop
shire, his mother's maiden home, or he may have
been baptized at the Castle itself. Montgomery
Castle belongs to that line of fortresses which ex
tends along the eastern boundary of Wales, " The
Marches," built to hold the rebellious Welsh in
awe. It lies on the borders of Montgomeryshire
and Shropshire, in an agricultural region, hilly
rather than mountainous, the town small and
with woodland in its vicinity; " a pleasant romancy
place " in Anthony Wood's time, and in ours also.
The eminence on which the castle stood was known
as Primrose Hill, and is commemorated in Donne's
lines entitled The Primrose. In 1644 Edward
Herbert surrendered the Castle to the Parliament,
who destroyed it in 1649. Little more than the
outline of its wall is now visible.
The Herbert family is one of the oldest, stateliest,
THE LIFE 21
and most extended in England. Three earldoms
— Pembroke, Carnarvon, and Powis — still re
main in the family. It begins with a chamberlain
of William the Conqueror, establishing itself both
in England and in Wales. At the thirteenth gen
eration, in the middle of the fifteenth century, it
divides : the elder brother, William, then made first
Earl of Pembroke, becoming the ancestor five
generations later of the famous brothers, William
and Philip, successively Earls of Pembroke in
George Herbert's time ; while through his younger
son, Richard, the Earl became the ancestor also
in the fifth generation of George Herbert's father,
Richard, the lord of Montgomery. These two
parts of the family always kept in close relation
with each other; the English as the older, richer,
more intimately connected with the Court and with
letters, being regarded by the Welsh branch as
its strong ally and patron.
The Herberts of Montgomery were more noted
for courage than for intellect. They were a race of
soldiers, tall, handsome, black-haired, who lived
roughly, quarrelled easily, were sensitive in mat
ters of honor, and with a strong hand dealt out
justice over their turbulent domains. But they
were trained as gentlemen too. Of George Her
bert's father his son Edward records that "his
learning was not vulgar, as understanding well
the Latin tongue and being well versed in history."
Yet the soldierly blood was in them all. George
22 THE LIFE
was the fifth son among ten children, seven sons
and three daughters, " Job's number and Job's dis
tribution." His brothers, Richard and William,
died as officers in the Flemish wars. Thomas
commanded a vessel in the navy. George himself
laments that feeble health compelled him to the
scholar's life,
Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
The way that takes the town ;
that is, the martial career. The eldest brother,
Edward, created in 1629 Baron Herbert of Cher-
bury, — from his manor, four miles from Mont
gomery, — was at once soldier, statesman, histo
rian, poet, and religious philosopher. A younger
brother, Charles, who died while at the University,
also wrote verses.
Perhaps the literary and artistic tendencies
which thus appear a little incongruously in this
contentious stock were contributed by the mother.
Magdalen Newport was the daughter of one of
the largest landed proprietors of Shropshire. She
was granddaughter of Sir Thomas Bromley, Chief
Justice under Henry VIII and an executor of the
King's Will. Even in that age, prolific in powerful
women, she was notable; for she combined in
herself beauty, piety, intellect, passion, artistic
and literary tastes, business ability, social charm.
Walton gives a winning account of " her great and
harmless wit, her chearful gravity and her obliging
THE LIFE 23
behaviour." An accomplished musician, she trained
all her children in music. One of her intimates
who deeply affected her son was Dr. Donne, the
poet, and the eloquent Dean of St. Paul's. At a
critical period in his affairs she assisted him and
his large family. He wrote to her one of his Verse-
Letters, his lines The Autumnal, and his sonnet on
St. Mary Magdalen. Over her he preached one of
the greatest of his funeral sermons. "Her house
was a Court in the conversation of the best, and
an Almshouse in feeding the poore. God gave her
such a comelinesse as, though she were not proud
of it, yet she was so content with it as not to goe
about to mend it by any Art. And for her Attire,
it was never sumptuous, never sordid, but alwayes
agreeable to her quality and agreeable to her com
pany." With this sermon George Herbert printed
his PARENTALIA, a series of Latin poems in honor
of her who, as he says, brought him into one world
and shaped his course for another. The second of
these poems gives a vivid picture of her orderly
domestic life.
Her husband, Sir Richard Herbert, dying in
1597, when George was but four years old, the care
of her estate and the education of her children fell
into her highly competent hands. About a year
later she removed to Oxford, where Edward had
entered the University. Here George lived with
her about four years preparing under tutors for ^
more advanced classical training. The remainder
24 THE LIFE
of her life was spent in London and Chelsea. Her
loveliness was of the unfading sort. It enabled her
in 1609 to enter into a daring yet happy second
marriage with Sir John Danvers, the younger bro
ther of the Earl of Danby. At this time she was,
as Donne says in his funeral sermon on her, over
forty years old and already the mother of ten chil
dren. Sir John was barely twenty, but as hand
some as she. " His complexion was so exceedingly
beautiful and fine," says Aubrey, "that people
would come after him in the street to admire. He
had a very fine fancy, which lay chiefly for gardens
and architecture." He proved a kind stepfather
to George Herbert. A genial, irresponsible man
he was, whom everybody liked so long as he was
young, and who had no difficulty in marrying well
three times ; but who after the death of his mas
terful first wife fell into debt and bewilderment.
Though he had been one of the gentlemen attend
ing the King, yet " being neglected by his brother,"
says Clarendon, "and having by a vain expense
in his way of living contracted a vast debt which
he knew not how to pay, and being a proud formal
weak man," he became one of the Regicides.
When he died, in 1655, " he was to both political
parties as great an object of scorn and detestation
as any man in the kingdom."
With such a double inheritance of soldierly
force and intellectual refinement, with decided
originality and freedom from convention on both
THE LIFE 25
sides, and with wealth, eminent family, and great
traditions, George Herbert in 1605 entered West- "^s
minster School. Lancelot Andrewes was the Dean
and Richard Ireland, Master. During his four
years there his literary bent declared itself. He
was admired for his classical scholarship. Here
he made his first essays in verse, in Latin, and in
ecclesiasticism, — the three fields in which he was
subsequently to win distinction. Though but a boy,
he attacked Andrew Melville (1545-1622), the
scholarly leader of the Presbyterian party, in a
number of Latin Epigrams, which were judged
good enough to be passed from hand to hand and
to encourage their author to continue them after
entering the University. In 1609 he won a scholar- VI
ship at Trinity College, Cambridge, and took his
Bachelor's degree three years later. In the year of
his entrance he wrote the first of his English poems
which have been preserved, two sonnets addressed
to his mother. In them he expressed his intention
of becoming a religious poet. In the year when he
took his degree, 1612, Prince Henry died, the pop
ular heir to the Crown. The grief of the nation
was deep, and was sung by all the poets of the day,
— by Browne, Chapman, Donne, Drayton, Drum-
mond, Heywood, Sylvester, Wither. With these
men Herbert joined. His first printed pieces were
two Latin Elegies on the Prince, contributed to a
volume issued by the University of Cambridge.
Two years later he became a Fellow of his College,
26 THE LIFE
and an instructor in rhetoric. At the same time
he began the systematic study of divinity. To the
scholar's life and the priesthood he had been des
tined from early youth. His mother selected the
priesthood for him, and his own better judgment
approved.
But during these years, while he was winning
academick praise as a clerical scholar and man of
letters, he shone in other things as well. The pas
sion for perfection was in his blood. This, joined
with his love of beauty and his pride of birth, lent
distinction to whatever he produced, though lim
iting its amount. " He was blest with a natural
elegance both in his behaviour, his tongue, and
his pen," says Walton. "If during this time he
exprest any error, it was that he kept himself too
much retired and at too great a distance with all
his inferiours, and his cloaths seemed to prove that
he put too great a value on his parts and paren
tage." Herbert shared heartily in the temper of a
time which, delighting in every species of intellect
ual complexity, made its clothes as fantastic as its
verses. In 1615, when the King visited Cambridge,
the Vice-Chancellor was obliged to set bounds to
personal display and issued the following order:
" Considering the fearful enormitie and excess of
apparell seen in all degrees, as namely, strange
pekadivelas, vast bands, huge cuffs, shoe-roses,
tufts, locks and topps of hair, unbecoming that
modesty and carridge of students in so renowned a
THE LIFE 27
University, it is straightly charged that no graduate
or student presume to wear any other apparell or
ornaments, especially at the time of his Majestie's
abode in the towne, than such only as the statutes
and laudable customs of this University do allow,
upon payne of forfeiture of 6 shillings and 8 pence
for every default." That Herbert himself was not
averse to pekadivelas and shoe-roses, either in
these or in later days, is hinted by Oley in his
Preface to THE COUNTRY PARSON: "I have not
offerred to describe that person of his, which
afforded so unusual a contesseration of elegancies
and set of rarities to the beholder."
For such genteel humour, and for tastes no
less elegant in books, Herbert's income proved
insufficient. The eldest son, Edward Herbert,
had granted each of his brothers an annuity of
£30 from their father's estate, and George had
also the income of his Fellowship. But in 1617
he writes two letters to his stepfather, begging for
more money, urging the expenses of a university
life, his great need of books, the cost of sickness
with its special articles of diet, and proposing
the doubling my annuity now upon condition that I
should surcease from all title to it after I enter'd into
a benefice. He promises if this is done that he will
for ever after cease his clamorous and greedy book
ish requests. During these years he kept a riding
horse and apparently also a small country house,
at Newmarket, the racing town near Cambridge.
28 THE LIFE
III
HITHERTO throughout this period of Edu
cation Herbert has been aiming, delayingly
and through much dallying with social display and
graceful literature, at the priesthood. Now this
deeper aim, which gave his life the little steadiness
it had hitherto possessed, becomes shaken, and he
enters that second period of his career which I have
ventured to call his period of Hesitation. For
eight years dreams of political eminence sway him,
subordinating though never altogether destroying
his plan to become a priest. Only when these glit
tering hopes have failed is there a recurrence to
the earlier and more vital purpose.
In 1619 Sir Francis Nethersole resigned the
Oratorship of Cambridge University. Herbert
eagerly sought to become his successor, and
brought to bear on the appointing powers the so
licitations of influential friends. Sir Francis, how
ever, had suggested that this place being civil may
divert me too much from Divinity, at which, not
without cause, he thinks I aim. But I have wrote
him back that this dignity hath no such earthiness
in it but it may very well be joined with heaven;
or if it had to others, yet to me it should not, for
aught I yet knew. The attractions of the office he
thus describes in a letter to his stepfather:
The Orator's place is the finest place in the Uni
versity, though not the gainfullest ; yet that will bt
THE LIFE 29
about SO/ per an. But the commodiousness is
beyond the revenue ; for the Orator writes all the
University letters, makes all the orations, be it to
King, Prince, or whatever comes to the University;
to requite these pains, he takes place next the doc
tors, is at all their assemblies and meetings, and
sits above the proctors, is regent, or non-regent at
his pleasure, and such like gaynesses, which will
please a young man well.
Herbert obtained the Oratorship, and held the
place eight years. Two of his orations and many
of his official letters have come down to us. They
show him to have been a skilful courtier, but do
him little credit as a moral or intellectual man.
Adulation was common in that day. One can only
say that Herbert practised it with the force and
audacity habitual in his undertakings. The year
in which he was seeking the Oratorship he selected
as the piece to be read with his rhetoric class an
oration of King James, instead of one by Cicero
or Demosthenes, and this "he analyzed, showed
the concinnity of the parts, the propriety of the
phrase, the height and power of it to move the
affections, the style utterly unknown to the an
cients, who could not conceive what kingly elo
quence was ; in respect of which those noted
demagogi were but hirelings and tribolary rhe
toricians . ' ' (Racket's Life of Archbishop Williams,
I, 175.) He first attracted the notice of the King
by a letter written in 1620 in acknowledgment
30 THE LIFE
of the gift to the University of the King's book,
Basilikon Doron. "This letter was writ in such
excellent Latin," says Walton, "was so full of
conceits and all the expressions so suted to the
genius of the King that he inquired the Orator's
name and then ask'd William, Earl of Pembroke,
if he knew him ? whose answer was, * That he
knew him very well, and that he was his kinsman ;
but he lov'd him more for his learning and vertue
than for that he was of his name and family.'
At which answer the King smil'd and asked the
Earl leave 'That he might love him too; for he
took him to be the Jewel of that University.' '
Thereafter, when the King went to hunt at Roy-
ston, near Cambridge, Herbert was much in his
company. "A laudible ambition to be something
more than he then was drew him often from
Cambridge to attend the King wheresoever the
Court was; and he seldom look'd towards Cam
bridge, unless the King were there, but then he
never fail'd ; and at other times left the manage
of his Orator's place to his learned friend Mr.
Herbert Thorndike," i. e. to his secretary.
Such assiduity soon brought its rewards, the
most honorable among them being the powerful
friends acquired. The Duke of Lenox, the Duke
of Richmond, the Marquis of Hamilton, became
his patrons. In the train of the King in 1620 was
Lord Bacon. In that year Herbert had written
him an official letter thanking him for the gift
THE LIFE 31
to the University of his Novum Organum and also
a subsequent letter begging him to check the Lon
don booksellers who, having an eye to their own
advantage rather than to that of the public, are
longing for certain monopolies ; from which cir
cumstance we fear that the price of books will be
increased and our privileges diminished. This
was the beginning of a friendship which continued
with increasing closeness till Bacon's death.
In the year that Herbert became Orator, 1619,
he printed a Latin Elegy on the death of Queen
Anne. In 1623 Walton says the King presented
him the lay Rectorship of Whitford with an income
of £100. No duties were attached to the place.
It was a sinecure which had formerly been held
by Sir Philip Sidney. It should be said, however,
that Herbert's name does not appear as Rector in
the Whitford Church records.
Herbert was now aspiring to something far
higher than his Oratorship. Sir Francis Nether-
sole, the preceding Orator, had become secretary
to the Queen of Bohemia, the much loved Princess
Elizabeth. Sir Robert Naunton, who held the
Oratorship before Nethersole, had become one of
the English Secretaries of State. To become such
a Secretary himself was Herbert's ambition from,
1620 to 1625. Nor was it improbable that he
would reach it. From 1619 to 1624 his brother
Edward was the English Ambassador at the
French Court. In 1623 his brother Henry became
32 THE LIFE
Master of the Revels to King James. Few nobles
were more influential than Herbert's great kins
man, the Earl of Pembroke. Herbert accordingly
turned aside from divinity to master French,
Spanish, and Italian. He even inclined to abandon
altogether the scholar's life and go abroad. But
the strong will of his mother would not allow this
final abandonment of the priesthood, and Herbert
remained in England.
When Prince Charles and Buckingham came
home from Spain in 1623, unsuccessful in form
ing a Spanish alliance, Herbert delivered and
published a long oration of welcome in which,
while as adulatory as ever, he had the courage to
protest against the war to which the party of
Buckingham now inclined. The historian S. R.
Gardiner believes that this courageous stand de
stroyed Herbert's prospects of promotion. Oley
says that the secretaryship was once within his
grasp. But in 1623 died the Duke of Richmond;
in the following year, the Duke of Lenox; in 1625
the King and the Marquis of Hamilton; and in
1626 Lord Bacon. His mother died a year later.
Herbert resigned the Oratorship, and his period
of Hesitation, gaynesses, and ambition was at an
end. In 1626 he took deacon's orders, but another
period of inner turmoil was necessary before he
could bring himself to the priesthood.
THE LIFE 33
IV
IjlROM this point onward Herbert's life is best
JL studied in connection with his poetry. That
is not the case with its two earlier periods, those
of Education and Hesitation. In regard to the
many years included in these, his writings give
little information. Groups I-V of the poems were
probably for the most part written during the
second of these periods. They report his early
thoughts and ideals, but not the incidents of his
life. When we turn to Groups VI-XI, covering
the last two periods of Crisis and Consecration, :
the verse becomes strongly biographic. Through
it alone can the significance of what is happening
be followed. The events that occur, though few,
are weighty. It is they which finally bring the man
to adequate expression. Without constant refer
ence to those events the later poetry is unintelli
gible, nor can the events be understood without
the poetry. Any account, accordingly, of these
two most important periods in the life of Herbert
must be merely preparatory to the poems and
Prefaces of Groups VI-XI.
Had Herbert died at the point to which we have
now brought him, he would have left no name in
letters, state, or church. A few Latin poems and
orations, not quite half his English verse, — the
portion least interesting and which ultimately
received most alteration, — would alone show the
34 THE LIFE
tendencies of this fastidious scholar, courtier, and
churchman. None of his prose was written, nor
had he yet adopted his priestly calling. Whatever
distinguishes him to-day had no existence then.
Yet more than four fifths of his life were gone.
Of these ineffective years we may say, what he
has himself said in another connection, that he
ranne, but all he brought was fome.
The remaining six years were Herbert's blos
soming time. Forces which had long been at work
in him blindly, slackly, and inconsistently, now
under the pressure of affliction gradually took
control, and shaped his formless life into a thing
of beauty. That dilatoriness which seems ever a
sad and necessary part of a poet's equipment had
done its work. It had brought him enrichment,
training, and perhaps at the last a quickening
terror.
Fain would I here have made abode,
But I was quicken'd by my houre,
he says of his Cambridge days. Herbert saw life
slipping away in pleasant Cambridge, and sud
denly wondered if there still were time to accom
plish his twin projects. We have seen how early he
had resolved to be a poet and a priest. A begin
ning had been made at the one, and he had steadily
evaded the other. In his last six years he was to
become both in a notable degree. The crisis in his
affairs was induced by the following circumstances.
THE LIFE 35
In 1626 Laud's opponent, Bishop Williams of
Lincoln, appointed Herbert a Prebendary of the
parish of Leighton, ten miles from Huntington.
The appointment was apparently intended, like
the previous one at Whitford, to yield a stipend
without duties; but it was accepted in a different
spirit. The parish was small, the church itself in
ruins. No service had been held in it for twenty
years. Its roof had fallen, its walls were crumbling,
its interior was decayed. It has been asserted that
Herbert never visited the place. But the adjoin
ing manor had belonged to his friend the Duke
of Lenox ; and five miles away lived one who was
subsequently to be closely associated with him,
Nicholas Ferrar. Through these or other agencies,
now unknown, Herbert became deeply interested
in the rehabilitation of the church. He solicited,
he contributed, funds. He tried to induce Ferrar to
take his place as Prebendary. Failing in this, he
persuaded him to take charge of the long labors
of reparation. These continued till after his own
death. In his Will he leaves ,£15 to Leighton
Church. The building is a large and beautiful
one. The additions made by Herbert and Ferrar
in windows, roof, and furnishings have a plain
solidity and suitableness which is very attractive.
One of Herbert's ecclesiastical arrangements noted
by Walton is of decided interest as indicating a
sympathy with the Puritan estimate of sermons.
"By his order the reading pew and pulpit were
36 THE LIFE
a little distant from each other and both of an
equal height; for he would often say, They should
neither have a precedency or priority of the other;
but that prayer and preaching, being equally use
ful, might agree like brethren." It is not easy to
see why on a church with which he apparently
had little connection, Herbert should have spent
so much of his love, his thought, and his means.
Perhaps the undertaking, expressing as it did in
creased interest in religious matters, quieted his
conscience for the long evasion of sacred work.
The year after Leighton Church was begun,
Herbert resigned his Oratorship and withdrew from
the University. This grave step immediately fol
lowed the death of his mother. In memory of
her he published a series of Latin verses full of
careful appreciation and respect, though not re
markable for either affection or piety. The only
human being who ever perceptibly swayed his
life was removed; but her remembered influence
proved quite as compulsive as her imperious pre
sence. It was she who originally chose the priest
hood for him; she who maintained his purpose
during periods of slackness; she who hindered his
going abroad and finally abandoning that calling.
Now she was dead, her purpose unfulfilled. His
own courtly hopes were ended, his health was seri
ously impaired. He was engaged, too, with her ap
proval, in a work of church building which brought
him into contact with Ferrar, a man of extreme
THE LIFE 37
religious originality. Many influences without him
and within cooperated, and at the end of three
years produced their ripening effect. These bitter
years of solitude, self-examination, search after
health, and reinstatement of early resolve are de
picted in the sixth Group of his poems. They
were years spent in retirement. Sometimes he was
at his mother's home in Chelsea, where he would
meet Dr. Donne, who had hesitated almost as long
as himself about taking orders ; sometimes at
Woodford in Essex, his courtly brother Henry's
country place ; sometimes at Dauntsey in Wilt
shire, the estate of the Earl of Danby. At the
neighboring town of Baynton, in 1629, when health
and spirits were somewhat restored and he was
just entering his thirty-sixth year, he suddenly mar
ried Jane Danvers, a relative of the Earl of Danby,
a woman of beauty and independent means. She
brought him no children, but the marriage was a
happy one. After Herbert's death she married Sir
Robert Cook of Highnam Court, Gloucestershire.
How long she remained a widow is uncertain.
Walton thought it " five years," or in another edi
tion, " about six." But as Sir Robert Cook himself
died only ten years after Herbert, and she had
borne him three sons and a daughter, her period
of widowhood must have been brief. She died in
1663.
38 THE LIFE
ALMOST as suddenly as he had married,
Herbert in the following year accepted the
living of Fuggleston-cum-Bemerton and began his
brief period of Consecration. The greatness of
the change is well stated by Charles Cotton, who
in 1672, commending Walton for the volume of his
Lives which had recently appeared, describes Her
bert as
" He whose education,
Manners and parts, by high applauses blown,
Was deeply tainted by Ambition,
" And fitted for a court, made that his aim;
At last, without regard to birth or name,
For' a poor country cure does all disclaim;
" Where, with a soul composed of harmonies,
Like a sweet swan, he warbles as he dies
.His Maker's praise and his own obsequies."
In excuse for Herbert's long hesitation and secular
ambition, it should be borne in mind that in his
day, as Cotton hints, the priesthood was not re
garded as altogether suitable for a gentleman of
birth. In THE COUNTRY PARSON, Ch. XXVIII,
Herbert speaks of the generall ignominy which is
cast upon the profession. Donne, in his Lines to
Mr. Tilman After He Had Taken Orders, con
gratulates him on putting aside " the lay-scornings
THE LIFE 39
of the ministry." Walton quotes Herbert's remark
that the iniquity of the late times have made clergy
men meanly valued and the sacred name of priest
contemptible. And Oley says in his Preface to THE
COUNTRY PARSON : " I have heard sober men cen
sure him as a man that did not manage his brave
parts to his best advantage and preferment, but
lost himself in an humble way. That was the
phrase. I well remember it."
Herbert was instituted to the Rectorship by
John Davenant, Bishop of Salisbury, a leader of
the Puritan party, on April 26, 1630, five months
before he was ordained priest. Even then he was
not able at once to reside in his parish. The Rec
tory was so out of repair that it had not been oc
cupied by his predecessor, Dr. Curie, who had a
house fifteen miles away. With this arrangement
Herbert was not content. He would live among
his people. He reconstructed the Rectory at a cost
of £200. Aubrey says : " The old house was very
ruinous. Here he built a very handsome house
for the minister of brick and made a good garden
and walks ; " and Walton, that " he hasted to get
the Parish Church repair'd, then to beautifie the
Chappel (which stands near his house) and that at
his own great charge."
Less than three miles from Salisbury, in its
extensive Park, stands Wilton House, one of the
stateliest mansions in England. It was built on
the foundations of an ancient Abbey, from the
40 THE LIFE
designs of Hans Holbein. Its owner, William Her
bert, the great Earl of Pembroke, died a fortnight
before Herbert was instituted, and was succeeded
in the Earldom by his brother Philip. This house
of his kinsman must have been a frequent visiting
place for Herbert during the few years of his priest
hood. At its gate stood the considerable church
of Fuggleston or Fulston St. Peter. Around the
church in Herbert's day there was probably some
thing of a hamlet. Here lived and ministered Her
bert's Curate, Nathaniel Bostock. But the parish
embraced also the villages of Quidhampton and
Bemerton, the three together having a population
of not more than three hundred souls. At Bemerton
was the small chapel of St. Andrew, forty-six feet
long by eighteen wide, seating rather more than
fifty people. With this chapel Herbert's ministry
is particularly identified. Aubrey writes: " George
Herbert was chaplaine to Philip Earl of Pembroke
and Montgomery. His lordship gave him a bene
fice at Bemmarton, a pittifull little chappell of ease
to Foughelston." The chapel is almost a part of
the Rectory, which stands opposite it and only
forty feet away. On this chapel he looked from
his study window; in it he read prayers every day;
during the time of his feeble health he must have
preached oftener here than at Fulston; and here,
in the floor beside the altar, he was buried. Though
many changes have been made in the little build
ing since he died, they are not such as disturb its
THE LIFE 41
main features. Herbert would recognize it to-day.
What his income at Bemerton was, I am unable
to ascertain. I find it stated that one of his suc
cessors in 1692, John Norris, the Platonist and
poet, received ,£70. But Herbert was not depend
ent on the income of his parish.
The Rectory across the road has doubled its
size since Herbert lived there, and most of its
rooms are changed. His study remains and his
large garden, which slopes pleasantly down to the
small river Wiley. An old medlar-tree is connected
by tradition with his planting. Across a mile of
intervening meadows rises the spire of Salisbury
Cathedral. At the Rectory the household consisted
of himself, his wife, three nieces, daughters of his
sister Margaret Vaughan, — one of whom, dying
a year before himself, left him £500, — and, as
appears in his Will, two men-servants and four
maids. In this house were spent the three years
which give significance to Herbert's life.
Cut off as he now largely was from the com
panionship to which he had been accustomed, and
with little opportunity for other forms of outward
action, his energies turned within. Things of the
mind claimed him with an absorption to which
hitherto he had been a stranger. With unwonted
persistence he now pursued three lines of ideal
construction, — music, writing, and the services of
the church, — and in them obtained a needed relief
from isolation, loneliness, and disappointed hopes.
42 THE LIFE
The neighboring Salisbury afforded two varieties
of music. A private club of musicians drew him
each week into its friendly and melodious com
pany; and listening to the mighty harmonies at
the Cathedral, he could
Without a bodie move,
Rising and falling with their wings.
Then at Bemerton his lute was always ready to
aid his voice in giving fuller expression to his own
songs. In short, music seems to have been his one
diversion.
How elaborately he undertook to extract from
the ritual of his church every power and beauti
ful significance, Walton has explained, Herbert's
own COUNTRY PARSON shows, and in the Preface
to Group VII I have discussed. No man ever
entered more profoundly into the priesthood.
These brief years were indeed a Consecration.
Herbert endeavored to empty himself, to dis
charge his former desires, and to become a color
less medium through which the divine reason,
austerity, and radiance might healingly shine.
The conception of the preacher which with his
usual ardor, elaboration, tenderness, and frequent
rebellion too, he sought during these bleak years
to attain he has announced in his poem of THE
WINDOWS :
Lord, how can man preach thy etemall word ?
He is a brittle crazie glasses
THE LIFE 43
Yd in thy temple thou dost him afford
This glorious and transcendent place
To be a window, through thy grace.
But when thou dost anneal in glasse thy stone,
Making thy life to shine within
The holy Preachers, then the light and glorie
More rev'rend grows, and more doth win.
The full record of this failing and triumphant
time will be found in the poems and Prefaces of
Groups VII-XI.
But if Herbert now pressed eagerly forward to
attain in a time which he knew must be brief that
priestly ideal which he had cherished throughout
his dilatory life, no less eager was he to complete
the literary ambitions of his youth. Toward these
aims much was already accomplished. Bacon,
Donne, Ferrar, his intimates, knew before he came
to Bemerton that he was a skilful poet of the spe
cial type which he had early resolved to become.
But the amount of his verse hitherto produced was
small, only occasionally was it vitalized with per
sonal experience, and none of it was as yet pub
lished. He had much more to say. His art was
never so subtle or harmonious as now. The deeper
religious life he was leading illuminated his old
topic and revealed its finer shades. Yet he felt
clear premonitions of his approaching end.
The harbingers are come. See, see their mark !
White is their colour, and behold my head !
44 THE LIFE
But must they have my brain ? Must they dispark
Those sparkling notions which therein were bred ?
Must dulnesse turn me to a clod ?
Yet have they left me, " Thou art still my God."
Under such pressure, he who was not naturally
productive, but by temperament meagre, critical,
and postponing, forced from his fading powers an
amount of delicate literature which would have
been creditable to the most robust of writers. Not
only do something like half of his poems come from
these three years, but during them his COUNTRY
PARSON also was written. Possibly to this time is
due his exquisite translation of CORNARO ON TEM
PERANCE. Only five months before his death he
read and elaborately annotated Ferrar's transla
tion of The Divine Considerations of Valdesso.
How much more he wrote we do not know. Wal
ton says of Herbert's widow : "This Lady Cook
had preserv'd many of Mr. Herbert's private writ
ings which she intended to make publick ; but they
and Highnam House were burnt together by the
late Rebels, and so lost to posterity." To this should
be added Aubrey's remark : " He also writt a folio
in Latin which, because the parson of Highnam
could not read, his widowe (then wife to Sir Robert
Cooke) condemned to the uses of good houswifry.
This account I had from Mr. Arnold Cooke, one
of Sir Robert Cooke's sons, whom I desired to
ask his mother-in-law for Mr. G. Herbert's MSS."
THE LIFE 45
When one adds to his manifold literary under
takings the care of his scattered parish and the
beginnings of family life, it is evident that these
were busy years. Were they too busy? Might
not those rheumes and agues to which his frame,
feeble from childhood, had always been disposed,
have been checked in their onward movement
toward consumption by a less rigorous life? It
cannot be known ; and in view of what that rigor
accomplished, there is little room for regret. The
exact date of his death is not known, but he was
buried on March 3, 1633.
VI
fTHHE Herbert whose contrasted periods of life are
1 here exhibited, and who is studied in minuter
detail hereafter, will be found to differ considerably
from him who appears in Walton's Life. My ac
count may consequently be received with distrust.
Walton's book is one of the glories of our literature.
It is true he had no acquaintance with Herbert. He
saw him only once, at Lady Herbert's funeral. But
he had documents which have now perished. Out
of them and out of his own attractive personality
he has woven a Life of Herbert which few pieces
of biography exceed in unity, vividness, and con
vincing power. The ease of Walton's account and
its apparent waywardness add to its charm and
the impression of its veracity. In spite of some
46 THE LIFE
petty inaccuracies, especially in dates, I believe
that what Walton says is substantially true. But
there is much which he does not say; and in gen
eral, his book should be judged rather as a piece
of art than as even-handed history. In painting a
glowing picture an artist selects a point of view,
and to what is visible from that point subordinates
all else. So Walton works. He paints us the Saint
of Bemerton. And while too honest to conceal dis
cordant facts from him who will search his pages,
he contrives to throw so strong a light on Herbert's
three consecrated years that few readers notice
how unlike these are to his vacillating thirty-six.
Walton's fascinating portraiture has taken so firm
a hold on the popular imagination that it may
truly be said to constitute at present the most seri
ous obstacle to a cool assessment of Herbert. To
refer to the more secular and literary sides of that
complex character seems a kind of sacrilege. Yet
Walton himself furnishes material for his own
correction. To this I have directed attention, sup
plementing it with the statements of Oley, Lord
Herbert, Aubrey, and other contemporaries, and
making large use also of Herbert's own estimates
of himself contained in his poems and prose writ
ings. By turning to these original sources I hope
my readers will be able to perceive the romantic
coloring of Walton, to allow for it, and to enjoy
that skilful portraiture the more.
Portrait engraved by White's pupil, J. Sturt, for THE TEMPLE.
1703. See Vol. I, p. 50. '
n
TRAITS OF THE MAN
TRAITS OF THE MAN
"TITTITH these events in the life of Herbert
T V before us, let us examine those features
of his complex character which if misconceived
prevent an understanding of his writings. A char
acter is interesting about in proportion to the op
posing traits which it harmonizes. And nowhere
are such interesting characters so common as
among the men who met the conflicting forces of
the later Renaissance. Every part of their being
responds to a multitude of calls, and yet they im
press us as highly indivic^al men. I shall trace
the rich and harmonious! Diversity of Herbert in
his physical structure, his temperamental habits,
his intellect, and his religious nature.
WE do not certainly know how Herbert
looked. No contemporary portrait of him
exists. If one was ever painted, it has perished. An
allusion to a portrait has been sought in a line of
THE POSIE, where, speaking of his intended motto,
he says, This by my picture, in my book, I write.
But a gracefully turned phrase is no evidence of
historic fact. An early engraving, however, has
come down to us, preserved in a triple form. In
50 THE MAN
Walton's Lives (1670) there was printed a portrait
of Herbert, signed R. White. In the tenth edition
of Herbert's poems (1674), the first to include
Walton's Life, this picture appeared again, changed
slightly, but bearing the same signature. In the
twelfth edition (1703) is a coarse reengraving of
White's plate by John Sturt (1658-1730), White's
pupil. All later portraits of Herbert are fanciful
modifications of these early prints. Hitherto these
have been our only means for arriving at a know
ledge of his face. What assurance of authenticity
do they possess ?
Walton and the men of his day knew Herbert's
appearance and would certainly demand a picture
of some verisimilitude. We must suppose that the
likeness of Herbert here presented rests on some
accredited original. The engraver, Robert White,
says the Dictionary of National Biography, " was
the most esteemed and industrious portrait en
graver of his age. His plates number about four
hundred. He was celebrated for his original por
traits, which he drew in pencil on vellum with
great delicacy and finish." An original portrait of
Herbert this cannot be ; for White was not born
until 1645, twelve years after Herbert died. But
it may still be an accurate likeness, for White
engraved from paintings also.
I believe, however, we can now carry the tra
ditional engraving a step nearer to its original. In
1902 I learned that there was an early drawing of
THE MAN 51
Herbert in private hands in Salisbury, and I pro
cured an introduction to its owner, George Young.
Most generously he allowed me to examine his
picture and even to photograph it for this book.
It has not been published before. It is drawn in
pencil on vellum with a delicacy of line impossi
ble to reproduce. The size is substantially as it
appears in the frontispiece of this volume. For
many generations the picture has been in Mr.
Young's family, a family descended in a collateral
line from Izaak Walton. Of its origin and his
tory nothing is known. In the clear space by
Herbert's left shoulder stands the inscription " R.
White delin," in White's handwriting. Is this,
then, the original drawing made by White from
some painting, the drawing from which the two
pictures for Walton were afterwards engraved?
Whoever compares it with those engravings will
have little doubt of it. The position, the clothing,
and the features are identical. There is the same
curl of the collar, the same indentation of cap
and gown. I notice only three small points of
difference: in the drawing a few straggling hairs
appear at the top of the forehead below the cap,
the line of the collar is slightly open below the
chin, and the body of the gown where the right
sleeve joins it is visible all the way down. But
these are just such changes as might naturally oc
cur in the coarser work of engraving. The fun
damental difference, and that which stamps the
THE MAN
drawing as prior in date, is its superior subtlety in
the interpretation of character. Indeed, I know
no written criticism of Herbert which exhibits
him with such fulness, complexity, and likelihood.
Here is high breeding, scholarship, devoutness, dis
appointment, humor, fastidiousness, pathos, pride.
This priest has moved in courtly circles and con
vinces us that he was once alive; the engravings,
while reporting the same general features, have
little play of life. They present a meagre ascetic.
In the process of engraving, whether conducted by
White or by some journeyman, the vitality of the
drawing has disappeared. The lines have stiff
ened. Perhaps a nature so subtle as Herbert's lends
itself more readily to the pencil than to the burin.
Yet I think no one can fail to see that the three
pictures have a single source.
What that source was we can only surmise. The
style of portraiture is strikingly like that of Van
Dyck, like him in both his strength and his limita
tions. Van Dyck was in England in 1621, probably
in 1629, and certainly early in 1632, in the latter
year being knighted by King Charles. He painted
many portraits both at the Court and at Wilton
House. Wilton House is to-day full of the Pem-
brokes who associated with Herbert, fixed in per
petual and elusive charm by the witchery of Van
Dyck. Herbert himself, as a kinsman of the house,
already a man of note, and living but a mile away,
might naturally enough have been painted too.
THE MAN 53
A memorandum of Aubrey's, contained in his
Lives, shows that a portrait of him was then be
lieved to exist: "George Herbert — (ask) cozen
Nan Garnet pro (his) picture ; if not, her aunt
Cooke." Whether the painter was Van Dyck or
some other lover of human refinements, in this
frontispiece we have for the first time a singularly
vivid and subtle representation of Herbert drawn
by one selected for the task by Walton himself.
White's portrait accords well with verbal de
scriptions of Herbert. The consumptive face is
long and gaunt, with prominent cheek-bones. Abun
dant curly hair falls to the shoulders. A high brow
strongly overarches widely parted eyes. The nose
is large and with a Roman curve, the mouth
markedly sensitive. In some verses printed in THE
TEMPLE of 1674, the first edition containing a por
trait of Herbert, the unknown author writes :
Examine well the Lines of his dead Face,
Therein you may discern Wisdom and Grace.
That is the combination noticeable in the draw
ing. Walton says of him that " he was for his per
son of a stature inclining towards tallness ; his
body was very strait, and so far from being cum-
bred with too much flesh that he was lean to an
extremity. His aspect was chearful, and his speech
and motion did both declare him a Gentleman."
In his poem THE SIZE, Herbert has this portrait-
like stanza :
54 THE MAN
A Christian's state and case
Is not a corpulent, but a thinne and spare
Yet active strength; whose long and bonie face
Content and care
Do seem to equally divide.
Oley notices the elegance of his person, and Aubrey
says that "he was a very fine complexion and
consumptive." That he was consumptive, inclin
ing, too, from childhood to indigestion, colds, and
fevers, both he himself and Walton repeatedly
declare. But his face, like his writings, reveals an
intellect somewhat excessive for the body that
bears it. This prominence in Herbert of the nobler
traits gave to his total appearance an exaltation
above the ordinary. M: Duncon told Walton that
" at his first view of Mi , Herbert he saw majesty
and humility so reconcil'd in his looks and be
haviour as begot in him an awful reverence for his
person."
n
WITH his fragility, too, and insufficiency of
bodily stock was associated great refine
ment of the senses. In Herbert's constitution there
was nothing dull, stolid, or inclining to asceticism.
Sight, hearing, taste, smell, have all left in his verse
their record of swift response. Out of an odor
Herbert has constructed one of his daintiest poems.
THE MAN 55
His BANQUET is perfumed throughout. In ten other
poems fragrances are mentioned. It indicates his
revival from illness that he can once more smell
the dew and rain. With him the word sweet is
more apt to indicate sweetness of smell than of
taste. Twice he gives details about the pomander,
an Elizabethan substitute for our scent-bottle.
Dust he finds peculiarly offensive. One of his
descriptions of the bad man is that he is guiltie of
dust and sinne. This sensitiveness of smell appears
equally in THE COUNTRY PARSON, where we are
repeatedly warned to keep all sweet and clean. The
Parson's house is to be very plain, but clean, whole,
and sweet — as sweet as his garden can make; and
his clothes are to be without spots or dust or smell.
He is to call at the poorest cottage, though it smell
never so loihsomly. And this insistence on smell
as the final token of nicety is idealized in a maxim
of THE CHURCH-PORCH :
Let thy minde's sweetnesse have his operation
Upon thy body, clothes, and habitation.
Clothes were always matters of importance to
Herbert. Their proprieties are discussed at some
length in THE CHURCH-PORCH, and Herbert's gen
teel humour for them is repeatedly referred to by
Walton and Oley.
Herbert, too, was far from dull of taste. Vivid
allusions to food and drink abound. He knows the
temptations of both, but dreads more those of food.
56 THE MAN
He knows how to stay at the third glasse; but with
his delicate digestion and strong appetite, the quan
tity to be eaten is harder to regulate. He studies
diet; he translates CORNARO ON TEMPERANCE; he
has numberless precepts of restraint, none of which
would be necessary if he were not constitutionally
inclined to excess. The tightness of the rein shows
the mettle of the horse.
How alert is his eye, even the casual reader per
ceives. His many pictures of natural objects have
each their individual character, and he records
facts with a startling sharpness. Birds sip and
straight lift up their head. Frost-nipt sunnes look
sadly. Flowers depart to see their mother-root when
they have blown. In terram violae capite inclinantur
opaco. Somebody comes puffing by in silks that
whistle. Of painted windows we hear how colours
and light, in one when they combine and mingle,
bring a strong regard and awe. And of leaves, The
wind blew them underfoot, where rude unhallowed
steps do crush and grinde their beauteous glories.
Or again,
We are the trees whom shaking fastens more,
While blustring windes destroy the wanton bowres,
And ruffle all their curious knots and store.
Herbert has none of Vaughan's mystic brooding
over nature. Physical and mental facts are seldom ~)
blended. But while chiefly occupied with inner
states, he casts keen glances over the world with-
THE MAN 57
out, delights in its beauty, and by some unusual
word marks an observation as his own.
The training of Herbert's ear is more generally
known than that of his other senses. He sang,
played on the viol or lute, and was fond of the
organ. Music was at that time a regular part of
the education of a gentleman. Milton was trained
in it. Poetry was still thought of as song. Herbert's
lines were intended to be accompanied by an in
strument. Though in consumption, he sang them
until a few days before he died. Throughout his
life — as Oley, Walton, and his own poems testify
— music was his passion. He counts it his chief
means of escaping bodily pain.
Sweetest of sweets, I thank you I When displeasure
Did through my bodie wound my minde,
You took me thence, and in your house of pleasure
A
This sketch of Herbert's exquisite physical
organization, a necessary equipment for poetic
work, will have disclosed that his senses were
more fine than full, that it is rather the intellectual
than the sensuous aspect of objects which appeals
to him. Each of our senses reports to us in double
terms. We both see and observe; we hear and
listen ; we smell or taste and perceive. Some minds
fasten on one of these sides of experience, some on
the other. Different mental types arise accordingly.
To Herbert the immediate moment is never the
58 THE MAN
rapturous affair it is to Giles Fletcher or William
Browne. While feeling it, he is looking beyond,
correlating it, studying its significance, and judg
ing how far it will serve the purposes of a life. The
pure senses are consequently subordinate powers
in Herbert's world, and never receive that hon
orable training nor are trusted with that large
control which is theirs in the poetry of Chaucer,
Sidney, and Spenser.
Ill
THE only temptations which he mentions with
anything like terror are those of idleness and
women. Lust, a common word with him both in
prose and verse, does not mean what it often does
in writings of his time, a general desire for plea
sure. It means the specific inclination toward
women. This in his eyes is always evil. He mar
ried late, after a life spent partly in the cloister
and partly among the gay and loose. His brother
Edward made a mercantile marriage, and was
boastfully unfaithful to it. He himself never con
ceived love in our fashion as a mysterious power
uniting the two worlds of sense and spirit. . These
remained in his thought steadily hostile. Flesh,
though exalted, keeps his grass, and cannot turn
to soule. To him woman is always a temptation
and disturbance ; and this opinion is as deeply
embedded in THE COUNTRY PARSON, written after
THE MAN 59
his marriage, as in his verse. His discussion of
marriage in Chapter IX, on The Parson's State of
Life, is essentially monastic. Marriage is for man
a mere escape from worse ills, though it may be the
good instrument of God to bring women to heaven.
No honorable mention of a woman occurs in his
writings, if we except the somewhat artificial la
ments for his mother in the Latin PARENTALIA, and
Walton's statement that when he was dying he
said : These eyes shall see my master and Saviour
Jesus, and with him see my dear mother. Even
the Virgin Mary he thinks of as but an instrument
in effecting the birth of Christ, not as possessing
distinctive virtues of her own (ANAGRAM, and To
ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS, 1. 11). Allusions in the
third stanza of THE PILGRIMAGE and elsewhere
make it probable that once at Cambridge Herbert
found the wilde of passion to be a wasted place, but
sometimes rich. This experience forms the sub
ject of one of his two poems on VANITIE, and it re
mained with him long as a terrifying remembrance.
In one of his last and most anguished poems he
cries as if pursued, What is this womankinde which
I can wink into a blacknesse and distaste ?
Such inability to comprehend the worth and
place of woman is the more remarkable when we
recall the great influence which his mother ex
ercised over his life. A marvellous woman she must
have been, combining in herself many excellences
of both man and woman. Donne speaks of her as
60 THE MAN
having "that perplexing eye which equally claims
love and reverence." From her Herbert obtained
much of his refinement, much, too, of his stimulus
to action. In return he gave her abundant respect
and obedience, but not apparently intimate affec
tion. Severn parens, he calls her. Tu radix, tu
petra mihi firmissima mater. Through her he never
learned to honor womankind.
IV
TO estimate justly his second temptation, that
of sloth, is more difficult; for vigor was in
his stock on both sides. His fighting fathers repro
duced themselves in his contentious brothers; and
he himself, though checked by lassitudes, intro
spection, and physical frailty, certainly possessed
a virile temper. This has left its mark in such
poems as EMPLOYMENT, BUSINESSE, and CON-
STANCIE. Though living in an age by no means
listless, he warns his countrymen that their great
est danger is sloth, and bids his reader
When thou dost purpose ought, (within thy power,)
Be sure to doe it, though it be but small.
That he is able to go through a large amount of
work in a brief time, and under adverse circum
stances, is evident from what he accomplished in
literature and parish labor during his three years
at Bemerton.
THE MAN 61
But continually in Herbert double tendencies
appear. He believed himself disposed to indolence,
— A slack and sleepie state of minde did oft pos-
sesse me. Of no danger does he more frequently
warn himself than of this. Was it real ? I think so.
It is true such reproaches sometimes spring from
the exactions of a high standard, and may thus
reveal a character the opposite of that which they
assert. Being normally energetic, though subject
to frequent weakness, Herbert may have felt with
peculiar shame those low states where it is impos
sible to know how much of our slackness is attrib
utable to an unresponsive body and how much to
a feeble will. But when we recall how little able he
showed himself, before he went to Bemerton, to fix
on a task and adhere to it, how easily he accepted a
life of elegant dependence, I believe we shall see that
inaction was in some strange way a genuine, and
not a mere poetic, temptation of this forcible man.
Lord Herbert in praising his brother George
says : " He was not exempt from passion and choler,
being infirmities to which all our race is subject;
but that excepted, without reproach in his actions."
The hastiness of temper in social relations here as
serted beset Herbert also in the formation of plans.
Speaking in AFFLICTION of the early proposition
that he should become a priest, he says :
My sudden soul caught at the place,
And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face.
62 THE MAN
His soul was sudden, his first feeling about a plan
hot and fierce. He repeats the adjective in THE
ANSWER : my -fierce youth. Walton's story of his
marriage confirms the trait. He married Jane
Danvers three days after he first saw her. I do not
give the tale full credit. The lady was the daughter
of his stepfather's cousin, her family — even ac
cording to Walton's account — being well known
to him. She lived at Baynton, but a few miles from
Dauntsey, where he frequently visited. Yet Wal
ton's story must be substantially true, published, as
it was, uncontradicted among those who knew the
facts. Herbert certainly married but a few days
after his engagement, and the headlong act was
characteristic of him. He entered the priesthood
in much the same way, years of hesitation ending
with a sudden burst of decision. Thus it was
throughout his life: precipitancy and irresolution,
energy and delay, went ever hand in hand, each
suspicious of its dangerous mate. He hesitated to
act because he knew how prone he was to rashness;
but he finally acted rashly in order to escape his
besetting sin of delay. A vivid picture of this dou
ble temperament he has given in THE ANSWER,
where he acknowledges to those
Who think me eager, hot, and undertaking,
But in my prosecutions slack and small,
that he is like an exhalation steaming swiftly up
from some damp ground, as if hastening to the sky;
THE MAN
63
but cooling by the way, it soon dissipates itself in
drops which weep over its lack of accomplishment.
So Herbert was frequently called to mourn the
slackness of his prosecution. Yet I think he does
himself injustice in counting this slackness due to
indolence. There is no idle fibre in his mind. It is
ever in warres, delighting in difficulties, and moves
with an instinctive aversion to the easy course. <;
This, in fact, is its perpetual danger. Thousands \
of notions in his brain do run; and he cannot, like
the rude practical person, promptly discover and
discharge the unimportant ones. Time and energy
are accordingly wasted. Years slip by, and this
abnormally forcible man stands irresolute, bewil
dered by irreconcilable claims.
This strenuosity of temperament, dissipation of
energy, and comparative ineffectiveness of result
appear strikingly in the two main events of Her
bert's life, as narrated in my first Essay. Early he
proposed to become a priest and a poet. He held
to both purposes for more than twenty years. He
attained both, reaching such distinction in each
as to become a pattern to after ages. Yet in each
he conveys the impression of exceptional powers
only half used. One hundred and sixty-nine short
poems and less than three years in a small country
parish represent his accomplishment. Ceaselessly
working over his little roll of poems, he never
brought them to perfection ; and though he lived
in one of the most formative periods of English
64 THE MAN
history, when new thoughts about church, state,
and society were pouring in like a flood, the ferment
left no trace in his writings, which might have been
composed about equally well on a desert island.
For the most part, he is concerned with the small
needs of his own soul.
Rightly does Walton characterize him as "a
lover of retiredness," for he was essentially unso
cial. Acquainted though he was with many men
and many minds, " His soul was like a star, and
dwelt apart." It did not accept the interests of
other men nor invite others to its own. Something
of this was no doubt due to his sense of high birth
and his consequent detachment from the crowd.
He is always an aristocrat, free from vanity and
not indisposed to oblige, but he does not turn
toward the affairs of others. As I shall show in my
next Essay, there were tendencies in his age inclin
ing men to political abstention. The holy and
scholarly of those days were prone to withdraw
from the world for study and religion, and took
the ties lightly which bound them to their fellows.
The field of human interest was becoming more
and more an internal one, the individual soul and
its analysis calling for much attention from its
anxious possessor. Herbert felt and helped to
form this tendency. He allied himself with no
cause, if we except his youthful attacks on Mel
ville. He took few public responsibilities. To
individuals he was strongly drawn, and he seems
THE MAN 65
to have formed warm friendships with able men.
One gets the impression that he was incapable of
anything selfish or petty, and that everything about
him was instinctively noble. All felt him to be rare
and exalted, and gave him instantly the reverence
for which his nature called. But pride was in him,
fastidiousness, and a dignity which little disposed
him to accept the ways of others.
MIDWAY between Herbert's temperamental
disposition and his intellectual acquire
ments lie his incisive humor and his anxious op
timism. So detached and serious a nature is apt
to lack humor. Milton lacked it ; so did Words
worth. Herbert is not without it, though his sub
ject limits its amount and its kind. He at least
knows what mirth and musick mean. He per
ceives how large a part merriment plays in human
affairs, devotes to it considerable sections of THE
CHURCH-PORCH and THE COUNTRY PARSON, and
sagaciously warns us that a pleasantness of dis
position is of great use, men being willing to sell
the interest and ingagement of their discourses for no
price sooner then that of mirth; whither the nature
of man, loving refreshment, gladly betakes it selfe.
The Country Parson is accordingly advised to
interpose in his conversation some short and hon
est refreshments which may make his other dis-
66 THE MAN
courses more welcome and lesse tedious. Herbert
holds that
All things are bigge with jest. Nothing that's plain
Bid may be wittie if thou hast the vein.
Pretty evenly distributed throughout his book runs
his own peculiar form of humor, a form largely
shaped by his love of epigram. There is in it an
acid enjoyment of intellectual neatness, shrewd
observation, an inclination to approach a subject
from an unexpected quarter, and a playfulness
too grave for outright laughter. Yet THE QUIP
and THE QUIDDITIE almost dance. PEACE and
THE BAG are gay. In single lines elsewhere he
smiles at the man of pleasure, a kinde of thing
that's for itself too dear; at him whose clothes are
fast, but his soul loose about him; declares that
kneeling ne're spoil* d silk stocking; is amused
at the astronomer who peers about the heavens
and surveys as if he had designed to make a pur-
chase there ; calls skeletons the shells of fledge souls
left behinde; tells how at Doomsday this mem
ber jogs the other, each one whispring, "Live you
brother?" and how in barren lives we freeze
on until the grave increase our cold. Turns like
these abound in Herbert. They connect them
selves with his fondness for embroidered verse ;
and while far from full-blooded humor, they re
semble it in intellectual pungency, freedom from
conventionality, and grim sport. They indicate a
THE MAN 67
temperament which, if never exactly merry, could
never have been morose, rigid, or over-reverential
to fixed mental habits. Except in THE CHURCH
MILITANT Herbert seldom indulges himself in sar
casm.
In asking whether Herbert is an optimist or a
pessimist, we must remember that all religious
writers incline to a sort of disparagement of hu
man affairs. Certainly one who without this in
mind should read DOTAGE, GIDDINESSE, HOME,
MISERIE, MORTIFICATION, THE ROSE, THE SIZE,
and the five poems on AFFLICTION, might well
suppose their author a thorough pessimist. He
would be confirmed in this belief by hearing else
where that man is out of order hurl'd, that the
condition of this world is frail, that here of all
plants afflictions soonest grow, that thy Saviour
sentenced joy, at least in lump, that terram et funus
olent flores, and that — as Herbert says in his
PRAYER BEFORE SERMON — we are darJcnesse and
weaknesse and filthinesse and shame. Miserie and] ^* '
sinne fill our days. Such expressions are familiar
to every reader of Herbert, and they seem to assert
that this world is rootedly evil, controlled rather
by the Devil than by God. But in reality that is
not Herbert's belief. This is God's world, a place
of great order, intelligence, and beauty.
All things that are, though they have sev'rall wayes,
Yet in their being joyn with one advise
To honour thee.
68 THE MAN
Yet this divine order is confessedly hidden and
much overlaid with afflictive circumstance. In
disparaging things of time in view of those of eter
nity, the religious mind has large justification. We
make, as Herbert says in THE COUNTRY PARSON,
a miserable comparison of the moment of griefs
here with the weight of joyes hereafter. Everybody
perceives that things present shrink and die.
However cheerful we may be, we cannot fail to feel
a pathetic poignancy in nature's rude transitori-
ness. We are but flowers that glide, and often must
wish that we past changing were. Accordingly, in
Herbert's case, as in that of Plato and many an
other world- worn soul, longing looks are frequently
cast forward beyond mortality's bound.
Who wants the place where God doth dwell
Partakes already half of hell.
In moments of illness and disappointment, too, this
longing may pass over into something like com
plaint. After so foul a journey death is fair. But
such words draw no indictment against the uni
verse. Fundamentally, there is no evil in its struc
ture. Herbert's constant doctrine is that in its
design and originally, each part of us and of our
earth is rich in blessing. At first we liv'd in plea
sure. In MAN and PROVIDENCE we see how marvel
lous is creation, which we alone, the crown of it,
can understand and enjoy. God has his glorious
law embosomed in us. The two ANTIPHONS bid us
THE MAN 69
continually to join with God and angels in glad
rejoicing. Except sin, nothing can separate us
from God ; and not even that cuts us off from his
love.
For sure when Adam did not know
To sinne, or sinne to smother,
He might to heav'n from Paradise go
As from one room t' another.
But precisely here is the trouble. The misery
of the world is not grounded in the badness of its
make or the harshness of its maker. Sin, and only j
sin, has brought it about. Lord, thou createdst
man in wealth and store, till foolishly he lost the
same. And though Herbert, with many others, is
pleased to figure sin as typified and finished in
Adam's wilfulness and finally curbed by Christ's
self-sacrifice, he does not fail to recognize that in
these two types are summed up processes always
open to man for bliss or woe. Whenever we turn
from wilful sin, something of our sweet originall joy
is restored ; and in THE ELIXER, EMPLOYMENT, and
many other glad songs, we are shown the method
of still finding delight and dignity everywhere.
On the whole, then, while Herbert as a dualist,
who separates spiritual and natural things pretty
sharply, is sometimes inclined to blacken earthly
conditions for the glory of the divine, he always
knows that we are living in our Father's house,
that we ourselves are that house, and that neither
70 THE MAN
it nor we are accursed. In spite of his quivering
sense of sin, fundamentally Herbert is an optimist.
VI
HERBERT'S mind was a capacious and
disciplined one, which had the amplest
opportunities and drew from them all they were
fitted to yield. Many contemporaries record their
admiration of his wide reading and fully assimi
lated knowledge. According to his brother, " He
was master of all learning, human and divine."
He has left a large body of Greek and Latin
poems. He knew French, Italian, and Spanish.
He was preeminently a student of divinity and
poetry. With the law and the medicine of his age
he was well acquainted. In natural science he had
read and observed; he turned often and hopefully
to astrology and alchemy; he was a connoisseur in
manners, dress, and the refinements of life. In
short, his intellectual curiosity was unceasing,
broad, and minute. He followed persistently his
own precept,
To take all that is given ; whether wealth,
Or love, or language ; nothing comes amisse.
Yet this comprehensiveness was ever attended
by its needful counterpoise, mental independence.
Richard Burton, the author of the Anatomy of
Melancholy, is the stock example of a man lost in
THE MAN 71
learning. He cannot write a page without quoting
the opinions of many writers. He must lean, or he
cannot walk. Herbert stands on his own feet, and
seldom quotes. Whatever he utters is his own,
wherever he may have found it. Gathering know
ledge on every side, he so incorporates it into his
own mind that its original sources are not easily
discovered. What is not fit for such incorporation
he rejects, not with scorn, — with respect often
times — yet with entire indifference. Although,
as is shown in the next Essay, he was probably
acquainted with most of the poetry of his time, his
style gives no echo of any other poet except Donne,
and of Donne he is no close imitator. The two
strongest intellectual forces of that age were Lord
Bacon and Lord Herbert of Cherbury. Herbert
was in the closest relations with them both, yet
neither contributed anything to his mental struc
ture. Since his intimacy with these two men well
illustrates his mode of limiting himself and accept
ing only such intellectual influences as fit his spe
cial requirements, I will trace his relations with
them somewhat in detail.
Baron Edward Herbert of Cherbury was George
Herbert's eldest brother. To us he is chiefly
notable for his posthumously published Autobio
graphy, one of the most amusing accounts in our
language of a roving ambassador, lover, duellist,
and man of fashion, who in his most improbable
escapades never loses his courage, vanity, or hold
72 THE MAN
on his reader's interest. He was a poet, among
other things, and in An Ode upon a Question
Moved Whether Love Should Continue Forever
employed, perhaps for the first time, the stanza of
In Memoriam; using it, too, to express the same
class of emotions for which Rossetti and Tennyson
afterwards judged it fit. A volume of his verse has
been well edited by J. Churton Collins. He wrote
also a history of Henry VIII, and of ^ the English
expedition to the Isle of Rhe. But his serious work
was in religious philosophy. His De Veritate may
be said to have founded English Deism ; for in it he
attempts to identify natural and revealed religion,
to show that the truths which we usually trace to
the Bible are of wider origin, are indeed involved
innately in the human constitution. Man is by
nature a religious animal. Now although Lord
Herbert's book was printed in 1624, and probably
written some years earlier, although it related to the
very subject which chiefly engaged his brother, that
brother never mentions it. It encountered a storm
of indignation which George Herbert could have
only partially approved, so similar are certain of his
own beliefs. But neither its spirit nor method was
his; and he let it entirely alone, as if he had never
heard its name. I find no reference to it in his
writings, either in the way of acceptance or aversion.
Herbert first met Lord Bacon in the King's
company at Royston in 1620. I have already men
tioned how in his capacity as Orator he wrote
THE MAN 73
Bacon several official letters, acknowledging the
receipt of his book and soliciting his aid for the
University. The friendship of the two men seems
to have ripened rapidly. Walton says that " Bacon
put such a value on his judgment that he usually
desir'd his approbation before he would expose
any of his books to be printed." And Archbishop
Tennison writes that after some unsuccessful at
tempts by others to translate Bacon's Advance
ment of Learning into Latin, the version was
performed by "Mr. Herbert and some others who
were esteemed masters in the Roman Eloquence."
What this work of translation was, Mr. Spedding
has been unable to discover. That it was consider
able appears from Bacon's words, when in 1625
he dedicated to Herbert A Translation of Certain
Psalms into English Verse:
"The pains that it pleased you to take about
some of my writings I cannot forget ; which did
put me in mind to dedicate to you this poor exer
cise of my sickness. Besides, it being my manner
for dedications to choose those that I hold most
fit for the argument, I thought that in respect of
divinity and poesy met — whereof the one is the
matter, the other the stile of this little writing —
I could not make better choice; so with significa
tion of my love and acknowledgment, I ever rest
"Your affectionate Friend,
"FR. ST. ALBANS."
74 THE MAN
Notwithstanding this personal friendship, Her
bert remained totally uninfluenced by Bacon.
That he had read Bacon's books, and clearly
understood his place and importance, is evident
from the three Latin poems addressed to him,
besides the lines of lament for his death; but Her
bert went on his own way, a way which he knew
to be different from that of the great innovator,
and did not allow himself to be turned aside.
Herbert's failure to connect with Bacon and
Herbert of Cherbury brings out an important
intellectual trait which might easily be mistaken
for a lack of ideas. Fundamental ideas he cer
tainly does lack. He is not a philosopher. He never
concerns himself to search for basal principles.
Bacon and Lord Herbert are questioners of the
existing order, reformatory minds, who cannot
rest in the world that is given them. They desire
to probe it for principles through whose aid it may
be brought to clearer knowledge. Herbert's mind
was of an opposite type, the mind of the artist
rather than that of the philosopher: the artist,
who takes whatever material is given and out of
it contrives forms of beauty. The application or
development of ideas is his work, not the discovery
of them. Some men are always challenging what
they hear with the question, "Is it true ? " I can
not imagine such an inquiry entering the mind of
Herbert. There are others, however, and they are
often men of force, who searchingly ask, "What
THE MAN 75
does it mean ? " And this is everywhere Herbert's
question. He draws out of all that is around him
its richest significance. Accepting the world as he
finds it, he studies what it contains which fits his
need, and then constructs, often out of forbidding
material, a beautiful intellectual lodging.
VII
T 1 1BESE intellectual peculiarities must be borne
1 in mind on coming to estimate Herbert's
attitude toward divinity and the Church. In both
he accepts all that is offered him; but he keeps
his independence, his practical rationality, and is
indisposed to fundamental questions. For philo
sophic theology he has neither aptitude nor inter
est. About the ultimate natures of God or man he
does not concern himself. A few simple precepts,
he tells us in DIVINITIE, are all the doctrines neces
sary for our guidance. There is usually a philistine
tone in Herbert when fundamental problems press.
But in harmonizing what is traditional with pre
sent needs and in making dead matter live, he is
at his best, and often positively creative. The cur- ,
rent religious notions of his time are accordingly
all adopted without criticism; but all are rendered
rational, humane, exquisitely fitted to men's
requirements, and even to their delight and play
fulness. Hell, for example, is accepted; but no
thing is said of its torments. It means banishment
76 THE MAN
from God, perpetuity of evil. The name Satan
does not occur in his poetry. The Devil is men
tioned once, when we are told that he hath some
good in him, all agree. Devils appear three or four
times, most incidentally, except in the little poem
SINNE, which is written to show how devils are
our sinnes in perspective. Heaven is no place of
idle reward, but the opportunity to know and serve
Him who is now obscurely dear. Christ has made
atonement for us ; how, is not stated. No forensic
explanation is allowed, but love alone triumphs in
his death. Sin is self-assertion and alienation from
God; salvation, union with Him and affectionate
adoption of righteousness. The Trinity is adored;
it renders God accessible on so many sides. And
all through these accepted and transformed theo-
logic notions runs a play of fancy, intimacy, pas
sion, with subtle intellectual diversifications and
artistic adjustments, until the total effect is not
that of a mind bound by a traditional system, but
of one freely finding its own singularly real and
triumphant entrance into a divine order.
Just so he is devoted to his Church, and has
rightly become one of its saints. Oley and Walton,
with most of his subsequent biographers, have put
him forward to exalt the glories of episcopacy and
the abominations of dissent. And well would he
be pleased to be employed in such a service ; for he
assailed the enemies of his Church in his youth,
sang her ordinances throughout his life, elaborately
THE MAN 77
ministered them during his closing years, and left
a hand-book explaining how they might be exer
cised with the utmost efficiency. Her doctrine
and discipline he never questioned. It is no won
der, then, that he has usually been classed as an
extreme High Churchman ; and that those who
are episcopally-minded, but have only a slight
acquaintance with his writings, accept him as the
convincing prophet of their cause. Coleridge
thought that "THE TEMPLE will always be read
with fullest appreciation by those who share the
poet's devotion to the Dear Mother whose praises
he has undertaken to celebrate."
Yet enthusiastic students of Herbert are con
fined to no one communion. The majority of those
I have happened to meet have been drawn from
his old enemies, the Puritans and Presbyterians.
Many Unitarian devotees I have known too, and
several Agnostics. Catholics are more apt to find
him distasteful. Herbert's extreme insistence on
individual responsibility, and his inclination to set
the soul in solitary communication with God, are
rather Puritan than " Churchly." He was indeed
a loyal follower of the English Church, but the
grounds of his allegiance bring him within the
sympathy of the Church Universal. In his day, and
still more in ours, the English Church has found
support among men of two contrasted types, — the
obedient souls, who love subjection to authority,
and are only at ease under the shelter of a com-
78
THE MAN
manded institution; and the free beings who find
other sects narrow, and so turn to a historic ritual
as the naturally selected and fit means by which
the total spirit of man may piously express itself.
Herbert, when closely questioned, declares him
self one of the latter sort.
Bancroft, Laud, and other ecclesiastical leaders
of Herbert's time held that a fixed form of both
Church and State had been divinely established.
Christ, it was believed, had in mind a single sys
tem of organization, doctrine, and ritual, to be
set up in the world forever. This He intrusted to
his Apostles. The Roman Church, by virtue of
St. Peter's headship, claimed to be in possession
of this system. The Anglican leaders claimed
that it was theirs. The question was not primarily
as to the truth of the doctrines held, or the fitness
of the one Church or the other to minister best to
spiritual life; it was one of historic fact : which
Church did Christ have in mind ? And this belief
that Christ had authorized a particular ecclesias
tical system found a readier acceptance because
a similar belief in regard to the State was already
in possession of men's minds. At the beginning of
the seventeenth century, those who were disposed
to regard institutions not so much as a means but
as ends in themselves held unquestioningly to the
twin beliefs of divine right in Church and State.
Another view, however, of the position of the
Church of England after the Reformation was
THE MAN 79
that episcopacy was desirable on account of its
reasonableness, its decency, its power of minister
ing to men's wants. Christ announced the prin
ciples which underlie every Church rather than
the complete model of some particular one. This
theory was set forth in its clearest and most pro
found form by Richard Hooker (1554-1600) in his
Ecclesiastical Polity. Throughout his second and
third Books Hooker maintains that law, whether
in nature, in the mind and heart of man, or in
the constitution of society, is as much a revelation
of God as is the Bible. That which discerns and
applies this widely revealed and revealing law is
reason. Accordingly " the necessity of Polity and
Regiment in all Churches may be held without
holding any one certain form to be necessary in
them all." As a matter of history, episcopacy has
descended from the apostles, but it is not on that
account to be considered an indispensable neces
sity of Church life. That form of government and
ritual which bears within itself the marks of reason
ableness, order, and edification is stamped thereby
as ordained by Christ as truly as if there had been
an express command of his for it. " Inasmuch as
law doth stand upon reason, to allege reason serv-
eth as well as to cite Scripture. . . . For men to
be tied and led by authority as if it were a kind
of captivity of the judgment, and though there be
reason to the contrary not to listen unto it but to
follow like beasts the first in the herd, they know
80 THE MAN
not nor care not whither, this were brutish. That
authority of men should prevail with men either
against or above reason is no part of our belief."
The opposing views here stated in regard to the
divine origin of the Church continue to distinguish
its loyal adherents in our day. We know the two
parties as High Churchmen and Broad Church
men. The one hold the Church to be divine be
cause it embodies a command of Christ ; the other,
because of its adaptation to human needs. Through
nearly all communions there runs a similar line of
cleavage. The authoritative mind and the ration
alizing mind are probably inherent in humanity
itself. To which type did Herbert belong ?
Judged by his devotion to the Church of Eng
land, by his hostility to her foes, and by his in
sistence on elaborate ritual, Herbert is a High
Churchman ; but there is no indication that he
held the tenet distinctive of High Churchmanship,
the belief that his ecclesiastical system had been
designed and established by Christ. He never
defends his position by maintaining for it an in
junction of Christ or an Apostolic model. On the
contrary, he employs tests much more verifiable.
Give to thy Mother what thou woiddst allow
To ev'ry Corporation.
In Chapter XIII of THE COUNTRY PARSON,
where he explains how the church and altar should
be arranged, he says that all this is done not as out
THE MAN 81
of necessity, or as putting a holiness in the things,
but as desiring to keep the middle way between
superstition and slovenlinesse, and as following the
Apostle's two great and admirable Rules in things
of this nature : The first whereof is, " Let all things
be done decently and in order; " the second, " Let
all things be done to edification." For these two
rules . . . excellently score out the way, and fully
and exactly contain, even in externall and indifferent
things, what course is to be taken. To the same
effect he speaks in his poem on THE BRITISH
CHURCH, where he finds the justification of that
Church to lie in the fact that she is a mean
between the Roman and the Genevan, — neither
painted like the former nor undrest like the latter.
He never asserts that the Churches he opposes
have departed from a primitive pattern, or that
his own conforms to it. The decadence of the
Roman Church, which he traces with much de
tail in THE CHURCH MILITANT, is found in its
lapses into moral evil, and not in any alteration
of prescribed usage. Marriage, he urges in THE
CHURCH-PORCH (1. 19), is holy because man would
have been obliged to institute it himself if God
had not. Lent is commended because fasting is
wholesome, beautiful to practise in company
with others, in imitation of Christ, and as a part
of a holy plan for the year. Nor can authoritie,
which should increase the obligation in us, make it
lesse. In baptism his Country Parson willingly
82 THE MAN
and cheerfully crosseth the child, and thinketh the
Ceremony not onely innocent but reverend. In
matters so uncertain as praying to the Saints, we
should consider that all worship is prerogative,
and not engage in it where His pleasure no in
junction layes. He celebrated the Communion
infrequently; if not duly once a month, yet at least
five or six times in the year (THE COUNTRY PAR
SON, XXII). He, Ferrar, and Donne all used on
occasion in their services prayers written by them
selves, side by side with those taken from the
Prayer Book.
On the whole, then, it is evident — as Walton
alleges in his long explanation of Herbert's use of
ritual — that he joyously accepted his Church's
order through a conviction of its beauty and ser
viceability, and not because of its antiquity or its
externally authoritative character. He regarded
it as a means, not an end ; a tool to be used, not a
legal ordinance to be obeyed. He had no hesita
tion in shaping it this way or that, as occasion
seemed to demand. That many of its parts were
ancient might endear them, but was not the
ground of their acceptance. A practice which
could claim an express command of Christ, he
welcomed for that reason. Practices not having
such command, and which seemed not favorable
to edification, he refused. Everywhere a lover j
of beauty and of subtle suggestion, he valued an
elaborate ritual. Nothing could seem too rich to \
THE MAN 83
clothe the sunne. An extreme Ritualist he might
well be called ; only that Ritualists rarely, like
Herbert, base their ritual on grounds of beauty
and serviceability. With them, as with High
Churchmen, the moving principle is generally
conformity to an ancient command. For Herbert
the appeal was to an internal need.
VIII
THIS paper presents no picture of Herbert.
We do not see him here as he walked among
men. The many features to which I have separately
called attention are not drawn together naturally
into a whole. As was said at the beginning, Her
bert is interesting through uniting in himself traits
which are usually found opposed. More than in
most men his words and works and fashion too
are all of a piece. By psychologically detaching his
conditions of body, temperament, intellect, and
religion, I falsify him. To make him live, these
must be put together again, and so all be brought
into that ordered beauty which Herbert every
where prized. But this singleness of the harmo
nized Herbert can be best read in his poems.
A page of the Bodleian Manuscript, showing the handwriting of a
copyist. See Vol. I, p. 176.
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Ill
THE TYPE OF RELIGIOUS POETRY
THE TYPE OF RELIGIOUS POETRY
TO both the matter and the manner of English
poetry George Herbert made notable con
tributions. He devised the religious love-lyric, and
he introduced structure into the short poem. These
are his two substantial claims to originality. To
state, illustrate, and qualify them will be the ob
ject of this and the following Essay.
OF course there was religious verse in England
before Herbert's time. To see how consider
able it was, and how he modified it, I will roughly
classify what had been written under the four
headings of Vision, Meditation, Paraphrase, and
Hymn. In the poetry of Vision the poet stands
above his world, and is concerned rather with
divine transactions than with human. Cynewulf
in Saxon times looked into the wonders of the
Advent, Ascension, and Doomsday. The author
of Piers the Plowman, with visions of the King
dom of Heaven before his eyes, condemned the
institutions of rural England. Spenser imagined a
fairy realm where chivalry^ holiness, and unearthly
beauty dominate all forms of evil. Giles Fletcher
88 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
in Keats-like verse pictured the four Victories
achieved by Christ. The young Milton, just before
Herbert took orders, celebrated the Nativity, Cir
cumcision, and Passion. And a few years after
Herbert's death Sandys translated into English
verse Grotius' Drama of Christ's Passion. In all
these cases the writers are not primarily interested
in their relations to God, but in his to the world;
and these relations they behold dramatically em
bodied in certain divine occurrences. In such
dramatic Visions we may perceive a kind of sur
vival of the early Miracle Play.
But the imaginative point of view belongs to
exceptional men. Much commoner, especially in
Herbert's early life, was religious Meditation.
Spenser had practised it with his accustomed
splendor in his two Hymns in Honour of Divine
Love and Beauty; so had Constable in his Spirit
ual Sonnets to the Honour of God and his Saints,
and Drayton in his Harmonies of the Church.
Many of Sidney's sonnets, of Shakespeare's, are
reveries on the nature of the soul, its immortality,
and its relation to its Maker. Sir John Davies
studies these questions more abstractly in his
Nosce Teipsum, as does Phineas Fletcher in The
Purple Island. Lord Herbert looks at them ro
mantically in his Tennysonian Ode, inquiring
Whether Love Should Continue Forever. Drum-
mond gravely examines them in his Flowers of
Sion. Fulke Greville draws up in verse a Treatise
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 89
of Religion. Nicholas Breton has similar discus
sions of sacred themes. Many of Daniel's and
of Donne's Epistles and Elegies are weighty with a
moral wisdom not to be distinguished from reli
gion; while Donne's Anatomy of the World, Pro
gress of the Soul, and Divine Poems would, if they) ,
were not so intellectual, be genuinely devout./
Quarles' Divine Fancies are of the same character.
Ralegh and Wotton, too, and many other poets
less famous than they? have single meditations of
sweet seriousness and depth on God, man, death,
and duty. Yet religious verse of this type every
where bears the same mark. It studies a problem
and tries to reach a general truth. Its writers do not
content themselves with recording their own emo
tions. Their poetry, therefore, lacks the individual
note and is not lyric. If the preceding group of
religious verse may be thought of as following the
Miracle Play, this continues the traditions of the
old Morality.
Yet in religion there is more than sacred scenes
and wise Meditation. There is worship, the open
profession by God's children of their exultation in
Him and their need of his continual care. Worship,
however, especially in the time preceding Herbert,
was a collective affair, in which the holy aspirations
of the individual were merged in those of his fel
lows and went forth in company along already
consecrated paths. For such national worship and
such sanctified associations nothing could be a
90 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
more fitting expression than the Holy Scriptures.
The Bible was the Magna Charta of the Refor
mation. To love it was to show one's hostility to
Popery. In it all truth was contained. If one
needed poetry, then, or sacred song, where could
one obtain it better than in this its original source ?
For a time it seemed almost profane to look else
where. The favorite form of religious utterance
was the versified Paraphrase of some portion of the
Bible. Naturally the Psalms were the part most
commonly chosen. The collection of Paraphrases
of the Psalms which goes by the name of Sternhold
and Hopkins was drawn up in 1562, and was soon
adopted into the use of the English churches. But
almost every prominent poet attempted a few
Psalms. To translate them became a literary fash
ion. Wyatt and Surrey engaged in it, as later did
Sidney and his sister, Spenser, Sylvester, Davison,
Wither, Phineas Fletcher, King James, Lord
Bacon, Milton, Sandys, and even Carew. But the
disposition to paraphrase the Bible did not con
fine itself to the Psalms. Surrey put Ecclesiastes
into verse; Sylvester, Job; Quarles versified Job,
Samson, Esther, and the Song of Solomon. Both
he and Donne tried to make poetry out of the La
mentations of Jeremiah. Drayton told the stories
of Noah, Moses, and David. Indeed, the strange
fashion lasted down to the time of Cowley, who in
1656 published four Books of the Troubles of King
David, and translated one of them back into Latin.
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 91
Paradise Lost itself may be regarded as but the
full, gorgeous, and belated consummation of what
Milton's predecessors in Paraphrase and Vision
had already attempted.
The Hymn, that form of religious aspiration
most natural to us, developed slowly in the Eng
land of Elizabeth and James, and gained only
a partial acceptance during the reign of Charles.
The Catholic Church had always had its Latin
hymns. Many of these were translated by Lu
ther and the German reformers, and freely used
in their churches. Luther's own hymns were
much prized. The English Prayer Book is largely
a translation of the Roman Breviary, and the
Breviary contains many hymns ; but the makers
of the Prayer Book left the hymns untranslated.
Why so low an estimate was set on hymns in Eng
land is not altogether clear, but for some reason
English Protestants contented themselves for the
most part with versions of the Psalms. Perhaps
they took example from Geneva. Clement Marot
in 1544 translated fifty Psalms into French, and
these were completed in 1562 by Beza and adopted
into the service of the Reformed Swiss and French
churches. Genevan influences, being strong in
George Herbert's England, may have cooperated
with other causes to hold back the promising
movement toward giving the English people their
own religious songs. For such a movement did
start. Coverdale in 1540 published some Spiritual
92 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
Songs in company with thirteen Goostly Psalms,
mostly translated from German originals. The
collection of Sternhold and Hopkins contained
a group of hymns in addition to its translated
Psalms, while a more marked advance in this
direction was made by Wedderburn's widely used
Book of Psalms and Spiritual Songs, printed in
Scotland in 1560. This had three parts: the first
consisting of Psalms, the second of hymns, and
the third of popular secular songs to which a
religious meaning had been attached. Half a
dozen Songs of Sadness and Piety were in Wil
liam Byrd's Book of Songs, 1588. But these ad
mirable beginnings, English and Scotch, were
only slenderly followed up. Such songs were ap
parently too individual, and could not compete
with the broad and universal Psalms. As Puri
tanism advanced, the Bible tended to overshadow
all other inspiration. It was not until 1623 that
George Wither in his Hymns and Songs of the
Church composed the first hymn-book that ever
appeared in England, and obtained permission to
have it used in churches. Eighteen years later he
published a second and much larger volume, under
the title of England's Hallelujah, but like its pre
decessor it met with much opposition. Hymns
were not a natural form of devotion in the first half
of the seventeenth century, and few were even in
existence previously to Wither's book. Wither
complains in his Scholar's Purgatory (1624) that
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 93
"for divers ages together there have been but so
many hymns composed and published as make
not above two sheets and a half of paper."
II
SUCH, then, was the condition of English
sacred poetry when Herbert began to write.
To each of its four varieties he made good contri
butions. In THE SACRIFICE and THE BAG he has
visions of divine events. The massive reflections
of THE CHURCH-PORCH, THE CHURCH MILITANT,
and many of the poems contained in my third, fifth,
and eighth Groups give him high rank among the
meditative religious poets. He also translated half
a dozen Psalms ; and possibly the two ANTIPHONS,
one of the poems entitled PRAISE, and the songs
which are appended to EASTER, THE HOLY COM
MUNION, and AN OFFERING, may pass for hymns.
I do not reckon VERTUE and THE ELIXER ; for
though these bear his name in our hymn-books,
their popular form is not due to him, but to John
Wesley.
Yet in spite of the worth of Herbert's work in all
these four accredited varieties, and his real emi
nence in the second, his distinctive merit must
be sought elsewhere. For he originated a new spe- \
cies of sacred verse, the religious lyric, a species )
for which the English world was waiting, which
it welcomed with enthusiasm, and which at once
94
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
became so firmly established that it is now diffi
cult to conceive that it did not always exist. In
reality, though cases of something similar may be
discovered in earlier poetry, it was Herbert who
thought it out, studied its aesthetic possibilities,
and created the type for future generations.
Wherein, then, does this fifth type of Herbert's
differ from the preceding four ? In this : The
religious lyric is a cry of the individual heart to
God. Standing face to face with Him, its writer
describes no event, explores no general problem,
leans on no authoritative book. He searches his
own soul, and utters the love, the timidity, the joy,
the vacillations, the remorse, the anxieties, he finds
there. That is not done in the hymn. Though its
writer often speaks in the first person, he gives
voice to collective feeling. He thinks of himself
as representative, and selects from that which he
finds in his heart only what will identify him with
others. On God and himself his attention is not
exclusively fixed. Always in the lyric it is thus
fixed. When Burns sings of Mary Morison, he has
no audience in mind, nor could his words be
adopted by any company. Just so the religious
lyric is a supreme love-song, involving two per
sons and two only, — the individual soul as the
lover and its divine and incomparable Love. We
hear the voice of the former appealing in intro
spective monologue to the distant arid exalted
dear one. "Divinest love lies in this book," says
V
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 95
Crashaw in writing of Herbert's TEMPLE; and he
justly marks its distinctive feature.
A certain preparation for Herbert's work was
already laid in the poetry of Robert SouthwelL
This heroic young Englishman was born in high
station in 1561, became a Jesuit priest, and in
1592 was arrested by Elizabeth on account of his
religion. After three years of imprisonment in
the Tower, where he was thirteen times subjected
to torture, he was executed in February, 1595. In
the same year were printed two volumes of his
verse. These include the long St. Peter's Com
plaint and about fifty short poems, many of them
written during his imprisonment. Perhaps the
best known is the Christmas song of The Burning
Babe. All are vivid, sincere, and accomplished,
and all without exception deal with religious
themes. Southwell is accordingly our earliest reli
gious poet, the only one before Herbert who con
fined himself to that single field. Possibly Herbert
derived from him the idea of taking religion for
his province. Southwell's book was popular in
Herbert's boyhood; and when Herbert as a young
man announces to his mother his resolve to dedi
cate his poetic powers to God's service, he uses
language strikingly similar to that in Southwell's
Epistle of The Authour to the Reader. Herbert's
long early poem too, THE CHURCH-PORCH, is in
the metre of St. Peter's Complaint. Yet the tem
per of the two men is unlike and their aims diver-
96 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
gent. In style Southwell connects with Spenser,
Herbert with Donne. Southwell, too, like Crashaw
afterward, lives in a beautiful Romish world,
where the saints claim more attention than his own
salvation. Fortitude is his principal theme, and
reflections on the emptiness of the world. His is a
stout heart. It does not seek intimate communings
with its Master, and is seldom alone with God.
The lyric yearning of the fearful lover is not his;
though in such poems as Content and Rich, Sin's
Heavy Load, and Lewd Love is Loss, he nearly
approaches the meditative and sententious power
of Herbert. That religious Jove-song, however, in
which Herbert traces all the waywardness of his
affection for the mighty object of his love, exhibit
ing the same fervency of passion which enters into
the human relation, does not occur in Southwell.
Nearer to Herbert is Thomas Campion, who
about 1613 published twenty Divine and Moral
Songs. Campion is an exquisite experimenter, skil
ful in discovering every sweet subtlety which song
admits. Both in the personal quality of his reli
gious verse and in its beauty of structure, he may
fairly be called a predecessor of Herbert. But he,
too, is under Spenserian influence. His religious
poems are pure songs, written — like most of his
verse — with reference to a musical setting. They
lack, therefore, that introspective passion which
fills Herbert's throbbing stanzas. Herbert could
have obtained little direct aid from them. He is
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 97
more likely to have been indebted to Donne's few
hymns and to his Holy Sonnets. In these there
f is Herbert's own deep communing with God.
But instances of this occur all the way down the
long line of English poetry. The Early English
Text Society has published several volumes of re
ligious verse which, while usually of the types I
have named Vision and Meditation, show occa
sional instances of personal appeal. Religious
poetry of the personal life had never been uncom
mon among continental Catholics, the mystics, and
the German Reformers, though it had not yet
found full voice in England. In no strict sense,
then, can Herbert be said to haye created it, for it
is grounded in one of the most constant cravings
of human nature. Yet the true discoverer is not
he who first perceives a thing, but he who discerns
its importance and its place in human life. And
/ this is what Herbert did. He is the first in Eng-
lland to bring this universal craving to adequate
^utterance. He rediscovered it, enriched it with his
;own ingenuity, precision, and candor, and estab
lished it as a theme for English poetry, freed from
the mystic and sensuous morbidity which has often
disfigured it in other literatures.
98 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
III
CERTAIN general tendencies of Herbert's time
combined with peculiarities of his own na
ture to bring about this new poetry. Individualism
was abroad, disturbing "the unity and married
calm of states," and sending its subtle influence
into every department of English life. The rise
of Puritanism was but one of its manifestations.
Everywhere the Renaissance movement pressed
toward a return to nature and an assertion of the
rights of the individual. At its rise these tend
encies were partially concealed. Its first fruits
were delivery from oppressive seriousness, a gen
eral emancipation of human powers, the enrich
ment of daily life, beauty, splendor, scholarship,
a quickened and incisive intelligence. But as it
advanced, the Renaissance opened doors to all
kinds of self-assertion. Each person, each desire,
each opinion, became clamorous and set up for
itself, regardless of all else. In its remoteness Eng
land was tardy in feeling these disintegrating in
fluences. The splendor, too, of the Renaissance
was somewhat dimmed in Italy and France before
it shone on the age of Elizabeth. There it found
a society exceptionally consolidated under a force
ful Queen. Foreign dangers welded the nation
together. It is doubtful if at any other period of
its history has the English people believed, acted,
enjoyed, and aspired so nearly like a single person
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 99
as during the first three quarters of the age of
Elizabeth. She, her great ministers, and the his
torical plays of Shakespeare set forth its ideals of
orderly government. Spenser's poem consum
mated its ideals of orderly beauty, as did Hooker's
Ecclesiastical Polity those of an orderly church.
Men in those days inarched together. Dissenters,
either of a religious, political, or artistic sort, were
few and despised.
But change was impending. A second period
of the Renaissance began, a period of introspec
tion, where each man was prone to insist on the
importance of whatever was his own. At the
coming of the Stuarts this great change was pre
pared, and was steadily fostered by their inability
to comprehend it. In science, Bacon had already
questioned established authority and sent men
to nature to observe for themselves. In govern
ment, the king's prerogative was speedily ques
tioned, and Parliaments became so rebellious that
they were often dismissed. A revolution in poetic
taste was under way. Spenser's lulling rhythms
and bloodless heroes were being displaced by the
jolting and passionate realism of Donne.
The changes wrought in religion were of a deeper
and more varied kind. Forms and ceremonies, the
product of a collective religious consciousness,
gradually became objects of suspicion. Persojial
religioji, the sense of individual responsibility to
God, was regarded as the one thing needful. Al-
100 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
ready the setting up of a national church and the
rejection of a Catholic or world-church had ad
mitted the principle of individual judgment, and
now the further progress of this principle could not
be stayed. If a single nation might seek what was
best for itself, regardless of the Papacy, why might
not also a single body of Christians, regardless of
the nation, — or even an individual soul, regardless
of its fellows ? Our souls, the Puritans held, are
our own. No man can save his brother. Each
stands single before his Maker, answerable to Him
alone. The social sense, it may be said, had de
cayed as an instinct, and had not yet been ration
ally reconstructed. It needed to decay, if a fresh
and varied religious experience was to invigorate
English life. The call to individualism was the
most sacred summons of the age. All sections of
the community heard it. Puritanism merely ac
cepted it with peculiar heartiness and reverence.
In the High Church party ideas substantially
similar were at work. By them, too, asceticism and
"freedom from the world" were often regarded
as the path of piety. What a sign of the times is
the conduct of Herbert's friend, Nicholas Ferrar,
who would cut all ties, stand naked before God,
and so seek holiness! Ferrar was a religious
genius, able to discern the highest ideals of his
age, and courageous enough to carry them out.
But how widely and in what unlike forms these
individualistic ideas pervaded the community
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 101
may be seen in three other powerful men, all born
before Herbert died, — Thomas Hobbes, George
Fox, and John Bunyan. The best and the worst
tendencies of that age demanded that each man
should seek God for himself, unhampered by his
neighbor.
And just as the seeker after God is at this time
conceived as a detached individual, so is the ob
ject of the search, — God himself. Notions of the
divine immanence do not belong to this age. God
is not a spiritual principle, the power that makes
for _rjg]iteQiisiiejss^_MniYersal reason, , collective
najtura^ force. Such ideas come later, in the train
of that Deistic movement of which Herbert's
brother was the precursor. GocHs an independent
person, exactly like ourselves, havm^Jforesight,
skill, love and hatred, grief, self-sacrifice, and a
power of action a good deal limited by the kind of
world and people among whom He works. From
Him Jesus Christ is indistinguishable. With Him
one may talk as with a friend ; and though no
answering sound comes back, the Bible — every
portion of which is his living word — reports his
instructions, while the conditions of mind and
heart in which we find ourselves after communion
with Him disclose his influence and indicate his
will. In all this religious realism there is a vitality
and precision, a permission to take God with us
into daily affairs, a banishment of loneliness, and
a refreshment of courage impossible to those who
7
102 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
accept the broader but vaguer notions fashionable
in our day. Without attempting to assess the
completeness or truth of the opposing conceptions,
we must see that the earlier has immense advan
tages for artistic purposes. This concrete, vivid
thought of God sets the religious imagination free
and makes it creative in poetry as nothing else
can. jUl art is personal and anthropomorphic.
IV
fTTERBERT was a true child of this eager,
I I I individualistic, realistic age. In its full tide
he lived. An exceptionally wide acquaintance with
its leaders of philosophy, poetry, and the Church
brought his impressionable nature to accept its
ideals as matters of course. He has not the hardy
and spacious nature that asks fundamental ques
tions. His mind is receptive, even if anticipatory.
Too proud and independent for an imitator, and
ever disposed to build his own pathway, he still
employs in that building only the material he
finds at hand. Rarely does he desire more. Small
modifications, readjustments, the application of
refinement and elevation where coarseness had
been before, — these rather than revolutionary
measures are what he adds to the intellectual stock
of his age. He is no Wordsworth, Keats, or Brown
ing; he is related to his time rather as an early
Gray or Arnold, as one who voices with exquisite
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 103
art what those around him already feel. But if the
ideals of his time shaped him, he in turn shaped
them. Through his responsive heart and dexter
ous fingers they attained a precision, beauty, and
compelling power which bore them far past the
limits of that age.
In his first years at Cambridge Herbert had
thought of religion as primarily an affair of ritual
and ordinance . This is painfully evident in some
Latin epigrams written at this time in reply to
Andrew Melville. This learned and witty Scotch
man, in some verses entitled Anti-Tami-Cami-
Categoria, had attacked certain features of the
English Church as meaningless and injurious to
piety. Herbert replies, but shows no devotional
spirit in his smart and scurrilous lines. He does
not write as a defender of God, of his own soul,
or of holy agencies personally found dear. He
defends an established and external institution,
whose usages must all alike be exempt from criti
cism. But such blind partisanship was brief. As
has been shown in my preceding Essay, the love
of Anglicanism which fills Herbert's later poems
and his COUNTRY PARSON is of a different type,
'it springs from a belief in the aid his Church?
can afford to individual holiness, collective con-r
venience, and permanent beauty. That Church he
thinks of as a_means and not an end; and the end
is everywhere communion of the individual soul
with God.
104 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
Strangely enough, it was during the Melville
controversy and while defending ecclesiasticism
that Herbert heard and accepted his deeper call
to vindicate personal religion as a poetic theme.
On New Year's Day, 1610, at the age of seven
teen, he sent his mother the two momentous son
nets which form the opening of my second Group.
They and their accompanying letter announce a
literary and religious programme which mark an
epoch in the life of Herbert and in the develop
ment of English poetry. In these Sonnets, Walton
reports him as saying, / declare my resolution to
be that my poor Abilities in Poetry shall be all and
ever consecrated to God's glory. Herbert, thus early
discovering himself to be a poet, here fixes the
field most suitable to his genius. He will give him-
( self exclusively to religious verse, something never
before attempted in England except by Southwell.
i He fixes a special aim, too. He will reprove the
\ vanity of those many Love-poems that are daily writ
' and consecrated to Venus. Though love is the proper
theme 'of poetry, why should it be studied in its
pettiest form as the half -physical tie between men
and women, and not where it shows its full force,
volume, and variety when God and man are drawn
together? Cannot thy love heighten a spirit to
sound out thy praise as well as any she ? These are
accordingly his resolves : he will become a life
long poet ; an exclusively religious poet ; and while
studying love, as do secular poets, — that fire which
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 105
by God's power and might each breast does feel, — he
will present it freed from those sexual limits and
artificialities in which it is usually set.
TO these resolves Herbert remained, I believe,
substantially true. Edmund Gosse and some
others have asserted that he wrote secular verse
also, destroying it when he took orders. For evi
dence they urge that it is improbable that a courtly
poet should have written nothing in the current
styles, that the religious verse left by Herbert is
extremely small in amount, while it shows an
excellence hardly possible without long practice.
As this is a point crucial for the understanding of
Herbert, I will briefly sum up the strong opposing
evidence.
Herbert's secular verse is purely supposititious.
Nobody ever saw it and mentioned it, though in
certain quarters it would have been mentioned had
it existed. Oley and Walton, his early biographers,
know nothing of it. They give us to understand
that he wrote only on religion. In none of his let
ters is it alluded to, nor in his poems, — full though
these latter are of regrets for youthful follies. On
the other hand, we know that in pursuance of his
early purpose he set himself at Cambridge to
create a poetry of divine love. On this he was still
engaged at Bemerton. In what period of his life,
106 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
then, do his secular poems fall ? Surely not in the
years when he was antagonizing secular poetry.
But what others remain? Already, eight years
before Herbert's death, Bacon, dedicating to him
some Psalms, knows of his great reputation for
" divinity and poesy met." And twenty years after
his death, Henry Vaughan looks back on the
loose love-poetry of the previous half century and
counts it Herbert's glory to have opposed it. In
the preface of Silex Scintillans he writes: "The
first that with any effectual success attempted
a diversion of this foul and overflowing stream
was the blessed man, Mr. George Herbert, whose
holy life and verse gained many pious converts,
of whom I am the least."
Nor need we be disturbed over the small quan
tity of sacred verse included in THE TEMPLE. Her
bert may have written much more. In the early
manuscript of his verse preserved in the Williams
Library are six poems which were not included in
Ferrar's edition. How many others were similarly
rejected we do not know. Differences of style
among those preserved .indicate that his writing
extended over many years. In my Preface to THE
CHURCH-PORCH I have given reasons for suppos
ing that this poem was begun early and continued
at different periods of his life. The many changes
in the Williams Manuscript show how largely he
revised such poems as he intended to retain. In
order, then, to give his pen long and sufficient prac-
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
107
tice, we have no need to invent secular poetry. And
as regards the choice character of what was finally
published, it may be said that fineness rather than
fecundity was ever Herbert's characteristic. Till he
settled at Bemerton he wrote no English prose.
In view, then, of the fact that there is no evidence
in behalf of secular poetry by Herbert, while there
are strong probabilities against it, we may fairly
accept Herbert's declared purpose as final, and
believe that he dedicated all his verse to the exposi
tion of divine love, experienced in the communion
of each individual heart with God, and also an
nounced as a world-force in the coming of Christ.
G
VI
1OOD examples of the latter sort of love-lyric,
where God solicits us, are THE PULLEY,
MISERIE, SIGN, DECAY, THE AGONIE, the second
PRAYER, the second LOVE. In these the progress
of God's love is traced, advancing majestically
through humiliation and suffering to rescue little,
fallen, headlong, runaway man. Yet here, too,
while love is examined on its divine side, its work is
not — as in the Visions previously considered —
viewed pictorially and as a purely celestial affair.
God is the lover of man, and his slighted appeal
to the individual soul is the subject of the song.
These poems are accordingly veritable lyrics. They
deal with the inner life — withTmoods, affections,
108 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
solicitations — not with heavenly transactions,
dramatic scenes, objective situations. Indeed, facts
and outward events have no place in Herbert's
poetry. Only once, in the ninth section of his
Latin PARENTALIA, does he mention events of the
day. He might well say with Browning, whom in
many respects he strongly resembles, "My stress
lay on the incidents in the development of a soul;
little else is worth study."
But it is when Herbert turns to man's side of the
great alliance, to man's wavering yet inevitable
love ^>f God, that tie~is most truly himself For
here he can be frankly psychological, and mental
lanalysis is really his whole stock in trade. Yet —
what passion and tenderness does he contrive to
weave into his subtle introspections! Hardly do
the impetuous love-songs of Shelley yearn and sob
more profoundly than these tangled* allusive? self-
conscious, and over-intellectual verses of him who
first in English poetry spoke face to face with God.
The particular poems I have in mind are the fol
lowing: the AFFLICTIONS, THE CALL, CLASPING
OF HANDS, THE COLLAR, DENIALL, THE ELIXER,
THE FLOWER, THE GLANCE, THE GLIMPSE,
GRATEFULNESSE, LONGING, THE METHOD, THE
ODOUR, THE PEARL, THE SEARCH, SUBMISSION,
THE TEMPER, UNKINDNESSE, A WREATH. But
where shall one stop ? To specify what belongs
under this heading would be to enumerate a third
of all Herbert has written. Perhaps those already
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 109
named are enough to explain the mighty impact
on his generation of the Herbertian conception
of religious verse as personal aspiration. Out of
his one hundred and sixty-nine poems only twenty- ^
three do not employ the first person ; and half
a dozen of these are addresses in the second
person to his own soul, while several others are
dramatic. Practically allJlia poetry is poetry of
the personal life. " He speaks of God like a man
/that really believeth in God," says Richard Baxter
cf Herbert. His matter is
reported in all the variety of mood and shifting
fancy which everywhere characterizes veritable ex
perience. In it he will exhibit the profundities of
Jove and thus confute the love-poets.
And who are these love-poets ? Of course the
whole airy company of Elizabethan songsters,
including Donne with his early wild lyrics of love.
But it may be conjectured that in his Two SON
NETS Herbert has especially in mind those men who
have left behind them their long sonnet sequences.
This is the more likely because most of these
sonneteers came into close connection with him
through the Pembrokes of Wilton. Sidney, who
wrote the Stella series, printed surreptitiously in
1591, was the uncle of the Earl of Pembroke. Spen
ser, the friend of Sidney and Pembroke, in 1595
published his own series of Amoretti. Daniel, who
brought out his sonnets to Delia in 1592, had for
his patroness the Countess of Pembroke. So had
110 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
Constable, who printed his Sonnets to Diana in
1592, and prefaced Sidney's Apology for Poetry
in 1595. Drayton's series to Idea appeared in
1594, their author the only one not closely con
nected with the Herbert and Pembroke circle. In
the very year in which Herbert declared his re
solve to his mother, Shakespeare's Sonnets were
published and dedicated to Mr. W. H., mysterious
initials often supposed — though in my judgment
erroneously — to be those of William Herbert,
Earl of Pembroke, to whom the first folio of Shake
speare's plays is dedicated. With the leaders,
therefore, of that group of men who domesticated in
England the love-sonnet of Petrarch, Herbert was
brought into relation, and he probably had them
in mind when he resolved to initiate a movement
in opposition to the artificial love-poetry of his day.
For these men were artificial, and much disposed
to "doleful sonnets made to their mistress' eye
brow." They undertook the complete anatomy of
love. No phase of the passion was too trivial to
receive their detailed attention, though the emo
tional situation itself often became so paramount
as somewhat to hide the features of her who was
supposed to inspire it. In fact, her existence be
came comparatively unimportant. Whether there
ever was a heroine or hero of a single one among
the several sonnet sequences just named has been
strongly doubted. The elder Giles Fletcher, print
ing in 1593 his sonnets to Licia, says : " This kind
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 111
of poetry wherein I write I did it only to try my
humour." The writers of such sonnets were en
gaged in exploiting an ideal situation and in re
cording what was demanded by it. Nothing of the
sort may ever have occurred in their own experi
ence. Very largely they borrowed their situations
and even their phrases from French and Italian
sonneteers. A stock of poetic motives had been
accumulated among the disciples of Petrarch from
which each poet now helped himself at will. Sigh
ing was thus made easy. Mr. Sidney Lee computes
that between 1591 and 1597 more than two thou
sand sonnets were printed in England and nearly
as many more lyrics. The aim of their authors was
literature not life, their ideals Italian rather than
English, while under the sacred name of love they
spun their thin web of delicate fancies, exquisite
wordings, and intellectual involvement, prized the
more the further it could be removed from reality.
VII
NOW in protesting against these love-poets
Herbert does not take issue with their
strangely elaborate method. This indeed he con
siders to be a danger, but one involved in the very
nature of poetry. He had himself incurred it.
When first my lines 0} heav'nly joyes made mention,
Such was their lustre, they did so excett,
112 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
That I sought out quaint words and trim invention ;
My thoughts began to burnish, sprout and swell,
Curling with metaphors a plain intention,
Decking the sense, as if it were to sell.
What he objects to is that the matter of such verse
is unequal to the manner. Here is a vast expendi
ture of good brains on trivial stuff. The love talked
about is ephemeral, and there is no true beauty
there. Beauty and beauteous words should go to
gether. Put solid love, love of the eternal sort,
underneath this lovely enchanting language, sugar
cane, honey of roses, and we shall have a worthy
union. He tries, therefore, to give the love-lyric
body, by employing its secular methods upon
sacred subjects, guarding them against its obvious
dangersrimtrpreserving its intellectual exuberance
and aesthetic charm. Imagine Shakespeare's Son
nets with God as the adored object, instead of the
lovely boy, and we shall probably have something
like what Herbert was dreaming of.
The wanton lover in a curious strain
Can praise his fairest fair,
And with quaint metaphors her curled hair
Curl o're again.
Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light,
Beautie alone to me.
Thy bloudy death and undeserved makes thee
Pure red and white.
He honors and imitates the poetry he attacks.
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 113
And this imitation is not confined to diction. It
extends to situations as well. Coventry Patmore
has explained how
" Fractions indefinitely small
Of interests infinitely great
Count in love's learned wit for all,
And have the dignity of fate."
Accordingly his lady's frown or smile, her tem
porary absence, his possible neglects, his punctili
ous execution of her trivial commands, the annoy
ance his small misbehaviors may have caused her,
his delight when permitted to speak her praise, —
all these and other such interior incidents make up
the events of the lover's agitated day. Just such
are the perplexities of Herbert's sacred love. Is
he grateful enough ? What do his fluctuations of
fervor and coolness import ? Surely his pains can
come from nothing but God's withdrawal, and
inner peace must signify that He is near. To count
up how much he sacrifices for his great Love fills
him with a content almost comparable to that
which comes from seeing how unworthy he is of
what he has received. To work for God is his great
est delight; his greatest hardship that he is given
so little to do. Yet even in lack of employment
praise is possible, and he can always busy himself
with depicting past errors. Herbert, in short, is
a veritable lover, and of the true Petrarchian type.
In his poem A PARODIE it costs him but a slight
114 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
change of phrase to turn one of Donne's love-songs
into one of his own kind. Yet in his most ardent
moments he keeps clear of eroticism. Never, like
Crashaw and the Catholic mystics, does he mingle
sexual passion with divine. Filled though his verses
are with Biblical allusion, they contain hardly a
reference to Solomon's Song. He is a man of sobri
ety, of intellectual and moral self-command.
VIII
BUT this is not the impression one at first
receives. Whoever approaches these fervid
little poems with the prepossessions of our time
jmust regard Herbert as a religious sentimentalist,
a man of extreme and somewhat morbid piety,
attaching undue importance to passing moods.
Unfortunately this is the popular impression, and
for being such a person he is even admired. Often
he is pictured as an aged saint who, through spend
ing a lifetime in priestly offices, has come to find
interest only in devout emotions. For such a fan
tastic picture there is no evidence, though Walton's
romantic Life has done much to confirm it. In
reality, Herbert died under forty ; was a priest
less than three years; spent his remaining thirty-
six years among men who loved power, place, wit,
pleasure, and learning; and held his own among
them remarkably well. His CHURCH-PORCH and
the compact sententiousness of his poetic style
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 115
show a character somewhat severe, and far re
moved from sentimentality. His Latin poems on
the death of his mother are distinctly lacking in
piety. His Latin orations and letters are skilful
attempts to win favor with the great. His admi
rable COUNTRY PARSON is a clear-headed study
of the conditions of the minister's work and the
means of performing it effectively. In it, while
Herbert is much in earnest about religion, he
is sagacious too, calculating, and at times almost
canny. I give an abridgment of his discussion of
preaching :
When the parson preacheth, he procures atten
tion by all possible art, both by earnestnesse of speech
— it being naturall to men to think that where is
much earnestness there is somewhat worth hearing
— and by a diligent and busy cast of his eye on his
auditors, with letting them know that he observes
who marks and who not ; and with particularizing
of his speech now to the younger sort, then to the
elder, now to the poor and now to the rich. By these
and other means the Parson procures attention ; but
the character of his Sermon is Holiness. He is
not witty, or learned, or eloquent, but Holy. And
this Character is gained first, by choosing texts of
Devotion not Controversie, moving and ravishing
texts, whereof the Scriptures are full. Secondly, by
dipping and seasoning all words and sentences in
the heart before they come to the mouth. Thirdly,
by turning often and making many Apostrophes to
116 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
God, as, " Oh Lord Hesse my people and teach them
this point ; " or, " Oh my Master, on whose errand
I come, let me hold my peace and doe thou speak
thy selfe." Some such irradiations scatteringly in the
Sermon carry great holiness in them. Lastly, by an
often urging of the presence and majesty of God,
by these or such like speeches: "Oh let us all take
heed what we do. God sees us, he sees whether I
speak as I ought or you hear as you ought; he sees
hearts as we see faces." Such discourses shew very
Holy.
I have quoted this passage at some length
because it well illustrates Herbert's ever-present
use of art. Just as we are ashamed of art and con
ceal it where it is employed, thinking it corrupts
the genuineness of feeling, so is Herbert ashamed
of unregulated spontaneity. He thinks he honors
feeling best by bringing all its niceties to appropri
ate expression. He wishes to inspect it through
and through, to supply it with intelligence, and to
forecast precisely how it should issue in action.
What comes short of such fulness is maimed, bar
baric, and brutal. Art he considers the appropriate
investiture of all we prize, and beauty the mark of
its worth. Accordingly he ever seeks
i
Not rudely, as a beast,
To runne into an action ;
But still to make Thee prepossesst,
And give it his perfection.
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 117
There are few pages of his poems in which the
preciousness of art-constructed beauty is not in I J
some way expressed.
IX
WHEN, however, one has come to view
things thus artistically, it becomes a de
light through the exercise of art to detach single
ingredients of life, free them from the belittle-
ments of reality, and view them in their emotional
fulness. To secure beauty, this is a necessary
process. In the mixed currents of daily affairs, de
votion to my Love is checked by the need of sleep,
attention to business, books, or food. I am occu
pied, forgetful, listless. These foreign matters
the artist clears away. Starting with a veritable
mood, he allows this to dictate congenial circum
stances, to color all details — however minute —
with its influence, and so to exhibit a rounded
completeness. For such artistic work, requiring
intellectual reflection rather than the raw material
of emotion, the sentimentalist is disqualified. It is
not surprising, then, to find that all the six son
neteers named above, though men who profess to
be spending their days pining over unrequited
love, are really persons of exceptional intellect,
energy, and poise. Sidney was an accomplished
soldier, the idol of his time in mind and morals.
Spenser was entrusted by his country with a share
118 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
in the government of Ireland. Constable was a
political plotter and refugee. Shakespeare was
beyond all other men " self -schooled, self -scanned,
self -honored, self -secure." Drayton was a geo
grapher and historian of England. And "well-
languaged Daniel's " chief defect as a poet is that
his stock of good sense is somewhat excessive.
These men are no love-sick dreamers. They care
for other things than Diana and Stella and Idea.
They are artists. Of course they have felt the power
of love and been shaken by its vicissitudes. But
every poet takes on an attitude and utters the emo
tion which one so circumstanced should feel. It
would be as absurd to suppose that in their sonnets
these men are simply narrating facts of their own
lives as to imagine that Walter Scott went through
all the adventures he reports. Their interest is in
beauty. Out of scattered and meagre facts they
develop ideal situations.
This is just what Herbert did. To-day it is
usual to make a sharp distinction between the real
and the artificial; but Herbert knows no such con
trast. When he is most artificial, he is all aglow
with passion ; and when he describes one of his
own moods, he is full of constructive artifice. That
he was a truly religious man, no one will doubt.
He certainly felt within himself the conflicts he
depicts. In these strange lyrics the course of his
wayward and incongruous life may accurately be
traced. By attending to biographic hints, and
THE RELIGIOUS POETRY 119
grouping the poems in something like a living
order, I believe we throw much light upon their
meanings. The series becomes connectedly inter
esting, almost dramatic. A highly individual per
sonality emerges and takes the place of a conven
tional figure, a personality whose work cannot
justly be understood without constant and minute
reference to the incidents of his life and the ideals
of his time. Yet there is duality even here. These
personal experiences are after all not the main
thing. They are starting-points for subtle intel
lectual play, occasions for exercise of that beauty-
producing art which Herbert loves. Moods which
exist in him merely in germ, or which coexist
with much else, he heightens, isolates, renders
dominant and exclusive. One must be dull in
deed not to feel the genuineness of Herbert's reli
gious experience. But he is no mere reporter
or historian. We miss his power and splendor if
we mistake his imaginative constructions for plain
facts. To this sort of misconception we Ameri
cans, so little artistic, so veraciously practical, are
peculiarly liable. Herbert's contemporaries were
not so misled. They knew him to be a poet, sen
sitive therefore in experience, fertile in invention,
rejoicing in shapely construction. Only seven years
after his death Christopher Harvey wrote thus
in his Stepping Stone to the Threshold of Mr.
Herbert's CHURCH-PORCH:
120 THE RELIGIOUS POETRY
"What Church is this? Christ's Church. Who builded
it?
Master George Herbert. Who assisted it ?
Many assisted; who, I may not say,
So much contention might arise that way.
If I say Grace gave all, Wit straight? doth thwart,
And saies, 'All that is there is mine;' But Art
Denies and says, 'There's nothing there but's mine.'
Nor can I easily the right define.
Divide! Say Grace the matter gave, and Wit
Did polish it; Art measur'd and made fit
Each sev'ral piece and fram'd it altogether.
No, by no means. This may not please them neither.
None's well contented with a part alone,
When each doth challenge all to be his own.
The matter, the expressions and the measures
Are equally Art's, Wit's, and Grace's treasures.
Then he that would impartially discuss
This doubtful question must answer thus:
In building of his Temple Master Herbert
Is equally all Grace, all Wit, all Art.
Roman and Grecian Muses, all give way:
One English poem darkens all your day."
Such are the triple factors — pioys__ fexxor,
intellectual play, and ideal construction — which
equally cooperate to fashion Herbert's religious
love-lyric.
The poem THE ELIXER (PERFECTION], from, the Williams
Manuscript, showing handwriting of a copyist, and also Herbert's
hand in corrections. See Vol. /, p. 177-182.
IV
THE STYLE AND TECHNIQUE
THE STYLE AND TECHNIQUE
IN his poem of PROVIDENCE, praising God for
his wonderful world, Herbert says :
And as thy house is full, so I adore
Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods.
Herbert's own curious art we must now examine,
and inquire how he marshals his poetic resources
in constructing his stately meditations and reli
gious love-lyrics. How does he build his line, his
stanza, and the general plan of his poem ? More
over, how does it happen that he is so difficult to
comprehend, and to what extent does he adopt the
more extreme literary fashions of his time ? These
are problems which only slightly concern the gen
eral reader, and are of interest chiefly to the stu
dent of poetry. But Herbert himself was a student.
To these matters he gave much thought. Those
who like to think his thoughts after him will desire
to accompany him to his workshop and to watch
his manipulations there.
Rightly to observe him, we should keep in mind
what he designs. It is an error to demand from all
poets the same sort of excellence. Each has his own
124 THE STYLE
gospel, and looks out upon life in some special
way. That way we must comprehend, and for the
moment make it our own, if we would obtain the
enjoyment which each is fitted to furnish.
To Herbert poetry did not appeal primarily as
a sensuous affair, rich in harmonious sounds and
mental visualizations. So it had appealed to the
idyllic Spenser and his followers, Giles Fletcher,
William Browne, George Wither, and the young
Milton. Herbert, it is true, was not unacquainted
with the sweet strains, the lullings and the rel
ishes of it. The joyous aspects of idealized nature
moved him too, and he could on occasion coin a
magic phrase ; but this is not his proper work. He
is but slightly romantic, receptive, and pleasing.
He has turned his back on the Spenserians and
follows the new realistic and intellectual school of
Donne, men whose minds are in revolt against grace
ful conventionalities, and whose ears are tired of
"linked sweetness long drawn out." What they
seek is veracity, full individual experience, sur
prise, freshness of phrase, intellectual stimulus.
At a moment's call their flexible wits turn in any
direction, and enjoyment for them is measured
by the abundance of the material their minds re
ceive. The meagre, the dull, the usual, are their
detestation. He who can turn up some new as
pect of our many-sided world is their benefactor.
The pleasure which an American takes in physical
action, these vigorous creatures feel in action of
THE STYLE 125
the mind. They love intellectual complication and
difficulty, and turn to verse because more sub
tlety and suggestion can be packed into it than
prose admits. We must not, then, demand that
these poets, " as they sing, shall take the ravished
soul and lap it in Elysium." That is just what!
they avoid. They are determined to keep the soul
free, interested, and observant. Nor is it necesJ
sary to inquire whether their aims are the besti
Poetry has many varieties. It is enough to know
that one type of it can be had when all its agencies
are studied with reference to aims as energetic as
these. I hope to show that Herbert did so study
it, and that he chose the appropriate means to
reach his ends.
II
LET us first consider, then, the formation of his
line; and under this heading I will include
whatever relates to the foot employed, its regular
ity or variation, and its "enjambement," assonance,
alliteration, rhyme. To effect his purposes the
most familiar foot is the best. A movement of an .
unusual, swift, or melodious sort might distract I
attention from the thought, where all the pleasure *
is intended to be found. Feet of three syllables
are accordingly discarded. There is no dactylic
or anapaestic line in Herbert. And though half a
dozen feet of this type are scattered through his
126 THE STYLE
book, they come in cases where an elision occurs,
e. g. And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep, or
where a break in the rhythm makes the meaning
more emphatic, e. g. With noises confused fright
ing the day. His working foot is the common
iambic, two syllables with an accent on the sec
ond. In this rhythm all but eleven of his poems
are written, these eleven being trochaic, i. e. two
syllables with an accent on the first. THE INVI
TATION and THE BANQUET are his most ambitious
poems in this kind, PRAISE his loveliest. Every
where his rhythm is of extreme regularity. I
know no other poet of his time so constantly exact.
Jonson said of Donne that "for not keeping of
accent he deserved hanging." Herbert does not
follow his master in carelessness of rhythm. In
all his verse I count only a dozen irregular lines;
and most of these are due either to coalescence of
vowels, or to the greater expressiveness thus given
to the thought.
But though regular, his line is far from mechani
cal. He has a feeling for its texture, and is skilful
in varying it. Now he shifts its pauses; now he
employs the familiar substitution of a trochee for
an iambus, especially in the first foot ; now he
clogs an unaccented syllable with many conso
nants or with long vowels ; now stops the sense at
the end of a line, or again runs it over into the
next. Here is a well-managed stanza from THE
FLOWER:
THE STYLE 127
Who would have thought my shrivel' d heart
Could have recover' d greennesse ? It was gone
Quite under ground, as flowers depart
To see their mother-root when they have blown;
Where they together
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
The variety of pauses here, the many "substitu
tions," especially those of the last two lines, the
frequent "running over" of the line, and the
" clogging " by such syllables as nesse, hard, and
keep well illustrate Herbert's skill in varying his
rhythms. But he is seldom so swift in movement.
By delaying his line he often brings out pensive I
emotion :
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,
Like a nipt blossome, hung
Discontented;
or still more commonly blocks its passage and
renders it rugged in places where he wishes the
thought to linger.
The question of " enjambement " has attracted
much attention among scholars. In the poets
immediately preceding Herbert it is an important
verse-test. The proportion of "run-over" lines
in Shakespeare, for example, has been found to
be a convenient means of discriminating the later
from the earlier plays. But in the poets of Her
bert's generation this practice is so fully estab-
128 THE STYLE
lished as to have lost its value as a verse-test. In
parts of Webster and Massinger " enjambement "
has gone so far that the normal line has almost
disappeared. In this matter, as elsewhere, Her
bert is sober. He uses about one " run-over " line
to three " end-stopped " in his Cambridge poems ;
and somewhat more, though not so many as one to
two, in those of the Bemerton time. The number
of "light" and "weak" endings, never consider
able, is rather less in the later poems than in the
earlier.
In accordance with the largely intellectual cast
of his verse, Herbert employs little vowel color.
In BUSINESSE, the rhyme is carried throughout in
e and o, both sounds being significant and effec
tive. In HOME, nine of the thirteen stanzas have a
rhyme in a. The sharp vowels i and e are favor
ites with him; and in poignant poems, like THE
SEARCH, one suspects that they are intentionally
employed. The broad calm vowels a and o do not
so frequently suit his theme, though they domi
nate an occasional stanza.
Tempests are calm to thee. They know thy hand,
And hold it fast, as children do their father's,
Which crie and follow. Thou has made poore sand
Check the proud sea, ev'n when it swells and gathers.
But all this is elementary. I know no group of
lines in Herbert of which we can certainly say, as
we can of passages in Spenser or Tennyson, that
THE STYLE 129
its vowel effects are an important part of the
poetry. Keats speaks of the
" Spenserian vowels that elope with ease,
And float along like birds o'er summer seas."
None of this sort have taken refuge with Herbert.
Seldom, too, does Herbert strengthen a line with i
alliteration. We have in EASTER WINGS, Then
shall the jail farther the flight in me; in THE
CHURCH-PORCH, Bring not thy plough, thy plots,
thy pleasures thither ; in TRINITIE-SUNDAY, That
I may runne, rise, rest in thee ; in THE GLANCE, the
beautiful phrase, His swing and sway ; and sim
ilarly in THE STORM, Do flie and flow ; in FAITH
he has changed an unalliterative reading of the
Williams Manuscript into Our flesh and frailtie,
death and danger. But how far are these occasional
collocations from the splendors of Spenser ! How
strange in view of the alliterative exuberance of
Southwell, Giles Fletcher, and other contempora
ries with whom Herbert must have been familiar !
While brief passages of Herbert yield felicitous
sounds both of vowels and consonants, a good
prose writer generally shows more sensuous feel
ing. In a poet so fond of music one suspects that
this failure to appeal to the ear was not wholly
due to dulness, but was part of a deliberate .
plan to push thought into the foreground and fix }
attention on harsh, intricate, and veritable experi- \
ence. jJ
130 THE STYLE
Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise
For my rough sorrows. Cease, be dumbe and mute,
Give up your feet and running to mine eyes,
And keep your measures for some lover's lute,
Whose grief allows him musick and a ryme.
For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time.
In view of his intellectual aims, Herbert avoids,
too, the long and melodious lines prized by his
predecessors. The fourteen-syllabled line, the
Alexandrine with its twelve syllables, played a
great part in the musical Elizabethan verse; but
there is no instance of either in Herbert. This is
not because he makes two short lines out of what
his predecessors might have written as a single long
one. In the two instances where his added lines
would make fourteen syllables, and in the other
two where they would make twelve, each line has
its independent life and its own rhyming word.
His longest line is ten syllables, his shortest three,
except in refrain. The frequent use of refrain
might seem to conflict with his avoidance of the
mellifluous ; but I think he is attracted to it for !
the sake of its iteration of thought, and not for its
value as sound. For driving home the dominant
note of a poem it serves him admirably.
As regards rhyme, Herbert follows the practice
of his age in making it a necessary factor, not an
occasional adjunct, of verse. Heroic blank verse
was first used by the Earl of Surrey for translating
THE STYLE
131
the Aeneid, and was then shaped by Marlowe for
dramatic dialogue. Its first considerable use for
other purposes was in Milton's Paradise Lost.
There is no instance of it in Herbert. Nor was he
misled in another direction. Sidney, G. Harvey,
Webbe, Puttenham, Fraunce, Campion, and
others, mostly of the Pembroke connection, had
been experimenting with hexameters and other
delicate and rhymeless rhythms. They sought to
introduce classical measures, and to attune the
English ear, long accustomed to accentual stress,
to a quantitative. Herbert does not follow them.
His classical training, his love of refinement, his
use of these measures in Latin verse, his disposi
tion to experiment, all exposed him to the false
fashion. But the themes with which he dealt were
too serious, and the intellectual bent of his poems
too distinct, to let him be turned toward dilettant
ism. Perhaps, too, he was protected by a certain
indifference to the niceties of verbal sounds. What
ever the cause, he writes no unrhymed stanza.
Modern poets often content themselves with
rhyming alternate lines, allowing the remainder to
go unrhymed. Herbert, like most of his contem
poraries, tolerates nothing so loose. To his mind,
a poem is a thoroughgoing system of rhymes.
Everything within it must have its echo. Two lines
at the opening of JOSEPH'S COAT are the only pair
left unrhymed in all his verse. So exceptional a
case is, I suspect, due to an error of the copyist,
132 THE STYLE
and I have proposed an emendation. In THE SIZE,
too, where a line occurs with nothing to match
it, Ernest Rhys and Dr. Grosart very properly
believe that a line has dropped out, which they
undertake to rewrite. Herbert often uses an un-
rhymed line as a refrain. By this means he in
creases the effect of the refrain as a disjointed cry.
Occasionally, too, as strikingly in DJEJSLAJLL, he
conveys a sense of incompleteness and dissatisfac
tion by a final line left unrhymed. But absences
of rhyme in refrain or abortive ending are not an
abandonment of the rhyming principle. They pre
suppose it. If rhyme were not practically universal,
such intentional omissions would be ineffective.
Yet while Herbert's rhyme is .universal, it is rude
and subordinate. Poets who rhyme largely usually
care little for " perfect " rhymes. That is Herbert's
case. He rhymes friend and wind, feast and guest,
Lord and stirr'd, mud and food, much and crouch,
blisse and Paradise, wedding and reading, matter
and water, creation and fashion, runnes thin and
coming in, unhappinesse and sicknesses, traveller
and manner, school-masters and messengers. Such
sounds serve well enough to mark an ending line,
and are found on every page of his book. Stranger
still to a modern ear is his use of identical rhyme, —
pleasure and displeasure, please and displease, does
and undoes, hold thee and withold thee, write and
right, lies and lyes, know and no ; while the words
art, hour, power, round, are each repeatedly made
THE STYLE 133
to rhyme with themselves. Rhymes like these were
not unusual then; nor even, in the abundant rhyme
employed, objectionable. Herbert has his favorite
rhymes too. Treasure and pleasure occur eleven
times; glorie and storie ten; and one and alone
eight.
When we turn from his employment of single
rhymes to his combination of them, the same rough
method is apparent. It would be alien to his pur
pose to study effects of contrast or intensification
through neighboring rhyme. In the following
examples accidental similarity to associated rhymes
lowers the worth of an entire group : here, are,
cleare, spare ; or in another four-lined stanza of
the same poem (THE ROSE), choose, oppose, refuse,
rose. In a five-lined stanza of OBEDIENCE he has
bleed, need, thee, agree, deed. How the two sets of
rhymes, which should be contrasted, jar in their
similarity! In SIGN, two successive couplets have
things, wings, sing, king. In JORDAN and AFFLIC
TION, six-lined poems, we have the following
unpleasing combinations : ascend, sense, friend, pre
tence, penn'd, expense ; and again, ours, more, bowres,
store, no, bow. Of course instances occur where
the chief sounds of a poem are not left to accident.
I have already called attention to BUSINESSE and
HOME. How pleasing, too, is the parallelism of the
tenth and eleventh stanzas of THE SEARCH, where
the repeated thought is accompanied by partial
recurrence of the same rhyme!
134 THE STYLE
This brief exhibit of Herbert's practice will
sufficiently show that his rhyming is managed, as
it should be, by his intellect and not by his ear.
That each line be brought into correspondence
with some other line is a part of his poetic plan,
a plan not suggested by the sensuous demands of
his nature, but accepted with much else from the
customs of his time. Once accepted, it is worked
with the energetic and resourceful ingenuity which
characterize him everywhere. But we have seen
how in all his rhythmic work mystery has no place.
Mind and matter are kept distinct. Compact and
trenchant thought is what he prizes, and from
this nothing is allowed to draw off the reader's
attention. Those concords of sweet sound which
in the great poets are of equal moment with the
rational meaning, and ever inseparable from it,
are not for him. His lines do not cling in the ear
like strains of music. We recall them gladly, but
only for their crowded significance. He did not
feel those wide and romantic suggestions which
lend untraceable magic to Spenser, Shakespeare,
Milton, Keats, Shelley, and Tennyson. Such
mysticism would have been incongruous with his
purpose.
THE STYLE 135
III
IN turning from the qualities of Herbert's line
to consider those of his stanza, this should
be noted : a poet was then expected to fashion his
metre almost as much as his subject. Few stand-
ardjneasures were^ at hand. Poetry was for the
most part plastic, and only to a small extent had
it settled into fixed forms. In this there was both
gain and loss. It encouraged originality, and left
many paths open which are now closed ; but from
what was already done a poet could learn little
about the carrying power of different metres. He
must try his own experiments. The principal
forms already tested were these : In iambic five-
foot verse, couplets, alternate rhymes, and heroic
blank verse; then the heroic quatrain, or four-
lined stanza with alternate rhyme, used by Surrey
in his lament for Wyatt, and most familiar to us in
Gray's Elegy. A couplet added made a favorite
six-lined stanza. Chaucer and Spenser had used
effectively a stanza of seven lines, rhyming ababb
c c ; and Wyatt and Surrey had acclimatized the
fourteen-lined sonnet, with two accredited rhym
ing systems. Spenser built up a gorgeous stanza
of nine lines ending in an Alexandrine; and this
line of six iambics was often used in alternation
with one of seven to form "the poulter's measure."
Couplets of seven iambics were common, as were
those of four iambics used largely by Gower.
136
THE STYLE
These latter were often grouped into stanzas of
four lines with alternate rhyme, our long metre.
In ballads, our common metre — four iambics fol
lowed by three — was of frequent occurrence.
Beyond these few measures each poet was left
pretty much to his own devices.
Of these dozen accepted forms Herbert em
ploys but half. As has been said already, he has
no blank verse, Alexandrines, nor lines of seven
iambics. He does not use Chaucer's stanza, nor
Spenser's. While he is fond of the sonnet, he con
fines himself either to the Shakespearian form
or to one peculiar to himself, and never employs
in a sonnet less than seven rhymes. The great
sonneteers divide their sonnet into two parts,
the octave and the sestette, to each of which they
assign a different function: the octave describing
a situation or stating facts whose significance is
then drawn out in the sestette. Herbert's seven
teen sonnets show no such inner logic. The ma
jority of them do not even come to a full pause at
the end of the octave, and their reflective or appli-
catory portion is usually contained in the last two
or three lines.
Yet if he rejects so much, it is only that he may
create the more. He invents for each lyrical sit
uation exactly the rhythmic setting which befits
it. How rich his invention is, and how flexibly
responsive to the demands of distinguishable
moods, may be seen in this : of his one hundred
THE STYLE 137
and sixty-nine poems, one hundred and sixteen
are written in metres which are not repeated. Two
out of every three are unique. I may exhibit the
same fact in greater detail by saying that while
forty-one cases occur of four-lined iambic stanzas,
these present twenty different types. Nineteen
of the twenty are used but once ; six of them
twice ; two three times ; and only one as many
as four times. The different effects are secured
by varying the number of feet in a line, and by
varying the rhyming scheme in all its three possi
ble ways : a a b 6, a b a 6, and abba. Herbert's
twenty-two poems written hi five-lined iambics are
also all unique. Of his eleven poems in trochaics,
seven are unique and only two repeated. Such
variety of practice is not exactly experimentation,
for it does not result in fixing forms for subsequent
use. But it strikingly exhibits the scope of his.
metric power and his delicate persistence in fit
ting form to thought. Each set of his emotions he
clothes in individual garb ; and only when what is
beneath is similar is the same set of clothing used
a second time. So characteristic a feature of Her
bert's poetry is this ceaseless variety that it has
seemed well to call attention to it in the notes. At
each poem it is stated whether and where Herbert
uses the metre again.
Herbert has no favorite stanza. One type only
does he employ as many as five times. Yet per
haps his inclination to long stanzas, and to those
138
THE STYLE
with widely spaced rhymes, deserves notice. He
has forty-six varieties of six-lined stanza ; four,
of seven-lined ; eight, of eight-lined ; and five, of
ten-lined. In JUSTICE, SEPULCHRE, AN OFFER
ING, and THE GLANCE, one of the rhymes jumps
to the fourth line away; in COMPLAINING, SIGHS
AND GRONES, and UNGRATEFULNESSE, to the
fifth; and in THE COLLAR there are rhymes as
wide as the seventh and even the tenth. THE
COLLAR is his only irregular and stanzaless poem,
but formlessness was essential there. Indeed, his
sense of form is so insistent that sometimes a long
succession of couplets or alternate rhymes wearies
him; he craves some sort of pause and separation.
THE CHURCH MILITANT and LOVE UNKNOWN
are broken up into sections, almost like long
stanzas, by the repetition of a line. The value of
repetition he fully understands, and, besides the
refrain, employs it in a multitude of covert forms.
IV
1TN calling attention to Herbert's ability to shape
JL a poem as a whole, we may claim for him a
high degree of originality. Little had been done
in this kind before. Our early lyric poetry is more
remarkable for vividness than for form. Its writ
ers feel keenly and speak daringly. By some means
or other they usually succeed in stirring in their
reader's heart feelings similar to their own. But
THE STYLE 139
not often do they show that sense of order and
coherence which is expected in every other species
of Fine Art. Perhaps words are easier material
than paint, stone, or sound, and lend themselves
more readily to caprice. Of course without a cer
tain sequence no lyric could picture a poet's feeling.
Near the beginning the occasion of the feeling is
announced ; then follow its manifestations, and
at the close it is usually connected in some way
with action, resolve, or judgment. Such an emo
tional scheme is often unfolded with much deli
cacy and evenness in the songs of Campion, and
in both the songs and sonnets of Sidney and
Shakespeare.
But these are vague divisions, the second espe
cially so. They do not alone give firmness of form.
They make poetic writing rather than finished
poems. Stirred by some passion, real or imaginary,
the poet begins to write, pours forth his feeling
until the supply or the reader is exhausted, and
then stops. He has no predetermined beginning,
middle, and end. Part with part has no private
amitie. The place and amount of each portion is
fixed by no plan of the whole, but rather by the
waywardness of the writer. In most early lyrics,
even the best, stanzas might be omitted, added, or
transposed, without considerable damage. Each
stands pretty much by itself. In the two stanzas
of Ben Jonson's stirring song, " Drink to me only
with thine eyes," neither is necessary to the other.
140 THE STYLE
Those of his "Queen and huntress chaste and
fair" might about as well have taken any other
order. This is the more remarkable because into
the drama Jonson carried form in much the same
conscious way that Herbert carried it into lyric
poetry. But if in the early lyrists the desire for
closely knitted structure is slight, it is feebler still in i
the writers of reflective verse. These men wander
wherever thought or a good phrase leads, and are
rarely restrained by any compacted plan. In short,
we read most of the early poetry for the sake of
splendid bursts, vigorous stanzas, pithy lines. To
obtain these, we willingly pass through much that
is formless and uninteresting. Seldom do we get
singleness of impression. Sidney in his Defence of
Poesie complained of the poets of his day that " their
matter is quodlibet, which they never marshall into
any assured rank, so that the readers cannot tell
where to put themselves." Until Herbert appeared,
'. ITunity of structure was little regarded.
To such articulated structure Herbert devoted
himself, and what he accomplished forms one of
his two considerable contributions to English
poetry. In his pages we see for the first time a
if great body of lyrics in which the matter and the
f form are at one. Impulsive and ardent though
Herbert seems, he holds himself like a true artist
responsive to his shaping theme. Not that he ac
quires power of this sort at once, or has it always.
THE CHURCH-PORCH is loose, and in many of the
THE STYLE 141
ecclesiastical poems of his Cambridge years, there
is only such general structure as springs from
announced theme, emotional development, and
moral ending. But the demand for form is deep
in him, and more and more he puts himself at its
service. In something like a quarter of his work
he attains a solidity of structure hitherto unknown.
That his achievements in this field exercised
little influence over his immediate successors is
true, and surprising. But he set the most difficult
of examples. Strong form is not catching. Only
a man of energy and restraint is capable of it.
Other qualities, too, of Herbert's style obscured
his form. So rich is he in suggestion, so intellect
ually difficult, so tender in religious appeal, that
attention is easily withdrawn from his structure
and becomes fixed on details. Whatever the cause,
the poets who follow him, and are most affected
by his invention of the religious love-lyric, have
small regard for his second invention, — structural
plan. C. Harvey, Vaughan, Crashaw, Traherne,
are conspicuously lacking in restraint. They do
not appear to notice the artistic weaving of Her
bert's verse, which has brought it through the
rough usage of nearly three centuries; while their
own often more brilliant work now lies largely
neglected. Even to-day few think of Herbert as
one of our pioneers in poetic structure.
Briefly to present the evidence for this solidity
of form is not easy. The point to be proved is
142
THE STYLE
•
not that Herbert exercised remarkable skill in
building certain poems. Occasional fine structure
was not unknown before. What Herbert did was ;
to vindicate unity of design as a working factor of
poetry. He showed how by its use much may be
said in little. He made it plain that any theme,
if fully and economically embodied, will not lack
interest. It is therefore the frequency of his work
in this kind which I wish to show. This I think
I can do most effectively by dividing his one hun
dred and sixty-nine poems into four groups, accord
ing to the prevalence in them of the principle of
form. There appear to be fifty-eight in which there
is no wandering from a predetermined plan. But
recognizing that judgments may differ on a matter
so delicate, I print the list ; throwing out, however,
the seventeen sonnets, as a species of verse where
form would more naturally be found; and also
the half-dozen curiosities, like THE ALTAB and
EASTER WINGS, whose form is usually supposed to
be their all. The corrected list (1) is then the fol
lowing: AARON, To ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS,
THE BRITISH CHURCH, BUSINESSE, CLASPING OF
HANDS, OUR LIFE is HID, DECAY, DENIALL,
DIALOGUE, DOTAGE, FRAILTIE, THE GLANCE,
HUMILITIE, A TRUE HYMNE, the second JOR^_
DAN, JUDGEMENT, LIFE, LOVE UNKNOWN, MAN'S
MEDLEY, THE METHOD, MORTIFICATION, THE
PEARL, THE PILGRIMAGE, the second PRAYER,
THE PULLEY, THE QUIDDITIE, SINNES ROUND,
THE STYLE 143
SUBMISSION, UNGRATEFULNESSE, THE JjViNjpows,
THE WORLJD. I do not assert that these are Her
bert's best poems. In many cases they are not.
But let any one read ten of them, drawn at ran
dom, and he will be convinced that Herbert was
the master of a method which had not been prac
tised in English poetry before.
If we attempt to catalogue (4) those of his
poems which are most lacking in form, I suppose
they will be these : CHARMS AND KNOTS, THE
CHURCH-PORCH, THE DISCHARGE, DIVINITIE,
THE ELIXER, GRIEVE NOT, FAITH, HOME, LENT,
LONGING, MAN, MISERIE, the third PRAISE, THE
PRIESTHOOD, PROVIDENCE, THE SEARCH, SIGHS
AND GRONES, SUNDAY, the first TEMPER, the first
VANITIE. Yet how remarkable is the list ! Though
less completely formed than anything else in Her
bert, these twenty poems are superior in structure
to most of the verse of Herbert's day, or indeed
of ours.
Between these extreme lists (1) and (4) I find
two others, one (2) of sixty poems, in which there
is an evident plan adhered to throughout, a plan,
however, which lacks the rigidity of outline which
marked list (1); and another (3) of thirty-four,
in which, while unity has not disappeared, there
are considerable digressions from the proposed
theme. Examples of (2) are ASSURANCE, THE
BAG, THE CHURCH MILITANT, THE CHURCH-
FLOORE, CONSCIENCE, THE CROSSE, DULNESSE,
144
THE STYLE
THE FAMILIE, THE FLOWER, THE FORERUNNERS,
GIDDINESSE, GRATEFULNESSE, OBEDIENCE, THE
ODOUR, PEACE, THE ROSE, THE SACRIFICE, THE
SIZE, VERTUE, UNKINDNESSE, — all poems of ad
mirable texture, and in most cases working out
their purpose better than if they had been more
severe. Examples of (3), where the form is more
broken, are the AFFLICTIONS, THE BANQUET,
THE CALL, CHURCH-RENTS AND SCHISMES, COM
PLAINING, CONSTANCIE, CONTENT, THE GLIMPSE,
GRACE, GRIEF, MATTENS, REPENTANCE, THE
STORM. It will be noticed that these, which are less
completely formed, are often designedly so either
for the sake of expressing the incoherence of grief,
or, in reflective poems, to afford ampler range for
thought. The general result of our inquiry must
be astonishment that in the beginning, when firm
form was first discovered by our poetry as an im
portant element of its power, it should have been
introduced on such an extensive scale by a single
writer.
But though whoever reads the poems of lists
(1) and (2) will feel their solidity, it is well to ex
amine the means by which such structural firm
ness is secured. One simple means distinguishes
Herbert's work from that of most of his brother
poets, — he knows when to stop. Each poem takes
up a single mood, relation, or problem of divine
love, and ends with its clear exposition. His poems
are, accordingly, at once short and adequate. Only
THE STYLE 145
four of them exceed one hundred and fifty lines.
Ten are between fifty and a hundred; sixty, be
tween twenty-five and fifty; and the remainder,
nearly a hundred, are less than twenty-five. Such
brevity is the more significant when we remember
that Herbert is no epigrammatist, like Herrick,
but is handling subjects of unusual range and pro
fundity.
Three stanzas make one of his favorite lengths.
The theme is announced in the first, and is
then seen to divide ; one of the divisions being
treated in the second, the other in the third stanza.
This plan is followed with more or less precision
in two of the AFFLICTIONS, H. BAPTISME, THE
CALL^CHURCH-LOCK AND KEY, CHURCH-MUSICK,
CHURCH-RENTS AND SCHISMES, DOTAGE, FRAIL-
TIE, THE GLANCE, the two JORDANS, JUDGEMENT,
LIFE, LOVE, MARIE MAGDALENE, NATURE, THE
POSIE, THE QUIDDITIE, SINNES ROUND, THE
STORM, TRINITIE-SUNDAY, THE WINDOWS. At
times, however, the opposing aspects of the sub
ject are so evident that a stanza can be given to
each without the need of introduction, an arrange
ment very satisfactory to Herbert's economical
and antithetic soul. Examples are the second AN-
TIPHON, BlTTER-SWEET, CLASPING OF HANDS,
THE DAWNING, EASTER WINGS, THE FOIL, the
first JUSTICE, the first SINNE, THE WATER
COURSE.
In a few instances narrative directs the order, as
146 THE STYLE
in the great AFFLICTION, THE BAG, THE CHURCH
MILITANT, HUMILITIE, LOVE UNKNOWN, THE
PILGRIMAGE, PEACE, THE SACRIFICE. Here the
plan permits looseness, and the poems are less
shapely. When the time-order followed is of a
more subtle kind, almost unobservedly accompa
nying the development of an inner mood, Herbert
reaches his climax of easy and inevitable struc
ture. Cases are ARTILLERIE, ASSURANCE, THE
COLLAR, CONSCIENCE, THE CROSSE, DIALOGUE,
THE FLOWER, GRATEFULNESSE, THE METHOD,
MORTIFICATION, THE PRIESTHOOD, THE PULLEY,
SION, THE STARRE.
i. Apart from solidity of general structure, Her
bert is ingenious in making minor modifications
of form bring out peculiarities of his subject.
Baldly stated, these may appear artificial contriv
ances ; but they appear so only because we do
not at once notice that inherent union of subject
and form which was in Herbert's mind. He will
make everything meaningful, and altogether ban
ish wilfulness. Let me not think an action mine
own way is ever his artistic prayer. Accordingly
he tries to supply every intellectual subtlety of his
subject with its appropriate means of outward
expression. Sometimes this is furthered by an
adjustment of rhyme. In AARON and CLASPING
OF HANDS, where each stanza is to present dif
ferent aspects of a single thought, the stanzas have
identical rhymes. In MAN, which is dedicated
THE STYLE 147
to showing the range and variety of man's nature,
almost every stanza has a different rhyming-
system. By rhyming together the first and last
lines of each long stanza of THE ODOUR, a curi
ously shut-in yet pervasive quality is given to that
fragrant poem. And when it is desired to show \
how in the vicious circle of SINNE one step leads to 1
another, the final line of each stanza becomes the i
first of the next, and the closing line of the poem
is identical with the beginning. I have already j
noticed the broken rhymes of DENIALL, which I
accord so beautifully with the inner failure of the
poem ; and perhaps I should mention the suc
cessive pruning of the rhymes in PARADISE, and
the triplicity of everything in TRINITIE-SUNDAY.
But Herbert has a final group of poems which
have done much to alienate from him the sym
pathy of modern readers, though they commended
him to his own generation. They are poems whose
eccentricity of form seems to have no inner justi
fication. Of course we know that every species
of elaborate artificiality was then in fashion. Em
broidery pleased. Probably Herbert himself did
on occasion enjoy a ruffled shirt. I will not at
tempt fully to defend him. I merely say the num
ber of such poems is small. I count but nine : THE
ALTAR, AN ANAGRAM, EASTER WINGS, HEAVEN,
HOPE, JESTJ, LOVE-JOY, OUR LIFE is HID, A
WREATH. And are these all artificial ? I am will
ing to throw over AN ANAGRAM, HEAVEN, and
148 THE STYLE
JESU, as badly marked with the time-spirit. But
I maintain that the others are at worst pretty
play, while often their strange forms are closely
connected with their passionate matter. One who
was ever accustomed to let significance dictate
structure has here certainly pushed his principle
to a fantastic extreme. Our feeling does not easily
accompany his. But this is largely due to dulness.
We let ourselves be repelled by outward strange
ness, and do not notice how in most of these cases
Herbert has made his start from within. In the
notes I have endeavored to show that many of
these are veritable poems, which could not be more
appropriately fashioned. Let any one study sym
pathetically HOPE, PARADISE, A WREATH, EASTER
WINGS, LOVE-JOY, and he will discover how ex
quisite poetry can be when most remote from
present habits of thought.
ONE striking peculiarity of Herbert's style
remains to be considered, its obscurity. To
this his antique diction is often thought to con
tribute, and no doubt modern readers do find
some of Herbert's words unfamiliar. He lived
three hundred years ago. Words, it is true, are
strangely durable, more so than the everlasting
hills ; but a series of centuries has its effect in
superseding some and transforming others. Her-
THE STYLE 149
bert's language has worn remarkably well. He
had an instinct for the firm, clear, well-rooted,
and richly significant words, and no inclination
like Spenser or Browning for words of an antique,
fanciful, local, or half-built sort. His diction,
therefore, belongs in general to no special age.
Less than fifty of his words would appear strange
in a book of to-day. But of these fifty something
like half are altogether dead, and when met with
in his pages convey to an ordinary reader no
meaning whatever. Such words are these : bandie,
behither, cyens, demain, glozing, handsell, imp,
indear, ingross, jag, licorous, lidger, optick, per
spective, pomander, quidditie, quip, rheume, sconse,
snudge, sommers, stour, vizard. Yet these, after
all, occasion little practical difficulty. They occur
only once or twice, and are then easily explain
able. More trouble is likely to arise from a
second small group of misleading words, i. e.
familiar and frequent words used by Herbert in
senses which differ in some particular from those
current to-day; e. g. complexion with him = dis
position or temperament; consort = concert; his
of ten = its; move of ten = propose, request; neat=
refined, subtle; owe of ten = own; pretend=see\a to
obtain; sphere of ten = rather the heaven than the
earth, i. e., the concave inclosure of the universe
assumed in the Ptolemaic astronomy ; stay often
=be absent; store = abundance ; storie = history ;
still = always; sweet usually = sweet-smelling; then
150
THE STYLE
of ten = than ; thrall = bondage ; whenas — while.
Through these deceptive words a modern reader is
likely enough to miss Herbert's meaning. When
several of them occur together, they may altogether
destroy the understanding of a line; e. g. line 53
of PROVIDENCE: Nothing ingendred doth prevent
his meat. He will often miss the rhyme too, unless
he remembers that the Irish pronunciation of Eng
lish is much nearer to Herbert's than is our own.
For example, in a stanza of CONSTANCIE, lines 2,
3, and 5 rhyme:
Whom none can work or wooe
To use in any thing a trick or sleight,
For above all things he abhorres deceit.
His words and works and fashion too
All of a piece, and all are cleare and straight.
But when it appears that time has damaged his
words but slightly, and that he more than any of
his predecessors or contemporaries studied the
sequence of his thought and avoided caprice,
Herbert's prevailing obscurity becomes the more
puzzling. What can have made a writer whose
diction is on the whole sound, and who is ever alert,
artistic, and highly rational, so difficult to read?
For difficult he is. No other English poet, not even
Donne or Browning, gives his reader such fre
quent pause. Nearness of acquaintance does not
remove the intricacy. It is perpetual. Or if at
times poems like THE ELIXER, GRATEFTJLNESSE,
THE STYLE 151
THE METHOD, SUBMISSION, the second TEMPER,
UNKINDNESSE, show that he might have been as
simple in verse as he regularly is in prose, the
moment's lucidity merely makes the prevailing
darkness deeper. A trait of style so marked in
a man of unmistakable power is apt to be con
nected with his genius. What at first appears a
surface blemish, — and a strange one, — traced
intimately, runs down to the sources of strength.
i I believe the intricacy of Herbert is not a matter
to be denied, ignored, or condoned, but to be
studied, sympathized with, loved. It has been
induced by what is most distinctive of him. This
jangled utterance is his true tone. He could not
have spoken so well if he had spoken more clearly.
A considerable cause of both the obscurity and
the value of Herbert's verse is to be found in its pri
vate character. None of his English poems received
public criticism. That they were written with a pur
pose of ultimate publication appears in the direct
appeals to a reader in THE DEDICATION, THE
CHURCH-PORCH, SUPERLIMINARE, THE ROSE, and
perhaps THE CHURCH-FLOORE. The corrections
made during the time between the Williams Manu
script and the Bodleian point in the same direction,
as do the many references to his art which are scat
tered throughout his book. The kind of private
circulation which his poems obtained is shown by
the Williams Manuscript itself. They were handed
about among his friends. But a writer's mental
152
THE STYLE
attitude is of one kind when he is directly pre
paring matter for the press ; it is widely different
when year after year he goes on analyzing his inner
life, with only a general notion that perhaps some
day the public may be informed. In the first case,
the expected judgment of readers is sure to be a
weighty influence, steadily constraining toward
intelligibility. In the second, a writer is left very
much to himself. Individuality of diction, accu
racy and fulness of record, now become the quali
ties sought. What makes for display and for swift
solicitation of other minds is neglected. Notable
examples of private verse are Shakespeare's Son
nets and Mrs. Browning's Sonnets from the Portu
guese. Every one will see that these would have
been written differently if designed immediately
for the public eye. In such poems we have the
advantage that the writers
Admit us to their bed-chamber, before
They appeare trim and drest
To ordinarie suitours at the doore.
Yet for such intimate disclosures we pay heavily.
We are left to find our own way to the right point
of view. Connections of thought which existed in
the poet's mind are not worked out. If we do not
j at once catch his mood, all is blind. Transitions
land allusions are abrupt, not calculated with a
|view to our comprehension. And such is the poetry
of Herbert, precious in its very obscurity. We hear
THE STYLE 153
its writer thinking. These verses were written for
himself, and require imagination on our part. We
must know where to stand, and observe. In one
mood all will be clear which in another was hope
lessly tangled. Such imaginative difficulties will
be eased by the arrangement of the poems here
adopted, and by the brief statement of the Subject
prefixed to each.
Perhaps, too, in this connection the strangeness
of Herbert's titles is partially explainable. If he
had prepared his book for the press, he would not
have been likely to give to five poems the same
title, AFFLICTION. And what does ARTILLERIE
mean, or THE BUNCH OF GRAPES, CHURCH-LOCK
AND KEY, CLASPING OF HANDS, THE COLLAR,
THE DISCHARGE, DOTAGE, THE ELIXER, GID-
DINESSE, THE GLANCE, JOSEPH'S COAT, MAN'S
MEDLEY, MORTIFICATION, THE PULLEY, THE
QUIDDITIE, THE QUIP, THE SIZE, THE WIN
DOWS ? These titles convey little information. To
understand them one must read the poem of which
they form an integral part. With its emotion they
are filled, and from it they derive their signifi
cance. When the poem is read, and one has come
into sympathy with it, how fully and with what
originality they epitomize it! Here, as ever, Her
bert demands his reader *s patience and imagina
tion, himself doing little to smooth the path of
approach. For gaining a hearing, this is an error;
but it is one to which a solitary soul is liable, and
154 THE STYLE
one which, revealing that soul more fully, increases
the permanent worth of the utterance.
But a second sort of intricacy in Herbert's verse
publicity could not have cured. It is inherent in
his theme, for his is a poetry of struggle. It^deals
'with clashing.ji£sires. Herbert himself called it
a picture of the many spiritual Conflicts that have
past betwixt God and my Soul. For such conflict the
general reader is unfortunately not prepared. The
epithet " Holy " early became attached to Herbert's
name. Vaughan uses it in his Preface to Silex
Scintillans, and again in his poem The Match.
Oley adopts it in his second Preface to THE COUN
TRY PARSON, as does Walton in the fifth chapter of
The Complete Angler. It thus became established ;
but a more misleading epithet could not have been
devised. The thoughts which it suggests hide
Herbert from our view. By a holy man we mean
a whole man, i. e. one for whom the partition be
tween divine and human things has been broken
down. He is one in whom the pain of obedience
is ended, and whose feelings and acts now natu
rally accord with God's. The mystics are of this
holy, monistic type : Crashaw, Traherne, Madame
Guyon. Herbert is steadily dualistic. For him there
is ever a contrast between God's ways and man's,
and his problem is how to bring the two together
without undue loss to either. To the last h^never
settles the question. God's law has worth, but so
have his own desires, his own ambitions.
,
THE STYLE 155
His stuffe is flesh, not brasse ; his senses live,
And grumble oft that they have more in him
Then he that curbs them.
He always remains
A wonder tortur'd in the space
Betwixt this world and that of grace.
The story of the clash within his own breast of
these mighty opposites is too real and typically
human to be told with smoothness. Smoothness
and ease of comprehension characterize the poets ,
of the eighteenth century, men far more artificial
than the men of the seventeenth. Indeed, I believe
it will be found that the most lucid periods of our
language are the least sincere, and that writers
peculiarly intricate are often at the same time
peculiarly sweet, tender, and veracious. What
startling insights into reality has Donne ! And how
inevitably we distrust the lucidity of Pope ! These
metaphysical poets often seem artificial because
they observe profoundly and speak individually.
Yet privacy and lack of inner harmony were !
only subordinate causes of Herbert's obscurity.
Its fundamental ground lies^in the mental ex-
uberajiceof his age, to which I alluded at the
beginning of this essay. The joy in eventful living
which marks the age of Elizabeth did not pass
away with her. It remained, though in a changed
field. The soul of man took the place of the
outer world, while the old delight in daring and
156
THE STYLE
difficult deeds appeared in this new sphere as a
kind of intellectual audacity and an ardent explo
ration of mental enigmas. To how many strange
theories did the England of the first half of the
seventeenth century give rise ! To exploit a new
doctrine became more exciting than a voyage to the
Spanish Main. Play is pleasure in one's own exer
tions. Accordingly, ages and individuals that have
not lost the heart of boyhood always enjoy ob
stacles. Herbert certainly did, only that his excep
tional artistic restraint enabled him to refine and
ennoble the extravagances of this temper. For
system-building and the labors of the theologian
he did not care. But with equal energy as a poet
he threw himself into expressing complex human
passions and the deep realities of his own life. In
genuity he enjoyed. Anything like " smoothness "
would have been thought by him and all his friends
to defraud them of one of their chief pleasures :
He who craves all the minde,
And all the soul, and strength, and time,
If the words onely ryme,
Justly complains that somewhat is behinde
To make his verse, or write a hymne in kinde.
A frequent form in which this enjoyment of dif
ficulty manifests itself is condensation. To put as
much meaning as possifileinto a given compass is
a difficult feat. He is the master who can force
words to carry a little more significance than is
THE STYLE 157
their wont. In this Herbert was peculiarly skilful.
His compactness has seldom been equalled. It
was one of the chief reasons for the popularity of
his book with the generation which followed him,
and one of the chief sources of the obscurity which
is felt by his readers to-day. Herbert loved pro
verbs, his own or those of others. He formed an
extensive collection of them, published after his
death under the title of JACULA PRUDENTUM. To
his mind sententiousness was ever honorable. But
taste has changed. We like our mental nutri
ment more loosely mixed. Even to his contempo
raries Herbert seemed hard in the grain. What
Walton makes him say of his body is equally true
of his style : He had too thoughtful a Wit, a Wit
like a penknife in too narrow a sheath, too sharp
for his body.
Herbert's style, then, is difficult because of the
compact abundance of his thought, because in it
we hear the jarring of moods only half harmonized,
because it has not been studied with immediate
reference to the public eye, and because of historic
changes in our language. But such defects are vir-,
tues, too. Calling on a reader, though they do, for ,
a large amount of study, for time and sympathetic
attention, they reward him with the disclosure of
a rich, pathetic, and individual personality. In
Herbert's most intricate obscurity there is no care
lessness or clumsiness, no vagueness or wilfulness.
Undoubtedly he does occasionally exhibit violence
158 THE STYLE
and bad taste. But I believe that, tried by the
standard which had then been reached, he has
exceptional restraint of style. The last section of
this paper shall be devoted to the negative task
of showing how his artistic sense saved him from
the worst enormities of his unlicensed age. Let us
see what Herbert did not do.
VI
I HAVE already remarked how, during the first
half of the seventeenth century, language and
its accompanying refinements of thought were
studied by the Western nations as they never had
been studied before. Following the increase of
comfort and splendor in the appointments of daily
life came the desire for elegance of speech. The
great creative periods, too, of literature were draw
ing to a close, and the decadent tendency to mag
nify the literary instrument was asserting itself.
Under many forms this tendency appeared. It
sprang up in England just before Herbert's birth
as Euphuism; during his life it ravaged Italy as
Marinism ; six years before his death Gongora
died, who set the fashion in Spain ; and shortly
after his death it appeared in France as Precio-
site. Each time and country shows its own variety
of the common movement, but all alike aim at
fashioning a literary language which shall be
removed from that of the vulgar. Poetry fosters
THE STYLE 159
such aims. No poet except Wordsworth was ever
willing to call a spade a spade, though most poets
avoid the worse vulgarity of calling it an agricul
tural implement. These men did not. Even the
greatest of them inflates his phrase. Milton talks
of hens as " tame villatic fowl " (Samson Agonistes,
1. 1695). In a sophisticated time paraphrases, an
titheses, inversions, paradoxes, — every form of
language is welcome which puts a gulf between the
common man and the man of culture. These
linguistic exquisites are in love with the unex
pected.
Now it would be manifestly absurd to censure
in all its forms this inclination to intellectual and
verbal nicety. Provided it yields an adequate
return for thinking, a poem which makes us think
is none the worse on that account. Our fathers
judged it better. Later, as the liking for mental
exertion declined, a term of abuse was invented
which has ever since lent aid and comfort to
thoughtless attacks upon thought. A poet who
packs his phrase is said to be full of " conceits. "(
That is the word. I have sought far and wide for
a definition of it, but can find nothing precise.
Perhaps it is incapable of precise definition, a
kind of word of degrees, meaning merely that the
writer is more ingenious than his critic likes, and
that he sees in his subject wider relations than
altogether suit modern taste. But there are base
conceits and noble ones. By the base I mean
160
THE STYLE
those where ingenuity is sought for its own sake.
These disregard the feeling which should run deep
and formative throughout a poem. They draw
attention from the whole and fix it on the parts,
the writer meanwhile obtruding himself at the
expense of his subject. These faults are most
manifest in illustrations. Without the ever-pre
sent words "as" and "like," a poet cannot pro
ceed; for it is his business not so much directly to
describe as to let us see into the heart of things,
and there discover the feelings which agitate his
breast. But a poet who is in pursuit of novelty,
and is pleased with intellectual play, is in danger
of tracing similarities so remote or superficial that
they part company with what should be illustrated;
and these are base conceits.
But there are noble ones, too. A mind aglow
with meditative feeling finds its mood reflected
from every object that meets its sight or remem
brance. Emotional association has a wonderful
power of transforming small things to great, re
mote to near, things rarely thought of to luminous
expositors of the customary. Just in proportion
to a poet's power will be his readiness for such
wide-ranging insight. An unimpassioned reader,
who has not brought himself into full sympathy
with the emotion described, may judge much to
be artificial which is in reality tenderly exact. A
passage of pregnant unusualness, whose full im
port cannot be caught at once, is easily denounced
THE STYLE 161
as a conceit. I would not defend the substitution
of puzzles for poetry; but the test for a conceit is,
after all, simple. Does it by thought exclude feel
ing, or does it through thought embody feeling ml '
some new, individual, and subtle way ? *j
That Herbert occasionally indulges in conceits •(
of the baser sort — mental escapades, unprompted
by emotion — is undeniable. So did every poet from
Shakespeare to Dry den, with the possible excep
tion of Herrick. Herbert's master, Donne, has
half a dozen to every page. Quarles has as many.
Crashaw systematizes them. He writes a poem to
the weeping Magdalen, in each of whose thirty-
three stanzas her tears are contemplated from
some fresh angle. John Cleveland, of whose
poems five editions were published in 1647, thus
laments Edward King, Milton's Lycidas :
"In thee Neptune hath got an University.
We'll dive no more for pearls; the hope to see
Thy sacred reliques of mortality
Shall welcome storms and make the seaman prize
His shipwreck now more than his merchandize."
In his poem of EASTER Herbert himself writes :
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art ;
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same ;
His streched sinews taught all strings what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
162
* THE STYLE
Another Herbertian example, and one quite in
the spirit of Crashaw, is from MARIE MAGDALENE:
When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviour's feet,
(Whose precepts she had trampled on before,)
And wore them for a Jewell on her head,
Shewing his steps should be the street
Wherein she thenceforth evermore
With pensive humblenesse would live and tread.
And one more I take from THE SACRIFICE :
Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise
Who by my spittle gave the blinde man eies,
Leaving his blindnesse to mine enemies.
These are pretty bad. The thought is certainly
forced. But it would be a mistake to suppose such
cases common. In general, Herbert's artistic
4 sense saves him. He is too much interested in
welding together form and matter to allow such
vagaries. And on reflection these may seem ex
amples not so much of conceits as of bad taste, —
a frequent fault with Herbert, and one due in
part to what I have called the privacy of his com
position. Abstracting attention from this, we may
detect even in these extravagant lines brooding
feeling. The emotional sequence is not untrue.
In the worst sort of conceits it is. When Laertes
first hears of Ophelia's drowning, Shakespeare
makes him say:
THE STYLE 163
"Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears."
Of course we know that no such words ever came
from the lips of a loving brother. Herbert is
incapable of such perversity. He never quite
departs from truth of feeling. In the instances
cited, it is not impossible to feel that all subse
quent wood sympathizes with the wood of the cross ;
or to imagine that the hostile spittle of his foes
recalls to Jesus his pity for the blind. Even the
notorious couplet of THE DAWNING,
Christ left his grave-clothes that we might, when grief
Draws tears or bloud, not want an handkerchief,
is not untrue or really capricious. Christ's grave-
clothes are not mentioned as picturesque pieces
of accidental linen. They have in Herbert's mind
an essentially healing connection with our griefs.
Seldom, however, does Herbert venture into these
perilous regions, familiar as they are to most of
his contemporaries. What are called his conceits I
are usually cases of condensed -imagination. They
need no apology. On the contrary, they show a
restraint and coherence of. mood which were
exceptional three hundred years ago. The fol
lowing stanza from EMPLOYMENT well illustrates
their method, their difficulties, and the grounds
for admiration which careful reading discloses :
Man is no starre, but a quick coal
Of mortall fire ;
164 THE STYLE
Who blows it not, nor doth controll
A faint desire,
Lets his own ashes choke his soul.
Here we have the frequent trouble of words whose
ancient sense has changed, quick formerly meaning
living, and faint, fainting. But when it is clear
what the words mean, how fresh and subtle is the
figure! The powers of man are not fixed and per
manent like those of the star; but, tending of them
selves to decay, perpetually need rekindling. Or
take the last stanza of SIGN :
And truly brasse and stones are heavie things,
Tombes for the dead, not temples fit for thee.
But grones are quick and full of wings,.
And all their motions upward be.
And ever as they mount, like larks they sing.
The note is sad, yet musick for a king.
How permeated by a single feeling are all these
well-considered phrases ! Or take from LONGING
an example which shall indicate Herbert's com
pactness as well:
From thee all pitie flows.
Mothers are kinde because thou art,
And dost dispose
To them a part.
Their infants them , and they suck thee
More free.
I do not deny that everywhere in Herbert there is
THE STYLE 165
intellectual effort, and that he demands a corre
sponding effort on his reader's part. That was the
enjoyment of his age, and might well be more
largely our own. As flames do work and winde
when they ascend, so does he weave himself into
the sense. But I believe that whoever scrutinizes
carefully will agree that to an extent unusual in
his time Herbert maintains the character of a poet
and refuses that of a "wit." His weaving^ is not
executed for elegance or display, but is a subtle
tracing of religious passion in words which, though
compact with thought and sometimes too forceful,
are plain, veracious, and of highly individual
quality.
Nor is Herbert's sobriety notable merely in the
matter of conceits. It extends to other literary
extravagances then in vogue. There is no acrostic
among his poems, and but a single emblem poem,
— one of exceeding beauty. He has but one ana- '
gram. At a time when poets prided themselves
on puns, he uses few, and none of them jocosely, j
Verbal relationships arouse his curiosity, but never
stir his mirth. The following is, I believe, a com
plete list: dispark and sparkling in THE FORE
RUNNERS; do thee right (write) in PROVIDENCE;
heaven and haven in THE SIZE; holy and wholly
in HEAVEN; I ease you in JESU; raise and race
in THE TEMPER and THE SACRIFICE; rest and
restlessness in THE PULLEY; strokes and stroking
in THE THANKSGIVING; sonne and sunne several
166 THE STYLE
times repeated and once discussed at length. Until
within the last two hundred years, few writers of
our language have abused it so little.
I There is a similar abstinence in classical allu-
jsions. According to the taste of that day a poet
was expected continually to refer to the gods and
history of ancient Greece and Rome. Milton does
so, as much when he deals with sacred subjects as
with secular. Herbert's Latin poems, his Latin
letters and orations, abound in such allusions.
In the whole TEMPLE I find only these few in
stances : in ARTILLERIE the music of the spheres
is mentioned ; in DISCIPLINE Love's bow ; in Di-
VINITIE the Gordian knot ; in HOME the apple may
be thought of as the lover's fruit ; in THE INVITA
TION the dove appears as the bird of love; in THE
PEARL there is mention of a labyrinth and a clue;
in THANKSGIVING Ovid's Art of Love may be re
ferred to; in THE SONNE possibly Plato's torch-
race is hinted ; and in TIME possibly Homer's pic
ture of the Guide-god Hermes. Several of these are
decidedly questionable; but even if all are admit
ted, how astonishingly small is the list! What so
briety and harmonious taste appears in the almost
complete refusal on Herbert's part to conform to
an incongruous literary fashion which his educa-
, tion peculiarly fitted him gracefully to accept !
On the whole, then, we may say that Herbert
chooses wise means for reaching his special ends.
He is the first of our lyric poets who can fairly
THE STYLE 167
be called a conscious artist : the first who syste- 1
matically tries to shape each of his short poems
by a predetermined plan, and that, too, a plan
involved in the nature of his subject. He is the
first who tries to cut off the extravagances of an f
over-luxuriant age. That he did not fully succeed
is evident. He was a pioneer. He was working
in private, on themes expressive of conflict, while
knowing very fully and sharing to a large degree
the ideals of his contemporaries. But he was in \
possession of a new method, and one of enor
mous importance. That he was able to apply it
so widely is one of his two great achievements.
Latin poems from the Williams Manuscript in Herbert's own hand
See Vol. I. p. 179, and compare with the handwriting of Vol. Ill,
p. 6 and 64.
•
/t.
V
THE TEXT AND ORDER OF POEMS
THE TEXT AND ORDER OF POEMS
NONE of the English poems of Herbert were
printed during his life. All have been trans
mitted to us through an intermediary. Who this
intermediary was, what were his character and
competence, and what the circumstances attend
ing his peculiar charge, must first be made clear
before the grave textual problems of Herbert's
little volume can be understood.
ABOUT a month before Herbert's death, his
friend, Nicholas Ferrar, sent a messenger to
Bemerton to obtain an account of his condition.
Herbert was already weak and lying on a couch.
At the messenger's departure, says Walton, "Mr.
Herbert with a thoughtful and contented look said
to him, Sir, I pray deliver this little Book to my
dear brother Ferrar, and tell him he shall find in it
a picture of the many spiritual Conflicts that have
past betwixt God and my Soul, before I could sub
ject mine to the will of Jesus, my Master. Desire
him to read it; and then, if he can think it may
turn to the advantage of any dejected poor Soul,
let it be made publick. If not, let him burn it ; for
172 THE ORDER
I and it are less than the least of God's mercies.
Thus meanly did this humble man think of this
excellent Book, which now bears the name of THE
TEMPLE : OR SACRED POEMS AND PRIVATE EJAC
ULATIONS, of which Mr. Ferrar would say that it
would enrich the World with pleasure and piety.
And it appears to have done so; for there have been
more than twenty thousand of them sold since the
first Impression;" i. e. in less than forty years.
Nicholas Ferrar, to whom Herbert thus en
trusted the fortunes of his verse, was born in the
same year as Herbert and Walton, and was the
son of a wealthy London merchant. He took his
Bachelor's degree at Cambridge two years before
Herbert, travelled on the Continent, acquired much
skill in language and literature, succeeded his
father as Deputy Manager of the Virginia Com
pany, was for a year a member of Parliament, pre
ferred celibacy to a brilliant marriage, and in 1625
withdrew from the world, establishing himself,
his aged mother, his brother, his sister and her
eighteen children, on a large estate which he pur
chased at Little Gidding, in Huntingdonshire.
On account of its extreme conventual regimen,
this place soon acquired the name of The Pro
testant Nunnery. Each member of the household
had a fixed assignment of work and worship.
Religion, study, music, and handicraft filled every
hour of the day, and a considerable portion of the
night. Apart from prayer, book-binding was the
THE ORDER 173
favorite occupation. Several "Concordances," or
Harmonies of the Gospels and of Jewish history,
made at Gidding and bound in sumptuous style,
have survived to our time.
The temper of Ferrar — at once a religious
devotee and a strong man of affairs, who sought
in an original fashion to establish a little Heaven
upon earth where he and his might dwell in peace,
order, and beauty — was singularly congenial to
Herbert. He himself, it is true, had little of Fer-
rar's ascetic disposition. He did not practise fasts
and vigils. But he admired Ferrar's devotion to
God and his own soul, he felt the sanity of mind
which Ferrar preserved through all his pious ex
ercises, and he understood the business ability
which made that daring experimental life success
ful. Like Herbert, too, Ferrar had become a
deacon, but still withheld himself from priest's
orders. During the last seven years of Herbert's
life, Ferrar and he were close friends, — friends
indeed more of heart and mind than of outward
intercourse. Oley says that the two " saw not each
other in many years, I think scarce ever, but as
Members of one Universitie." Walton writes that
"this holy friendship was long maintain'd without
any interview, but only by loving and endearing
Letters." That the friendship was quite so im
palpable as these statements assert is unlikely.
Herbert and Ferrar had been fellow students at
the University, where Herbert remained when
174 THE ORDER
Ferrar settled at Gidding, less than twenty miles
away. The year following that settlement, Her
bert became a Prebendary of Leighton, about five
miles from Ferrar's door, and for the rebuilding
of its church raised among his friends a fund of
£2000. To this fund Ferrar was a contributor.
Herbert repeatedly begged Ferrar to relieve him of
the prebend ; but, true to his plan of retirement,
he refused, though he promised to oversee the
work of reconstruction. Herbert may never have
visited the church for which he labored seven years
and which he also remembered in his will. No visit
is recorded. But such persistent absenteeism is
difficult to believe, especially during the years be
fore the Bemerton priesthood. Probably during the
Leighton period meetings did occur and the real
intimacy of the two men became established,
letters and the exchange of literary products keep
ing the friendship warm during the isolation of
Bemerton. Five months before his death Her
bert annotated Ferrar's translation of Valdesso's
Divine Considerations, and in his last illness
prayers for him were said at Gidding. When the
poems, long circulated in manuscript, finally sought
the press, no sponsor of more sympathetic temper,
or of finer or firmer judgment, could be found
than Nicholas Ferrar.
Ferrar acted promptly, applying at once for a
license. But a curious delay occurred. The official
censor, the Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, was
THE ORDER 175
unwilling to sanction these lines of THE CHURCH
MILITANT:
Religion stands on tip-toe in our land
Readie to passe to the American strand.
Ferrar, however, refused to alter anything that
Herbert had written, and finally obtained the re
quired license. The book was issued soon after
Herbert's death in 1633, a few copies being
printed without date, and was so successful that
a second edition appeared in the same year. To
the sixth edition, that of 1641, Harvey's Synagogue
was unhappily added. Corruptions of the perplex
ing text crept in early and continued long. It was
not until 1874 that critical revision of the text can
be said to have begun.
II
•jlOR fixing a text, three original sources are
B available. First and most authoritative is
Ferrar's edition. I shall refer to this as the edition
of 1633. Wherever this gives sense, even inferior
sense, I follow it. Ferrar had Herbert's latest
manuscript, he had literary perception, and that
he had a literary conscience is shown by his stern
treatment of the censor's objections. The book is
a piece of careful printing. Departure from its text
requires large justification.
But there is a second authoritative source, so
176 THE ORDER
tending to corroborate the first as to be almost one
with it. In the Bodleian Library at Oxford is a
manuscript (Tanner Manuscript, 307) which was
apparently at one time in the possession of Arch
bishop Sancroft (1617-1693). On the title-page is
written in his hand, " The Original of Mr. George
Herbert's Temple, as it was at first licenced for
the presse. W. Sancroft." The title-page bears
also the signature of B. Lany, the Vice-Chancellor,
and of four other persons, presumably the judges
to whom the book was submitted. That it is the
"little Book" brought by Ferrar's messenger has
been thought improbable both on account of its
folio size and because it is too clean to have passed
through the printer's hands. But I cannot count
these objections formidable. Just how clean
printers' hands at that time were, we do not know;
and a pretty adjective used by so picturesque a
writer as Walton is not a matter to pin one's faith
to. The word "little" may well have been used
to indicate the small number of poems which the
book contained, only one hundred and sixty-nine.
It may have been equivalent to " brief," and have
had no reference to the size of the volume's sheets.
The five signatures make it almost certain that
this is the copy submitted for license ; and if so, it
is probably the copy used for printing. For it is
unlikely that a censor so careful as Vice-Chancellor
Lany showed himself to be would allow a book to
be printed which might differ from the one he had
THE ORDER 177
licensed. The character of the manuscript, too,
favors the supposition that this copy was prepared
for the printer. It is not in Herbert's handwriting,
but has been drawn up by a good copyist, who uses
throughout an ink generally black and clear. In
yellowish ink many small changes have been made,
chiefly of punctuation, spelling, capitals, and the
numbering of the stanzas in THE CHURCH-PORCH.
This last revision looks as if it were made for the
printer, and by some one else than the original
writer. But whether this is the very manuscript
sent by Herbert to Ferrar or not, the differences
between it and Ferrar's edition are so few that its
influence in determining a true text is chiefly col
lateral and confirmatory. In the notes I refer to it
as B, or the Bodleian Manuscript, and give all its
variations of reading.
Until recently these two, the edition of 1633 and
the Bodleian Manuscript, have been our sole means
of knowing what Herbert wrote. That untiring, if
often whimsical, explorer of the poetry of Elizabeth
and- James, Dr. Grosart, has added a third. In
1874, when preparing an edition of Herbert for the
Fuller Worthies' Library, he drew from its hiding-
place in the Williams Library, Gordon Square,
London, a manuscript which up to that time had
remained unused (Jones Manuscript, B, 62). Lit
tle is known about it now. The fly-leaf bears the
inscription " Don : Jni. Jones Cler. e museo V. Cl.
D. H. M. Verrantodum, qui ob. 1730," which has
178 THE ORDER
been translated, "A gift to John Jones, Clerk, from
the library of the celebrated Dr. H. Mapletoft,
Huntingdon, who died 1730." On the next leaf,
in the same hand, presumably that of Mr. Jones,
is written, "This book came originally from the
family of Little Gidding and was probably bound
there. Q. Whether this be not the Ms. copy that
was sent by Mr. Herbert a little before his death to
Mr. Nic. Ferrar? See Mr. Herbert's Life." Who,
then, is John Jones, and who is H. M. ?
Rev. John Jones (1700-1770) was an Oxford
graduate, who was for a time Vicar of Alconbury,
near Huntingdon, and died as Vicar of Sheephall,
Herts. At his death his papers came into the
possession of Dr. Thomas Dawson, a dissenting
minister, and they are now in the Williams Library.
The only reason I can discover for supposing that
H. M. stands for Henry Mapletoft is that the name
occurs again in manuscript 87 of the Jones papers.
Another Mapletoft, Dr. John (1631-1721), was a
son of Susanna Collet, Nicholas Ferrar' s niece.
He was Ferrar's godson, brought up at Little
Gidding, became an eminent Professor of Physic
at Gresham College, and later a clergyman of wide
influence. Neither of his two sons was named
Henry, nor have I been able to learn how the
H. M. of the manuscript was related to him. But
whether its former owner was or was not a kins
man of Ferrar, at least so much is clear : John
Jones derived the manuscript from some library
THE ORDER 179
in Huntingdonshire to which he supposed it came
from the neighboring Little Gidding. Probably,
therefore, it was at one time in the possession of
Nicholas Ferrar.
This cannot, however, be the manuscript ob
tained by Ferrar from Herbert just before the lat
ter' s death. While its size, duodecimo, accords well
with Walton's description, it contains but seventy-
three of the one hundred and sixty-nine poems of
the Bodleian. It has also many poems which are
found neither in the Bodleian Manuscript nor in
the edition of 1633, viz., six English poems, and
two series of Latin poems, entitled PASSIO Dis-
CERPTA and Lucus. Preceding the Latin poems is
the pencil note, "The following supposed to be
Mr. Herbert's own writing. See the Records in the
custody of the University Orator at Cambridge."
That the writing is Herbert's is unquestionable.
The English poems are written by a different hand,
though the hand which has corrected them is the
same as that of the Latin poems.
The departures of this manuscript from the re
ceived text are great and numerous. Few poems
are without them. In THE CHURCH-PORCH ninety-
four of the four hundred and sixty-two lines vary
from the received text. This mass of fresh mate
rial Dr. Grosart treats as no less worthy of respect
than the traditional readings, and he has formed
the text of his two editions from this manuscript
or from the edition of 1633, according as his poetic
180 THE ORDER
taste approves the one or the other. I do not ven
ture so far. In my notes I have recorded all the
Williams and Bodleian readings, indicating the
former by the letter W, the latter by the letter B ;
but I have held to Ferrar's text, retaining even its
spelling and capitals, and changing only its punc
tuation.
I agree, however, with those who count the
Williams Manuscript of capital consequence in
Herbert scholarship, and dissent from them merely
in my judgment of where that consequence lies.
They find it in the poetic worth of the readings,
I in their indications of date. Neither they nor I
have any doubt of its genuineness, or that it repre
sents a state of the poems earlier than the Bod
leian. It was a common practice with the poets
of those days to circulate their verses in manuscript,
and one which had many advantages. It allowed
continual alteration till death fell on the unsatis
fied poet and stopped further improvement. Few
of Donne's poems were published during his life;
none of Sidney's Sonnets to Stella. Shakespeare's
Sonnets were long circulated in manuscript before
being surreptitiously printed. Undoubtedly it is
to this custom of private circulation that the
Williams volume owes its existence. It is a manu
script lent early in its writer's life to a friend,
probably to Mr. Ferrar, containing most of Her
bert's verse which was written at the time of its
lending. But its poems were still undergoing con-
THE ORDER 181
struction, and the process did not cease with the
departure of this particular copy from its author's
hands. Its lines were subsequently filed. Stanzas
appear in it which in the Bodleian Manuscript
were thought superfluous. Conceits and dubious
constructions are permitted here more frequently
than afterward. Let any one read the beautiful
EVEN-SONG of the Bodleian, and then the awkward
verses in the Williams Manuscript which it sup
planted; let him read the double version of the
opening of THE CHURCH-PORCH, of the ELIXER,
or of SUNDAY; the closing verses of JORDAN, of
CHARMS AND KNOTS, or of WHITSUNDAY ; and
he will be convinced that it is the Bodleian and
not the Williams Manuscript which represents
the maturer taste of its writer. That is certainly the
impression given by these longer variations. But
the general inferiority of the Williams readings
becomes increasingly evident when we test them
in a connected group of brief examples. Such a
group I draw from THE CHURCH-PORCH. In each
case I give the Williams reading first and then the
Bodleian:
2. The price of thee, and mark thee for a treasure.
Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure.
57. Lust and wine plead a pleasure, cheating gaine.
Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain.
91. O England ! full of all sinn, most of sloth.
0 England ! full of sinne, but most of sloth.
182 THE ORDER
200. Learn this, it hath old gamesters dearly cost.
Learn this, that hath old gamesters deerely cost.
265. When base men are exalted, do not bate.
When basenesse is exalted, do not bate.
317. Truth dwels not in the clouds ; that bow doth hitt
No more than passion when she talks of it.
Truth dwels not in the clouds ; the bow that 's there
Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere.
326. Need and bee glad and wish thy presence still.
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still.
347. Who say, I care not, those I give for gone ;
They dye in holes where glory never shone.
Who say, I care not, those I give for lost ;
And to instruct them, 't will not quit the cost.
Nobody can fail to see that between the first and
second of each of these pairs, time and a smoothing
artist have intervened. The very delicacy of some
of the changes, and of many more which limited
space forbids me to quote, shows that the critic has
been at work, contriving means to ease the reader's
attention, while at the same time filling the line
with ampler and more precise significance.
I, accordingly, altogether reject the readings of
the Williams Manuscript, and conform my text
entirely to that of the edition of 1633. The Wil
liams Manuscript, I believe, represents a state of
Herbert's poetry which had been outgrown. To
adopt its text is to set up our judgment against that
THE ORDER 183
of its author. But though discarding its readings,
I still count it of capital importance in Herbert
criticism. Poetically superseded, it is nothing less
than epoch-making chronologically; for if we can
prove that the Williams Manuscript was written
before the Bodleian, we may find in it a means
of sorting the poetry of Herbert and of distinguish
ing an earlier and a later portion. Let me, then,
establish this all-important fact through three con
verging lines of evidence.
Ill
AN obvious indication of early date is found in
the fewness of the Williams poems and the
position these few occupy in the edition of 1633.
If all Herbert's poems were in existence when the
Williams Manuscript was written, it is strange such
a selection was made, copied, and elaborately cor
rected. The selection was certainly not made on
grounds of the excellence of the poems included,
nor because of any unity in their topic. They have
no more inner connection than the same number
taken accidentally from any other part of the book.
And while there are a dozen of them which rank
high among Herbert's poems, the majority are of
an average sort, poems more marked by Herbert's
peculiarities than by the traits which commend
him to all time. If we may assume that the man
uscript includes the bulk of what had then been
184 THE ORDER
written, all is clear. In that case also we could
understand why these poems, being early, stand
early in the arrangement of the Bodleian. In that
manuscript, and in the edition of 1633, no Wil
liams poem appears between the seventy-ninth and
the one hundred and fifty-sixth place. Though
among the seven which in the traditional order are
usually printed after the one hundred and fifty-
sixth, six are from the Williams Manuscript, the
position of these final poems is evidently due to
their general subject, — Death and the Last Judg
ment. It is true that out of the first seventy-nine,
eighteen are not Williams poems. But many of
these, e. g. THE AGONIE, SEPULCHRE, ANTIPHON,
THE WINDOWS, probably owe their places to their
congruity with neighboring poems. It should be
remembered, too, that in asserting, as I believe we
must, that all the poems of the Williams Manu
script are early, we do not necessarily say that every
one found elsewhere is late. Single poems may
have existed at the time this manuscript was lent
which did not happen to be copied into it.
But the early date of the Williams Manuscript
is still more plainly shown by the character of its
readings. To these I have already called atten
tion. Their very inferiority is what gives the
manuscript worth, for it justifies us in using it as
a document for dating. Strangely enough, this has
not been generally perceived. The readings have
been treated as weighty, though the manuscript is
THE ORDER 185
counted early. But the two things are incompat
ible, unless indeed Herbert was a bad critic. There
is no evidence that he was. Accordingly, when of
two manuscripts one shows on almost every page
duller or more wayward readings, we may fairly
conclude that it belongs to its writer's earlier years.
That the Williams readings are prevailingly duller,
I have already proved in the case of THE CHURCH-
PORCH. Let any one examine the shorter poems as
they stand in the printed text and as they appear
in the Williams version, given in my appendix,
and they will lead him to the same conclusion. We
have before us in the one case a finished result, in
the other, a preliminary draft.
A third sort of evidence, even more important
for fixing the early date of the Williams Manu
script, is found in a hitherto unobserved fact of
its subject-matter. In 1630 Herbert became a
priest. Now no Williams poem contains any hint
that its author is a priest. Many distinctly state
that he is not. A large part of the non-Williams
poems deal with the joys and perplexities of the
priesthood. It is impossible, then, that the Wil
liams Manuscript can have been written at Bemer-
ton. And this peculiarity of its contents, coinciding,
as it does, with the character of its readings and
the position which the much-corrected Williams
poems occupy in the Bodleian Manuscript, assures
us that Herbert wrote poetry long before he went
to Bemerton. It has sometimes been carelessly
186 THE ORDER
asserted that the seclusion of his last three years
made him a poet. But Bacon knew him to be a
notable religious poet eight years before his death.
The Williams Manuscript proves that when Her
bert went into retirement, he took with him nearly
half his poetic work. At this time, he had both
written and elaborately altered a large body of
verse which he was still farther to perfect in the
Bemerton parsonage. I often, he says in JORDAN,
blotted what I had begunne. Herbert must here
after stand forth not as a sudden rhapsodist, but
as an intentional, long-continued, and ever-revising
workman.
How much earlier than 1630, the year when
Herbert took priest's orders, the Williams Manu
script was written, is uncertain. In the great
AFFLICTION, When first thou didst entice to thee
my heart, the laments on the death of friends, and
on Herbert's severe illness and mental perplexity,
indicate that this poem was written in the Crisis
years between 1627 and 1629. With this period
Walton also connects it. Several other Williams
poems contain hints that they were born in the
same time of disappointment and struggle. But
most of those which refer to this period (and it
was one likely to leave its mark on whatever was
produced in it) are found among the non- Williams
poems; for example, THE PRIESTHOOD, in which
he is still hesitating about taking orders. A deci
sion, however, appears to be reached in THE
THE ORDER 187
PEARL and OBEDIENCE, both included in the early
manuscript. Most probably, then, the Williams
Manuscript was drawn up about 1629, but not all
the poems written during this and the preced
ing year were copied into it. Since the history of
the manuscript connects it with Little Gidding,
my own conjecture is that these poems were lent
to Ferrar after he and Herbert became intimate
through the building of Leighton Church. This
would also justify Ferrar's prompt publication of
the final work. Many of the poems he already
knew, and he had no need of taking time to deter
mine their worth.
IV
A SSUMING, then, that through the Williams
JljL. Manuscript we know that as early as 1628-29
nearly half of Herbert's work was in existence, we
are able to rearrange the poems and give them an
order more advantageous for study and enjoyment.
In justification of the traditional order no grounds
are known. Ferrar found it in the Bodleian Manu
script, and followed it in his own printing. The
Williams Manuscript does not preserve it. The
poems do not require it. Probably it was originally
accidental. Occasionally, little groups of poems
may give indication of a natural tie, the later mem
bers of a group being possibly drawn after the
earlier by some inner similarity, some dependence
188 THE ORDER
of subject, or some expansion of a phrase once
used. But such connection is rare and uncertain.
After the first start, the poems were apparently
jotted down without plan. In the traditional order
there is, therefore, nothing sacred, probably no
thing expressive of Herbert's mind or wish,
nothing to forbid whatever new arrangement is
more luminous. The most instructive order for all
poetry, it is agreed, is the chronological. Though
the evidence in Herbert's case, whether drawn
from the Williams Manuscript or from the style
and statements of the poems themselves, is too
slender to establish a thoroughgoing chronological
sequence, I believe it is ample for distinguishing
three great Divisions of poems corresponding to
the three periods of Herbert's life marked out in
my first Essay. We shall accordingly have poems
of the Cambridge period, extending from the be
ginning of his writing through his Oratorship to
1627; of the Crisis period, from that date through
the years of stress and strain to the time of his
taking orders in 1630; and poems of the Bemerton
period, when as a priest he served his little parish
from 1630 until his death. In the first of these
three Divisions will be included the great majority
of the Williams poems ; in the second, such Williams
and non-Williams poems as contain a reference to
Herbert's uncertainty about his coming career; in
the third, the majority of the non- Williams poems.
Knowing that much which was written at an early
THE ORDER 189
date might first appear in a late manuscript, I
have sometimes been tempted on grounds of style
to refer a non- Williams poem to the Cambridge
Division. On the whole, I have considered that
placing it there is too hazardous an exercise of
conjecture, and I have finally allowed no poem
to enter this Division which is not contained in
the Williams Manuscript. Thinking it well, too, to
give the reader some defence against my meddling
hand, I print an index of titles arranged accord
ing to the traditional scheme.
So much chronological sorting into three broad
Divisions, the use of the Williams Manuscript
seems to me to render possible. Within the limits
of the Bemerton Division, and to a less extent else
where, further time-indications may be found. But
these are too few and of too uncertain a nature
to permit a conservative critic to venture on a
full chronological arrangement. Within the great
Divisions I have preferred a topical order, which
may still throw light on the processes of Herbert's
mind, and illuminate the poems by what is known
of their writer through other sources. All the poems
of the Crisis period are naturally placed together.
Within each of the other two Divisions I have
drawn up five subordinate sections or Groups, and
furnished them with suitable explanatory Prefaces.
In the first Division, covering the Cambridge years,
the sententious morality of THE CHURCH-PORCH
naturally stands first, for Herbert apparently de-
190 THE ORDER
signed it as an introduction to his whole poetic
work; next we see Herbert planning to become a re
ligious poet; those ecclesiastical poems follow which,
with little personal reference, celebrate the feasts
and institutions of the Church ; in a fourth Group are
gathered those profound meditations on abstract
themes to which the Cambridge period gave rise;
while in a fifth are placed those highly character
istic poems in which the vicissitudes of human and
divine love are traced with all the passionate deli
cacy which marked the secular love-poetry of the
time. The second Division, written during Her
bert's unsettled years, includes all the poems of the
Crisis time, at the close of which Herbert brought
himself to accept orders. It forms, therefore, but
a single Group, the sixth. In the third Division
fall the five Groups, VII-XI, which were written at
Bemerton, the first showing his gladness in know
ing himself at last a priest; the second giving those
reflective poems which were slowly compacted
there, as similar ones had been at Cambridge;
then doubts arise whether little Bemerton affords
sufficient scope for his powers; doubts which are
deepened, perhaps caused by, the feelings of grief
and bodily pain which occupy the next Group ; the
whole Division being concluded by a set of poems
in which he calmly surveys his approaching death.
I believe that such a classification according to the
subject-matter of the poems, a classification which
is also largely chronological, will be found more
THE ORDER 191
generally convenient than the ancient arbitrary
order; and I even hope that it may render the con
secutive reading of Herbert instructively evolution
ary and agreeable. Probably, however, those who
are approaching THE TEMPLE for the first time
will be wise to begin their reading with the sixth
or even the seventh Group ; the poems of the last
six Groups being much more plainly marked with
Herbert's personality than are those of the first
five.
THE COUNTRY PARSON
PREFACE
THIS piece first appeared in 1652, in a volume
entitled HERBERT'S REMAINS, OR SUNDRY
PIECES OP THAT SWEET SINGER OF THE TEMPLE,
MR. GEORGE HERBERT. With it were printed the
JACULA PRUDENTUM (already published in 1640,
and here dated 1651), Herbert's two PRAYERS, his
LETTER TO FERRAR (already published in 1638
with Ferrar's Translation of Valdesso), two Latin
poems addressed to Bacon and one to Donne,
and an ADDITION OF APOTHEGMES BY SEVERAL,!,
AUTHOURS. The volume contained also A Pre
fatory View of the Life and Virtues of the Authour
and the Excellencies of this Book, by Rev. Bar
nabas Oley. Oley (1602-1686) was for a time
President of Clare Hall, Cambridge, was ejected
from his Cambridge Fellowship by the Parliament,
for over fifty years was Vicar of Great Gransden,
Huntingdonshire, and Prebendary of Worcester
Cathedral for twenty-five. He was an ardent
Royalist, an extreme High Churchman, a friend of
Nicholas Ferrar, and a rambling, heated, naively
attractive writer. In 1671 he published the first
separate edition of THE COUNTRY PARSON, with
a new Preface.
196 PREFACE TO
In both editions the book has a double title: A
PRIEST TO THE TEMPLE: OR THE COUNTRY PAR
SON, His CHARACTER AND RULE OF HOLY LIFE.
But only the second of these titles has been gener
ally used, the first being tacitly dropped. Walton
approves the usual title thus in 1670 : "That
Mr. Herbert might the better preserve those holy
rules which such a priest as he intended to be ought
to observe ; and that time might not insensibly
blot them out of his memory, but that the next
year might show him his variations from this
year's resolutions; he therefore did set down his
rules then resolved upon in that order as the world
now sees them printed in a little Book calFd THE
COUNTRY PARSON ... a Book so full of plain,
prudent, and useful Rules that that Country Par
son that can spare 12 d. and yet wants it is scarce
excusable." Herbert himself seems to sanction
this second name, and to be ignorant of any other.
He opens thirty-four of the thirty-seven chapters
with the words The Country Parson, printed in
capitals. And though throughout the book he
uses the word priest as freely as he does pastor or
minister, it nowhere has the prominence of The
Country Parson. I suspect, therefore, the title A
Priest to the Temple is a happy invention of Oley's.
When he edited the book, six editions of THE
TEMPLE were already in circulation. Apparently
hoping that the popularity of the poems might
help to float the prose, he emphasized the relation-
THE COUNTRY PARSON 197
ship. Walton, however, and most modern writers
have preferred the more exact designation.
That Herbert intended publication is evident
from his words in THE AUTHOUR TO THE READER,
dated 1632. Why the book remained so long un
published is unknown. One might suppose the
delay due to a belief that so vivid a picture of a
punctilious priest would be unwelcome and unsal
able at a season of Puritan domination. But the
time of its unopposed and successful issue was the
culmination of the Puritan triumph, three years
after the execution of the King, and a year before
Cromwell became Protector. Oley's long first
Preface, devoted more to abuse of Puritanism than
to description of Herbert, seems to have aroused
no hostility. The causes of delay must, therefore,
have been of a private nature.
There are two hardly reconcilable accounts of
the history of the manuscript. Walton writes in
1670, "At the death of Mr. Herbert this Book fell
into the hands of his friend, Mr. Woodnot; and he
commended it into the trusty hands of Mr. Barna
bas Oley, who publisht it." But in his Preface of
1671, Oley states that it is his design "to do a Piece
of Right, an office of Justice to the Good man that
was possessor of the Manuscript of this Book and
transmitted it freely to the Stationer who first
printed it. He was Mr. Edmund Duncon, Rector
of Fryarn-Barnet." If we accept this account of
Oley's, it would seem that the volume of Herbert's
198 PREFACE TO
REMAINS was edited by Duncon, and that Oley's
work was confined to preparing the Preface.
The book has throughout a certain double aim.
Like Herbert's poetry, THE COUNTRY PARSON is
primarily a study of his own conditions. It is
] written to ease and clarify his own mind and to
1 regulate his future conduct. But in these condi
tions of his own he also perceives universal types,
and so is led, in almost scientific fashion, to codify
his experience for public use. I have already re
marked the low estimate which in Herbert's time
was put upon the ministry of the Church of Eng
land, especially on the country ministry. Herbert,
having disappointedly accepted this, will make
the utmost of it, developing all its capacities, and
showing how it may become a field fit for intelli
gent, energetic, stately, and holy living. As usual,
he looks at it with his own eyes, and treats it as
a field hitherto unexplored. He regards himself
as laying the foundations of a novel science, and
hopes that those who come after him may add to
those points which I have observed untill the Book
grow to a compleat Pastorall. Every feature of the
country minister's life is accordingly studied.
Nothing is counted trivial. Each slightest habit
may help or hinder the Parson's aim of reducing
» Man to the Obedience of God. The humorous under-
i standing of the stolid countryman here displayed;
the keenness and range of vision in detecting
j modes of access to him; the interest, zeal, and
THE COUNTRY PARSON 199
sense of dignity employed in his pursuit; the
poetic beauty of the quotations of Scripture; the
readiness to carry principles into homely detail;
and the ability to sketch the outlines of an entire
life from a single point of view, give the book a
unique power and adaptability. It is doubtful if
the same number of pages in any modern volume
will bring to the country minister of to-day an
equal amount of ennobling good sense. Changes
in belief, in social usage, in* civilization itself have
not antiquated this ardent, candid, original, and
solidjittle treatise.
Such a work, however (as indeed the words
just quoted from Herbert's Preface imply), is at
no time complete. It cannot, therefore, possess
shapely structure. Herbert is not attempting here
to fashion a rounded work of art. Like Bacon, he
is gathering observations. Whatever new aspects
of the Parson's business present themselves are
successively added, and such additions may go on
indefinitely. The book is, therefore, without clear
plan. Its scheme was not fixed beforehand. Prob
ably, like most of Herbert's writings, it was still
growing when death supplied it with an end. Yet
it is far from chaotic. After discriminating the
work of the Country Parson from that of other
pastors, Herbert takes up the conditions of success
in the Parson's own nature, then his duties in re
lation to the Church services, to the people of his
parish, to men in general, and finally considers
200 PREFACE TO
cases of conduct where, though there is no clear
duty, tactful and devout treatment will yield re
sults which would be missed by carelessness. In
Oley's editions the table of contents is printed
so as to divide the chapters into related groups of
three or four each. This method of printing I
preserve, though I regard the suggested divisions
as too minute and without precise boundaries.
Every reader of THE COUNTRY PARSON must
be struck with the contrast between its neat style
and the intricacy of the poems. This book is
drawn up for a business purpose; accordingly it
is written plainly, instructively, and in a thoroughly
manly fashion. Here are no affectations. Few
sentences occur whose full meaning will not be
gained at a glance, few where any felicity of phrase
diverts attention from the matter. Often there is
skill in bringing out delicacies of thought, but the
long linked sentences run swift and straight, and
are guided rather by the reader's needs than by
the writer's emotions. In this plainness and in
sistent rationality there is charm. A reader does
not begin one of these pithy chapters without con
tinuing to the end.
A piece of writing so lucid has small need of
comment. Mine hardly extends beyond marking
changes in the meaning of words. Like Herbert
himself, I wish to withdraw attention from the
form and fix it upon the substance. Parallel pas
sages in the poetry I do not cite. They are noted
THE COUNTRY PARSON
201
in my commentary on the poems. Only when a
whole poem deals with a subject discussed here,
have I referred to it.
Other annotators of THE COUNTRY PARSON
are R. A. Willmott in his single volume of Her
bert's works, published by Routledge; A. B. Gro-
sart in his three quarto volumes in the Fuller
Worthies' Library; and H. C. Beeching in his
excellent edition of THE COUNTRY PARSON, pub
lished by T. Fisher Unwin. From their notes I
have brought over whatever I judged helpful.
Title-Page of THE COUNTRY PARSON.
,'A.Ofcili. '0 'Att.1V
A PRIEST
• To the
TEMPLE
OR,
TheCountrey PARSON
CHARACTER,
AND
Rule of Holy Life.
TllC AnTHOURj
LONDON,
Pruned by T. Mtxty for T. Gartbmit, at the
little North door of Sr Paul's. 16 j i.
THE AUTHOTJR TO THE READER
BEING desirous (thorow the Mercy of God)
to please Him for whom I am and live, and
who giveth mee my Desires and Performances,
and considering with my self That the way to
please him is to feed my Flocke diligently and
faithfully, since our Saviour hath made that the
argument of a Pastour's love, I have resolved to
set down the Form and Character of a true Pas-
tour, that I may have a Mark to aim at; which
also I will set as high as I can, since hee shoots
higher that threatens the Moon then hee that aims
at a Tree. Not that I think, if a man do not all
which is here expressed, hee presently sinns and
displeases God, but that it is a good strife to go as
farre as wee can in pleasing of him who hath done
so much for us. The Lord prosper the intention
to my selfe, and others who may not despise my
poor labours, but add to those points which I
have observed untill the Book grow to a compleat
Pastorall.
GEO. HERBERT.
1632.
A TABLE OF CONTENTS TO THE
COUNTRY PARSON
CHAP. I. Of a Pastour - - - - p. 209.
2. Their Diversities - - - p. 211.
•* 3. The Parson *s life - p. 213.
"" 4. Knowledges - - - - p. 215.
5. Accessary Knowledges - - p. 218.
6. The Parson Praying - - - p. 220.
7. Preaching - - - - - p. 223.
8. On Sundays - - - - p. 228.
9. His State of Life - - - p. 231.
10. In his house - - - - p. 235.
sll. The Parson's Courtesie - p. 242.
12. Charity p. 244.
^13. Church p. 247.
14. The Parson in Circuit - - - p. 249.
15. Comforting - - - - p. 253.
16. A father p. 255.
17. In Journey - - - - p. 256.
18. In Sentinell - - - - p. 258.
N 19. In Reference - - - - p. 260.
20. In God's stead - - - - p. 263.
/ 21. Catechizing - - - - p. 265.
\ 22. In Sacraments - - - - p. 270.
23. The Parson's Compleatnesse - - p. 274.
24. The Parson Arguing - - - p. 279.
208
THE COUNTRY PARSON
CHAP. 25. N Punishing - - - - p. 281.
26. The Parson's Eye - - - - p. 282.
27. The Parson in mirth - - - p. 288.
28. In contempt - - - p. 289.
29. With his Church-wardens - - p. 292.
30. The Parson's Consideration of Provi
dence • - - - - p. 294.
31. The Parson in Liberty - - - p. 297.
32. His Surveys - - - - p. 300.
33. His Library .... p. 307.
34. His Dexterity in applying Reme
dies p. 310.
35. Condescending - - - - p. 316.
36. Blessing - - - - - p. 318.
37. Concerning detraction
- p. 321,
The Author's Prayer Before Sermon p. 325.
Prayer After Sermon - - - p. 328.
A PRIEST TO THE TEMPLE : OR,
THE COUNTREY PARSON, HIS
CHARACTER, &c.
CHAPTER I
Of a Pastor
A PASTOR is the Deputy of Christ for the
reducing of Man to the Obedience of God.
This definition is evident, and containes the direct
steps of Pastorall Duty and Auctority. For first,
Man fell from God by disobedience. Secondly,
Christ is the glorious instrument of God for the
revoking1 of Man. Thirdly, Christ being not to
continue on earth, but after hee had fulfilled the
work of Reconciliation to be received up into
heaven, he constituted Deputies in his place, and
these are Priests. And therefore St. Paul in the
beginning of his Epistles professeth this, and
in the first to the Colossians2 plainly avoucheth
that he fits up that which is behinde of the afflic
tions of Christ in his flesh for his Eodie's sake,
which is the Church. Wherein is contained the
complete definition of a Minister. Out of this
Chartre of the Priesthood may be plainly gathered
both the Dignity8 thereof and the Duty: The
210
THE COUNTRY PARSON
Dignity, in that a Priest may do that which Christ
did, and by his auctority and as his Vicegerent.
The Duty, in that a Priest is to do that which
Christ did and after his manner, both for Doctrine
and Life.
CHAPTER II
Their Diversities
OF Pastors (intending mine own Nation only,
and also therein setting aside the Reverend
Prelates of the Church, to whom this discourse
ariseth not) some live in the Universities, some in
Noble houses, some in Parishes residing on their
Cures. Of those that live in the Universities, some
live there in office, whose rule is that of the Apos
tle: Rom. 12. 6. Having gifts differing according
to the grace that is given to us, whether prophecy,
let us prophecy according to the proportion of faith ;
or ministry, let us wait on our ministring ; or he
that teacheth, on teaching, &c. he that ruleth, let
him do it with diligence, &c. Some in a prepara
tory way, whose aim and labour must be not only
to get knowledg, but to subdue and mortifie all
lusts and affections; and not to think that when
they have read the Fathers or Schoolmen, a Min
ister is made and the thing done. The greatest
and hardest preparation is within. For, Unto the
ungodly, saith God, Why dost thou preach my Laws,
and takest my Covenant in thy mouth ? Psal. 50. 16.
Those that live in Noble Houses are called Chap
lains, whose duty and obligation being the same
212
THE COUNTRY PARSON
to the Houses they live in as a Parson's to his
Parish, in describing the one (which is indeed the
bent of my Discourse) the other will be manifest.
Let not Chaplains think themselves so free as
many of them do, and because they have different
Names think their Office different. Doubtlesse
they are Parsons of the families they live in and
are entertained to that end, either by an open or
implicite Covenant. Before they are in Orders,
they may be received for Companions or dis-
coursers; but after a man is once Minister, he
cannot agree to come into any house where he
shall not exercise what he is, unlesse he forsake his
plough and look back. Wherfore they are not
to be over-submissive and base, but to keep up
with 1 the Lord and Lady of the house, and to pre
serve a boldness with them and all, even so farre
as reproofe to their very face when occasion cals,
but seasonably and discreetly. They who do not
thus, while they remember their earthly Lord,
do much forget their heavenly ; they wrong the
Priesthood, neglect their duty, and shall be so
farre from that which they seek with their over-
submissivenesse and cringings that they shall ever
be despised. They who for the hope of promotion
neglect any necessary admonition or reproofe,
sell (with Judas) their Lord and Master.
CHAPTER III
The Parson's Life
THE Countrey Parson is exceeding exact in
his Life, being holy, just, prudent, temperate,
bold, grave in all his wayes. And because the two
highest points of Life, wherein a Christian is most
seen, are Patience and Mortification : Patience
in regard of afflictions, Mortification in regard of
lusts and affections, and the stupifying and dead-
ing of all the clamarous powers of the soul, there
fore he hath throughly studied these, that he may
be an absolute Master and commander of himself
for all the purposes which God hath ordained
him. Yet in these points he labours most in those
things which are most apt to scandalize his Parish.
""And first, because Countrey people live hardly,
and therefore as feeling their own sweat, and con
sequently knowing the price of mony, are offended
much with any who by hard usage increase their
travell,1 the Countrey Parson is very circumspect
in avoiding all coveteousnesse, neither being greedy
to get, nor nigardly to keep, nor troubled to lose
any worldly wealth ; but in all his words and
actions slighting and disesteeming it, even to a
wondring that the world should so much value
wealth, which in the day of wrath hath not one
214 THE COUNTRY PARSON
dramme of comfort for us. Secondly, because
Luxury is a very visible sinne, the Parson is very
caref ull to avoid all the kinds thereof, but especially
that of drinking, because it is the most popular
'vice; into which if he come, he prostitutes himself
both to shame and sin, and by having fellowship
with the unfruitfull works of darknesse he disa-
bleth himself of authority to reprove them. For sins
make all equall whom they finde together; and
then they are worst who ought to be best. Neither
is it for the servant of Christ to haunt Innes, or
Tavernes, or Ale-houses, to the dishonour of his
person and office. The Parson doth not so, but
orders his Life in such a fashion that when death
takes him, as the Jewes and Judas did Christ, he
may say as He did, I sate daily with you teaching
fin the Temple. Thirdly, because Countrey people
/ (as indeed all honest men) do much esteem their
/ word, it being the Life of buying and selling and
[ dealing in the world; therfore the Parson is very
\ strict in keeping his word, though it be to his own
dnderance, as knowing that if he be not so, he
wil quickly be discovered and disregarded; neither
will they beleeve him in the pulpit whom they can
not trust in his Conversation. As for oaths and
apparell, the disorders thereof are also very mani
fest. The Parson's yea is yea, and nay nay; and
his apparrell plaine, but reverend and clean, with
out spots, or dust, or smell; the purity of his mind
breaking out and dilating it selfe even to his body,
cloaths, and habitation.
CHAPTER IIII
The Parson's Knowledg 1
THE Countrey Parson is full of all knowledg.
They say it is an ill Mason that refuseth any
stone; and there is no knowledg but, in a skilfull
hand, serves either positively as it is or else to
illustrate some other knowledge. He condescends
even to the knowledge of tillage and pastorage,
and makes great use of them in teaching, because
people by what they understand are best led to
what they understand not. But the chief and top
of his knowledge consists in the book of books, v
the storehouse and magazene of life and comfort, *
the holy Scriptures. There he sucks and lives.
In the Scriptures hee findes four things : Precepts
for life, Doctrines for knowledge, Examples for
illustration, and Promises for comfort. These he
hath digested severally. But for the understanding
of these the means he useth are first, a holy Life;
remembring what his Master saith, that if any do
God's will, he shall know of the Doctrine, John 7;
and assuring himself that wicked men, however
learned, do not know the Scriptures, because they
feell them not, and because they are not under
stood but with the same Spirit that writ them. The
216 THE COUNTRY PARSON
second means is prayer, which if it be necessary
/ even in temporal! things, how much more in things
of another world, where the well is deep and we
have nothing of our selves to draw with ? Where
fore he ever begins the reading of the Scripture
with some short inward ejaculation, as, Lord, open
mine eyes, that I may see the wondrous things of
thy Law, &C.1 The third means is a diligent Col
lation of Scripture with Scripture. For all Truth
being consonant to it self and all being penn'd
by one and the self-same Spirit, it cannot be but
that an industrious and judicious comparing of
place with place must be a singular help for the
right understanding of the Scriptures. To this
may be added the consideration of any text with
the coherence thereof, touching what goes be
fore and what follows after, as also the scope of
the Holy Ghost. When the Apostles would have
called down fire from Heaven, they were reproved,
as ignorant of what spirit they were^JFor^the^Iiawl
required ~6ne™tEing, and the Gospel another; yet
\^as^diyerse, not as repugnant/ltECTefore the~spirlr
of botETTs "Ho" be considered and weighed. The
fourth means are Commenters and fathers who
have handled the places controverted, which the
Parson by no means refuseth. As he doth not so
study others as to neglect the grace of God in
himself and what the Holy Spirit teacheth him,
so doth he assure himself that God in all ages
hath had his servants, to whom he hath revealed
HIS KNOWLEDG 217
his Truth as well as to him; and that as one
Countrey doth not bear all things, that there may
be a Commerce, so neither hath God opened or
will open all to one, that there may be a traffick
in knowledg between the servants of God for the
planting both of love and humility. Wherfore he
hath one Comment at least upon every book of
Scripture, and ploughing with this and his own </
meditations he enters into the secrets of God
treasured in the holy Scripture.
CHAPTER V
The Parson* s Accessary Knowledges
THE Countrey Parson hath read the Fathers
also, and the Schoolmen, and the later Writ
ers, or a good proportion of all, out of all which
he hath compiled a book and body of Divinity,
which is the storehouse of his Sermons and which
he preacheth all his Life, but diversely clothed,
illustrated, and inlarged. For though the world is
full of such composures, yet every man's own is
fittest, readyest, and most savory to him. Besides,
this being to be done in his younger and prepara
tory times, it is an honest joy ever after to looke
upon his well spent houres. This Body he made
by way of expounding the Church Catechisme, to
which all divinity may easily be reduced. For it
being indifferent in it selfe to choose any Method,
that is best to be chosen of which there is likelyest
to be most use. Now Catechizing being a work of
singular and admirable benefit to the Church of
God, and a thing required under Canonicall obe
dience, the expounding of our Catechisme must
needs be the most usefull forme. Yet hath the
Parson, besides this laborious work, a slighter
forme of Catechizing, fitter for country people;
HIS ACCESSARY KNOWLEDGES 219
according as his audience is, so he useth one or
other, or somtimes both, if his audience be inter
mixed. He greatly esteemes also of cases of con
science, wherein he is much versed. And indeed
herein is the greatest ability of a Parson to lead his
people exactly in the wayes of Truth, so that they
neither decline to the right hand nor to the left.
Neither let any think this a slight thing. For every
one hath not digested when it is a sin to take some
thing for mony lent, or when not; when it is a fault
to discover another's fault, or when not; when the
affections of the soul in desiring and procuring
increase of means or honour, be a sin of covetousnes
or ambition, and when not ; when the appetites of
the body in eating, drinking, sleep, and the pleasure
that comes with sleep, be sins of gluttony, drunken
ness, sloath, lust, and when not, and so in many
circumstances of actions. Now if a shepherd know
not which grass will bane, or which not, how is he
fit to be a shepherd ? Wherefore the Parson hath
throughly canvassed al the particulars of humane
actions, at least all those which he observeth are
most incident to his Parish.
CHAPTER VI
The Parson Praying1
THE Countrey Parson, when he is to read di
vine services, composeth himselfe to all pos
sible reverence : lifting up his heart and hands
and eyes, and using all other gestures which may
expresse a hearty and unfeyned devotion. This he
doth, first, as being truly touched and amazed with
the Majesty of God before whom he then presents
himself; yet not as himself alone, but as presenting
with himself the whole Congregation, whose sins
he then beares and brings with his own to the
heavenly altar to be bathed and washed in the
sacred Laver of Christ's blood. Secondly, as this
is the true reason of his inward feare, so he is con
tent to expresse this outwardly to the utmost of
his power; that being first affected himself, hee
may affect also his people, knowing that no Sermon
moves them so much to a reverence, which they
forget againe when they come to pray, as a devout
behaviour in the very act of praying. Accordingly
his voyce is humble, his words treatable2 and
slow; yet not so slow neither as to let the fervency
of the supplicant hang and dy between speaking,
but with a grave livelinesse, between fear and zeal,
PRAYING 221
pausing yet pressing, he performes his duty.
Besides his example, he, having often instructed
his people how to carry themselves in divine ser
vice, exacts of them all possible reverence, by no
means enduring either talking, or sleeping, or
gazing, or leaning, or halfe-kneeling, or any undu-
tifull behaviour in them, but causing them when
they sit, or stand, or kneel, to do all in a strait and
steady posture, as attending to what is done in the
Church, and every one, man and child, answering
aloud both Amen and all other answers which are
on the Clerk's and people's part to answer; which
answers also are to be done not in a hudling, or
slubbering * fashion, gaping, or scratching the head,
or spitting even in the midst of their answer, but
gently and pausably, thinking what they say; so
that while they answer, As it was in the beginning,
&c. they meditate as they speak that God hath
ever had his people that have glorified him as wel
as now, and that he shall have so for ever. And the
like in other answers. This is that which the
Apostle cals a reasonable service, Rom. 12. when
we speak not as Parrats, without reason, or offer
up such sacrifices as they did of old, which was of
beasts devoyd of reason; but when we use our
reason, and apply our powers to the service of him
that gives them. If there be any of the gentry
or nobility of the Parish who sometimes make it
a piece of state not to come at the beginning of
service with their poor neighbours, but at mid-
222
THE COUNTRY PARSON
prayers, both to their own loss and of theirs also
who gaze upon them when they come in, and
neglect the present service of God, he by no means
suffers it, but after divers gentle admonitions, if
they persevere, he causes them to be presented.1
Or if the poor Church-wardens be affrighted with
their greatness, notwithstanding his instruction
that they ought not to be so, but even to let the
world sinke so they do their duty ; he presents
them himself, only protesting to them that not
any ill will draws him to it, but the debt and obli
gation of his calling, being to obey God rather
then men.
CHAPTER VII
The Parson Preaching
HE Countrey Parson preacheth constantly, the
JL pulpit is his joy and his throne. If he at any
time intermit, it is either for want of health or
against some great Festivall, that he may the bet
ter celebrate it, or for the variety of the hearers
that he may be heard at his returne more atten
tively. When he intermits, he is ever very well
supplyed by some able man who treads in his steps
and will not throw down what he hath built; whom
also he intreats to press some point that he him
self hath often urged with no great success, that
so in the mouth of two or three witnesses the truth
may be more established. When he preacheth, he
procures attention by all possible art, both by
earnestnesse of speech — it being naturall to men
to think that where is much earnestness there is
somewhat worth hearing — and by a diligent and
busy cast of his eye on his auditors, with letting
them know that he observes who marks and who
not; and with particularizing of his speech now
to the younger sort, then to the elder, now to the
poor and now to the rich. This is for you, and
This is for you; for particulars ever touch and
224 THE COUNTRY PARSON
awakemore jhan generalls . Herein also he serves
himselfe of the judgements of God, as of those of
antient times so especially of the late ones, and
those most which are nearest to his Parish; for
people are very attentive at such discourses, and
think it behoves them to be so, when God is so
neer them and even over their heads. Sometimes
he tells them stories and sayings of others, ac
cording as his text invites him; for them also men
heed and remember better than exhortations,
which though earnest yet often dy with the Ser
mon, especially with Countrey people ; which are
thick, and heavy, and hard to raise to a poynt of
zeal and fervency ,^nd^eedJTmnuritainp of fire
to kindle them, but stories and sayings they will
well remember. He often tels them that Sermons
are dangerous things, that none goes out of Church
as he came in, but either better or worse; that none
is careless before his Judg, and that the word of
God shal Judge us. By these and other means the
Parson procures attention ; but the character of
his Sermon is Holiness. He is not witty, or learned,
or eloquent, but Holy. A Character that Hermo-
genes1 never dream'd of, and therefore he could
give no precepts hereof. But it is gained first,
by choosing texts of Devotion not Controversie,
V moving and ravishing texts, whereof the Scriptures
are full. Secondly, by dipping and seasoning all
our words and sentences in our hearts before they
come into our mouths, truly affecting and cor-
PREACHING 225
dially expressing all that we say; so that the
auditors may plainly perceive that every word is
hart-deep. Thirdly, by turning often and making
many Apostrophes to God, as, Oh Lord blesse
my people and teach them this point; or, Oh my
Master, on whose errand I come, let me hold my
peace and doe thou speak thy selfe; for thou art
Love, and when thou teachest all are Scholers.
Some such irradiations scatteringly in the Sermon
carry great holiness in them. The Prophets are
admirable in this. So Isa. 64 : Oh that thou would? st
rent the Heavens, that thou would' 'st come down, &c.
And Jeremy, Chapt. 10, after he had complained
of the desolation of Israel, turnes to God suddenly:
Oh Lord, I know that the way of man is not in
himself, &c. Fourthly, by frequent wishes of the
people's good and joying therein, though he him
self were with Saint Paul even sacrificed upon the
service of their faith. For there is no greater sign
of holinesse then the procuring, and rejoycing in
another's good. And herein St. Paul excelled in all
his Epistles. How did he put the Romans in all
his prayers! Rom. 1. 9. And ceased not to give
thanks for the Ephesians, Eph. 1. 16. And for the
Corinthians, chap. 1. 4. And for the Philippians
made request with joy, chap. 1. 4. And is in con
tention for them whither to live or dy, be with
them or Christ, verse 23; which, setting aside his
care of his Flock, were a madnesse to doubt of.
What an admirable Epistle is the second to the
226 THE COUNTRY PARSON
Corinthians I how full of affections ! he joyes and
he is sorry, he grieves and he gloryes, never was
there such care of a flock expressed save in the
great shepherd of the fold, who first shed teares
over Jerusalem and afterwards blood. Therefore
this care may be learn'd there and then woven into
Sermons, which will make them appear exceed
ing reverend and holy. Lastly, by an often urging
of the presence and majesty of God, by these or
such like speeches : Oh let us all take heed what
we do. God sees us, he sees whether I speak as I
ought or you hear as you ought ; he sees hearts
as we see faces ; he is among us ; for if we be here,
hee must be here, since we are here by him and
without him could not be here. Then turning the
discourse to his Majesty: And he is a great God
and terrible, as great in mercy so great in judge
ment. There are but two devouring elements, fire
and water; he hath both in him. His voyce is as
the sound of many waters, Revelations 1. And he
himselfe is a consuming fire, Hebrews 12. Such
discourses shew very Holy. The Parson's Method
in handling of a text consists of two parts : first,
a plain and evident declaration of the meaning
of the text ; and secondly, some choyce Observa
tions drawn out of the whole text, as it lyes entire
and unbroken in the Scripture it self. This he
thinks naturall and sweet and grave. Whereas the
other way of crumbling a text into small parts, as,
the Person speaking or spoken to, the subject and
PREACHING 227
object, and the like, hath neither in it sweetnesse,
nor gravity, nor variety; since the words apart are
not Scripture but a dictionary, and may be con
sidered alike in all the Scripture. The Parson ex
ceeds not an hour in preaching, because all ages
have thought that a competency, and he that
profits not in that time will lesse afterwards; the
same affection which made him not profit before
making him then weary, and so he grows from
not relishing to loathing.
CHAPTER VIII
The Parson on Sundays
fTlHE Country Parson as soon as he awakes
m. on Sunday Morning presently falls to work,
and seems to himself e so as a Market-man is
when the Market day conies, or a shop-keeper
when customers use fo come in. His thmightsjire
f ullofmaking the best of the dayan^contrmng
itto mVjbesaines To this end, besides his ordi
nary prayers, he makes a peculiar one for a bless
ing on the exercises of the day: That nothing befall
him unworthy of that Majesty before which he is
to present himself, but that all may be done with
reverence to his glory and with edification to his
flock, humbly beseeching his Master that how or
whenever he punish him it be not in his Minis
try. Then he turnes to request for his people that
the Lord would be pleased to sanctifie them all,
that they may come with holy hearts and awfull
mindes into the Congregation, and that the good
God would pardon all those who come with lesse
prepared hearts then they ought. This done, he
sets himself to the Consideration of the duties of
the day; and if there be any extraordinary addi
tion to the customary exercises, either from the
ON SUNDAYS 229
time of the year, or from the State, or from God
by a child born or dead, or any other accident,
he contrives how and in what manner to induce1
it to thejbest advantage. Afterwards when the
hour calls, with his family attending him he goes
to Church, at his first entrance humbly adoring
and worshipping the invisible majesty and presence
of Almighty God, and blessing the people either
openly or to himselfe. Then having read divine
Service twice fully, and preached in the morning
and catechized in the afternoone, he thinks he
hath in some measure, according to poor and
fraile man, discharged the publick duties of the
Congregation. The rest of the day he spends
either in reconciling neighbours that are at vari
ance, or in visiting the sick, or in exhortations to
some of his flock by themselves, whom his Ser
mons cannot or doe not reach. And every one is
more awaked when we come and say, Thou art
the man. This way he findes exceeding usefull
and winning; and these exhortations he cals his
privy purse, even as Princes have theirs, besides
ther publick disbursments. At night he thinks it
a very fit time, both sutable to the joy of the day
and without hinderance to publick duties, either
to entertaine some of his neighbours or to be
entertained of them, where he takes occasion to
discourse of such things as are both profitable and
pleasant, and to raise up their mindes to apprehend
God's good blessing to our Church and State; that
230
THE COUNTRY PARSON
order is kept in the one and peace in the other, with
out disturbance or interruption of publick divine
offices. As he opened the day with prayer, so he
closeth it, humbly beseeching the Almighty to par
don and accept our poor services and to improve
them that wee may grow therein, and that our feet
may be like hindes' feet, ever climbing up higher
and higher unto him.
CHAPTER IX
The Parson's State of Life
r 1 1HE Country Parson considering that virginity
I is a higher state then Matrimony, and that
the Ministry requires the best and highest things,
is rather unmarryed then marryed. But yet as the
temper of his body may be, or as the temper of his
Parish may be, where he may have occasion to
converse with women and that among suspicious
men, and other like circumstances considered, he is
rather married then unmarried. Let him com
municate the thing often by prayer unto God, and
as his grace shall direct him so let him proceed. If
he be unmarried and keepe house, he hath not
a woman in his house, but findes opportunities
of having his meat dress'd and other services done
by men-servants at home, and his linnen washed
abroad. If he be unmarryed and sojourne, he
never talkes with any woman alone, but in the au
dience of others, and that seldom, and then also in a
serious manner, never jestingly or sportfully. He
is very circumspect in all companyes, both of his
behaviour, speech, and very looks, knowing himself
to be both suspected and envyed. If he stand stead
fast in his heart, having no necessity, but hath
232 THE COUNTRY PARSON
power over his own will, and hath so decreed in his
heart that he will keep himself a virgin, he spends
his dayes in fasting and prayer and blesseth God for
the gift of continency, knowing that it can no way
be preserved but only by those means by which at
first it was obtained. He therefore thinkes it not
enough for him to observe the fasting dayes of the
Church and the dayly prayers enjoyned him by
auctority, which he observeth out of humble con
formity and obedience, but adds to them, out of
choyce and devotion, some other dayes for fasting
and hours for prayers ; and by these hee keeps his
body tame, serviceable, and healthfull ; and his soul
fervent, active, young, and lusty1 as an eagle. He
often readeth the Lives of the Primitive Monks,
Hermits, and virgins, and wondreth not so much at
their patient suffering and cheerfull dying under
persecuting Emperours, (though that indeed be very
admirable) as at their daily temperance, abstinence,
watchings, and constant prayers, and mortifications
in the times of peace and prosperity. To put on the
profound humility and the exact temperance of our
Lord Jesus, with other exemplary vertues of that
sort, and to keep them on in the sunshine and noone
of prosperity he findeth to be as necessary, and as
difficult at least, as to be cloathed with perfect pa
tience and Christian fortitude in the cold midnight
stormes of persecution and adversity. He keepeth
his watch and ward night and day against the
proper and peculiar temptations of his state of Life,
HIS STATE OF LIFE 233
which are principally these two, Spirituall pride,
and Impurity of heart. Against these ghostly ene
mies he girdeth up his loynes, keepes the imagina
tion from roving, puts on the whole Armour of God,
and by the vertue of the shield of faith he is not
afraid of the pestilence that walketh in darkenesse,
[carnall impurity,] nor of the sicknesse that destroy-
eth at noone day, [Ghostly pride and self-conceit.]
Other temptations he hath which, like mortall ene
mies, may sometimes disquiet him likewise ; for the
humane soule being bounded and kept in in her
sensitive faculty, will runne out more or lesse in
her intellectuall. Originall concupisence is such an
active thing, by reason of continuall inward or out
ward temptations, that it is ever attempting or doing
one mischief or other. Ambition, or untimely desire
of promotion to an higher state or place, under colour
of accommodation or necessary provision, is a com
mon temptation to men of any eminency, especially
being single men. Curiosity in prying into high
speculative and unprofitable questions is another
great stumbling block to the holinesse of Scholers.
These and many other spirituall wickednesses in
high places doth the Parson fear, or experiment,1
or both ; and that much more being single then if
he were marry ed; for then commonly the stream of
temptation is turned another way, into Covetous-
nesse, Love of pleasure, or ease, or the like. If the
Parson be unmarryed and means to continue so, he
doth at least as much as hath been said. If he be
234
THE COUNTRY PARSON
marryed, the choyce of his wife was made rather
by his eare 1 then by his eye ; his judgement, not
his affection, found out a fit wife for him, whose
humble and liberall disposition he preferred before
beauty, riches, or honour. He knew that (the good
instrument of God to bring women to heaven) a wise
and loving husband could out of humility, produce
any speciall grace of faith, patience, meeknesse,
love, obedience, &c. and out of liberality make her
fruitfull in all good works. As hee is just in all
things, so is he to his wife also, counting nothing
so much his owne as that he may be unjust unto
it. Therefore he gives her respect both afore her
servants and others, and halfe at least of the
government of the house, reserving so much of the
affaires as serve for a diversion for him ; yet never
so giving over the raines but that he sometimes
looks how things go, demanding an account,2 but
not by the way of an account. And this must bee
done the oftner or the seldomer according as hee is
satisfied of his Wife's discretion.
CHAPTER X
A Parson in his House
THE Parson is very exact in t^governing ofhis
housej making jjj^g^nnpy and modell forTiis
Parish. He knows the temper and pulse of every
person in his house, and accordingly either meets
with J their vices or advanceth their vertues. His
wife is either religious, or night and day he is win
ning her to it. In stead of the qualities of the world,
he requires onely three of her: first, a trayning up
of her children and mayds in the fear of God, with
prayers and catechizing and all religious duties.
Secondly, a curing and healing of all wounds and
sores with her owne hands ; which skill either she
brought with her or he takes care she shall learn
it of some religious neighbour. Thirdly, a provid
ing for her family in such sort as that neither they
want a competent sustentation nor her husband
be brought in debt. His children2 he first makes
Christians and then Common- wealths-men; the
one he owes to his heavenly Countrey, the other to
his earthly, having no title to either except he do
good to both. Therefore having seasoned them
with all Piety, not only of words in praying and
reading, but in actions, in visiting other sick chil-
236 THE COUNTRY PARSON
dren and tending their wounds, and sending his
charity by them to the poor, and sometimes giving
them a little money to do it of themselves, that
they get a delight in it and enter favour with
God, who weighs even children's actions, 1 King.
14. 12, 13; he afterwards turnes his care to fit all
their dispositions with some calling, not sparing
the eldest, but giving him the prerogative of his
Father's profession, which happily l for his other
children he is not able to do. Yet in binding them
prentices (in case he think fit to do so) he takes
care not to put them into vain trades and un
befitting the reverence of their Father's calling,
such as are tavernes for men and lace-making for
women; because those trades for the most part
serve but the vices and vanities of the world, which
he is to deny and not augment. However, he
resolves with himself never to omit any present
good deed of charity in consideration of providing
a stock for his children ; but assures himselfe that
mony thus lent to God is placed surer for his chil
dren's advantage then if it were given to the Cham
ber of London.2 Good deeds and good breeding
are his two great stocks for his children; if God
give any thing above those and not spent in them,
he blesseth God and lays it out as he sees cause.
His servants are all religious ; and were it not his
duty to have them so, it were his profit, for none
are so well served as by religious servants, both
because they do best and because what they do
IN HIS HOUSE 237
is blessed and prospers. After religion, he teacheth
them that three things make a compleate servant :
Truth, and Diligence, and Neatnesse or Cleanli-
nesse. Those that can read are allowed times for
it, and those that cannot are taught ; for all in his
house are either teachers or learners or both, so
that his family is a Schoole of Religion, and they all
account that to teach the ignorant is the greatest
almes. Even the wals are not idle, but something
is written or painted there which may excite the
reader to a thought of piety; especially the 101
Psalm, which is expressed in a fayre table as being
the rule of a family. And when they go abroad,
his wife among her neighbours is the beginner of
good discourses, his children among children, his
servants among other servants; so that as in the
house of those that are skill'd in Musick all are
Musicians; so in the house of a Preacher all are
preachers. He suffers not a ly or equivocation by
any means in his house, but counts it the art and
secret of governing to preserve a directinesse and
open plainnesse in all things ; so that all his house
knowes that there is no help for a fault done but
confession. He himself e or his Wife takes account
of Sermons,1 and how every one profits, comparing
this yeer with the last; and besides the common
prayers of the family, he straitly requires of all to
pray by themselves before they sleep at night and
stir out in the morning, and knows what prayers
they say, and till they have learned them makes
238 THE COUNTRY PARSON
them kneel by him; esteeming that this private
praying is a more voluntary act in them then when
they are called to others' prayers, and that which
when they leave the family they carry with them.
He keeps his servants between love and fear,
according as hee findes them, but generally he dis
tributes it thus: to his Children he shewes more
love than terrour, to his servants more terrour
than love, but an old good servant boards a child.1
The furniture of his house is very plain, but clean,
whole, and sweet, as sweet as his garden can make;
for he hath no mony for such things, charity being
his only perfume, which deserves cost when he can
spare it. His fare is plain and common, but whol-
some; what hee hath is little, but ve*ry good; it con-
sisteth most of mutton, beefe, and veal. If he addes
anything for a great day or a stranger, his garden
or orchard supplies it, or his barne and back
side;2 he goes no further for any entertainment
lest he goe into the world, esteeming it absurd
that he should exceed who teacheth others tem
perance. But those which his home produceth
he refuseth not, as coming cheap and easie, and
arising from the improvement of things, which
otherwise would be lost. Wherein he admires and
imitates the wonderfull providence and thrift of
the great householder of the world. For there being
two things which as they are are unuseful to man,
the one for smalnesse, as crums and scattered
corn and the like; the other for the foulnesse, as
IN HIS HOUSE 239
wash and durt and things thereinto fallen; God
hath provided Creatures for both: for the first,
poultry ; for the second, swine. These save man
the labour and doing that which either he could
not do or was not fit for him to do, by taking both
sorts of food into them, do as it were dresse and
prepare both for man in themselves, by growing
themselves fit for his table. The Parson in his
house observes fasting dayes ; and particularly,
as Sunday is his day of joy so Friday his day of
Humiliation, which he celebrates not only with
abstinence of diet but also of company, recreation,
and all outward contentments; and besides, with
confession of sins and all acts of Mortification.1
Now fasting days containe a treble obligation :
first, of eating lesse that day then on other dayes ;
secondly, of eating no pleasing or over-nourishing
things, as the Israelites did eate sowre herbs:
thirdly, of eating no flesh, which is but the deter
mination of the second rule by Authority to this
particular. The two former obligations are much
more essentiall to a true fast then the third and
last; and fasting dayes were fully performed by
keeping of the two former, had not Authority
interposed ; so that to eat little, and that unplea
sant, is the naturall rule of fasting, although it be
flesh. For since fasting in Scripture language is an
afflicting of our souls, if a peece of dry flesh at my
table be more unpleasant to me then some fish
there, certainly to eat the flesh and not the fish is
240 THE COUNTRY PARSON
to keep the fasting day naturally. And it is observ
able that the prohibiting of flesh came from hot
Countreys where both flesh alone, and much more
with wine, is apt to nourish more then in cold re
gions, and where flesh may be much better spared
and with more safety then elsewhere, where both
the people and the drink being cold and flegmatick,
the eating of flesh is an antidote to both. For it is
certaine that a weak stomack, being prepossessed
with flesh, shall much better brooke and bear a
draught of beer then if it had taken before either
fish, or rootes, or such things ; which will discover
it selfe by spitting, and rheume, or flegme. To
conclude, the Parson, if he be in full health, keeps
the three obligations, eating fish or roots,1 and that
for quantity little, for quality unpleasant. If his
body be weak and obstructed, as most Students
are, he cannot keep the last obligation nor suffer
others in his house that are so to keep it; but only
the two former, which also in diseases of exinani-
tion (as consumptions) must be broken : For meat
was made for man, not man for meat. To all this
may be added, not for emboldening the unruly
but for the comfort of the weak, that not onely
sicknesse breaks these obligations of fasting but
sicklinesse also. For it is as unnatural to do any
thing that leads me to a sicknesse to which I am
inclined, as not to get out of that sicknesse when
I am in it by any diet. One thing is evident, that
an English body and a Student's body are two
IN HIS HOUSE 241
great obstructed vessels; and there is nothing that
is food, and not phisick, which doth lesse obstruct
then flesh moderately taken; as being immod
erately taken, it is exceeding obstructive. And
obstructions are the cause of most diseases.
CHAPTER XI
The Parson's Courtesie
r MHE Countrey Parson owing a debt of Charity
i to the poor and of Courtesie to his other
parishioners, he so distinguished that he keeps
his money for the poor and his table for those that
are above Alms. Not but that the poor are welcome
also to his table, whom he sometimes purposely
takes home with him, setting them close by him
and carving for them, both for his own humility
and their comfort, who are much cheered with
such friendlineses. But since both is to be done,
the better sort invited and meaner relieved, he
chooseth rather to give the poor money, which they
can better employ to their own advantage and
sutably to their needs, then so much given in meat
at dinner. Having then invited some of his Parish,
hee taketh his times to do the like to the rest, so
that in the compasse of the year hee hath them all
with him; because countrey people are very ob
servant of such things, and will not be perswaded
but being not invited they are hated. Which per-
swasion the Parson by all means avoyds, knowing
that where there are such conceits there is no
room for his doctrine to enter. Yet doth hee often-
HIS COURTESIE 243
est invite those whom hee sees take best courses,
that so both they may be encouraged to persevere
and others spurred to do well, that they may enjoy
the like courtesie. For though he desire that all
should live well and vertuously not for any re
ward of his, but for vertue's sake, yet that will not
be so; and therefore as God, although we should
love him onely for his own sake yet out of his
infinite pity hath set forth heaven for a reward
to draw men to Piety, and is content if at least so
they will become good; So the Countrey Parson,
who is a diligent observer and tracker of God's
wayes, sets up as many encouragements to good-
nesse as he can, both in honour, and profit, and
fame ; that he may, if not the best way, yet any
way make his Parish good.
CHAPTER XII
The Parson's Charity
Countrey Parson is full of Charity; it is
his predominant element. For many and
wonderfull things are spoken of thee, thou great
Vertue. To Charity is given the covering of sins,
1 Pet. 4. 8; and the forgivenesse of sins, Matthew
6. 14, Luke 7. 47; the fulfilling of the Law, Romans
13. 10; the life of faith, James 2. 26; the blessings
of this life, Proverbs 22. 9, Psalm 41. 2; and the
reward of the next, Matth. 25. 35. In brief, it is
the body of Religion, John 13. 35, and the top of
Christian vertues, 1 Corin. 13. Wherefore all his
works rellish of Charity. When he riseth in the
morning, he bethinketh himselfe what good deeds
he can do that day, and presently1 doth them;
counting that day lost wherein he hath not exer
cised his Charity. He first considers his own Parish,
and takes care that there be not a begger or idle
person in his Parish, but that all bee in a com
petent way of getting their living. This he affects
either by bounty, or perswasion, or by authority,
making use of that excellent statute which bindes
all Parishes to maintaine their own. If his Parish
be riche, he exacts this of them; if poor, and he
HIS CHARITY 245
able, he easeth them therein. But he gives no set
pension to any; for this in time will lose the name
and effect of Charity with the poor people, though
not with God. For then they will reckon upon it,
as on a debt; and if it be taken away, though
justly, they will murmur and repine as much as he
that is disseized of his own inheritance. But the
Parson having a double aime, and making a hook
of his Charity, causeth them still to depend on
him; and so By continuall and fresh bounties, un
expected to them but resolved to himself, hee wins
them to praise God more, to live more religiously,
and to take more paines in their vocation, as not
knowing when they shal be relieved; which other
wise they would reckon upon and turn to idle-
nesse. Besides this generall provision, he hath
other times of opening his hand : as at great Fes
tivals and Communions, not suffering any that
day that he receives to want a good meal suting
to the joy of the occasion. But specially at hard
times and dearths he even parts his Living and
life among them, giving some corn outright, and
selling other at under rates ; and when his own
stock serves not, working those that are able to
the same charity, still pressing it in the pulpit and
out of the pulpit, and never leaving them till he
obtaine his desire. Yet in all his Charity he dis-
tinguisheth, giving them most who live best, and
take most paines, and are most charged. So is his
charity in effect a Sermon. After the consideration
246 THE COUNTRY PARSON
of his own Parish he inlargeth himself, if he be
able, to the neighbourhood ; for that also is some
kind of obligation. So doth he also to those at his
door, whom God puts in his way and makes his
neighbours. But these he hjlps not without some
testimony, except the evidence of the misery bring
testimony with it. For though these testimonies
also may be falsifyed, yet considering that the Law
allows these in case they be true, but allows by no
means to give without testimony, as he obeys Au
thority in the one, so that being once satisfied he
allows his Charity some blindnesse in the other;
especially since of the two commands we are
more in joined to be charitable then wise. But evi
dent miseries have a naturall priviledge and ex
emption from all law. When-ever hee gives any
thing and sees them labour in thanking of him,
he exacts of them to let him alone and say rather,
God be praised, God be glorified; that so the
thanks may go the right way, and thither onely
where they are onely due. So doth hee also before
giving make them say their Prayers first, or the
Creed and ten Commandments, and as he finds
them perfect rewards them the more. For other
givings are lay and secular, but this is to give like
a Priest.
CHAPTER XIII
The Parson's Church
HE Countrey Parson hath a speciall care of his
I Church, that all things there be decent and
befitting his Name by which it is called. There
fore, first he takes order that all things be in good
repair : as walls plaistered, windows glazed, floore
paved, seats whole, firm, and uniform; especially
that the Pulpit and Desk, and Communion Table
and Font, be as they ought for those great duties
that are performed in them. Secondly, that the
Church be swept and kept cleane, without dust
or Cobwebs, and at great festivalls strawed, and
stuck with boughs, and perfumed with incense.1
Thirdly, that there be fit and proper texts of
Scripture every where painted, and that all the
painting be grave and reverend, not with light
colours or foolish anticks. Fourthly, That all the
books appointed by Authority be there, and those
not torne, or fouled, but whole ; and clean, and
well bound ; and that there be a fitting and sightly
Communion cloth of fine linnen, with an hand
some and seemly Carpet of good and costly Stuff e
or Cloth, and all kept sweet and clean, in a strong
and decent chest, with a Chalice and Cover, and
248
THE COUNTRY PARSON
a Stoop or Flagon, and a Bason for Almes and
offerings ; besides which he hath a Poor-man's box
conveniently seated, to receive the charity of well
minded people and to lay up treasure for the sick
and needy. And all this he doth not as out of ne
cessity, or as putting a holiness in the things, but
as desiring to keep the middle way * between su
perstition and slovenlinesse, and as following the
Apostle's two great and admirable Rules in things
of this nature : The first whereof is, Let all things
be done decently and in order ; The second, Let all
things be done to edification, 1 Cor. 14. For these
two rules comprize and include the double object
of our duty, God, and our neighbour : the first
being for the honour of God, the second for the
benefit of our neighbor. So that they excellently
score out the way, and fully and exactly contain,
even in externall and indifferent things, what course
is to be taken; and put them to great shame who
deny the Scripture to be perfect.
CHAPTER XIV
The Parson in Circuit
rilHE Countrey Parson upon the afternoons1 in
JL the weekdays takes occasion sometimes to
visite in person now one quarter of his Parish, now
another. For there he shall find his flock most
naturally as they are, wallowing in the midst of
their affairs ; whereas on Sundays it is easie for
them to compose themselves to order, which they
put on as their holy-day cloathes, and come to
Church in frame, but commonly the next day put
off both. When he comes to any house, first he
blesseth it, and then as hee finds the persons of the
house iinployed so he formes his discourse. Those
that he findes religiously imployed, hee both com
mends them much and furthers them when hee
is gone, in their imployment : as, if hee findes them
reading, hee f urnisheth them with good books ; if
curing poor people, hee supplies them with Receipts
and instructs them further in that skill, shewing
them how acceptable such works are to God, and
wishing them ever to do the Cures with their own
hands and not to put them over to servants. Those
that he finds busie in the works of their calling,
he commendeth them also: for it is a good and
250 THE COUNTRY PARSON
just thing for every one to do their own busines.
But then he admonisheth them of two things:
first, that they dive not too deep into worldly
affairs, plunging themselves over head and eares
into carking and caring; but that they so labour
as neither to labour anxiously, nor distrustfully,
nor profanely. Then they labour anxiously when
they overdo it, to the loss of their quiet and health;
then distrustfully, when they doubt God's provi
dence, thinking that their own labour is the cause
of their thriving, as if it were in their own hands to
thrive or not to thrive. Then they labour profanely,
when they set themselves to work like brute beasts,
never raising their thoughts to God, nor sanctifying
their labour with daily prayer ; when on the Lord's
day they do unnecessary servile work, or in time of
divine service on other holy days, except in the cases
of extreme poverty, and in the seasons of Seed-time
and Harvest. Secondly, he adviseth them so to
labour for wealth and maintenance as that they
make not that the end of their labour, but that
they may have wherewithall to serve God the bet
ter and to do good deeds. After these discourses,
if they be poor and needy whom he thus finds
labouring, he gives them somewhat ; and opens
not only his mouth but his purse to their relief, that
so they go on more cheerfully in their vocation,
and himself be ever the more welcome to them.
Those that the Parson findes idle, or ill employed,
he chides not at first, for that were neither civill
IN CIRCUIT 251
nor profitable; but always in the close, before he
departs from them. Yet in this he distinguished.
For if he be a plaine countryman, he reproves him
plainly; for they are not sensible of finenesse. If
they be of higher quality, they commonly are quick
and sensible, and very tender of reproof; and
therefore he lays his discourse so that he comes to
the point very leasurely, and oftentimes, as Nathan
did, in the person of another, making them to
reprove themselves. However, one way or other,
he ever reproves them, that he may keep himself
pure and not be intangled in others' sinnes.
Neither in this doth he forbear though there be
company by. For as when the offence is particular
and against mee, I am to follow our Saviour's rule
and to take my brother aside and reprove him ;
so when the offence is publicke and against God,
I am then to follow the Apostle's rule, 1 Timothy
5, 20, and to rebuke openly that which is done
openly. Besides these occasionall discourses, the
Parson questions what order is kept in the house:
as about prayers morning and evening on their
knees, reading of Scripture, catechizing, singing of
Psalms at their work and on holy days ; who can
read, who not ; and sometimes he hears the chil
dren read himselfe and blesseth, encouraging also
the servants to learn to read and offering to have
them taught on holy-day es by his servants. If the
Parson were ashamed of particularizing in these
things, hee were not fit to be a Parson ; but he holds
252
THE COUNTRY PARSON
the Rule that Nothing is little1 in God's service. If
it once have the honour of that Name, it grows
great instantly. Wherfore neither disdaineth he to
enter into the poorest Cottage, though he even
creep into it and though it smell never so loth-
somly. For both God is there also and those for
whom God dyed; and so much the rather doth he
so as his accesse to the poor is more comfortable
then to the rich; and in regard of himself e, it is
more humiliation. These are the Parson's generall
aims in his Circuit ; but with these he mingles
other discourses for conversation sake, and to
make his higher purposes slip the more easily.
CHAPTER XV
The Parson Comforting
THE Countrey Parson, when any of his cure is
sick, or afflicted with losse of friend, or estate,
or any ways distressed, fails not to afford his best
comforts, and rather goes to them then sends for
the afflicted, though they can and otherwise ought
to come to him. To this end he hath throughly
digested all the points of consolation, as having
continuall use of them, such as are from God's
generall providence extended even to lillyes; from
his particular to his Church; from his promises,
from the examples of all Saints that ever were ;
from Christ himself, perfecting our Redemption no
other way then by sorrow; from the Benefit of
affliction, which softens and works the stubborn
heart of man; from the certainty both of deliver
ance and reward, if we faint not; from the miser
able comparison of the moment of griefs here with
the weight of joyes hereafter. Besides this, in his
visiting the sick or otherwise afflicted, he followeth
the Churches counsell, namely, in perswading them
to particular confession, labouring to make them
understand the great good use of this antient and
pious ordinance, and how necessary it is in some
254
THE COUNTRY PARSON
cases. He also urgeth them to do some pious chari
table works as a necessary evidence and fruit of their
faith, at that time especially ; the participation of
the holy Sacrament, how comfortable and Sover-
aigne a Medicine it is to all sinsick souls; what
strength and joy and peace it administers against
all temptations, even to death it selfe, he plainly and
generally intimateth to the disaffected or sick person,
that so the hunger and thirst after it may come
rather from themselves then from his perswasion.
CHAPTER XVI
The Parson a Father
HE Countrey Parson is l not only a father to his
JL flock but also professeth himselfe throughly
of the opinion, carrying it about with him as fully
as if he had begot his whole Parish. And of this
he makes great use. For by this means when any
sinns, he hateth him not as an officer but pityes
him as a Father. And even in those wrongs which
either in tithing or otherwise are done to his owne
person hee considers the offender as a child and
forgives, so hee may have any signe of amendment.
So also when after many admonitions any con
tinue to be refractory, yet hee gives him not over,
but is long before hee proceede to disinheriting,
or perhaps never goes so far, knowing that some
are called at the eleventh houre; and therefore
hee still expects and waits, least hee should deter
mine God's houre of coming; which as hee can
not, touching the last day, so neither touching the
intermediate days of Conversion.
CHAPTER XVII
The Parson in Journey
THE Countrey Parson, when a just occasion
calleth him out of his Parish (which he dili
gently and strictly weigheth, his Parish being all
his joy and thought) leaveth not his Ministry
behind him, but is himselfe where ever he is.
Therefore those he meets on the way he blesseth
audibly, and with those he overtakes or that over
take him hee begins good discourses, such as may
edify, interposing sometimes some short and hon
est refreshments which may make his other dis
courses more welcome and lesse tedious. And
when he comes to his Inn he refuseth not to joyne,
that he may enlarge the glory of God to the com
pany he is in by a due blessing of God for their
safe arrival, and saying grace at meat, and at
going to bed by giving the Host notice that he will
have prayers in the hall, wishing him to informe
his guests thereof, that if any be willing to partake,
they may resort thither. The like he doth in the
morning, using pleasantly the outlandish proverb,1
that Prayers and Provender never hinder journey.
When he comes to any other house, where his kin
dred or other relations give him any authority over
IN JOURNEY 257
the Family, ii hee be to stay for a time, hee consid
ers diligently the state thereof to Godward, and
that in two points : First, what disorders there are
either in Apparell, or Diet, or too open a Buttery,
or reading vain books, or swearing, or breeding up
children to no Calling, but in idleness or the like.
Secondly, what means of Piety, whether daily
prayers be used, Grace, reading of Scriptures, and
other good books, how Sundayes, holy-days, and
fasting days are kept. And accordingly as he
finds any defect in these, hee first considers with
himselfe what kind of remedy fits the temper of
the house best, and then hee faithfully and boldly
applyeth it; yet seasonably and discreetly, by tak
ing aside the Lord or Lady, or Master and Mistres
of the house, and shewing them cleerly that they
respect them most who wish them best, and that
not a desire to meddle with others' affairs, but the
earnestnesse to do all the good he can moves him
to say thus and thus.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Parson in Sentinett
Countrey Parson, where ever he is, keeps
I God's watch: that is, there is nothing spoken
or done in the Company where he is but comes
under his Test and censure.1 If it be well spoken
or done, he takes occasion to commend and en
large it ; if ill, he presently lays hold of it, least
the poyson steal into some young and unwary
spirits and possesse them even before they them
selves heed it. But this he doth discretely, with
mollifying and suppling words : This was not so
well said as it might have been forborn; We can
not allow this. Or else if the thing will admit in
terpretation: Your meaning is not thus, but thus;
or, So farr indeed what you say is true and well
said, but this will not stand. This is called keep
ing God's watch, when the baits which the enemy
lays in company are discovered and avoyded.
This is to be on God's side and be true to his party.
Besides, if he perceive in company any discourse
tending to ill, either by the wickedness or quarrel-
somenesse thereof, he either prevents it judiciously
or breaks it off seasonably by some diversion.
Wherein a pleasantness of disposition is of great
IN SENTINELL 259
use, men being willing to sell the interest and in-
gagement of their discourses for no price sooner
then that of mirth; whither the nature of man,
loving refreshment, gladly betakes it selfe, even
to the losse of honour.
CHAPTER XIX
The Parson in Reference
THE Countrey Parson is sincere and upright
in all his relations. And first, he is just to his
Countrey : as when he is set at l an armour or
horse, he borrowes them not to serve the turne,
nor provides slight and unusefull, but such as are
every way fitting to do his Countrey true and laud
able service when occasion requires. To do other
wise is deceit, and therefore not for him, who is
hearty and true in all his wayes, as being the ser
vant of him in whom there was no guile. Likewise
in any other Countrey-duty he considers what is
the end of any Command, and then he suits things
faithfully according to that end. Secondly, he
carryes himself very respectively2 as to all the
Fathers of the Church, so especially to his Dioce
san, honouring him both in word and behaviour
and resorting unto him in any difficulty, either in
his studies or in his Parish. He observes Visita
tions, and being there makes due use of them, as
of Clergy councels for the benefit of the Diocese.
And therefore before he comes, having observed
some defects in the Ministry, he then either in
Sermon, if he preach, or at some other time of the
IN REFERENCE 261
day, propounds among his Brethren what were
fitting to be done. Thirdly, he keeps good Cor
respondence with all the neighbouring Pastours
round about him, performing for them any Min-
isteriall office which is not to the prejudice of his
own Parish. Likewise he welcomes to his house
any Minister, how poor or mean soever, with as
joyfull a countenance as if he were to entertain
some great Lord. Fourthly, he fulfills the duty
and debt of neighbourhood to all the Parishes
which are neer him. For the Apostle's rule, Philip.
4, being admirable and large, that we should do
whatsoever things are honest, or just, or pure, or
lovely, or of good report, if there be any vertue, or
any praise; and Neighbourhood being ever re
puted, even among the Heathen, as an obligation
to do good, rather then to those that are further,
where things are otherwise equall, therefore he
satisfies this duty also. Especially if God have
sent any calamity either by fire or famine to any
neighbouring Parish, then he expects no Briefe;1
but taking his Parish together the next Sunday or
holy-day and exposing to them the uncertainty
of humane affairs, none knowing whose turne
may be next, and then when he hath affrighted
them with this exposing the obligation of Charity
and Neighbour-hood, he first gives himself liberally
and then incites them to give; making together a
summe either to be sent, or, which were more
comfortable, all together choosing some fitt day
262
THE COUNTRY PARSON
to carry it themselves and cheere the Afflicted.
So if any neighbouring village be overburdened
with poore and his owne lesse charged, he findes
some way of releeving it and reducing the Manna
and bread of Charity to some equality, represent
ing to his people that the Blessing of God to them
ought to make them the more charitable, and not
the lesse, lest he cast their neighbours' poverty on
them also.
CHAPTER XX
The Parson in God's Stead
THE Countrey Parson is in God's stead to his
Parish, and dischargeth1 God what he can
of his promises. Wherefore there is nothing done
either wel or ill whereof he is not the rewarder
or punisher. If he chance to finde any reading in
another's Bible, he provides him one of his own.
If he finde another giving a poor man a penny,
he gives him a tester for it, if the giver be fit to re
ceive it; or if he be of a condition above such gifts,
he sends him a good book or easeth him in his
Tithes, telling him when he hath forgotten it, This
I do because at such and such a time you were
charitable. This is in some sort a discharging of
God as concerning this life, who hath promised
that Godlinesse shall be gainf ull ; but in the other,
God is his own immediate paymaster, rewarding
all good deeds to their full proportion. The Par
son's punishing of sin and vice is rather by with
drawing his bounty and courtesie from the parties
offending, or by private or publick reproof, as the
case requires, then by causing them to be presented
or otherwise complained of. And yet as the malice
of the person or hainousness of the crime may be, he
264
THE COUNTRY PARSON
is carefull to see condign punishment inflicted; and
with truly godly zeal, without hatred to the person,
hungreth and thirsteth_ after righteous punishment
of unrighteousnesse. \Thus both in rewarding ver-
tue and in punishing vice, the Parson endeavour-
eth to be in God's stead, knowing that Countrey
people are drawne or led by sense more then by
faith, by present rewards or punishments more then
by future^?
CHAPTER XXI
The Parson Catechizing
rilHE Countrey Parson values Catechizing highly.
JL. For there being three points of his duty, the
one to infuse a competent knowledge of salvation
in every one of his Flock ; the other to multiply
and build up this knowledge to a spirituall Temple;
the third to inflame this knowledge, to presse and
drive it to practice, turning it to reformation of
life by pithy and lively exhortations ; Catechizing
is the first point, and but by Catechizing the
other cannot be attained. Besides, whereas in
Sermons there is a kind of state, in Catechizing
there is an humblesse very sutable to Christian
regeneration, which exceedingly delights him as
by way of exercise upon himself, and by way of
preaching to himself for the advancing of his own
mortification. For in preaching to others he for
gets not himself, but is first a Sermon to himself
and then to others, growing with the growth of his
Parish. He useth and preferreth the ordinary
Church-Catechism, partly for obedience to Au
thority, partly for uniformity sake, that the same
common truths may be every where professed;
especially since many remove from Parish to
266 THE COUNTRY PARSON
Parish, who like Christian Souldiers are to give
the word and to satisfie the Congregation by their
Catholick answers. He exacts of all the Doctrine
of the Catechisme : of the younger sort, the very
words ; of the elder, the substance. Those he
Catechizeth publickly, these privately, giving age
honour according to the Apostle's rule, 1 Tim. 5, 1.
He requires all to be present at Catechizing: first,
for the authority of the work; Secondly, that
Parents and Masters, as they hear the answers
prove, may when they come home either com
mend or reprove, either reward or punish. Thirdly,
that those of the elder sort, who are not well
grounded, may then by an honourable way take
occasion to be better instructed. Fourthly, that
those who are well grown in the knowledg of Re
ligion may examine their grounds, renew their
vowes, and by occasion of both inlarge their medi
tations. When once all have learned the words of
the Catechisme, he thinks it the most usefull way
that a Pastor can take to go over the same, but
in other words. For many say the Catechisme by
rote, as parrats, without ever piercing into the sense
of it. In this course the order of the Catechisme
would be kept, but the rest varyed. As thus in the
Creed : How came this world to be as it is ? Was
it made, or came it by chance? Who made it?
Did you see God make it ? Then are there some
things to be beleeved that are not seen ? Is this the
nature of beliefe ? Is not Christianity full of such
CATECHIZING 267
things as are not to be seen, but beleeved ? You
said, God made the world ; Who is God ? And
so forward, requiring answers to all these, and
helping and cherishing the Answerer by making
the Question very plaine with comparisons, and
making much even of a word of truth from him.
This order being used to one would be a little
varyed to another. And this is an admirable way
of teaching, wherein the Catechized will at length
finde delight, and by which the Catechizer, if he
once get the skill of it, will draw out of ignorant
and silly1 souls even the dark and deep points of
Religion. Socrates did thus in Philosophy, who
held that the seeds of all truths lay in every body,
and accordingly by questions well ordered he
found Philosophy in silly Tradesmen. That posi
tion will not hold in Christianity, because it con
tains things above nature; but after that the
Catechisme is once learn'd, that which nature is
towards Philosophy the Catechisme is towards
Divinity. To this purpose some dialogues in Plato
were worth the reading, where the singular dex
terity of Socrates in this kind may be observed
and imitated. Yet the skill consists but in these
three points : First, an aim and mark of the whole
discourse whither to drive the Answerer, which
the Questionist must have in his mind before any
question be propounded, upon which and to which
the questions are to be chained. Secondly, a most
plain and easie framing the question, even con-
S66 THE COUNTRY PARSON
taining in vertue1 the answer also, especially to the
more ignorant. Thirdly, when the answerer sticks,
an illustrating the thing by something else which
he knows, making what hee knows to serve him in
that which he knows not : As, when the Parson
once demanded after other questions about man's
misery, Since man is so miserable, what is to be
done ? And the answerer could not tell; He asked
him again, what he would do if he were in a ditch ?
This familiar illustration made the answer so
plaine that he was even ashamed of his ignorance;
for he could not but say he would hast out of it as
fast he could. Then he proceeded to ask whether
he could get out of the ditch alone, or whether he
needed a helper, and who was that helper. This
is the skill, and doubtlesse the Holy Scripture
intends thus much when it condescends to the
naming of a plough, a hatchet, a bushell, leaven,
boyes piping and dancing; shewing that things of
ordinary use are not only to serve in the way of
drudgery, but to be washed and cleansed and serve
for lights even of Heavenly Truths. This is the
Practice which the Parson so much commends to
all his fellow-labourers; the secret of whose good
consists in this, that at Sermons and Prayers men
may sleep or wander; but when one is asked a
question, he must discover what he is. This prac
tice exceeds even Sermons in teaching. But there
being two things in Sermons, the one Informing,
the other Inflaming ; as Sermons come short of
CATECHIZING 269
questions in the one, so they farre exceed them in
the other. For questions cannot inflame or ravish;
that must be done by a set, and laboured, and
continued speech.
CHAPTER XXII
The Parson in Sacraments
THE Countrey Parson being to administer the
Sacraments, is at a stand with himself how
or what behaviour to assume for so holy things.
Especially at Communion times he is in a great
confusion, as being not only to receive God, but
to break and administer him. Neither findes he
any issue in this but to throw himself down at the
throne of grace, saying, Lord, thou knowest what
thou didst when thou appointedst it to be done
thus; therefore doe thou fulfill what thou didst
appoint; for thou art not only the feast, but the
way to it. At Baptisme, being himselfe in white,
he requires the presence of all, and Baptizeth not
willingly1 but on Sundayes or great dayes. Hee
admits no vaine or idle names, but such as are
usuall and accustomed.2 Hee says that prayer with
great devotion where God is thanked for calling
us to the knowledg of his grace, Baptisme being
a blessing that the world hath not the like. He
willingly and cheerfully crosseth the child, and
thinketh the Ceremony not onely innocent but
reverend. He instructeth the God-fathers and
God-mothers that it is no complementall or light
IN SACRAMENTS 271
thing to sustain that place, but a great honour
and no less burden, as being done both in the
presence of God and his Saints, and by way of
undertaking for a Christian soul. He adviseth
all to call to minde their Baptism often ; for if
wise men have thought it the best way of preserv
ing a state to reduce it to its principles by which
it grew great, certainly it is the safest course for
Christians also to meditate on their Baptisme
often (being the first step into their great and
glorious calling) and upon what termes and with
what vowes they were Baptized. At the times of
the Holy Communion he first takes order with the
Church- Wardens that the elements be of the best,
not cheape or course,1 much lesse ill-tasted or
unwholesome. Secondly, hee considers and looks
into the ignorance or carelessness of his flock, and
accordingly applies himselfe with Catechizings and
lively exhortations, not on the Sunday of the Com
munion only (for then it is too late,) but the Sun
day, or Sundayes before the Communion, or on
the Eves of all those dayes. If there be any who,
having not received yet, is to enter into this great
work, he takes the more pains with them, that hee
may lay the foundation of future Blessings. The
time of every one's first receiving is not so much
by yeers as by understanding, particularly the rule
may be this: When any one can distinguish the
Sacramentall from common bread, knowing the
Institution and the difference, hee ought to receive,
272 THE COUNTRY PARSON
of what age soever. Children and youths are
usually deferred too long, under pretence of de
votion to the Sacrament, but it is for want of In
struction; their understandings being ripe enough
for ill things, and why not then for better? But
Parents and Masters should make hast in this, as
to a great purchase for their children and servants;
which while they deferr, both sides suffer: the one,
in wanting many excitings of grace; the other,
in being worse served and obeyed. The saying of
the Catechism is necessary, but not enough; be
cause to answer in form may still admit ignorance.
But the Questions must be propounded loosely
and wildely,1 and then the Answerer will discover
what hee is. Thirdly, For the manner of receiving,
as the Parson useth all reverence himself, so he
administers to none but to the reverent. The
Feast indeed requires sitting, because it is a Feast;
but man's unpreparednesse asks kneeling. Hee
that comes to the Sacrament hath the confidence
of a Guest, and hee that kneels confesseth himself
an unworthy one and therefore differs from other
Feasters; but hee that sits, or lies, puts up to2 an
Apostle. Contentiousnesse in a feast of Charity
is more scandall then any posture. Fourthly,
touching the frequency of the Communion, the
Parson celebrates it, if not duly once a month, yet
at least five or six times in the year: as, at Easter,
Christmasse, Whitsuntide, afore and after Har
vest, and the beginning of Lent. And this hee doth
IN SACRAMENTS 273
not onely for the benefit of the work, but also for
the discharge of the Church- wardens ; who being
to present all that receive not thrice a year, if
there be but three Communions, neither can all the
people so order their affairs as to receive just at
those times, nor the Church- Wardens so well take
notice who receive thrice and who not.
CHAPTER XXIII
The Parson's Completenesse
THE Countrey Parson desires to be all to his
Parish, and not onely a Pastour, but a
Lawyer also, and a Physician. Therefore hee
endures not that any of his Flock should go to
Law, but in any Controversie that they should
resort to him as their Judge. To this end he hath
gotten to himself some insight in things ordinarily
incident and controverted, by experience and by
reading some initiatory treatises in the Law, with
Dalton's Justice of Peace1 and the Abridgements
of the Statutes, as also by discourse with men
of that profession, whom he hath ever some cases
to ask when he meets with them ; holding that
rule that to put men to discourse of that wherein
they are most eminent is the most gainfull way of
Conversation. Yet when ever any controversie is
brought to him he never decides it alone, but
sends for three or four of the ablest of the Parish
to hear the cause with him, whom he makes to
deliver their opinion first; out of which he gathers,
in case he be ignorant Tiimself, what to hold; and
so the thing passeth with more authority and
lesse envy. In Judging, he followes that which is
HIS COMPLETENESSE 275
altogether right; so that if the poorest man of the
Parish detain but a pin unjustly from the richest,
he absolutely restores it as a Judge; but when he
hath so done, then he assumes the Parson and
exhorts to Charity. Neverthelesse, there may hap
pen sometimes some cases wherein he chooseth to
permit his Parishioners rather to make use of the
Law then himself; As in cases of an obscure and
dark nature, not easily determinable by Lawyers
themselves ; or in cases of high consequence, as
establishing of inheritances; or Lastly, when the
persons in difference are of a contentious disposi
tion and cannot be gained, but that they still fall
from all compromises that have been made. But
then he shews them how to go to Law, even as
Brethren and not as enemies, neither avoyding
therefore one another's company, much less de
faming one another. Now as the Parson is in Law,
so is he in sicknesse also: if there be any of his
flock sick, hee is their Physician, or at least his
Wife, of whom in stead of the qualities of the
world he asks no other but to have the skill of
healing a wound or helping the sick. But if neither
himselfe nor his wife have the skil, and his means
serve, hee keepes some young practitioner in his
house for the benefit of his Parish, whom yet he
ever exhorts not to exceed his bounds, but in tickle1
cases to call in help. If all fail, then he keeps good
.correspondence with some neighbour Phisician,
and entertaines him for the Cure of his Parish.
276 THE COUNTRY PARSON
Yet is it easie for any Scholer to attaine to such a
measure of Phisick as may be of much use to him
both for himself and others. This is done by seeing
one Anatomy,1 reading one Book of Phisick, having
one Herball by him. And let Fernelius2 be the
Phisick Authour, for he writes briefly, neatly, and
judiciously; especially let his Method of Phisick be
diligently perused, as being the practicall part and
of most use. Now both the reading of him and
the knowing of herbs may be done at such times
as they may be an help and a recreation to more
divine studies, Nature serving Grace both in com
fort of diversion and the benefit of application
when need requires ; as also by way of illustration,
even as our Saviour made plants and seeds to
teach the people. For he was the true householder,
who bringeth out of his treasure things new and
old; the old things of Philosophy, and the new of
Grace; and maketh the one serve the other. And
I conceive our Saviour did this for three reasons :
first, that by familiar things he might make his
Doctrine slip the more easily into the hearts even
of the meanest. Secondly, that labouring people
(whom he chiefly considered) might have every
where monuments of his Doctrine, remembring in
gardens his mustard-seed and lillyes; in the field,
his seed-corn and tares; and so not be drowned
altogether in the works of their vocation, but some
times lift up their minds to better things, even in
the midst of their pains. Thirdly, that he might
HIS COMPLETENESSE 277
set a Copy for Parsons. In the knowledge of sim
ples, wherein the manifold wisedome of God is
wonderfully to be seen, one thing would be care
fully observed : which is, to know what herbs may
be used in stead of drugs of the same nature, and
to make the garden the shop. For home-bred
medicines are both more easie for the Parson's
purse, and more familiar for all men's bodyes. So,
where the Apothecary useth either for loosing,
Rubarb, or for binding, Bolearmena,1 the Parson
useth damask or white Roses for the one, and
plantaine, shepherd's purse, knot-grasse for the
other, and that with better successe. As for spices,
he doth not onely prefer home-bred things before
them, but condemns them for vanities and so
shuts them out of his family, esteeming that there
is no spice comparable, for herbs, to rosemary,
time, savoury, mints; and for seeds, to Fennell
and Carroway seeds. Accordingly, for salves his
wife seeks not the city, but preferrs her garden and
fields before all outlandish gums. And surely
hyssope, valerian, mercury, adder's tongue, yerrow,
melilot, and Saint John's wort made into a salve;
And Elder, camomill, mallowes, comphrey and
smallage made into a Poultis, have done great and
rare cures. In curing of any, the Parson and his
Family use to premise prayers, for this is to cure
like a Parson, and this raiseth the action from the
Shop to the Church. But though the Parson sets
forward all Charitable deeds, yet he looks not in
278
THE COUNTRY PARSON
this point of Curing beyond his own Parish, except
the person bee so poor that he is not able to reward
the Phisician; for as hee is Charitable, so he is just
also. Now it is a justice and debt to the Common
wealth he lives in not to incroach on other's Pro
fessions, but to live on his own. And justice is the
ground of Chanty.
CHAPTER XXIV
The Parson Arguing
THE Countrey Parson, if there be any of his
parish that hold strange Doctrins, useth all
possible diligence to reduce1 them to the common
Faith. The first means he useth is Prayer, beseech
ing the Father of lights to open their eyes, and to
give him power so to fit his discourse to them that
it may effectually pierce their hearts and convert
them. The second means is a very loving and
sweet usage of them, both in going to and sending
for them often, and in finding out Courtesies to
place on them; as in their tithes or otherwise. The
third means is the observation what is the main
foundation and pillar of their cause, wherein they
rely; as if he be a Papist, the Church is the hinge
he turnes on; if a Scismatick, scandall. Wherefore
the Parson hath diligently examined these two with
himselfe, as what the Church is, how it began, how
it proceeded, whether it be a rule to it selfe, whether
it hath a rule, whether having a rule, it ought not
to be guided by it; whether any rule in the world
be obscure, and how then should the best be so, at
least in fundamentall things, the obscurity in some
points being the exercise of the Church, the light
280
THE COUNTRY PARSON
in the foundations being the guide; The Church
needing both an evidence, and an exercise. So for
Scandall : what scandall is, when given or taken ;
whether, there being two precepts, one of obey
ing Authority, the other of not giving scandall,
that ought not to be preferred, especially since in
disobeying there is scandall also ; whether things
once indifferent being made by the precept of
Authority more then indifferent, it be in our power
to omit or refuse them. These and the like points
hee hath accurately digested, having ever besides
two great helps and powerfull perswaders on his
side : the one, a strict religious life ; the other an
humble, and ingenuous search of truth ; being
unmoved in arguing and voyd of all contentious-
nesse : which are two great lights able to dazle the
eyes of the mis-led, while they consider that God
cannot be wanting to them in Doctrine to whom
he is so gracious in Life.
CHAPTER XXV
The Parson Punishing
"T1TTHENSOEVER the Countrey Parson pro-
V V ceeds so farre as to call in Authority, and
to do such things of legall opposition either in the
presenting or punishing of any as the vulgar ever
consters1 for signes of ill will, he forbears not in
any wise to use the delinquent as before in his
behaviour and carriage towards him, not avoyding
his company or doing any thing of aversenesse,
save in the very act of punishment. Neither doth
he esteem him for an enemy, but as a brother
still, except some small and temporary estranging
may corroborate the punishment to a better sub
duing and humbling of the delinquent; which if
it happily take effect, he then comes on the faster,
and makes so much the more of him as before
he alienated himself e ; doubling his regards, and
shewing by all means that the delinquent's returne
is to his advantage.
CHAPTER XXVI
The Parsoris Eye
Countrey Parson at spare times from
I action, standing on a hill and considering
his Flock, discovers two sorts of vices and two
sorts of vicious persons. There are some vices
whose natures are alwayes deer and evident, as
Adultery, Murder, Hatred, Lying, &c. There are
other vices whose natures, at least in the begin
ning, are dark and obscure : as Covetousnesse and
Gluttony. So likewise there are some persons who
abstain not even from known sins ; there are
others who when they know a sin evidently, they
commit it not. It is true indeed they are long a
knowing it, being partiall to themselves and witty
to others who shall reprove them from it. A man
may be both Covetous and Intemperate, and yet
hear Sermons against both and himselfe condemn
both in good earnest. And the reason hereof is
because the natures of these vices being not evi
dently discussed, or known commonly, the begin
nings of them are not easily observable. And the
beginnings of them are not observed because of
the suddain passing from that which was just now
lawfull to that which is presently unlawfull, even
HIS EYE 283
in one continued action. So a man dining, eats
at first lawfully; but proceeding on, comes to do
unlawfully, even before he is aware; not knowing
the bounds of the action, nor when his eating
begins to be unlawfull. So a man storing up mony
for his necessary provisions, both in present for his
family and in future for his children, hardly per
ceives when his storing becomes unlawfull. Yet
is there a period for his storing, and a point or
center when his storing, which was even now
good, passeth from good to bad. Wherefore the
Parson being true to his businesse, hath exactly
sifted the definitions of all vertues and vices ; es
pecially canvasing those whose natures are most
stealing and beginnings uncertain^. Particularly
concerning these two vices, not because they are
all that are of this dark and creeping disposition,
but for example sake and because they are most
common, he thus thinks : first, for covetousnes, he
lays this ground, Whosoever when a just occasion
cals, either spends not at all, or not in some pro
portion to God's blessing upon him, is covetous.
The reason of the ground is manifest, because
wealth is given to that end to supply our occasions.
Now if I do not give every thing its end, I abuse
the Creature, I am false to my reason which should
guide me, I offend the supreme Judg in perverting
that order which he hath set both to things and to
reason. The application of the ground would be
infinite ; but in brief, a poor man is an occasion,
284 THE COUNTRY PARSON
my countrey is an occasion, my friend is an occa
sion, my Table is an occasion, my apparell is an
occasion; if in all these, and those more which
concerne me, I either do nothing, or pinch, and
scrape, and squeeze blood undecently to the station
wherein God hath placed me, I am Covetous.
More particularly, and to give one instance for all,
if God have given me servants, and I either pro
vide too little for them or that which is unwhole
some, being sometimes baned1 meat, sometimes too
salt, and so not competent nourishment, I am
Covetous. I bring this example because men
usually think that servants for their mony are as
other things that they buy, even as a piece of wood,
which they may cut, or hack, or throw into the
fire, and so they pay them their wages all is well.
Nay, to descend yet more particularly, if a man
hath wherewithall to buy a spade, and yet hee
chuseth rather to use his neighbour's and wear out
that, he is covetous. Nevertheless, few bring covet-
ousness thus low, or consider it so narrowly, which
yet ought to be done, since there is a Justice in the
least things, and for the least there shall be a judg
ment. Countrey-people are full of these petty
injustices, being cunning to make use of another
and spare themselves. And Scholers ought to be
diligent in the observation of these, and driving
of their generall Schoole rules ever to the smallest
actions of Life ; which while they dwell in their
bookes, they will never finde, but being seated in
HIS EYE 285
the Countrey and doing their duty faithfully, they
will soon discover; especially if they carry their
eyes ever open and fix them on their charge, and
not on their preferment. Secondly, for Gluttony,
The Parson lays this ground, He that either for
quantity eats more than his health or imployments
will bear, or for quality is licorous after dainties, is
a glutton; as he that eats more than his estate will
bear, is a Prodigall ; and he that eats offensively
to the Company, either in his order or length
of eating, is scandalous and uncharitable. These
three rules generally comprehend the faults of
eating, and the truth of them needs no proof e; so
that men must eat neither to the disturbance of
their health, nor of their affairs, (which, being over
burdened or studying dainties too much, they
cannot wel dispatch) nor of their estate, nor of
their brethren. One act in these things is bad, but
it is the custome and habit that names a glutton.
Many think they are at more liberty then they are,
as if they were masters of their health, and so they
will stand to the pain all is well. But to eat to one's
hurt comprehends, besides the hurt, an act against
reason, because it is unnaturall to hurt one's self;
and this they are not masters of. Yet of hurtfull
things, I am more bound to abstain from those
which by mine own experience I have found hurt-
full then from those which by a Common tradi
tion and vulgar knowledge are reputed to be so.
That which is said of hurtfull meats extends to
286 THE COUNTRY PARSON
hurtfull drinks also. As for the quantity, touching
our imployments, none must eat so as to disable
themselves from a fit discharging either of Divine
duties or duties of their calling. So that if after
Dinner they are not fit (or un-weeldy) either to
pray or work, they are gluttons. Not that all must
presently work after dinner, (For they rather must
not work, especially Students, and those that are
weakly,) but that they must rise so as that it is not
meate or drinke that hinders them from working.
To guide them in this there are three rules : first,
the custome and knowledg of their own body, and
what it can well disgest ; The second, the feeling
of themselves in time of eating, which because it
is deceitfull; (for one thinks in eating, that he can
eat more then afterwards he finds true); The
third is the observation with what appetite they sit
down. This last rule joyned with the first never
fails. For knowing what one usually can well
disgest and feeling when I go to meat in what
disposition I am, either hungry or not, according
as I feele my self either I take my wonted propor
tion or diminish of it. Yet Phisicians bid those
that would live in health not keep an uniform diet,
but to feed variously, now more, now lesse. And
Gerson,1 a spirituall man, wisheth all to incline
rather to too much than to too little; his reason is,
because diseases of exinanition are more danger
ous then diseases of repletion. But the Parson
distinguisheth according to his double aime, either
HIS EYE 287
of Abstinence a moral vertue or Mortification a
divine. When he deals with any that is heavy and
carnall, he gives him those freer rules; but when
he meets with a refined and heavenly disposition,
he carryes them higher, even sometimes to a for
getting of themselves, knowing that there is one
who when they forget remembers for them ; As
when the people hungred and thirsted after our
Saviour's Doctrine, and tarryed so long at it that
they would have fainted had they returned empty,
He suffered it not; but rather made food miracu
lously then suffered so good desires to miscarry.
CHAPTER XXVII
The Parson in Mirth
T MHE Countrey Parson is generally sad, because
JL hee knows nothing but the Crosse of Christ,
his minde being defixed 1 on and with those nailes
wherewith his Master was. Or if he have any lei
sure to look off from thence, he meets continually
with two most sad spectacles, Sin, and Misery,
God dishonoured every day and man afflicted.
Neverthelesse, he somtimes refresheth himself, as
knowing that nature will not bear everlasting
droopings, and that pleasantnesse of disposition is
a great key to do good; not onely because all men
shun the company of perpetuall severity, but also
for that when they are in company instructions
seasoned with pleasantness both enter sooner and
roote deeper. Wherefore he condescends to hu
mane frailties both in himselfe and others, and
intermingles some mirth in his discourses occasion
ally according to the pulse of the hearer.
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Parson in Contempt
THE Countrey Parson knows well that both
for the generall ignominy which is cast upon
the profession, and much more for those rules
which out of his choysest judgment hee hath re
solved to observe, and which are described in this
Book, he must be despised ; because this hath
been the portion of God his Master and of God's
Saints his Brethren, and this is foretold that it
shall be so still until things be no more. Never-
thelesse, according to the Apostle's rule he en
deavours that none shall despise him ; especially
in his own Parish he suffers it not to his utmost
power; for that where contempt is, there is no
room for instruction. This he procures, first, by
his holy and unblameable life, which carries a
reverence with it even above contempt. Secondly,
by a courteous carriage and winning behaviour:
he that wil be respected, must respect ; doing
kindnesses but receiving none, at least of those
who are apt to despise; for this argues a height
and eminency of mind which is not easily despised,
except it degenerate to pride. Thirdly, by a bold
and impartial reproof1 even of the best in the
290 THE COUNTRY PARSON
Parish, when occasion requires; for this may pro
duce hatred in those that are reproved, but never
contempt either in them, or others. Lastly, if the
contempt shall proceed so far as to do any thing
punishable by law, as contempt is apt to do, if it
be not thwarted, the Parson having a due respect
both to the person and to the cause, referreth the
whole matter to the examination and punishment
of those which are in Authority ; that so the sen
tence lighting upon one, the example may reach
to all. But if the Contempt be not punishable
by Law, or being so the Parson think it in his
descretion either unfit or bootelesse to contend,
then when any despises him, he takes it either in
an humble way, saying nothing at all; or else in a
slighting way, shewing that reproaches touch him
no more then a stone thrown against heaven,
where he is and lives ; or in a sad way, grieved at
his own and others' sins, which continually breake
God's Laws and dishonour him with those mouths
which he continually fils and feeds ; or else in a
doctrinall way, saying to the contemner, Alas,
why do you thus ? you hurt your selfe, not me; he
that throws a stone at another hits himself e; and
so between gentle reasoning and pitying he over
comes the evill; or lastly, in a Triumphant way,
being glad and joyfull that hee is made conform
able to his Master; and being in the world as he
was, hath this undoubted pledge of his salvation.
These are the five shields wherewith the Godly
IN CONTEMPT 291
receive the darts of the wicked; leaving anger and
retorting and revenge to the children of the world,
whom another's ill mastereth and leadeth captive
without any resistance, even in resistance to the
same destruction. For while they resist the person
that reviles, they resist not the evill which takes
hold of them and is fan the worse enemy.
CHAPTER XXIX
The Parson with his Church-Wardens
THE Countrey Parson doth often, both pub-
lickly and privately instruct his Church-
Wardens what a great Charge lyes upon them,
and that indeed the whole order and discipline of
the Parish is put into their hands. If himselfe
reforme anything, it is out of the overflowing of
his Conscience, whereas they are to do it by Com
mand and by Oath. Neither hath the place its
dignity from the Ecclesiasticall Laws only, since
even by the Common Statute-Law they are taken
for a kinde of Corporation, as being persons en
abled by that Name to take moveable goods or
chattels, and to sue and to be sued at the Law
concerning such goods for the use and profit of
their Parish; and by the same Law they are to
levy penalties for negligence in resorting to church,
or for disorderly carriage in time of divine service.
Wherefore the Parson suffers not the place to be
vilified or debased by being cast on the lower
ranke of people, but invites and urges the best
unto it, shewing that they do not loose or go lesse
but gaine by it; it being the greatest honor of this
world to do God and his chosen service, or as
WITH HIS CHURCH-WARDENS 293
David says, to be even a door-keeper in the house
of God. Now the Canons being the Church- War
den's rule, the Parson adviseth them to read or
hear them read often, as also the visitation Arti
cles which are grounded upon the Canons, that so
they may know their duty and keep their oath
the better. In which regard, considering the great
Consequence of their place and more of their
oath, he wisheth them by no means to spare any,
though never so great ; but if after gentle and
neighbourly admonitions they still persist in ill,
to present them ; yea though they be tenants, or
otherwise ingaged to the delinquent. For their
obligation to God and their own soul is above
any temporall tye. Do well and right, and let the
world sinke.
CHAPTER XXX
The Parson's Consideration of Providence
THE Countrey Parson considering the great
aptnesse Countrey people have to think that
all things come by a kind of naturall course, and
that if they sow and soyle their grounds, they must
have corn ; if they keep and fodder well their
cattel, they must have milk and Calves; labours
to reduce them to see God's hand in all things, and
to beleeve that things are not set in such an in
evitable order but that God often changeth it
according as he sees fit, either for reward or pun
ishment. To this end he represents to his flock
that God hath and exerciseth a threefold power in
every thing which concernes man. The first is a
sustaining power, the second a governing power,
the third a spirituall power. By his sustaining
power he preserves and actuates every thing in his
being, so that come doth not grow by any other
vertue then by that which he continually supplyes,
as the corn needs it ; without which supply the
corne would instantly dry up, as a river would
if the fountain were stopped. And it is observable
that if anything could presume of an inevitable
course and constancy in their operations, cer-
CONSIDERATION OF PROVIDENCE 295
tainly it should be either the sun in heaven or the
fire on earth, by reason of their fierce, strong, and
violent natures ; yet when God pleased, the sun
stood stil, the fire burned not. By God's gov
erning power he preserves and orders the refer
ences of things one to the other, so that though
the corn do grow and be preserved in that act
by his sustaining power, yet if he suite not other
things to the growth, as seasons and weather and
other accidents by his governing power, the fairest
harvests come to nothing. And it is observable,
that God delights to have men feel and acknow-
ledg and reverence his power, and therefore he
often overturnes things when they are thought
past danger ; that is his time of interposing : As
when a Merchant hath a ship come home after
many a storme which it hath escaped, he destroyes
it sometimes in the very Haven; or if the goods
be housed, a fire hath broken forth and suddenly
consumed them.. Now this he doth that men
should perpetuate and not break off their acts
of dependance, how faire soever the opportunities
present themselves. So that if a farmer should
depend upon God all the yeer, and being ready to
put hand to sickle shall then secure himself and
think all cock-sure; then God sends such weather
as lays the corn and destroys it; or if he depend
on God further, even till he imbarn his corn, and
then think all sure; God sends a fire, and con
sumes all that he hath; For that he ought not to
296 THE COUNTRY PARSON
break off, but to continue his dependance on God,
not onely before the corne is inned, but after also;
and indeed to depend and fear continually. The
third power is spirituall, by which God turnes all
outward blessings to inward advantages. So that
if a Farmer hath both a faire harvest, and that
also well inned and imbarned and continuing
safe there, yet if God give him not the Grace to
use and utter this well, all his advantages are to
his losse. Better were his corne burnt then not
spiritually improved. And it is observable in this,
how God's goodnesse strives with man's refracto-
rinesse. Man would sit down at this world;
God bids him sell it and purchase a better. Just
as a Father, who hath in his hand an apple and
a piece of Gold under it ; the Child comes, and
with pulling gets the apple out of his Father's
hand; his Father bids him throw it away and he
will give him the gold for it, which the Child
utterly refusing, eats it and is troubled with
wormes.1 So is the carnall and wilfull man with
the worm of the grave in this world, and the worm
of Conscience in the next.
CHAPTER XXXI
The Parsvn, in Liberty
THE Countrey Parson observing the manifold
wiles of Satan (who playes his part sometimes
in drawing God's Servants from him, sometimes in
perplexing them in the service of God) stands fast
in the Liberty wherewith Christ hath made us
free. This Liberty he compasseth by one distinc
tion, and that is, of what is Necessary and what is
Additionary. As for example : It is necessary, that
all Christians should pray twice a day, every day
of the week, and four times on Sunday, if they
be well. This is so necessary and essentiall to a
Christian that he cannot without this maintain
himself in a Christian state. Besides this, the
Godly have ever added some houres of prayer,
as at nine, or at three, or at midnight, or as they
think fit and see cause, or rather as God's spirit
leads them. But these prayers are not necessary,
but additionary. Now it so happens that the godly
petitioner upon some emergent interruption in the
day, or by oversleeping himself at night, omits his
additionary prayer. Upon this his mind begins to
be perplexed and troubled, and Satan, who knows
the exigent,1 blows the fire, endeavouring to dis-
298 THE COUNTRY PARSON
order the Christian and put him out of his station,
and to inlarge the perplexity, untill it spread and
taint his other duties of piety, which none can per
form so wel in trouble as in calmness. Here the
Parson interposeth with his distinction, and shews
the perplexed Christian that this prayer being
additionary, not necessary, taken in, not com
manded, the omission thereof upon just occasion
ought by no means trouble him. God knows the
occasion as wel as he, and He is as a gracious
Father, who more accepts a common course of
devotion then dislikes an occasionall interruption.
And of this he is so to assure himself as to admit no
scruple, but to go on as cheerfully as if he had not
been interrupted. By this it is evident that the
distinction is of singular use and comfort, espe
cially to pious minds, which are ever tender and
delicate. But here there are two Cautions to be
added. First, that this interruption proceed not out
of slacknes or coldness, which will appear if the
Pious soul foresee and prevent such interruptions,
what he may before they come, and when for all
that they do come he be a little affected therewith,
but not afflicted or troubled ; if he resent it to a
mislike, but not a griefe. Secondly, that this inter
ruption proceede not out of shame. As for exam
ple: A godly man, not out of superstition, but of
reverence to God's house, resolves whenever he
enters into a Church to kneel down and pray,
either blessing God that he will be pleased to
IN LIBERTY 299
dwell among men; or beseeching him, that when
ever he repaires to his house, he may behave him
self so as befits so great a presence; and this
briefly. But it happens that neer the place where
he is to pray he spyes some scoffing ruffian, who is
likely to deride him for his paines. If he now shall
either for fear or shame break his custome, he
shall do passing ill. So much the rather ought he
to proceed as that by this he may take into his
Prayer humiliation also. On the other side, if I
am to visit the sick in haste and my neerest way ly
through the Chunch, I will not doubt to go without
staying to pray there (but onely, as I passe, in my
heart) because this kinde of Prayer is additionary,
not necessary, and the other duty overweighs it.
So that if any scruple arise, I will throw it away,
and be most confident that God is not displeased.
This distinction may runne through all Christian
duties, and it is a great stay and setling to religious
souls.
CHAPTER XXXII
The Parson's Surveys
Countrey Parson hath not onely taken a
J_ particular Servey of the faults of his own
Parish, but a generall also of the diseases of the
time, that so when his occasions carry him abroad
or bring strangers to him he may be the better
armed to encounter them. The great and nationall
sin of this Land he esteems to be Idlenesse;1 great
in it selfe, and great in Consequence. For when
men have nothing to do, then they fall to drink,
to steal, to whore, to scoffe, to revile, to all sorts
of gainings. Come, say they, we have nothing to
do, lets go to the Tavern, or to the stews or what
not. Wherefore the Parson strongly opposeth this
sin, whersoever he goes. And because Idleness is
twofold, the one in having no calling, the other in
walking carelesly in our calling, he first represents
to every body the necessity of a vocation. The
reason of this assertion is taken from the nature of
man, wherein God hath placed two great Instru
ments, Reason in the soul and a hand in the Body,
as ingagements of working; So that even in Para
dise man had a calling, and how much more out of
Paradise, when the evills which he is now subject
HIS SURVEYS 301
unto may be prevented, or diverted by reasonable
imployment. Besides, every gift or ability is a tal
ent to be accounted for and to be improved to our
Master's Advantage. Yet is it also a debt to our
Countrey to have a Calling, and it concernes the
Common-wealth that none should be idle, but all
busied. Lastly, riches are the blessing of God and
the great instrument of doing admirable good;
therfore all are to procure them honestly and sea
sonably, when they are not better imployed. Now
this reason crosseth not our Saviour's precept of
selling what we have, because when we have sold
all and given it to the poor, we must not be idle,
but labour to get more that we may give more,
according to St. Paul's rule, Ephes. 4. 28, 1 Thes.
4. 11, 12. So that our Saviour's selling is so far from
crossing Saint Paul's working that it rather estab-
lisheth it, since they that have nothing are fittest to
work. Now because the onely opposer to this Doc
trine is the Gallant who is witty enough to abuse
both others and himself, and who is ready to ask
if he shall mend shoos, or what he shall do ? Ther
fore the Parson unmoved sheweth that ingenuous
and fit imployment is never wanting to those that
seek it. But if it should be, the Assertion stands
thus: All are either to have a Calling or prepare
for it. He that hath or can have yet no imployment,
if he truly and seriously prepare for it, he is safe
and within bounds. Wherefore all are either pre
sently to enter into a Calling, if they be fit for it,
302 THE COUNTRY PARSON
and it for them ; or else to examine with care and
advice what they are fittest for, and to prepare for
that with all diligence. But it will not be amisse
in this exceeding usefull point to descend to par
ticulars, for exactnesse lyes in particulars. Men
are either single, or marryed. The marryed and
house-keeper hath his hands full, if he do what
he ought to do. For there are two branches of
his affaires: first, the improvement of his family
by bringing them up in the fear and nurture of
the Lord ; and secondly, the improvement of his
grounds, by drowning1 or draining, stocking or
fencing, and ordering his land to the best advan
tage both of himself and his neighbours. The
Italian says, None fouls his hands in his own busi-
nesse ; and it is an honest and just care, so it
exceeds not bounds, for every one to imploy him
self e to the advancement of his affairs, that hee may
have wherewithall to do good. But his family is
his best care, to labour Christian soules and raise
them to their height, even to heaven ; to dresse
and prune them, and take as much joy in a straight-
growing childe or servant as a Gardiner doth in a
choice tree. Could men finde out this delight, they
would seldome be from home; whereas now, of
any place, they are least there. But if after all this
care well dispatched, the house-keeper's Family
be so small and his dexterity so great that he have
leisure to look out, the Village or Parish which
either he lives in or is neer unto it is his imploy-
HIS SURVEYS 303
ment. Hee considers every one there, and either
helps them in particular or hath generall Proposi
tions to the whole Towne or Hamlet of advancing
the publick Stock, and managing Commons or
Woods, according as the place suggests. But if hee
may bee of the Commission of Peace, there is no
thing to that.1 No Common- wealth in the world
hath a braver Institution then that of Justices of
the Peace. For it is both a security to the King,
who hath so many dispersed Officers at his beck
throughout the Kingdome accountable for the
publick good, and also an honourable Imploy-
ment of a Gentle or Noble-man in the Country
he lives in, inabling him with power to do good,
and to restrain all those who else might both
trouble him and the whole State. Wherefore it
behoves all who are come to the gravitie and ripe-
nesse of judgement for so excellent a Place not
to refuse, but rather to procure it. And whereas
there are usually three Objections made against
the Place: the one, the abuse of it by taking petty-
Countrey-bribes ; the other, the casting of it on
mean persons, especially in some Shires ; and
lastly, the trouble of it ; These are so far from
deterring any good man from the place that they
kindle them rather to redeem the Dignity either
from true faults or unjust aspersions. Now for
single men, they are either Heirs or younger Bro
thers. The Heirs are to prepare in all the fore-
mentioned points against the time of their practice.
304 THE COUNTRY PARSON
Therefore they are to mark their Father's discre
tion in ordering his House and Affairs, and also
elsewhere when they see any remarkable point of
Education or good husbandry, and to transplant
it in time to his own home with the same care
as others when they meet with good fruit get a
graffe of the tree, inriching their Orchard and
neglecting their House. Besides, they are to read
Books of Law and Justice, especially the Stat
utes at large. As for better Books of Divinity, they
are not in this Consideration, because we are about
a Calling and a preparation thereunto. But chiefly
and above all things, they are to frequent Sessions
and Sizes ; for it is both an honor which they owe
to the Reverend Judges and Magistrates to attend
them, at least in their Shire, and it is a great ad
vantage to know the practice of the Land; for our
Law is Practice. Sometimes he may go to Court,
as the eminent place both of good and ill. At other
times he is to travell over the King's Dominions,
cutting out the Kingdome into Portions, which
every yeer he surveys peece-meal. When there is a
Parliament, he is to endeavour by all means to be
a Knight or Burgess there; for there is no School
to a Parliament. And when he is there, he must not
only be a morning man,1 but at Committees also ;
for there the particulars are exactly discussed
which are brought from thence to the House but in
generall. When none of these occasions call him
abroad, every morning that hee is at home he must
HIS SURVEYS 305
either ride the Great Horse * or exercise some of his
Military gestures. For all Gentlemen that are not
weakned2 and disarmed with sedentary lives are to
know the use of their Arms ; and as the Husband
man labours for them, so must they fight for and
defend them when occasion calls. This is the duty
of each to other, which they ought to fulfill. And
the Parson is a lover and exciter to justice in all
things, even as John the Baptist squared out to
every one (even to Souldiers) what to do. As for
younger Brothers, those whom the Parson finds
loose and not ingaged into some Profession by
their Parents, whose neglect in this point is intoler
able and a shamefull wrong both to the Common
wealth and their own House ; To them, after he
hath shewed the unlawfulness of spending the day
in dressing, Complementing, visiting and sporting,
he first commends the study of the Civill Law,
as a brave and wise knowledg, the Professours
whereof were much imployed by Queen Elizabeth,
because it is the key of Commerce and discovers
the Rules of forraine Nations. Secondly, he com
mends the Mathematicks as the only wonder
working knowledg, and therefore requiring the
best spirits. After the severall knowledg of these,
he adviseth to insist and dwell chiefly on the
two noble branches therof, of Fortification and
Navigation; The one being usefull to all Coun-
treys, and the other especially to Hands. But if
the young Gallant think these Courses dull and
306
THE COUNTRY PARSON
phlegmatick, where can he busie himself better
then in those new Plantations1 and discoveryes
which are not only a noble but also, as they may
be handled, a religious imployment ? Or let him
travel into Germany and France, and observing
the Artifices and Manufactures there, transplant
them hither, as divers have done lately to our
Countrey's advantage.
CHAPTER XXXIII
The Parson's Library
THE Countrey Parson's Library is a holy Life;
for besides the blessing that that brings upon
it, there being a promise that if the Kingdome of
God be first sought all other things shall be added,
even it selfe is a Sermon. For the temptations
with which a good man is beset, and the ways
which he used to overcome them, being told to
another, whether in private conference or in the
Church, are a Sermon. Hee that hath considered
how to carry himself at table about his appetite,
if he tell this to another, preacheth ; and much
more feelingly and judiciously then he writes his
rules of temperance out of bookes. So that the
Parson having studied and mastered all his lusts
and affections within, and the whole Army of
Temptations without, hath ever so many sermons
ready penn'd as he hath victories. And it fares
in this as it doth in Physick: He that hath been
sick of a Consumption and knows what recovered
him, is a Physitian so far as he meetes with the
same disease and temper; and can much better
and particularly do it then he that is generally
learned, and was never sick. And if the same
308 THE COUNTRY PARSON
person had been sick of all diseases and were re
covered of all by things that he knew, there were
no such Physician as he, both for skill and tender-
nesse. Just so it is in Divinity, and that not with
out manifest reason: for though the temptations
may be diverse in divers Christians, yet the victory
is alike in all, being by the self -same Spirit. Neither
is this true onely in the military state of a Chris
tian life, but even in the peaceable also; when the
servant of God, freed for a while from temptation,
in a quiet sweetnesse seeks how to please his God.
Thus the Parson, considering that repentance is
the great vertue of the Gospel and one of the first
steps of pleasing God, having for his owne use
examined the nature of it is able to explaine it
after to others. And particularly having doubted
sometimes whether his repentance were true, or
at least in that degree it ought to be, since he
found himselfe sometimes to weepe more for the
losse of some temporall things then for offend
ing God, he came at length to this resolution,
that repentance is an act of the mind not of the
Body, even as the Originall signifies ; and that
the chiefe thing which God in Scriptures requires
is the heart and the spirit, and to worship him in
truth and spirit. Wherefore in case a Christian
endeavour to weep and cannot, since we are not
Masters of our bodies, this sufficeth. And con
sequently he found that the essence of repentance,
that it may be alike in all God's children (which
HIS LIBRARY 309
as concerning weeping it cannot be, some being of
a more melting temper then others) consisteth in
a true detestation of the soul, abhorring and re
nouncing sin, and turning unto God in truth of
heart and newnesse of life ; Which acts of re
pentance are and must be found in all God's ser
vants. Not that weeping is not usefull where it
can be, that so the body may joyn in the grief as
it did in the sin; but that, so the other acts be,
that is not necessary; so that he as truly repents
who performes the other acts of repentance, when
he cannot more, as he that weeps a floud of tears.
This Instruction and comfort the Parson getting
for himself, when he tels it to others becomes a
Sermon. The like he doth in other Christian
vertues, as of faith and Love, and the Cases of
Conscience belonging thereto, wherein (as Saint
Paul implyes that he ought, Romans 2.) hee first
preacheth to himselfe, and then to others.
CHAPTER XXXIV
The Parson's Dexterity in applying of Remedies
Countrey Parson knows that there is a
JL double state of a Christian even in this Life,
the one military, the other peaceable. The military
is when we are assaulted with temptations either
from within or from without. The Peaceable is
when the Divell for a time leaves us, as he did our
Saviour, and the Angels minister to us their owne
food, even joy and peace and comfort in the holy
Ghost. These two states were in our Saviour, not
only in the beginning of his preaching, but after
wards also, as Mat. 2%. 35, He was tempted; And
Luke 10. 21, He rejoyced in Spirit ; And they
must be likewise in all that are his. Now the Par
son having a Spirituall Judgement, according as
he discovers any of his Flock to be in one or the
other state, so he applies himselfe to them. Those
that he findes in the peaceable state, he adviseth
to be very vigilant and not to let go the raines
as soon as the horse goes easie. Particularly he
counselleth them to two things : First, to take
heed lest their quiet betray them (as it is apt to
do) to a coldnesse and carelesnesse in their de
votions, but to labour still to be as fervent in
HIS DEXTERITY 311
Christian Duties as they remember themselves
were when affliction did blow the Coals. Secondly,
not to take the full compasse and liberty of their
Peace : not to eate of all those dishes at table
which even their present health otherwise admits;
nor to store their house with all those furnitures
which even their present plenty of wealth other
wise admits ; nor when they are among them that
are merry, to extend themselves to all that mirth
which the present occasion of wit and company
otherwise admits, but to put bounds and hoopes l
to their joyes ; so will they last the longer, and
when they depart, returne the sooner. If we would
judg ourselves, we should not be judged; and if
we would bound our selves, we should not be
bounded. But if they shall fear that at such or
such a time their peace and mirth have carryed
them further then this moderation, then to take
Job's admirable Course, who sacrificed lest his
Children should have transgressed in their mirth.
So let them go and find some poor afflicted soul,
and there be bountifull and liberall ; for with
such sacrifices God is well pleased. Those that the
Parson finds in the military state, he fortifyes and
strengthens with his utmost skill. Now in those
that are tempted, whatsoever is unruly falls upon
two heads: either they think that there is none
that can or will look after things, but all goes by
chance or wit; Or else, though there be a Great
Governour of all things, yet to them he is lost; as
312 THE COUNTRY PARSON
if they said, God doth forsake and persecute them,
and there is none to deliver them. If the Parson
suspect the first and find sparkes of such thoughts
now and then to break forth, then without oppos
ing directly (for disputation is no cure for Athe-
isme) he scatters in his discourse three sorts of
arguments: the first taken from Nature, the sec
ond from the Law, the third from Grace. For
Nature, he sees not how a house could be either
built without a builder, or kept in repaire with
out a house-keeper. He conceives not possibly how
the windes should blow so much as they can, and
the sea rage as much as it can, and all things do
what they can, and all not only without dissolu
tion of the whole, but also of any part, by taking
away so much as the usuall seasons of summer
and winter, earing and harvest. Let the weather
be what it will, still we have bread, though some
times more, somtimes lesse; wherewith also a care-
full Joseph1 might meet. He conceives not possi
bly how he that would beleeve a Divinity, if he
had been at the Creation of all things, should
less beleeve it seeing the Preservation of all things.
For preservation is a Creation; and more, it is a
continued Creation, and a creation every moment.
Secondly for the Law, there may be so evident
though unused a proof of Divinity taken from
thence, that the Atheist or Epicurian can have
nothing to contradict. The Jewes yet live and are
known ; they have their Law and Language
HIS DEXTERITY 313
bearing witnesse to them, and they to it ; they are
Circumcised to this day, and expect the promises
of the Scripture ; their Countrey also is known, the
places and rivers travelled unto and frequented
by others, but to them an unpenetrable rock, an
unaccessible desert. Wherefore if the Jewes live,
all the great wonders of old live in them, and then
who can deny the stretched out arme of a mighty
God? especially since it may be a just doubt
whether, considering the stubbornnesse of the Na
tion, their living then in their Countrey under so
many miracles were a stranger thing then their
present exile and disability to live in their Coun
trey. And it is observable that this very thing
was intended by God, that the Jewes should be
his proof and witnesses, as he calls them, Isaiah
43. 12. And their very dispersion in all Lands
was intended not only for a punishment to them,
but for an exciting of others by their sight to the
acknowledging of God and his power, Psalm
59. 11. And therefore this kind of Punishment
was chosen rather then any other. Thirdly, for
Grace: Besides the continuall succession (since
the Gospell) of holy men, who have born witness
to the truth, (there being no reason why any should
distrust Saint Luke, or Tertullian, or Chrysostome,
more then Tully, Virgill, or Livy,) There are two
Prophesies in the Gospel which evidently argue
Christ's Divinity by their success:1 the one con
cerning the woman that spent the oyntment on
314 THE COUNTRY PARSON
our Saviour, for which he told that it should
never be forgotten, but with the Gospel it selfe be
preached to all ages, Matth. 26. 13. The other
concerning the destruction of Jerusalem, of which
our Saviour said that that generation should not
passe till all were fulfilled, Luke 21. 32. Which
Josephus his story confirmeth, and the contin
uance of which verdict is yet evident. To these
might be added the Preaching of the Gospel in all
Nations, Matthew 24. 14, which we see even mirac
ulously effected in these new discoveryes, God
turning men's Covetousnesse and Ambitions to
the effecting of his word. Now a prophesie is a
wonder sent to Posterity, least they complaine of
want of wonders. It is a letter sealed and sent,
which to the bearer is but paper, but to the re
ceiver and opener is full of power. Hee that saw
Christ open a blind man's eyes, saw not more
Divinity then he that reads the woman's oyntment
in the Gospell or sees Jerusalem destroyed. With
some of these heads enlarged and woven into his
discourse at severall times and occasions, the
parson setleth wavering minds. But if he sees
them neerer desperation then Atheisme, not so
much doubting a God as that he is theirs, then
he dives unto the boundlesse Ocean of God's Love
and the unspeakable riches of his loving kindnesse.
He hath one argument unanswerable. If God
hate them, either he doth it as they are Creatures,
dust and ashes, or as they are sinfull. As Crea-
HIS DEXTERITY 315
hires he must needs love them, for no perfect
Artist ever yet hated his owne worke. As sinfull,
he must much more love them; because notwith
standing his infinite hate of sinne, his Love over
came that hate, and with an exceeding great
victory which in the Creation needed not, gave
them love for love, even the son of his love out of
his bosome of love. So that man, which way soever
he turnes, hath two pledges of God's Love, that in
the mouth of two or three witnesses every word
may be established : the one in his being, the other
in his sinfull being; and this as the more faulty in
him, so the more glorious in God. And all may
certainly conclude that God loves them till either
they despise that Love or despaire of his Mercy.
Not any sin else but is within his Love; but the
despising of Love must needs be without it. The
thrusting away of his arme makes us onely l not
embraced.
CHAPTER XXXV
The Parson's Condescending
T 1 1HE jCountrey Parson is a Lover of old Cus-
I tomes, if they be good and harmlesse; and
the jpn.fK«r>-lMai'M.iiKM £Wnt™>y p^oplf; are muc£__
addicted to them, so that to favour them therein
is to win their hearts, and to oppose them therein is
to deject them. If there be any ill in the custome
that may be severed from the good, he pares the
apple and gives them the clean to feed on. Par
ticularly he loves Procession1 and maintains it,
because there are contained therein 4 manifest
advantages : First, a blessing of God for the fruits
of the field; Secondly, justice in the Preservation
of bounds ; Thirdly, Charity in loving walking
and neighbourly accompanying one another, with
reconciling of differences at that time, if there be
any; Fourthly, Mercy in releeving the poor by a
liberall distribution and largesse, which at that
time is or ought to be used. Wherefore he exacts
of all to bee present at the perambulation, and
those that withdraw and sever themselves from it
he mislikes,2 and reproves as uncharitable and un-
neighbourly; and if they will not reforme, presents
them. Nay, he is so iarre from condemning such
HIS CONDESCENDING 317
assemblies, that he rather procures them to be
often, as knowing that absence breedes strange
ness, but presence love. Now Love is his business
and aime ; wherefore he likes well that his Parish
at good times invite one another to their houses,
and he urgeth them to it. And somtimes, where
he knowes there hath been or is a little difference,
hee takes one of the parties and goes with him to
the other, and all dine or sup together. There is
much preaching in this friendliness. Another old
Custome there is of saying, when light is brought
in, God send us the light of heaven. And the
Parson likes this very well; neither is he affraid
of praising or praying to God at all times, but is
rather glad of catching opportunities to do them.
Light is a great Blessing and as great as food,
for which we give thanks; and those that thinke
this superstitious, neither know superstition nor
themselves. As for those that are ashamed to use
this forme, as being old and obsolete and not the
fashion, he reformes and teaches them, that at
Baptisme they professed not to be ashamed of
Christ's Cross, or for any shame to leave that
which is good. He that is ashamed in small things,
will extend his pusillanimity to greater. Rather
should a Christian Souldier take such occasions
to harden himselfe and to further his exercises
of Mortification.
CHAPTER XXXVI
The Parson Blessing
THE Countrey Parson wonders that Blessing
the people is in so little use with his brethren,
whereas he thinks it not onely a grave and rever
end thing, but a beneficial also. Those who use
it not do so either out of niceness,1 because they
like the salutations and complements and formes
of worldly language better; which conformity and
fashionableness is so exceeding unbefitting a Min
ister that it deserves reproof not refutation; Or
else because they think it empty and superfluous.
But that which the Apostles used so diligently in
their writings, nay, which our Saviour himself e
used, Marke 10. 16, cannot be vain and superflu
ous. But this was not proper to Christ or the
Apostles only, no more then to be a spirituall Fa
ther was appropriated to them. And if temporall
Fathers blesse their children, how much more
may and ought Spirituall Fathers? Besides, the
Priests of the old Testament were commanded to
Blesse the people, and the forme thereof is pre
scribed, Numb. 6. Now as the Apostle argues in
another case : if the Ministration of condemnation
did bless, how shall not the ministration of the
HIS BLESSING 319
spirit exceed in blessing ? The fruit of this bless
ing good Hannah found, and received with great
joy, 1 Sam. 1. 18, though it came from a man
disallowed by God ; for it was not the person, but
Priesthood, that blessed; so that even ill Priests
may blesse.1 Neither have the Ministers power of
Blessing only, but also of cursing. So in the old
Testament Elisha cursed the children, 2 Kin. 2. 24 ;
which though our Saviour reproved as unfitting for
his particular who was to show all humility before
his Passion, yet he allows in his Apostles. And
therfore St. Peter used that fearful imprecation to
Simon Magus, Act. 8 : Thy money perish with
thee, and the event confirmed it. So did St. Paul,
2 Tim. 4. 14. and 1 Tim. 1. 20. Speaking of Alex
ander the Coppersmith, who had withstood his
preaching, The Lord (saith he) reward him accord
ing to his works. And again, of Hymeneus and
Alexander he saith, he had delivered them to Satan,
that they might learn not to Blaspheme. The formes
both of Blessing and cursing are expounded in the
Common-Prayer-book: the one in, The Grace of
our Lord Jesus Christ, &c. and, The Peace of
God, &c. The other in generall, in the Commina-
tion.2 Now blessing differs from prayer in assur
ance, because it is not performed by way of request,
but of confidence and power, effectually applying
God's favour to the blessed by the interesting of
that dignity wherewith God hath invested the
Priest, and ingaging of God's own power and insti-
320
THE COUNTRY PARSON
tution for a blessing. The neglect of this duty in
Ministers themselves hath made the people also
neglect it; so that they are so far from craving this
benefit from their ghostly Father that they often
times goe out of church before he hath blessed
them. In the time of Popery the Priest's Benedicite
and his holy water were over highly valued, and
now we are fallen to the clean contrary, even from
superstition to coldnes and Atheism. But the
Parson first values the gift in himself, and then
teacheth his parish to value it. And it is observable
that if a Minister talke with a great man in the
ordinary course of complementing language, he
shall be esteemed as ordinary complementers ; but
if he often interpose a Blessing when the other
gives him just opportunity, by speaking any good,
this unusuall form begets a reverence and makes
him esteemed according to his Profession. The
same is to be observed in writing Letters1 also. To
conclude, if all men are to blesse upon occasion,
as appears Rom. 12. 14, how much more those
who are spiritual Fathers ?
CHAPTER XXXVII
Concerning Detraction
THE Countrey Parson perceiving that most
when they are at leasure make others' faults
their entertainment and discourse, and that even
some good men think so they speak truth they
may disclose another's fault, finds it somewhat
difficult how to proceed in this point. For if he
absolutely shut up men's mouths and forbid all
disclosing of faults, many an evill may not only
be, but also spread in his Parish without any
remedy (which cannot be applyed without notice)
to the dishonor of God and the infection of his
flock, and the discomfort, discredit, and hinder-
ance of the Pastor. On the other side, if it be
unlawful to open faults, no benefit or advantage
can make it lawf ull ; for we must not do evill that
good may come of it. Now the Parson taking this
point to task, which is so exceeding useful and
hath taken so deep roote that it seems the very
life and substance of Conversation, hath proceeded
thus far in the discussing of it. Faults are either
notorious or private. Again notorious faults are
either such as are made known by common fame
(and of these, those that know them may talk, so
322
THE COUNTRY PARSON
they do it not with sport but commiseration) ; or
else such as have passed judgment and been cor
rected either by whipping, or imprisoning, or the
like. Of these also men may talk, and more, they
may discover them to those that know them not;
because infamy is a part of the sentence against
malefactours which the Law intends, as is evi
dent by those which are branded for rogues, that
they may be known ; or put into the stocks,
that they may be looked upon. But some may say,
though the Law allow this the Gospel doth not,
which hath so much advanced Charity and ranked
backbiters among the generation of the wicked,
Rom. 1. 30. But this is easily answered: As the
executioner is not uncharitable that takes away
the life of the condemned, except besides his office
he add a tincture of private malice in the joy and
hast of acting his part; so neither is he that de
fames him whom the Law would have defamed,
except he also do it out of rancour. For in infamy
all are executioners, and the Law gives a male-
factour to all to be defamed. And as malefactors
may lose and forfeit their goods or life, so may
they their good name and the possession thereof,
which before their offence and Judgment they
had in all men's brests; for all are honest till
the contrary be proved. Besides, it concerns the
Common-Wealth that Rogues should be known
and Charity to the publick hath the precedence of
private charity. So that it is so far from being a
CONCERNING DETRACTION 323
fault to discover such offenders that it is a duty
rather, which may do much good and save much
harme. Neverthelesse, if the punished delinquent
shall be much troubled for his sins and turne
quite another man, doubtlesse then also men's
affections and words must turne, and forbear to
speak of that which even God himself hath for
gotten.
THE AUTHOR'S PRAYER BEFORE
SERMON1
O ALMIGHTY and ever-living Lord God!
Majesty, and Power, and Brightnesse and
Glory! How shall we dare to appear before thy
face, who are contrary to thee, in all we call thee ?
for we are darknesse, and weaknesse, and filthi-
nesse, and shame. Misery and sin fill our days;
yet art thou our Creatour, and we thy work. Thy
hands both made us, and also made us Lords of
all thy creatures; giving us one world in ourselves,
and another to serve us ; then didst thou place us
in Paradise, and wert proceeding still on in thy
Favours untill we interrupted thy Counsels, dis
appointed thy Purposes, and sold our God, our
glorious, our gracious God, for an apple. O write
it! O brand it in our foreheads for ever: for an
apple once we lost our God, and still lose him for
no more; for money, for meat, for diet: But thou,
Lord, art patience, and pity, and sweetnesse, and
love; therefore we sons of men are not consumed.
Thou hast exalted thy mercy above all things,
and hast made our salvation, not our punishment,
thy glory ; so that then where sin abounded, not
death, but grace superabounded. Accordingly when
326
PRAYER BEFORE SERMON
we had sinned beyond any help in heaven or earth,
then thou saidst, Lo, I come ! Then did the Lord
of life, unable of himselfe to die, contrive to do it.
He took flesh, he wept, he died; for his enemies
he died; even for those that derided him then and
still despise him. Blessed Saviour! many waters
could not quench thy love, nor no pit overwhelme
it ! But though the streams of thy blood were cur
rant through darknesse, grave, and hell, yet by
these thy conflicts, and seemingly hazards, didst
thou arise triumphant, and therein madst us vic
torious.
Neither doth thy love yet stay here! for this
word of thy rich peace and reconciliation thou
hast committed, not to Thunder or Angels, but to
silly and sinful men; even to me, pardoning my
sins, and bidding me go feed the people of thy
love.
Blessed be the God of Heaven and Earth! who
onely doth wondrous things. Awake, therefore,
my Lute and my Viol! awake all my powers to
glorifie thee! We praise thee, we blesse thee, we
magnifie thee for ever! And now, O Lord, in the
power of thy Victories, and in the wayes of thy
Ordinances, and in the truth of thy Love, Lo, we
stand here, beseeching thee to blesse thy word,
wherever spoken this day throughout the universall
Church. O make it a word of power and peace, to
convert those who are not yet thine and to coii-
firme those that are; particularly blesse it in this
PRAYER BEFORE SERMON 327
thy own Kingdom, which thou hast made a Land
of light, a storehouse of thy treasures and mercies.
O let not our foolish and unworthy hearts rob us of
the continuance of this thy sweet love, but pardon
our sins and perfect what thou hast begun. Ride
on, Lord, because of the word of truth and meek-
nesse and righteousnesse, and thy right hand shall
teach thee terrible things. Especially, blesse this
portion here assembled together, with thy un
worthy Servant speaking unto them. Lord Jesu!
teach thou me that I may teach them. Sanctifie
and inable all my powers, that in their full strength
they may deliver thy message reverently, readily,
faithfully, and fruitfully! O make thy word a
swift word, passing from the ear to the heart, from
the heart to the life and conversation; that as the
rain returns not empty, so neither may thy word,
but accomplish that for which it is given. O Lord,
hear! O Lord, forgive! O Lord, hearken, and do
so for thy blessed Son's sake, in whose sweet and
pleasing words, we say, Our Father, &c.
PRAYER AFTER SERMON
BLESSED be God, and the Father of all mercy,
who continueth to pour his benefits upon us !
Thou hast elected us, thou hast called us, thou hast
justified us, sanctified, and glorified us. Thou wast
born for us, and thou livedst and diedst for us.
Thou hast given us the blessings of this life, and of
a better. O Lord, thy blessings hang in clusters,
they come trooping upon us ! they break forth like
mighty waters on every side. And now, Lord, thou
hast fed us with the bread of life; so man did eat
Angels' food. O Lord, blesse it! O Lord, make it
health and strength unto us, still striving and pros
pering so long within us, untill our obedience reach
thy measure of thy love, who hast done for us as
much as may be. Grant this, dear Father, for thy
Son's sake, our only Saviour; To whom with thee
and the Holy Ghost, three Persons, but one most
glorious, incomprehensible God, be ascribed all
Honour, and Glory, and Praise, ever. Amen.
Portrait of Louis Comoro, painted by Tintoretto, now in the Pitti
Gallery, Florence.
I>
firann, Clement S,- Co., Photo.
A TREATISE OF TEMPERANCE AND
SOBRIETY
WRITTEN BY LUD. CORNARUS
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY MR. GEORGE
HERBERT
PREFACE
HERBERT'S translation of Cornaro first
appeared in 1634, in a volume entitled
HYGIASTICON, OR THE RIGHT COURSE OF PRESERV
ING LIFE AND HEALTH UNTO EXTREME OLD AGE;
TOGETHER WITH SOUNDNESSE AND INTEGRITIE OF
THE SENSES, JUDGEMENT AND MEMORIE. Written
in Latine by Leonard Lessius, and now Done into
English. To this volume Crashaw prefixed some
exquisite lines on "Temperance, The Cheap
Physician." The book was made up of three
pieces, only the first being written by Lessius, a
Jesuit Professor of Divinity at Louvain, whose
two other books — De Justitia and De Potestate
Summi Pontificis — were condemned by the Church.
The second piece is the present treatise by Cor
naro ; and the third an anonymous " Discourse
Translated out of the Italian that a Spare Diet is
Better than a Splendid and Sumptuous: a Para
dox." The first and third pieces are translated by
a certain "T. S.," who dates his Preface December
7, 1633. Probably this T. S. is none other than
Nicholas Ferrar. Oley in his Life of Herbert says
that Ferrar " helped to put out Lessius ; " and
John Ferrar in his Life of his brother Nicholas
332 CORNARO'S TREATISE
writes: "As Nicholas Ferrar communicated his
heart to Mr. Herbert, so he made him the peruser,
and desired the approbation, of what he did in
those translations of Valdesso and Lessius. To
the first Mr. Herbert made an epistle, to the
second he sent to add that of Cornarius' temper
ance." The copy in the British Museum, dated
1634, is called the Second Edition. The book has
been printed many times since, under the title
THE TEMPERATE MAN. The title-page of this
is here reproduced, and from it my text is taken.
Addison discusses Cornaro's treatise in The Spec
tator of October 13, 1711.
At what time Herbert prepared his translation
is uncertain; but that it was in the last years of
his life may perhaps be inferred from the words
of T. S., who writes: "Master George Herbert
of blessed memorie, having at the request of a
Noble Personage translated it into English, sent a
copy thereof not many months before his death
unto some friends of his, who a good while before
had given an attempt of regulating themselves in
matter of Diet." Who this " noble personage " was,
or who the friends, is unknown.
The author of the treatise, Luigi Cornaro (1467-
1566), was a Venetian nobleman, a member of
the family which gave several Doges to Venice
and a Queen to Cyprus. His portrait by Tinto
retto is in the Pitti Gallery at Florence, and his pal
ace still stands in Padua. After thirty-five years
OF TEMPERANCE 333
of gay and careless living he found his health so
shattered that death seemed at hand. He cured
himself by a great reduction in the amount of his
food, and by a spare diet was enabled to reach an
extreme age of great bodily and intellectual vigor.
His system of dieting he explained and advocated
in four Discourses, the first written at the age of
eighty-three, the second at eighty-six, the third at
ninety-one, the fourth at ninety-five. It is the first
of these Discourses, published at Padua in 1558,
under the title Trattato de la Vita Sobria, which
Herbert translates.
His aim is practical, not literary. He wishes to
render Cornaro's ideas available for English use,
and freely adapts them to this end. T. S. says:
"Master Herbert professeth, and so it is indeed
apparent, that he was enforced to leave out some
thing out of Cornarus ; but it was not anything
appertaining to the main subject of the book, but
chiefly certain extravagant excursions of the Au-
thour against the Reformation of Religion which
in his time was newly begun." This statement
is unjust to both Cornaro and Herbert. There
is not a word in Cornaro's treatise adverse or
favorable to the reformation of religion, though
Herbert's translation contains only about half
the amount of the original. He omits sentences,
paragraphs, pages. He recasts what he keeps.
But the result is altogether faithful to Cornaro's
thought, a much more readable and effective plea
334
CORNARO'S TREATISE
for the dietary than any literal translation could
have been. The lucid and uninvolved style em
ployed suggests that Herbert's work was done
about the time of that on THE COUNTRY PARSON.
Whether the translation was written during
Herbert's closing years at Bemerton or earlier, it
represents a lifelong interest. At the University,
in 1617, he writes his stepfather about experi
ments on himself in the matter of diet. THE
CHURCH-PORCH bids Look to thy mouth, diseases
enter there, and Slight those who say amidst their
sickly healths, Thou liv'st by rule. Lent is prized
for "
The deannesse of sweet abstinence,
Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense,
A face not fearing light ;
Whereas in fulnesse there are sluttish fumes,
Sowre exhalations, and dishonest rheumes,
Revenging the delight.
The Country Parson by fasting keeps his body
tame, serviceable and healthfull, and his soul fer
vent, active, young and lusty as an eagle. That
book declares that one thing is evident that an
English body and a student's body are two great
obstructed vessels; and half of its twenty-sixth
chapter is devoted to rules for determining the
quantity of food to be eaten. Walton reports that
during the Crisis time when Herbert " was seiz'd
with a sharp Quotidian Ague he became his own
OF TEMPERANCE 335
Physitian and cur'd himself of his Ague by for
bearing Drink, and not eating any Meat, no
not Mutton nor a Hen or Pidgeon, unless they
were salted. And by such a constant Dyet he re-
movd his Ague, but with inconveniencies that
were worse; for he brought upon himself a dispo
sition to Rheumes and other weaknesses and a
supposed Consumption." Herbert's free trans
lation of Cornaro's treatise, then, and his desire
to bring its precepts into general use, were no ac
cidents. The "request of a noble personage"
merely proved the happy occasion for setting
forth under another's name doctrines about food
to which he had been devoted throughout his life.
Title-Page of THE TEMPERATE MAN.
THE
TEMPERATE MAN,
O R T H B
Right Way ofPreferving
LIFE and HEALTH,
TOGETHER,
With Soundness of the Senfes, Judg-
mentj and Memory unto extream
OLD AGE.
In Three Treatiies.
The Fir ft written by the Leftrped Lcorurdm
Ujim.
The Second by Ledwjclt Ctrfijn , a N.ble
Gentleman of Venice.
The Third by a Famous
Engliftied,
L O N D O
Printed by f. R. for
the<Mm*in Fleetftreet) near Ttmfle
1678,
A TREATISE OF TEMPERANCE AND
SOBRIETY
HAVING observed in my time many of my
friends of excellent wit and noble disposi
tion overthrown and undone by Intemperance
who, if they had lived, would have been an orna
ment to the world and a comfort to their friends,
I thought fit to discover in a short Treatise that
Intemperance was not such an evil but it might
easily be remedied ; which I undertake the more
willingly, because divers worthy young men have
obliged me unto it. For when they saw their par
ents and kindred snatcht away in the midst of
their days, and me contrariwise, at the age of
Eighty and one, strong and lusty, they had a great
desire to know the way of my life, and how I came
to be so. Wherefore, that I may satisfy their honest
desire, and withal help many others who will take
this into consideration, I will declare the causes
which moved me to forsake Intemperance and
live a sober life, expressing also the means which
I have used therein. I say therefore that the in
firmities, which did not only begin, but had already
gone far in me, first caused me to leave Intemper
ance, to which I was much addicted. For by it
340
CORNARO'S TREATISE
and my ill constitution (having a most cold and
moist stomach), I fell into divers diseases, to wit,
into the pain of the stomach, and often of the side,
and the beginning of the Gout, with almost a
continual fever and thirst.
From this ill temper there remained little else
to be expected of me than that after many trou
bles and griefs I should quickly come to an end;
whereas my life seemed as far from it by Nature,
as it was near it by Intemperance. When therefore
I was thus afflicted from the Thirty-fifth year of
my age to the Fortieth, having tried all remedies
fruitlessly, the Physicians told me that yet there was
one help for me if I could constantly pursue it,
to wit, A sober and orderly life ; for this had every
way great force for the recovering and preserving
of Health, as a disorderly life to the overthrowing
of it, as I too well by experience found. For
Temperance preserves even old men and sickly
men sound, but Intemperance destroys most
healthy and flourishing constitutions. For con
trary causes have contrary effects, and the faults
of Nature are often amended by Art, as barren
grounds are made fruitful by good husbandry.
They added withal that unless I speedily used
that remedy, within a few months I should be
driven to that exigent that there would be no help
for me but Death, shortly to be expected.
Upon this, weighing their reasons with myself,
and abhorring from so sudden an end, and finding
OF TEMPERANCE 341
myself continually oppressed with pain and sick
ness, I grew fully perswaded that all my griefs
arose out of Intemperance ; and therefore out of a
hope of avoiding death and pain I resolved to live
a temperate life.
Whereupon, being directed by them in the way
I ought to hold, I understood that the food I was
to use was such as belonged to sickly constitu
tions, and that in a small quantity. This they had
told me before. But I, then not liking that kind
of Diet, followed my Appetite and did eat meats
pleasing to my taste; and when I felt inward heats,
drank delightful wines, and that in great quantity,
telling my Physicians nothing thereof, as is the
custom of sick people. But after I had resolved to
follow Temperance and Reason, and saw that it
was no hard thing to do so, but the proper duty of
man, I so addicted myself to this course of life
that I never went a foot out of the way. Upon this,
I found within a few days that I was exceedingly
helped, and by continuance thereof within less
than one year (although it may seem to some in
credible), I was perfectly cured of all my infirmi
ties.
Being now sound and well, I began to consider
the force of Temperance, and to think thus with
myself: If Temperance had so much power as to
bring me health, how much more to preserve it!
Wherefore I began to search out most diligently
what meats were agreeable unto me, and what
342 CORNARO'S TREATISE
disagreeable. And I purposed to try whether those
that pleased my taste brought me commodity or
discommodity, and whether that Proverb, where
with Gluttons use to defend themselves, to wit,
That which savours is good and nourisheth, be
consonant to truth. This upon trial I found most
false: for strong and very cool wines pleased my
taste best, as also melons, and other fruit; in like
manner, raw lettice, fish, pork, sausages, pulse,
and cake and py-crust and the like ; and yet all
these I found hurtful.
Therefore trusting on experience, I forsook all
these kind of meats and drinks, and chose that wine
that fitted my stomach, and in such measure as
easily might be digested ; above all, taking care
never to rise with a full stomach, but so as I might
well both eat and drink more. By this means,
within less than a year I was not only freed from all
those evils which had so long beset me, and were
almost become incurable, but also afterwards I
fell not into that yearly disease, whereinto I was
wont, when I pleased my Sense and Appetite.
Which benefits also still continue, because from the
time that I was made whole I never since departed
from my setled course of Sobriety, whose admira
ble power causeth that the meat and drink that is
taken in fit measure gives true strength to the body,
all superfluities passing away without difficulty,
and no ill humours being engendred in the body.
Yet with this diet I avoided other hurtful things
OF TEMPERANCE 343
also, as too much heat and cold, weariness, watch
ing, ill air, overmuch use of the benefit of marriage.
For although the power of health consists most in
the proportion of meat and drink, yet these fore-
named things have also their force. I preserved me
also, as much as I could, from hatred and melan
choly and other perturbations of the mind, which
have a great power over our constitutions. Yet
could I not so avoid all these but that now and
then I fell into them, which gained me this experi
ence, that I perceived that they had no great power
to hurt those bodies which were kept in good order
by a moderate Diet. So that I can truly say, That
they who in these two things that enter in at the
mouth keep a fit proportion, shall receive little hurt
from other excesses.
This Galen confirms, when he says that immod
erate heats and colds and winds and labours did
little hurt him, because in his meats and drinks
he kept a due moderation and therefore never was
sick by any of these inconveniences, except it were
for one only day. But mine own experience con-
firmeth this more, as all that know me can testify.
For having endured many heats and colds, and
other like discommodities of the body and troubles
of the mind, all these did hurt me little, whereas
they hurt them very much who live intemperately.
For when my brother and others of my kindred saw
some great powerful men pick quarrels against me»
fearing lest I should be overthrown, they were pos-
344 CORNARO'S TREATISE
sessed with a deep Melancholy (a thing usual to
disorderly lives), which increased so much in them
that it brought them to a sudden end. But I, whom
that matter ought to have affected most, received
no inconvenience thereby, because that humour
abounded not in me.
Nay, I began to pers wade myself that this suit and
contention was raised by the Divine Providence,
that I might know what great power a sober and
temperate life hath over our bodies and minds, and
that at length I should be a conqueror, as also a
little after it came to pass. For in the end I got the
victory, to my great honour and no less profit,
whereupon also I joyed exceedingly; which excess
of joy neither could do me any hurt. By which it is
manifest, That neither melancholy nor any other
passion can hurt a temperate life.
Moreover, I say, that even bruises and squats
and falls, which often kill others, can bring little
grief or hurt to those that are temperate. This I
found by experience when I was Seventy years old ;
for riding in a Coach in great haste, it happened
that the Coach was overturned and then was
dragged for a good space by the fury of the horses,
whereby my head and whole body was sore hurt
and also one of my arms and legs put out of joynt.
Being carried home, when the Physicians saw in
what case I was, they concluded that I would die
within Three days; nevertheless, at a venture, Two
Remedies might be used, letting of blood and
OF TEMPERANCE 345
purging, that the store of humours and inflamma
tion and fever (which was certainly expected)
might be hindred.
But I, considering what an orderly life I had led
for many years together, which must needs so tem
per the humours of the body that they could not
be much troubled or make a great concourse,
refused both remedies, and only commanded that
my arm and leg should be set and my whole body
anointed with oyl ; and so without other remedy
or inconvenience I recovered, which seemed as a
miracle to the Physicians. Whence I conclude that
they that live a temperate life can receive little hurt
from other inconveniences.
But my experience taught me another thing also,
to wit, that an orderly and regular life can hardly
be altered without exceeding great danger.
About Four years since, I was led, by the advice
of Physicians and the daily importunity of my
friends, to add something to my usual stint and
measure. Divers reasons they brought, as, that old
age could not be sustained with so little meat and
drink, which yet needs not only to be sustained
but also to gather strength, which could not be but
by meat and drink. On the other side, I argued
that Nature was contented with a little, and that I
had for many years continued in good health with
that little measure; that Custom was turned into
Nature, and therefore it was agreeable to reason
that my years increasing and strength decreasing,
346 CORNARO'S TREATISE
my stint of meat and drink should be diminished
rather than increased, that the patient might be
proportionable to the agent, and especially since
the power of my stomach every day decreased. To
this agreed two Italian Proverbs, the one whereof
was, * He that will eat much, let him eat little ;
because by eating little he prolongs his life. The
other Proverb was, f The meat which remaineth
profits more than that which is eaten; by which is
intimated that the hurt of too much meat is greater
than the commodity of meat taken in a moderate
proportion.
But all these things could not defend me against
their importunities. Therefore to avoid obstinacy
and gratify my friends, at length I yielded and
permitted the quantity of meat to be increased,
yet but Two ounces only. For whereas before, the
measure of my whole day's meat, viz. of my bread,
and eggs, and flesh, and broth, was 12 ounces
exactly weighed, I increased it to the quantity of
2 ounces more ; and the measure of my drink,
which before was 14 ounces, I made now 16.
This addition, after ten days, wrought so much
upon me that of a chearful and merry man I be
came melancholy and cholerick; so that all things
* Mangiera piil chi manco mangia. Ed e' contrario, Chi
piu mangia, manco mangia. II senso & Poco vive chi troppo
sparecchia.
f Fa piu pro quef che si lascia suT tondo, che quet che si
mette nel ventre.
OF TEMPERANCE 347
were troublesome to me, neither did I know well
what I did or said. On the Twelfth day, a pain of
the side took me, which held me Two and twenty
hours. Upon the neck of it came a terrible fever,
which continued Thirty-five days and nights,
although after the Fifteenth day it grew less and
less. Besides all this I could not sleep, no, not a
quarter of an hour, whereupon all gave me up for
dead.
Nevertheless I, by the grace of God, cured
myself only with returning to my former course of
Diet, although I was now Seventy-eight years old,
and my body spent with extream leanness, and the
season of the year was winter, and most cold air.
And I am confident that, under God, nothing holp
me but that exact rule which I had so long con
tinued. In all which time I felt no grief, save now
and then a little indisposition for a day or Two.
For the Temperance of so many years spent all
ill humours, and suffered not any new of that kind
to arise, neither the good humours to be corrupted
or contract any ill quality, as usually happens in old
men's bodies which live without rule. For there is
no malignity of old age in the humours of my body,
which commonly kills men ; and that new one
which I contracted by breaking my diet, although
it was a sore evil, yet had no power to kill me.
By this it may clearly be perceived how great is
the power of order and disorder; whereof the one
kept me well for many years, the other, though it
348
CORNARO'S TREATISE
was but a little excess, in a few days had so soon
overthrown me. If the world consist of order, if our
corporal life depend on the harmony of humours
and elements, it is no wonder that order should
preserve and disorder destroy. Order makes arts
easie and armies victorious, and retains and con
firms kingdoms, cities, and families in peace.
Whence I conclude that an orderly life is the
most sure way and ground of health and long days,
and the true and only medicine of many diseases.
Neither can any man deny this who will nar
rowly consider it. Hence it comes that a Physician,
when he cometh to visit his Patient, prescribes this
Physick first, that he use a moderate diet; and
when he hath cured him commends this also to him,
if he will live in health. Neither is it to be doubted,
but that he shall ever after live free from diseases,
if he will keep such a course of life; because this
will cut off all causes of diseases, so that he shall
need neither Physick nor Physician. Yea, if he will
give his mind to those things which he should, he
will prove himself a Physician, and that a very
compleat one; for indeed no man can be a perfect
Physician to another, but to himself only. The
reason whereof is this : Every one by long experi
ence may know the qualities of his own nature, and
what hidden properties it hath, what meat and
drink agrees best with it ; which things in others
cannot be known without such observation as is
not easily to be made upon others, especially since
OF TEMPERANCE 349
there is a greater diversity of tempers than of faces.
Who would believe that old wine should hurt my
stomach, and new should help it, or that cinnamon
should heat me more than pepper? What Physi
cian could have discovered these hidden qualities
to me, if I had not found them out by long expe
rience? Wherefore one to another cannot be a
perfect Physician. Whereupon I conclude, since
none can have a better Physician than himself,
nor better Physick than a Temperate Life, Tem
perance by all means is to be embraced.
Nevertheless, I deny not but that Physicians are
necessary, and greatly to be esteemed for the
knowing and curing of diseases, into which they
often fall who live disorderly. For if a friend who
visits thee in thy sickness, and only comforts and
condoles, doth perform an acceptable thing to
thee, how much more dearly should a Physician be
esteemed, who not only as a friend doth visit thee,
but help thee!
But that a man may preserve himself in health, I
advise that instead of a Physician a regular life is
to be embraced, which, as is manifest by experi
ence, is a natural Physick most agreeable to us,
and also doth preserve even ill tempers in good
health, and procure that they prolong their life
even to a hundred years and more, and that at
length they shut up their days like a Lamp, only
by a pure consumption of the radical moisture,
without grief or perturbation of humours. Many
350 CORNARO'S TREATISE
have thought that this could be done by Aurum
potabtte, or the Philosopher 's-stone, sought of many,
and found of few; but surely there is no such mat
ter, if Temperance be wanting.
But sensual men (as most are), desiring to satisfie
their Appetite and pamper their belly, although
they see themselves ill handled by their intemper
ance, yet shun a sober life ; because, they say, It is
better to please the Appetite (though they live Ten
years less than otherwise they should do) than
always to live under bit and bridle. But they con
sider not of how great moment ten years are in
mature age, wherein wisdom and all kind of virtues
is most vigorous, which but in that age can hardly
be perfected. And that I may say nothing of other
things, are not almost all the learned books that
we have, written by their Authors in thai age and
those Ten years which they set at nought in regard
of their belly ?
Besides, these Belly-gods say that an orderly
life is so hard a thing that it cannot be kept. To
this I answer that Galen kept it and held it for the
best Physick; so did Plato also, and Isocrates, and
Tully, and many others of the Ancients; and in
our age, Paul the Third, and Cardinal Bembo, who
therefore lived so long ; and among our Dukes,
Laudus and Donatus, and many others of inferior
condition, not only in the city, but also in villages
and hamlets.
Wherefore, since many have observed a regular
OF TEMPERANCE 351
life both of old times and later years, it is no such
thing which may not be performed ; especially
since in observing it there needs not many and
curious things, but only that a man should begin,
and by little and little accustom himself unto it.
Neither doth it hinder that Plato says, That they
who are employed in the common-wealth cannot
live regularly, because they must often endure
heats, and colds, and winds, and showers, and
divers labours, which suit not with an orderly life.
For I answer, That those inconveniences are of
no great moment (as I showed before) if a man be
temperate in meat and drink; which is both easy
for common-wears-men and very convenient, both
that they may preserve themselves from diseases
which hinder publick imployment, as also that
their mind in all things wherein they deal may be
more lively and vigorous.
But some may say, He which lives a regular life,
eating always light meats and in a little quantity,
what diet shall he use in diseases, which being in
health he hath anticipated ? I answer first, Nature,
which endeavours to preserve a man as much as
she can, teacheth us how to govern ourselves in
sickness. For suddenly it takes away our appetite,
so that we can eat but a very little, wherewith she
is very well contented; so that a sick man, whether
he hath lived heretofore orderly or disorderly,
when he is sick ought not to eat but such meats
as are agreeable to his disease, and that in much
352 CORNARO'S TREATISE
smaller quantity than when he was well. For if he
should keep his former proportion, Nature, which
is already burdened with a disease, would be
wholly oppressed. Secondly, I answer better, that
he which lives a temperate life cannot fall into
diseases, and but very seldom into indispositions,
because Temperance takes away the causes of
diseases ; and the cause being taken away, there
is no place for the effect.
Wherefore since an orderly life is so profitable,
so vertuous, so decent, and so holy, it is worthy
by all means to be embraced, especially since it is
easy and most agreeable to the Nature of Man. No
man that follows it is bound to eat and drink so
little as I. No man is forbidden to eat fruit or fish,
which I eat not. For I eat little because a little
sufficeth my weak stomach ; and I abstain from
fruit and fish and the like, because they hurt me.
But they who find benefit in these meats may, yea
ought to use them. Yet all must needs take heed
lest they take a greater quantity of any meat or
drink (though most agreeable to them) then their
stomach can easily digest ; So that he which is
offended with no kind of meat and drink, hath the
quantity and not the quality for his rule, which is
very easy to be observed.
Let no man here object unto me, That there are
many, who though they live disorderly, yet con
tinue in health to their lives' end ; Because since
this is at the best but uncertain, dangerous, and
OF TEMPERANCE 353
very rare, the presuming upon it ought not to lead
us to a disorderly life.
It is not the part of a wise man to expose himself
to so many dangers of diseases and death only
upon a hope of a happy issue, which yet befalls
very few. An old man of an ill constitution, but
living orderly, is more sure of life than the most
strong young man who lives disorderly.
But some, too much given to Appetite, object,
That a long life is no such desirable thing, because
that after one is once Sixty-five years old, all the
time we live after is rather death than life. But
these err greatly, as I will show by myself, recount
ing the delights and pleasures in this age of 83
which now I take, and which are such as that men
generally account me happy.
I am continually in health, and I am so nimble
that I can easily get on horseback without the ad
vantage of the ground, and sometimes I go up high
stairs and hills on foot. Then I am ever cheerful,
merry, and well-contented, free from all troubles
and troublesome thoughts ; in whose place joy and
peace have taken up their standing in my heart.
I am not weary of life, which I pass with great
delight. I confer often with worthy men, excel
ling in wit, learning, behaviour, and other vertues.
When I cannot have their company, I give myself
to the reading of some learned book, and afterwards
to writing; making it my aim in all things how I
may help others to the furthest of my power.
354
CORNARO'S TREATISE
All these things I do at my ease, and at fit sea
sons, and in mine own houses ; which, besides
that they are in the fairest place of this learned
City of Padua, are very beautiful and convenient
above most in this age, being so built by me ac
cording to the rules of Architecture, that they are
cool in summer and warm in winter.
I enjoy also my gardens, and those divers, parted
with rills of running water, which truly is very
delightful. Some times of the year I enjoy the
pleasure of the Euganean hills, where also I have
fountains and gardens and a very convenient
house. At other times, I repair to a village of mine
seated in the valley; which is therefore very plea
sant, because many ways thither are so ordered
that they all meet and end in a fair plot of ground ;
in the midst whereof is a Church suitable to the
condition of the place. This place is washed with
the river of Brenta, on both sides whereof are great
and fruitful fields, well manured and adorned with
many habitations. In former time it was not so,,
because the place was moorish and unhealthy, fitter
for beasts than men. But I drained the ground,
and made the air good. Whereupon men flocked
thither and built houses, with happy success. By
this means the place is come to that perfection
we now see it is. So that I can truly say, That I
have both given God a Temple and men to wor
ship him in it. The memory whereof is exceeding
delightful to me.
OF TEMPERANCE 355
Sometimes I ride to some of the neighbour cities,
that I may enjoy the sight and communication of
my friends, as also of excellent Artificers in Archi
tecture, painting, stone-cutting, musick, and hus
bandry, whereof in this age there is great plenty.
I view their pieces, I compare them with those of
Antiquity, and ever I learn somewhat which is
worthy of my knowledge. I survey palaces, gar
dens, antiquities, publick fabrics, temples, and forti
fications ; neither omit I any thing that may either
teach or delight me. I am much pleased also in
my travels with the beauty of situation. Neither
is this my pleasure made less by the decaying dul-
ness of my senses, which are all in their perfect
vigour, but especially my Taste; so that any sim
ple fare is more savoury to me now than heretofore,
when I was given to disorder and all the delights
that could be.
To change my bed, troubles me not. I sleep
well and quietly any where, and my dreams are
fair and pleasant. But this chiefly delights me, that
my advice hath taken effect in the reducing of
many rude and untoiled places in my country to
cultivation and good husbandry. I was one of
those that was deputed for the managing of that
work, and abode in those fenny places two whole
months in the heat of summer, (which in Italy is
very great,) receiving not any hurt or inconvenience
thereby : So great is the power and efficacy of that
Temperance which ever accompanied me.
356 CORNARO'S TREATISE
These are the delights and solaces of my old
age, which is altogether to be preferred before
others' youth: Because that by Temperance and
the Grace of God I feel not those perturbations of
body and mind wherewith infinite both young and
old are afflicted.
Moreover by this also in what estate I am may
be discovered, because at these years (viz. 83) I
have made a most pleasant Comedy, full of honest
wit and merriment; which kind of Poems useth to
be the child of Youth, which it most suits withal
for variety and pleasantness, as a Tragedy with old
Age, by reason of the sad events which it con
tains. And if a Greek Poet of old was praised that
at the age of 73 years he writ a Tragedy, why
should I be accounted less happy, or less myself,
who being Ten years older have made a Comedy ?
Now lest there should be any delight wanting
to my old age, I daily behold a kind of immortality
in the succession of my posterity. For when I
come home, I find eleven grand-children of mine,
all the sons of one father and mother, all in perfect
health ; all as far as I can conjecture, very apt
and well given both for learning and behaviour.
I am delighted with their music and fashion, and
I myself also sing often; because I have now a
clearer voice than ever I had in my life.
By which it is evident that the life which I live
at this age is not a dead, dumpish, and sower life,
but chearful, lively, and pleasant. Neither if I
OF TEMPERANCE 357
had my wish, would I change age and constitution
with them who follow their youthful appetites,
although they be of a most strong temper; be
cause such are daily exposed to a thousand dangers
and deaths, as daily experience showeth, and I
also, when I was a young man, too well found. I
know how inconsiderate that age is and, though
subject to death, yet continually afraid of it. For
death to all young men is a terrible thing, as also
to those that live in sin, and follow their appetites ;
whereas I by the experience of so many years have
learned to give way to Reason; whence it seems
to me not only a shameful thing to fear that which
cannot be avoided, but also I hope, when I shall
come to that point, I shall find no little comfort
in the favour of Jesus Christ. Yet I am sure that
my end is far from me: for I know that (setting
casualties aside) I shall not die but by a pure reso
lution, because that by the regularity of my life I
have shut out death all other ways. And that is
a fair and desirable death which Nature brings by
way of resolution.
Since, therefore, a Temperate life is so happy
and pleasant a thing, what remains but that I
should wish all who have the care of themselves
to embrace it with open arms ?
Many things more might be said in commenda
tion hereof ; but lest in any thing I forsake that
Temperance which I have found so good, I here
make an End.
Nicholas Ferraris Church at Little Gidding, of brick and stone, his
grave in the foreground. See Vol. I, p. 171-175.
PREFATORY LETTER AND NOTES
BY GEORGE HERBERT
To THE HUNDRED AND TEN CONSIDERATIONS
OF SIGNIOR JOHN VALDESSO, TREATING or
THOSE THINGS WHICH ARE MOST PROFITABLE,
MOST NECESSARY AND MOST PERFECT IN OUB
CHRISTIAN PROFESSION
PREFACE
THE author of the One Hundred and Ten
Considerations was the Spanish reformer,
Juan de Valdes (1500-1541), a contemporary of
Luther and a predecessor of Molinos. As a young
man, in a book entitled Dialogo de Mercuric y
Caron, he attacked the corruption of the Romish
Church. In consequence of hostilities thus excited,
he left Spain in 1530, and, after a year or two in
Rome, settled in Naples, where in 1533 he wrote
a philological treatise, Dialogo de la Lengua. But
his interest was in religion. He gathered about him
a notable group of men and women, — his brother
Alphonso, Peter Martyr, Ochino, Carnesecchi,
Vittoria Colonna, Giulia Gonzaga, — all eager for
the reform of the Church and for the Lutheran doc
trine of justification by faith, though disapproving
Luther's schism. Valdes' most important religious
writings are Latte Spirituale, Trataditos, Ciento i
Diez Concideraciones, and El Evangelio de San
Mateo. Recently these have been translated into
English by B. B. Wiffen and J. T. Betts.
Alphonso, the twin brother of Juan de Valdes,
was for a time in the service of the Emperor
Charles V. Walton, failing to distinguish the
362 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
brothers, relates anecdotes of Juan which are now
known to be without foundation.
Herbert's notes on Valdesso, as he was called
in Italy, form his single contribution to theology.
A passage in THE COUNTRY PARSON is the only
other evidence that he was not altogether lacking
in theological interest : The Countrey Parson hath
read the Fathers also, and the Schoolmen, and the
later Writers, or a good proportion of all, out of all
which he hath compiled a book and body of Divinity,
which is the storehouse of his Sermons and which he
preacheth all his Life, but diversly clothed, illus
trated, and inlarged. For though the world is full
of such composures, yet every man's own is fittest,
readyest, and most savory to him. This Body he
made by way of expounding the Church Catechisme,
to which all divinity may easily be reduced (Ch. V).
Herbert's other utterances make him appear either
indifferent to theological ideas, or, as in his poem
of DIVINITIE and in lesser degree elsewhere, posi
tively scornful. He usually approaches religion,
as my second Introductory Essay explains, on its
practical side. In these notes, however, though the
doctrines discussed have important practical issues,
Herbert is primarily concerned with the relation
to one another of certain contrasted beliefs. Some
of them he regards with favor, others he con
demns.
Valdesso's book is judged valuable for its accept
ance of Christ's redemption, for the love of Christ
OF VALDESSO 363
shown by its author, and for its insistence on per
sonal rather than on corporate religion. But Her
bert's disagreement is deep and fundamental. He
believes Valdesso to be a mystic, as indeed he was,
disinclined to any other standard of truth and
right than his own subjective feelings. (1) He sets
up private enthusiasmes and revelations ; (2) he
opposeth the teaching of the Spirit to the teaching
of Scripture ; (3) he saith we shall not be punished
for evill doing, nor rewarded for wel doing or living ',
for all the point lies in believing or not believing.
With these three related beliefs Herbert takes
issue. As regards the first, he observes that in indif
ferent things there is roome for motions, and expect
ing of them ; but in things good, as to relieve my
neighbour, God hath already revealed His will about
it. Restraining motions are much more frequent to
the godly then inviting motions. But to yield to
such inner promptings, and so to remove the godly
from all jurisdiction, — this cannot stand, and it is
ill doctrine in a common-wealth. Against it and
the second error he urges that those that have in
spirations must still use Peter, God's Word.
Valdesso, in Herbert's judgment, discovers too
slight a regard of the Scriptures, as if it were but
children's meat. He seems to imagine that through
spiritual growth we get beyond the Bible, gradu
ally find it unnecessary, and become sufficient for
ourselves. In reality the Scriptures have not only
an elementary use, but a use of perfection ; neither
364 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
can they ever be exhausted. It is they which must
steady the believer and keep him sane.
For there is a fixed right which even the Saints
must not contravene. To pretend that they are
exempt from laws with God is dangerous and too
Jarre. Even Abraham, had he killed his sonne
Isaac, might have been justly put to death for it by
the magistrate, unlesse he could have made it ap-
peare that it was done by Gods immediate precept.
Brief and fragmentary as are the arguments
here used, perhaps also restrained through defer
ence to his friend, Herbert's point of view is clear
and distinct. From it he attacks mysticism in its
central position, viz. its assertion that the ground
of authority lies in the individual's own feelings,
and that no standards erected by past experience
or by the present needs of society can discredit that
inner prompting.
Fortunately we know precisely when these notes
were written. In the first edition the accompanying
letter to Ferrar is dated September 29. But in the
second edition the year is added, 1632. Just five
months, then, before his death Herbert prepared
these thoughtful notes on a weighty book. They
show how stringently he pressed his literary work
during the failing years at Bemerton. I forbare not
in the midst of my grief es, he proudly says. But the
Considerations which these notes sought to qualify,
the only volume which ever came from Ferrar's
pen, remained unprinted for six years. Perhaps
OF VALDESSO 365
Herbert's criticisms made his friend hesitate. At
any rate, the book did not appear till 1638, when
Ferrar had been dead two years, and then the qual
ifying notes accompanied it. These notes appear
also in later editions, though with some changes
and additions. Among the latter is a series of
explanations by an unknown writer, apparently
designed to break the force of Herbert's objec
tions. Commonplace though these are, I follow
Dr. Grosart in printing them as addenda, inclos
ing them in brackets.
Title-Page of The Divine Considerations.
HE HUNDRED ANPTE
INSIDER ATION
OF
IOBN
RE A TIN G OF THOSE
things whf€iharcmoftproft:aBtc,m0ft
ncceflary,amt rtioft pcrfc& in out
rE'N IN*
roughtoutof Italy by'f^rger*/^ and
firft fet forthin Italian ac Saftlhy
.XT
NOTES ON THE DIVINE CONSIDERA
TIONS OF VALDESSO
A COPY OP A LETTER WRITTEN BY MR. GEORGE
HERBERT TO HIS FRIEND THE TRANSLATOR
OF THIS BOOK
MY deare and deserving Brother, your Val-
desso I now returne with many thanks and
some notes, in which perhaps you will discover
some care, which I forbare not in the midst of my
griefes : First, for your sake, because I would doe
nothing negligently that you commit unto mee;
Secondly, for the author's sake, whom I conceive
to have been a true servant of God, and to such
and all that is theirs I owe diligence; Thirdly, for
the Church's sake, to whom by printing it I would
have you consecrate it. You owe the Church a
debt, and God hath put this into your hands (as
He sent the fish with mony to S. Peter) to dis
charge it; happily also with this (as His thoughts
are fruitful), intending the honour of His servant
the author, who being obscured in his own coun
try, He would have to nourish in this land of light
and region of the Gospell among His chosen. It
is true there are some things which I like not in
him, as my fragments will expresse when you read
them. Neverthelesse I wish you by all meanes to
368 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
publish it, for these three eminent things observ
able therein : First, that God in the midst of Pop
ery should open the eyes of one to understand and
expresse so clearely and excellently the intent of the
Gospell in the acceptation of Christ's righteous-
nesse (as he sheweth through all his Considera
tions), a thing strangely buried and darkned by
the adversaries, and their great stumbling-block.
Secondly, the great honour and reverence, which
he everywhere beares towards our deare Master
and Lord, concluding every Consideration almost
with His holy Name, and setting His merit forth
so piously; for which I doe so love him that were
there nothing else I would print it, that with it the
honour of my Lord might, be published. Thirdly,
the many pious rules of ordering our life, about
mortification, and observation of God's Kingdome
within us, and the working thereof, of which he was
a very diligent observer. These three things are
very eminent in the author, and overweigh the de
fects, as I conceive, towards the publishing thereof.
From his Parsonage of Bemmorton
Near Salisbury, September 29, 1632.
BRIEFE NOTES RELATING TO THE DUBIOUS AND OFFEN
SIVE PLACES IN THE FOLLOWING CONSIDERATIONS
To the 3 Consid. upon these words:
Not for thy speech!
Other Law and other Doctrine have we.
These words about the H. Scripture suite with
OF VALDESSO 369
what he writes elsewhere, especially Consid. 32.
But I like none of it, for it slights the Scripture too
much. Holy Scriptures have not only an elemen
tary use, but a use of perfection and are able to
make the man of God perfect (1 Tim. iv.). And
David (though David) studied all the day long in
it, and Joshua was to meditate therein day and
night. (Josh, the 1.)
To the 3 Consid. upon these words:
As they also make use of the Scriptures to
conserve the health of their minds.
All the Saints of God may be said in some sence
to have put confidence in Scripture, but not as a
naked Word severed from God, but as the Word
of God ; and in so doing they doe not sever their
trust from God. But by trusting in the Word of
God they trust in God. Hee that trusts in the
king's word for anything, trusts in the king.
To the 5 Consid. upon these words:
God regards not how pious or impious we be.
This place, together with many other, as namely
Consid. 71, upon Our Father; and Consid. 94,
upon these words : God doth not hold them for good
or for evill for that they observe or not observe, &c.,
though it were the author's opinion, yet the truth
of it would be examined. See the note upon Con
sid. 36.
370 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
To the 6 Consid.
The doctrine of the last passage must be warily
understood. First, that it is not to be understood
of actuall sinnes, but habituall; for I can no more
free my selfe from actuall sinnes after Baptisme
then I could of originall before and without Bap
tisme. The exemption from both is by the grace of
God. Secondly, among habits, some oppose theo
logical vertues, as uncharitablenesse opposes char
ity, infidelity faith, distrust hope ; of these none
can free themselves of themselves, but only by the
grace of God. Other habits oppose morall vertues,
as prodigality opposes moderation, and pusilla
nimity magnanimity. Of these the heathen freed
themselves only by the generall providence of God,
as Socrates and Aristides, &c. Where he sayes the
inflammation of the naturall, he sayes aptly, so it be
understood with the former distinction; for fomes
is not taken away, but accensio fomitis ; the nat
urall concupiscence is not extinguished, but the
heate of it asswaged.
To the 11 Consid.
He often useth this manner of speech, beleeving
by Revelation, not by relation, whereby I under
stand he meaneth only the effectuall operation or
illumination of the Holy Spirit, testifying and ap
plying the revealed truth of the Gospell, and not
any private enthusiasmes or revelations; as if he
OF VALDESSO 371
should say, *A generall apprehension, or assent
to the promises of the Gospell by heare-say, or
relation from others, is not that which filleth the
heart with joy and peace in believing ; but the
Spirit's bearing witnesse with our spirit, revealing
and applying the generall promises to every one in
particular, with such syncerity and efficacy that it
makes him godly, righteous, and sober all his life
long, — this I call beleeving by Revelation and
not by relation.'
[Valdesso, in the passage to which this note is
attached, considers the state of that man who,
though hard of belief and difficult to be persuaded,
has at length been awakened to the truths of the
Gospel, as infinitely preferable to the hasty faith
which the man who is easily persuaded to adopt
any opinion is too often induced to yield to the
promises of the Gospel. The former, as having
resigned his prejudices to the force of truth, is
said to believe by Revelation; whereas the latter,
as having yielded to the Gospel the same weak
assent which any other doctrines equally might
have drawn from him, is said to believe by rela
tion, by human persuasion and the opinion of
mankind.]
To the 32 Consid.
I much mislike the comparison of images and
H. Scripture, as if they were both but alphabets
and after a time to be left. The H. Scriptures, as I
37* THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
wrote before, have not only an elementary use, but
a use of perfection ; neither can they ever be
exhausted (as pictures may be by a plenarie cir
cumspection), but still, even to the most learned
and perfect in them, there is somewhat to be
learned more. Therefore David desireth God, in
the 119 Psalme, to open his eyes that he might
see the wondrous things of his Lawes and that he
would make them his study; although by other
words of the same Psalme it is evident that he was
not meanly conversant in them. Indeed, he that
shall so attend to the bark of the letter as to neglect
the consideration of God's worke in his heart
through the Word doth amisse. Both are to be
done : the Scriptures still used, and God's worke
within us still observed, Who workes by His Word
and ever in the reading of it. As for that text, They
shall be all taught of God, it being Scripture, cannot
be spoken to the disparagement of Scripture; but
the meaning is this, That God in the dayes of the
Gospell will not give an outward law of ceremonies
as of old, but such a one as shall still have the assist
ance of the Holy Spirit applying it to our hearts,
and ever outrunning the teacher, as it did when
Peter taught Cornelius. There the case is plainer
Cornelius had revelation, yet Peter was to be sent
for; and those that have inspirations must still use
Peter, God's Word. If we make another sence of
that text, wee shall overthrow all means save Cate
chizing and set up enthusiasmes.
OF VALDESSO 373
In the Scripture are
Doctrines — these ever teach more and more.
Promises — these ever comfort more and more.
Ro. xv. 4.
[In this note Herbert justly objects to a very
quaint and far-fetched comparison which the au
thor draws between the books of Holy Scripture
and the images of the Roman Catholic Church. As
the unlearned are fond of placing pictorial images
in different situations, in order that the objects
of their belief might never be absent from their
minds, so the learned delight to heap up copies of
the Holy Scriptures with notes, comments, and
explanations of wise men, that they may be fur
nished with every information which they may
desire on the subject of the Christian faith. But in
both cases alike, those who are not indued with the
true inspiration of the Spirit confine themselves to
the study of these their first rudiments ; whereas
the truly pious, who are guided by the Spirit of God,
look upon Scripture in one case, and images in
the other, as but the alphabet as it were of Chris
tianity, and to be cast aside after they have once
obtained the revelation and grace of God. This
comparison, as being incomplete, and in fact lead
ing to dangerous doctrines, Herbert very properly
impugns.]
374 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
To the 33 Consid.
The doctrine of this Consideration cleareth that
of the precedent. For as the servant leaves not the
letter when he hath read it, but keepes it by him,
and reads it againe and againe, and the more the
promise is delayed the more he reads it and forti
fies himselfe with it, so are wee to doe with the
Scriptures, and this is the use of the promises of
the Scriptures. But the use of the doctrinall part
is more, in regard it presents us not with the same
thing only when it is read, as the promises doe, but
enlightens us with new considerations the more
we read it. Much more might be said, but this
sufficeth. He himselfe allowes it for a holy con
versation and refreshment.
[In the 32nd Consideration ; and amongst all di
vine and spiritual exercises and duties, he nameth
the reading and meditation of Holy Scripture for
the first and principal, as Consid. 47, and others ;
so that it is plain the author had a very reverend
esteem of the Holy Scripture, especially considering
the time and place where he lived. That Valdesso
did not undervalue the Scriptures, notwithstanding
the remarks alluded to in Herbert's last note, is
evident from the passage to which this present note
refers. In it the Scriptures are said to be to us as
a letter would be to a servant from his lord, which
is treasured up by him as containing promises of
high and unusual favours, certain in the end to be
fulfilled, although slow in coming.]
OF VALDESSO 375
To the 36 Consid. on these words:
Neither fearing chastisement for transgression,
nor hoping for reward, for observation, &c.
All the discourse from this line till the end of this
chapter may seeme strange, but it is sutable to what
the author holds elsewhere; for he maintaines that
it is faith and infidelity that shall judge us now
since the Gospell, and that no other sin or vertue
hath any thing to doe with us ; if we believe, no
sinne shall hurt us ; if we believe not, no vertue
shall helpe us. Therefore he saith here, we shall
not be punished (which word I like here better
than chastizement, because even the godly are chas
tized but not punished) for evill doing, nor re
warded for wel doing or living, for all the point lies
in believing or not believing. And with this exposi
tion the chapter is cleare enough; but the truth of
the doctrine would be examined, however it may
passe for his opinion. In the Church of God there
is one fundamentall, but else variety.
[The author's good meaning in this will better
appear by his 98th Consideration of faith and good
werks. The arguments of the author in this place
on the Christian liberty may be correctly explained
as Herbert has in this note explained them. It
may, however, be questioned whether his language
is not a little too obscure; so much so, indeed, that
a hasty perusal of the chapter might lead those who
were predisposed to such an inference to imagine
376 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
that Valdesso had fallen into the grievous heresy
which once led so many men astray in our own
country, that even sins might be committed with
impunity, and were not in fact sinful, when a man
was once a member of the invisible Church of
Christ and justified by faith.]
To the 37 Consid. on these words:
That God is so delicate and sensitive, &c.
The Apostle saith that the wages of sinne is
death, and therefore there is no sinne so small that
merits not death, and that doth not provoke God,
Who is a jealous God. [In the margin here, " This
note is the French translator's."]
To the 46 Consid. on these words:
Exercise not thyself in anything pretending justi
fication.
He meaneth (I suppose) that a man presume not
to merit, that is, to oblige God, or justify himself e
before God, by any acts or exercises of religion;
but that he ought to pray God affectionately and
fervently to send him the light of His Spirit, which
may be unto him as the sunne to a travellour in his
journey; hee in the meane while applying himselfe
to the duties of true piety and syncere religion, such
as are prayer, fasting, alms-deeds, &c. after the
example of devout Cornelius.
[Or thus : there are two sorts of acts in religion,
acts of humiliation and acts of confidence and joy;
OF VALDESSO 377
the person here described to be in the dark ought
to use the first, and to forbear the second. Of the
first sort are repentance, prayers, fasting, alms, mor
tifications, &c. ; of the second, receiving of the Com
munion, praises, psalms, &c. These in divers cases
ought, and were of old forborne for a time. This
note almost explains itself. In the text to which it
refers the Spirit of God is described as gradually
shedding its light upon the mind in the same man
ner as the sun breaks by degrees upon the eyes of
a traveller in the dark.]
To the 49 Consid. on these words:
Remaining quiet when they perceive no motion, &c.
In indifferent things there is roome for motions,
and expecting of them; but in things good, as to
relieve my neighbour, God hath already revealed
His will about it. Therefore we ought to proceed,
except there be a restraining motion, as S. Paul
had when hee would have preached in Asia. And I
conceive the restraining motions are much more
frequent to the godly then inviting motions, be
cause the Scripture invites enough ; for it invites us
to all good according to that singular place, Phil,
iv. 8. A man is to embrace all good; but because
he cannot doe all, God often chuseth which he
shall doe, and that by restraining him from what
He would not have him doe.
[The author in this place is speaking of motions
communicated by the Spirit, either to do or to
378 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
refrain from doing certain actions. Herbert's note
explains his sentiments on that subject.]
To the same Consid. upon these words:
A man's free will doth consist, &c.
He meanes a man's fre will is only in outward,
not in spirituall things.
To the same Consid. on these words:
Neither Pharaoh nor Judas, &c. could cease to be
such.
This doctrine, however true in substance, yet
needeth discreet and wary explaining.
[The doctrine that bad men, such as Pharaoh,
Judas, and other vessels of wrath, only fulfilled
parts appointed to them by God, and could not be
otherwise than what they were.]
To the 58 Consid. upon the seventh difference.
By occasions I suppose hee meaneth the ordi
nary or necessary duties and occasions of our call
ing and condition of life, and not those which are
in themselves occasions of sinne, such as are all
vain conversations. For as for these, pious per
sons ought alwaies to avoid them. But in those
other occasions God's Spirit will mortify and try
them as gold in the fire.
[The author speaks of human learning as insuf
ficient to guide a man to the knowledge of the
Jruth. Herbert's note explains itself.]
OF VALDESSO 379
To the 59 Consid. upon these words :
And with doubtfulnesse I see He prayed in the
garden.
To say our Saviour prayed with doubtfulnesse is
more then I can or dare say. But with condition or
conditionally He prayed as man, though as God
He knew the Event. Feare is given to Christ, but
not doubt, and upon good ground.
To the 62 Consid.
This Chapter is considerable. The intent of it,
that the world pierceth not godly men's actions no
more than God's, is in some sort true, because they
are spiritually discerned (1 Cor. ii. 14). So likewise
are the godly in some sort exempt from Lawes,
for Lex justo nan est posita. But when he enlargeth
them he goes too farre. For first, concerning Abra
ham and Sara, I ever tooke that for a weaknesse in
the great patriark. And that the best of God's ser
vants should have weaknesses, is no way repugnant
to the way of God's Spirit in them, or to the Scrip
tures, or to themselves, being still men, though
godly men. Nay, they are purposely recorded in
Holy Writ. Wherefore as David's adultery cannot
be excused, so need not Abraham's equivocation,
nor Paul's neither when he professed himselfe a
Pharisee, which strictly he was not, though in the
point of resurrection he agreed with them and they
with him. The reviling also of Ananias seemes, by
880 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
his owne recalling, an oversight; yet I remember
the Fathers forbid us to judge of the doubtfull
actions of saints in Scripture, which is a modest
admonition. But it is one thing not to judge,
another to defend them. Secondly, when he useth
the word jurisdiction, allowing no jurisdiction over
the godly, this cannot stand, and it is ill doctrine in
a common-wealth. The godly are punishable as
others when they doe amisse, and they are to be
judged according to the outward fact, unlesse it be
evident to others as well as to themselves that God
moved them; for otherwise any malefactor may
pretend motions, which is insufferable in a common
wealth. Neither doe I doubt but if Abraham had
lived in our kingdome under government, and had
killed his sonne Isaac, but he might have been
justly put to death for it by the magistrate, unlesse
he could have made it appeare that it was done
by God's immediate precept. He had done justly
and yet had been punished justly, that is, In hu-
mano foro et secundum praesumptionem legalem
[according to the common and legal proceedings
among men]. So may a warre be just on both sides,
and was just in the Canaanites and Israelites both.
How the godly are exempt from laws is a known
point among divines; but when he sayes they are
equally exempt with God, that is dangerous and
too farre. The best salve for the whole chapter is
to distinguish judgment. There is a judgment of
luthority (upon a fact), and there is a judgment
OF VALDESSO 381
of the learned. For as a magistrate judgeth in his
tribunall, so a scholar judgeth in his study and cen-
sureth this or that ; whence come so many books
of severall men's opinions. Perhaps he meant all
of this later, not of the former. Worldly learned
men cannot judg spirituall men's actions, but the
magistrate may.
[And surely this the author meant by the word
jurisdiction, for so he useth the same word in Con
sideration 68 ad finem. The 62d Consideration
treats of the dangerous and useless question how
far saints are exempt from human law, laying
down at the same time a position equally unten
able in its full extent, that men have neither right
nor ability to judge of those things which the holy
men recorded in Scripture have done contrary to
human law. The note before us was penned by
Herbert to qualify and restrict this doctrine.]
To the 63 Consid.
The authour doth still discover too slight a
regard of the Scripture, as if it were but children's
meat ; whereas there is not onely milke there, but
strong meat also (Heb. v. 14) ; things hard to bee
understood (2 Pet. iii. 16) ; things needing great con
sideration (Mat. xxiv. 15). Besides, he opposeth the
teaching of the Spirit to the teaching of Scripture,
which the Holy Spirit wrote. Although the Holy
Spirit apply the Scripture, yet what the Scripture
teacheth the Spirit teacheth ; the Holy Spirit,
382 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
indeed, some time doubly teaching, both in pen
ning and in applying. I wonder how this opinion
could befall so good a man as it seems Valdesso
was, since the saints of God in all ages have ever
held in so pretious esteem the Word of God as
their joy and crowne and their treasure on earth.
Yet his owne practice seemes to confute his opin
ion ; for the most of his Considerations, being
grounded upon some text of Scripture, shewes that
he was continually conversant in it and not used it
for a time onely and then cast it away, as he sayes
strangely. There is no more to be said of this chap
ter but that his opinion of the Scripture is unsuffer-
able. As for the text of S. Pet. 2 Ep. i. 19, which
he makes the ground of his Consideration, build
ing it all upon the word, Untill the day-starre arise,
it is nothing. How many places doe the Fathers
bring about until against the heretiques who dis
puted against the virginity of the blessed Virgin,
out of that text (Mat. i. 25), where it is said,
Joseph knew her not until shee had brought forth
her firstborn Sonne, as if afterwards he had knowne
her. And indeed in common sence, if I bid a man
stay in a place untill I come, I doe not then bid
him goe away, but rather stay longer, that I may
speak with him or doe something else when I doe
come. So S. Peter bidding the dispersed Hebrews
attend to the word till the day dawn, doth not bid
them then cast away the word, or leave it off; but,
however, he would have them attend to it till that
OF VALDESSO 383
time, and then afterward they will attend it of
themselves without his exhortation. Nay, it is
observeable that in that very place he preferres the
word before the sight of the Transfiguration of
Christ. So that the word hath the precedence
even of revelation and visions. And so his whole
discourse and sevenfold observation falls to the
ground.
[In the 63d Consideration Valdesso attempts to
show, by seven conformities, that the Holy Scripture
is like a candle in a dark place, and that the Holy
Spirit is like the sunne; in this showing that slight
regard for Scripture with which Herbert charges
him in the note before us.]
To the 65 Consid. on these words:
Acknowledging the benefit received by Jesus Christ
our Lord; like as it betides unto a thirsty travellour,
to whom, &c.
This comparison is infinitely too base. There is
none of the references which we have had with our
Lord Jesus Christ, dissolved but infinitely per
fected, and He shall ever continue our glorious
Head. And all the influences of our happinesse
shall ever descend from Him, and our chief glory
shall, as I conceive, consist in that which He saith
among the last words that He spake in the XVII
John, 24, Father, I will that they also whom Thou
hast given Me bee with Me where I am, that they also
may behold the glory which Thou hast given Me be-
384 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
fore the foundation of the world. [To which agreeth
that which S. Paul writes (2 Thes. 1, chap. 9)].
To the 69 Consid. upon these words:
So much faith as thereby to remove mountaines.
Divines hold that justifying faith and the faith
of miracles are divers gifts and of a different na
ture, the one being gratia gratis data, the other
gratia gratum faciens, — this being given only to
the godly, and the other sometimes to the wicked.
Yet doubtlesse the best faith in us is defective and
arrives not to the point it should; which if it did,
it would doe more than it does. And miracle-
working, as it may be severed from justifying faith,
so it may be a fruit of it and an exaltation. (1 John
v. 14.)
[This note is appended to the 69th Considera
tion, that all men, bearing in mind the faith to
work miracles with which some have been endued,
should always judge their own faith incomplete.
And secondly, that their faith is always to be mea
sured by their knowledge of God and Christ.]
Page 247.
Though this were the author's opinion, yet the
truth of it would be examined. The 98th Consid
eration, about being justified by faith or by good
works, or condemned for unbelief or evil works,
make plain the Author's meaning.
[The author in this place alludes briefly to the
OF VALDESSO 385
imputed merits of Christ, apparently as if they
entirely superseded human virtue and rendered it
unnecessary. Herbert refers to the 98th Consider
ation to explain this apparent inconsistency.]
Page 270.
By the saints of the world he everywhere under
stands the cunning hypocrite, who by the world is
counted a very saint for his outward show of holi
ness. And we meet with two sorts of these saints of
the world : one whose holiness consists in a few cer
emonies and superstitious observations ; the other's
in a zeal against these, and in a strict perform
ance of a few cheap and easy duties of religion with
no less superstition ; both of them having forms or
vizors of godliness, but denying the power thereof.
[This note merely explains a term, saints of the
world, which Valdesso employs in the Considera
tion to which the note is attached.]
Page 354.
Though this be the author's opinion, yet the
truth of it would be examined. The 98th Consid
eration, about being justified by faith or by good
works, or condemned for unbelief or evil works,
make plain the author's meaning.
[Herbert here repeats a note which he had
attached to a previous passage. He again alludes
to the same doctrine, qualifying it by a reference
to a future Consideration.]
386 THE DIVINE CONSIDERATIONS
To the 94 Consid.
By Hebrew piety he meaneth not the very cere
monies of the Jewes, which no Christian observes
now, but an analogat observation of ecclesiasticall
and canonicall lawes superinduced to the Scrip
tures, like to that of the Jewes, which they added
to their divine law. This being well weighed, will
make the Consideration easy and very observable.
For at least some of the Papists are come now to
what the Pharisees were come to in our Saviour's
time.
[This note is written to explain the term, Hebrew
piety, and in no other way refers to the text of
Valdesso.]
Page 355.
This is true only of the Popish cases of con
science, which depend almost wholly on their
canon law and decretals, knots of their own tying
and untying; but there are other cases of con
science, grounded on piety and morality, and the
difficulty of applying their general rules to particu
lar actions, which are a most noble study.
[Herbert here qualifies another statement of
Valdesso, which would seem to confound the cases
of conscience which the Romanists were so fond of
framing, with others which often arise in the bosoms
of good men and are founded on a regard to piety
and morality.]
Interior of Ferraris Church, 32 x 15 feet, with chancel 24 X 10.
See Vol. I, p. 171-175.
iSIDER
what the Pi;
(This i
piety, and in nc 'efers to
-so.]
b are a mosl udy.
Valdesso, which wou)
with otli
.
LETTERS OF GEORGE HERBERT
PREFACE
SIXTEEN English letters of Herbert's have
been preserved in whole or in part. Six of
them were written to his stepfather, Sir John
Danvers, four to his brother Henry, two to Nicho
las Ferrar (besides the one already printed as a
preface to the notes on Valdesso), and one each to
his mother, his sister, and the Countess of Pem
broke. They are arranged here chronologically.
Though not all dated, on internal evidence it is
possible to fix approximately the time when each
was written.
Herbert's letter to his mother first appeared in
Walton's Life. In an appendix to that book Walton
also printed Herbert's letter to his sister, the six
letters to Danvers, and the one to Ferrar sending
notes on Valdesso. In the appendix to the collected
Lives he added the letter to the Countess of Pem
broke. The other two letters to Ferrar are derived
from John Ferrar's Life of his brother. Those to
Henry Herbert were first printed in 1818, in a vol
ume of letters of the Herbert family edited by Re
becca Warner and entitled Epistolary Curiosities.
At first sight these are not precisely the letters
of Herbert which one would desire. All, with the
390
PREFACE TO
exception of those to Ferrar, are addressed to rela
tives. But even so, the collection is strangely
meagre. There is no letter to Edward Herbert,
only one to Herbert's mother, that one being the
most artificial of all ; while the correspondence
with Ferrar which, according to Walton and Oley,
was so frequent as to be their chief bond of in
timacy, is here represented by fragments. Those
were disturbed times, when letters were easily lost
or destroyed; but one would suppose that less than
forty years after Herbert's death it would have
been easy to gather more letters of a man then
decidedly famous and during his life widely con
nected.
Yet if the letters are few and brief, they throw
valuable light on Herbert's character and on sev
eral important incidents of his life. It is true they
say nothing about his verse, his Crisis time, his
marriage, his taking orders, his clerical work at
Bemerton. But during the Cambridge years they
tell of his slender health, his disposition to extrava
gance, his fondness for buying books, his purpose
of the priesthood, his light postponement of it, his
eagerness for the Oratorship. In his later years,
too, we catch glimpses of his rebuilding Leighton
Church, his care of his nieces, and his pleasant
relations with the Pembrokes. On the whole, that
must be regarded as a fortunate selection of letters
which in so short a compass reports so much about
their reticent writer.
LETTERS 391
Furthermore, these letters are individual and
truthful. They are written by one who has some
thing of importance in mind which he wishes to
put into the mind of another. The correspondence
of the seventeenth century does not usually con
vey this impression. Verbiage, compliment, con
ventional modes of utterance, distortion of sincerity
through literary desire, make many of the letters
of this period tiresome reading. That is the case
with Donne's voluminous letters, with Herbert's
letters in Latin, — yes, even with Milton's. So
obscuring are the literary flourishes in these la
bored compositions that it is difficult to discover
what has happened or what is felt. Something of
this stiffness will be noticed in the hortations of
Herbert's letter to his mother, which seems rather
intended for the public than for a suffering dear
one. But in general the simple and meaningful
tone of these letters probably gives us our best
indication of how Herbert talked in the intimacies
of ordinary life.
LETTERS OF GEORGE HERBERT
To SIR J. D.1
SIB,
THOUGH I had the best wit in the world, yet
it would easily tyre me to find out variety of
thanks for the diversity of your favours, if I sought
to do so; but I possess it not. And therefore let it
be sufficient for me that the same heart which you
have won long since is still true to you, and hath
nothing else to answer your infinite kindnesses but
a constancy of obedience ; only hereafter I will
take heed how I propose my desires unto you,
since I find you so willing to yield to my requests;
for since your favours come a horseback, there is
reason that my desires should go a-f oot ; neither do
I make any question but that you have performed
your kindness to the full, and that the horse is
every way fit for me, and I will strive to imitate the
compleatness of your love, with being in some pro
portion, and after my manner, your most obedient
Servant,
GEORGE HERBERT.
394 LETTERS
To SIR JOHN DANVERS
SIR,
I dare no longer be silent, lest while I think I am
modest, I wrong both myself, and also the confi
dence my friends have in me. Wherefore I will
open my case unto you, which I think deserves the
reading at the least : and it is this, I want books
extremely. You know, Sir, how I am now setting
foot into Divinity, to lay the platform of my future
life; and shall I then be fain always to borrow
books, and build on another's foundation ? What
tradesman is there who will set up without his
tools ? Pardon my boldness, Sir; it is a most seri
ous case, nor can I write coldly in that wherein
consisteth the making good of my former educa
tion, of obeying that spirit which hath guided me
hitherto, and of atchieving my (I dare say) holy
ends. This also is aggravated, in that I apprehend
what my friends would have been forward to say
if I had taken ill courses, Follow your book, and
you shall want nothing. You know, Sir, it is their
ordinary speech, and now let them make it good;
for since I hope I have not deceived their expecta
tion, let not them deceive mine. But perhaps they
will say, You are sickly, you must not study too
hard. It is true (God knows) I am weak, yet not
so but that every day I may step one step towards
my journie's end ; and I love my friends so well as
that if all things proved not well, I had rather the
LETTERS 395
fault should lie on me than on them. But they will
object again, What becomes of your Annuity?
Sir, if there be any truth in me, I find it little
enough to keep me in health. You know I was sick
last vacation, neither am I yet recovered, so that I
am fain ever and anon to buy somewhat tending
towards my health; for infirmities are both painful
and costly. Now this Lent I am forbid utterly to
eat any fish, so that I am fain to dyet in my cham
ber at mine own cost ; for in our publick halls, you
know, is nothing but fish and white-meats ; out of
Lent also twice a week, on Fridayes and Satur
days, I must do so, which yet sometimes I fast.
Sometimes also I ride to Newmarket, and there lie
a day or two for fresh air; all which tend to avoid
ing of costlier matters, if I should fall absolutely
sick. I protest and vow, I even study thrift, and
yet I am scarce able with much ado to make one
half year's allowance shake hands with the other.
And yet if a book of four or five shillings come in
my way, I buy it, though I fast for it; yea, some
times of ten shillings. But, alas Sir, what is that to
those infinite volumes of Divinity, which yet every
day swell and grow bigger? Noble Sir, pardon
my boldness, and consider but these three things:
first, the bulk of Divinity. Secondly, the time when
I desire this (which is now, when I must lay the
foundation of my whole life). Thirdly, what I de
sire and to what end, not vain pleasures, nor to a
vain end. If then, Sir, there be any course, either
396 LETTERS
by engaging my future annuity, or any other way,
I desire you, Sir, to be my mediator to them in my
behalf. "
Now I write to you, Sir, because to you I have
ever opened my heart, and have reason by the
Patents of your perpetual favour to do so still, for
I am sure you love your faithfullest Servant,
GEORGE HERBERT.
Triii. Coll., March 18, 1617.
TO MR. H. HERBERT1
BROTHER,
The disease which I am troubled with now is the
shortness of time ; for it hath been my fortune of
late to have such sudden warning, that I have not
leisure to impart unto you some of those observa
tions which I have framed to myself in conversa
tion, and whereof I would not have you ignorant.
As I shall find occasion, you shall receive them by
pieces; and if there be any such which you have
found useful to yourself, communicate them to me.
You live in a brave nation, where, except you wink,2
you cannot but see many brave examples. Be
covetous, then, of all good which you see in French
men, whether it be in knowledge or in fashion or
in words; for I would have you, even in speeches
to observe so much as, when you meet with a witty
French speech, try to speak the like in English.
So shall you play a good merchant, by transport
ing French commodities to your own country. Let
LETTERS 397
there be no kind of excellency which it is possible
for you to attain to, which you seek not. And have
a good conceit of your wit, mark what I say, have a
good conceit of your wit; that is, be proud not with
a foolish vaunting of yourself when there is no
cause, but by setting a just price of your qualities.
And it is the part of a poor spirit to undervalue
himself and blush. But I am out of my time.
When I have more time, you shall hear more; and
write you freely to me in your letters, for I am your
ever loving brother,
G. HERBERT.
P. S. My brother is somewhat of the same tem
per, and perhaps a little more mild, but you will
hardly perceive it.
To my dear Brother,
Mr. Henry Herbert, at Paris.
To THE TRULY NOBLE SlR J. D.1
SIR,
I understand by a letter from my brother
Henry that he hath bought a parcel of books for
me, and that they are coming over. Now though
they have hitherto travelled upon your charge, yet
if my sister were acquainted that they are ready,
I dare say she would make good her promise of
taking five or six pound upon her, which she hath
hitherto deferred to do, not of herself, but upon the
want of those books which were not to be got in
398
LETTERS
England. For that which surmounts, though your
noble disposition is infinitely free, yet I had rather
flie to my old ward, that if any course could be
taken of doubling my annuity now upon condition
that I should surcease from all title to it after I
enter'd into a benefice, I should be most glad to
entertain it, and both pay for the surplusage of
these books and for ever after cease my clamorous
and greedy bookish requests. It is high time now
that I should be no more a burden to you, since I
can never answer what I have already received;
for your favours are so ancient1 that they prevent
my memory, and yet still grow upon your hum
blest servant,
GEORGE HERBERT.
I remember my most humble duty to my
mother. I have wrote to my dear sick sister this
week already, and therefore now I hope may be
excused.
I pray, Sir, pardon my boldness of enclosing
my brother's letter in yours, for it was because I
know your lodging, but not his.
To SIR JOHN DANVERS
SIR,
This week hath loaded me with your favours.
I wish I could have come in person to thank you,
but it is not possible. Presently after Michaelmas
I am to make an oration to the whole University, of
LETTERS 399
an hour long in Latin, and my Lincoln journey
hath set me much behind hand: neither can I so
much as go to Bugden and deliver your letter, yet
I have sent it thither by a faithful messenger this
day. I beseech you all, you and my dear Mother
and sister, to pardon me ; for my Cambridge ne
cessities are stronger to tye me here than yours
to London. If I could possibly have come, none
should have done my message to Sir Fr. Nether-
sole for me. He and I are ancient acquaintance,
and I have a strong opinion of him that if he can
do me a courtesy, he will of himself ; yet your
appearing in it affects me strangely. I have sent
you here enclosed a letter from our Master on
my behalf, which if you can send to Sir Francis
before his departure, it will do well, for it express-
eth the Universitie's inclination to me. Yet if you
cannot send it with much convenience, it is no
matter, for the gentleman needs no incitation to
love me.
The Orator's place (that you may understand
what it is) is the finest place in the University,
though not the gainfullest; yet that will be about
30 /. per an. But the commodiousness is beyond
the revenue; for the Orator writes all the Univer
sity letters, makes all the orations, be it to King,
Prince, or whatever comes to the University; to
requite these pains, he takes place next the doc
tors, is at all their assemblies and meetings, and
sits above the proctors, is regent, or non-regent at
400 LETTERS
his pleasure, and such like gaynesses, which will
please a young man well.1
I long to hear from Sir Francis. I pray Sir, send
the letter you receive from him to me as soon as
you can, that I may work the Heads to my pur
pose. I hope I shall get this place without all
your London helps, of which I am very proud ;
not but that I joy in your favours, but that you
may see that if all fail, yet I am able to stand on
mine own legs. Noble Sir, I thank you for your
infinite favours ; I fear only that I have omitted
some fitting circumstance; yet you will pardon my
haste, which is very great, though never so but that
I have both time and work to be your extreme
servant,
GEORGE HERBERT.
To SIR JOHN DANVERS
I have received the things you sent me, safe ;
and now the only thing I long for is to hear of my
dear sick sister: first, how her health fares, next,
whether my peace be yet made with her concern
ing my unkind departure. Can I be so happy, as
to hear of both these that they succeed well ? Is
it not too much for me ? Good Sir, make it plain
to her, that I loved her even in my departure, in
looking to her son and my charge. I suppose she
is not disposed to spend her eyesight on a piece
of paper, or else I had wrote to her; when I shall
understand that a letter will be seasonable, my
LETTERS 401
pen is ready. Concerning the Orator's place, all
goes well yet; the next Friday it is tryed, and ac
cordingly you shall hear. I have forty businesses
in my hands ; your courtesie will pardon the haste
of your humblest servant,
GEORGE HERBERT.
Trin. Coll., Jan. 19, 1619.
To SIR JOHN DANVERS
SIR,
I understand by Sir Francis NethersoPs letter,
that he fears I have not fully resolved of the mat
ter, since this place being civil may divert me too
much from Divinity, at which, not without cause,
he thinks I aim. But I have wrote him back that
this dignity hath no such earthiness in it but it
may very well be joined with heaven; or if it had
to others, yet to me it should not, for aught I yet
knew; and therefore I desire him to send me a
direct answer in his next letter. I pray, Sir, there
fore, cause this enclosed to be carried to his bro
ther's house of his own name (as I think) at the
sign of the Pedler and the Pack on London-bridge,
for there he assigns me. I cannot yet find leisure
to write to my Lord, or Sir Benjamin Ruddyard;
but I hope I shall shortly, though for the reckoning
of your favours I shall never find time and paper
enough, yet am I your readiest servant.
GEORGE HERBERT.
Trin. Coll. Octob. 6, 1619.
402
LETTERS
I remember my most humble duty to my
mother, who cannot think me lazy, since I rode
200 miles1 to see a sister, in a way I knew not, and
in the midst of much business, and all in a fort
night, not long since.
FOR MY DEAR SICK SlSTER2
MOST DEAR SISTER,
Think not my silence forgetfulness, or that my
love is as dumb as my papers; though businesse
may stop my hand, yet my heart, a much better
member, is always with you; and, which is more,
with our good and gracious God, incessantly beg
ging some ease of your pains with that earnestness
that becomes your griefs and my love. God, Who
knows and sees this writing, knows also that my
solliciting Him has been much and my tears many
for you. Judge me then by those waters and not
by my ink, and then you shall justly value your
most truly, most heartily, affectionate brother and
servant,
GEORGE HERBERT.
Trin. Coll. Decem. 6, 1620.
A LETTER OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT TO HIS
MOTHER IN HER SICKNESS
MADAM,
At my last parting from you I was the better
content because I was in hope I should my self
carry all sickness out of your family; but since I
LETTERS 403
know I did not and that your share continues, or
rather increaseth, I wish earnestly that I were
again with you ; and would quickly make good my
wish but that my employment does fix me here,
being now but a month to our Commencement;
wherein my absence, by how much it naturally
augmenteth suspicion, by so much shall it make
my prayers the more constant and the more earnest
for you to the God of all consolation. In the mean
time I beseech you to be chearful and comfort
yourself in the God of all comfort, Who is not will
ing to behold any sorrow but for sin. What hath
affliction grievous in it more then for a moment ?
or why should our afflictions here have so much
power or boldness as to oppose the hope of our
joys hereafter ? Madam, as the earth is but a point
in respect of the heavens, so are earthly troubles
compared to heavenly joyes ; therefore if either
age or sickness lead you to those joyes, consider
what advantage you have over youth and health,
who are now so near those true comforts. Your
last letter gave me an earthly preferment, and, I
hope, kept heavenly for your self. But wou'd you
divide and choose too ? Our colledg customs allow
not that; and I shou'd account my self most happy
if I might change with you; for I have alwaies
observ'd the thred of life to be like other threds or
skenes of silk, full of snarles and incumbrances.
Happy is he whose bottome1 is wound up and laid
ready for work in the New Jerusalem. For my
404
LETTERS
self, dear mother, I alwaies fear'd sickness more
then death ; because sickness hath made me unable
to perform those offices for which I came into the
world and must yet be kept in it. But you are
freed from that fear who have already abundantly
discharged that part, having both ordered your
family and so brought up your children that they
have attain'd to the years of discretion and com
petent maintenance. So that now if they do not
well, the fault cannot be charg'd on you — whose
example and care of them will justifie you both to
the world and your own conscience; in somuch
that whether you turn your thoughts on the life
past or on the joyes that are to come, you have
strong preservatives against all disquiet.1 And for
temporal afflictions, I beseech you consider all that
can happen to you are either afflictions of estate
or body or mind. For those of estate, of what poor
regard ought they to be, since if we have riches we
are commanded to give them away! so that the
best use of them is, having, not to have them. But
perhaps, being above the common people, our
credit and estimation calls on us to live in a more
splendid fashion. But, oh God ! how easily is that
answered when we consider that the blessings in
the Holy Scripture are never given to the rich, but
to the poor! I never find Blessed be the rich, or
Blessed be the noble ; but Blessed be the meek, and
Blessed be the poor, and Blessed be the mourners, for
they shall be comforted. And yet, oh God! most
LETTERS 405
carry themselves so as if they not only not desir'd
but even fear'd to be blessed. And for afflictions of
the body, dear madam, remember the holy mar
tyrs of God, how they have been burnt by thou
sands and have endur'd such other tortures as the
very mention of them might beget amazement;
but their firy trials have had an end, and yours
(which, praised be God, are less) are not like to
continue long.1 I beseech you let such thoughts as
these moderate your present fear and sorrow, and
know that if any of yours should prove a Goliah-
like trouble, yet you may say with David, That
God who delivered me out of the paws of the lyon
and bear will also deliver me out of the hands of this
uncircumcised Philistine. Lastly, for those afflic
tions of the soul, consider that God intends that
to be as a sacred temple for Himself to dwell in,
and will not allow any room there for such an in
mate as grief, or allow that any sadness shall be
His competitor. And above all, if any care of fu
ture things molest you, remember those admirable
words of the Psalmist, Cast thy care on the Lord,
and He shall nourish thee (Psal. lv.). To which
joyn that of St. Peter, Casting all your care on the
Lord, for He careth for you (1 Pet. v. 7). What an
admirable thing is this, that God puts His shoulder
to our burthen and entertains our care for us, that
we may the more quietly intend His service! To
conclude, let me commend only one place more to
you (Philip, iv. 4): St. Paul saith there, Rejoyce
406
LETTERS
in the Lord alwaies ; and again I say rejoyce. He
doubles it to take away the scruple of those that
might say, What, shall we rejoyce in afflictions ?
Yes, I say again, rejoyce; so that it is not left to us
to rejoyce or not rejoyce, but whatsoever befalls us
we must alwaies, at all times, rejoyce in the Lord,
Who taketh care for us. And it follows in the next
verse : Let your moderation appear to all men ; the
Lord is at hand ; be careful for nothing. What can
be said more comfortably? Trouble not your
selves ; God is at hand to deliver us from all or in
all. Dear madam, pardon my boldness, and accept
the good meaning of
Your most obedient son,
GEORGE HERBERT.
Trin. Coll., May 29, 1622.
To SIR HENRY HERBERT
DEAR BROTHER,
That you did not only entertain my proposals
but advance them, was lovingly done and like a
good brother. Yet truly it was none of my mean
ing, when I wrote, to put one of our nieces into
your hands, but barely what I wrote I meant, and
no more ; and am glad that although you offer
more, yet you will do, as you write, that also. I was
desirous to put a good mind into the way of char
ity, and that was all I intended. For concerning
your offer of receiving one, I will tell you what I
wrote to our eldest brother when he urged one
LETTERS 407
upon me, and but one, and that at my choice. I
wrote to him that I would have both or neither ;
and that upon this ground, because they were to
come into an unknown country, tender in know
ledge, sense, and age, and knew none but one who
could be no company to them. Therefore I consid
ered that if one only came, the comfort intended
would prove a discomfort. Since that I have seen
the fruit of my observation, for they have lived so
lovingly, lying, eating, walking, praying, working,
still together, that I take a comfort therein; and
would not have to part them yet, till I take some
opportunity to let them know your love, for which
both they shall and I do thank you. It is true there
is a third sister,1 whom to receive were the great
est charity of all, for she is youngest and least
looked unto ; having none to do it but her school
mistress, and you know what those mercenary
creatures are. Neither hath she any to repair unto
at good times, as Christmas, &c. which you know
is the encouragement of learning all the year after,
except my Cousin Bett take pity of her, which yet
at that distance is some difficulty. If you could
think of taking her, as once you did, surely it were
a great good deed, and I would have her conveyed
to you. But I judge you not. Do that which God
shall put into your heart, and the Lord bless all
your purposes to his glory. Yet truly if you take
her not, I am thinking to do it, even beyond my
strength; especially at this time, being more beg-
408
LETTERS
garly now than I have been these many years, as
having spent two hundred pounds in building;1
which to me that have nothing yet, is very much.
But though I both consider this and your observa
tion also of the unthankfulness of kindred bred up,
(which generally is very true,) yet I care not; I for
get all things so I may do them good who want
it. So I do my part to them, let them think of me
what they will or can. I have another Judge, to
Whom I stand or fall. If I should regard such
things, it were in another's power to defeat my
charity, and evil should be stronger than good:
But difficulties are so far from cooling Christians,
that they whet them. Truly it grieves me to think
of the child, how destitute she is, and that in this
necessary time of education. For the time of breed
ing is the time of doing children good : and not as
many who think they have done fairly if they
leave them a good portion after their decease. But
take this rule, and it is an outlandish2 one, which I
commend to you as being now a father, The best-
bred child hath the best portion. Well, the good
God bless you more and more, and all yours, and
make your family a houseful of God's servants.
So prays your ever-loving brother,
G. HERBERT.
My wife's and nieces' service.
To my very dear Brother,
Sir Henry Herbert, at Court.
LETTERS 409
To SIR HENRY HERBERT
DEAR BRO.
I was glad of your Cambridge news ; but you
joyed me exceedingly with your relation of my
Lady Duchess's l forwardness in our church build
ing. I am glad I used you in it; and you have no
cause to be sorry, since it is God's business. If
there fall out yet any rub, you shall hear of me ;
and your offering of yourself to move my Lords
of Manchester and Bolingbroke is very welcome to
me. To show a forwardness in religious works is a
good testimony of a good spirit. The Lord bless
you, and make you abound in every good work, to
the joy of your ever loving brother,
G. HERBERT.
March 21, Bemerton.
To my dear Brother,
Sir Henry Herbert, at Court.
To SIR HENRY HERBERT
DEAR BROTHER,
It is so long since I heard from you, that I long
to hear both how you and yours do, and also what
becomes of you this summer. It is the whole
amount of this letter, and therefore entertain it
accordingly from your very affectionate brother,
G. HERBERT.
7 June, Bemerton.
My wife's and nieces' service to you.
410
LETTERS
To NICHOLAS FERRAE*
MY EXCEEDING DEAR BROTHER,
Although you have a much better Paymaster
than myself, even Him Whom we both serve, yet I
shall ever put your care of Leighton upon my ac
count, and give you myself for it, to be yours for
ever. God knows I have desired a long time to do
the place good, and have endeavoured many ways
to find out a man for it. And now my gracious
Lord God is pleased to give me you for the man
I desired ; for which I humbly thank Him, and am
so far from giving you cause to apology about your
counselling me herein, that I take it exceeding
kindly of you. I refuse not advice from the mean
est that creeps upon God's earth — no, not though
the advice step so far as to be reproof; much less
can I disesteem it from you, whom I esteem to be
God's faithful and diligent servant, not consider
ing you any other ways as neither I myself desire
to be considered. Particularly I like all your ad
dresses, and, for ought I see, they are ever to be
liked. [So he goes on in the discourse of the build
ing the church in such and such a form as N. F.
advised, and letting N. F. know all he had and
would do to get moneys to proceed in it, and con
cludes thus:] You write very lovingly, that all
your things are mine. If so, let this of Leighton
Church the care be amongst the chief est also; so
also have I requested Mr. W[ood-note] for his
LETTERS 411
part. Now God the Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ bless you more and more, and so turn you
all in your several ways one to the other, that ye
may be a heavenly comfort, to His praise and the
great joy of
Your brother and servant in Christ Jesus,
GEORGE HERBERT.
Postscript. As I had written thus much, I
received a letter from my brother, Sir Henry
H[erbert], of the blessed success that God had
given us, by moving the duchess's heart to an
exceeding cheerfulness in signing 100 Z. with her
own hands, and promising to get her son to do as
much, with some little apology that she had done
nothing in it (as my brother writes) hitherto. She
referred it also to my brother to name at first what
the sum should be; but he told her grace that he
would by no means do so, urging that charity must
be free. She liked our book well, and has given
order to the tenants at Leighton to make payment
of it. God Almighty prosper the work. Amen.
To NICHOLAS FERRAB
MY DEAR BROTHER,
I thank you heartily for Leighton, your care,
your counsel, your cost. And as I am glad for the
thing, so no less glad for the heart that God has
given you and yours to pious works. Blessed be
my God and dear Master, the Spring and Foun-
412
LETTERS
tain of all goodness. As for my assistance, doubt
not, through God's blessing, but it shall be to the
full; and for my power, I have sent my letters
to your brother, investing him in all that I have.
[And so he goes on in his advice for the ordering
of things to that business.]
To THE RIGHT HON. THE LADY ANNE, COUNTESS
OF PEMBROKE1 AND MONTGOMERY, AT COURT.
MADAM,
What a trouble hath your goodness brought on
you, by admitting our poor services! now they
creep in a vessel of metheglin,2 and still they will be
presenting or wishing to see if at length they may
find out something not unworthy of those hands at
which they aim. In the mean time a priest's bless
ing, though it be none of the court style, yet
doubtless, madam, can do you no hurt. Wherefore
the Lord make good the blessing of your mother 3
upon you and cause all her wishes, diligence,
prayers, and tears, to bud, blow, and bear fruit in
your soul, to His glory, your own good, and the
great joy of, madam, your most faithful servant in
Christ Jesu,
GEORGE HERBERT.
Dec. 10, 1631. Bemerton.
Madam, Your poor colony of servants present
their humble duties.
Title-Page of Jacula Prudentum.
ANNE,
le hath your goodne
'ting our po
1 of metheglin,2 and still t
atingorwish
r poor color
their humbk
fPROVERBS,
SEL EC I ED
By M'. G.a.
X 0 N J> O N-
4 *
Printed by T, ?. for HufOphrt)
i at the C«j?6r ir
Cirti-btU.
EXTRACTED FROM THE PRINCIPAL
REGISTRY OF HER MAJESTY'S
COURT OF PROBATE
(IN THE PREROGATIVE COURT OF CANTER
BURY, AO. DNI. 1632)
[First printed by Dr. Grosart in his Edition of Herbert's Works In The
Fuller Worthies' Library]
I GEORGE HERBERT commending my soule
and body to Almightie God that made them doe
thus dispose of my goodes. I giue all my goodes
both within doores and without doores both mon-
neys and bookes and howshould stuffe whether in
my possession or out of my possession that properly
belonge to me vnto my deare wife excepting onely
these legacies hereafter insuing. First there is
seaven hvndred poundes in Mr. Thomas Lawleys
handes a Merchant of London which fell to me
by the death of my deare neece Mrs. Dorothy
Vaughan whereof two hvndred poundes belonges
to my two Neeces that survive and the rest unto
my selfe : this whole sum of five hvndred pounds
I bequeath vnto my Neeces equally to be devided
betweene them excepting some legacies of my de
ceased Neece which are to be payd out of it vnto
some whose names shall be annexed vnto this bill.
414
THE WILL
Then I bequeath twenty pounds vnto the poore of
this parish to be devided according to my deare
wiues discretion. Then I bequeath to Mr Hays
the Comment of Lucas Brugensis vpon the Scrip
ture and his halfe yeares wages aforehand. then I
bequeath to Mr. Bostocke St. Augustines Workes
and his halfe yeares wages aforehand, then I leave
to my servant Elizabeth her dubble wages giuen
her, three pound more besides that which is due
to her; to Ann I leave thirty shillinges: to Marga
ret twenty shillinges : to William Twenty Nobles,
to John twentie shillinges, all these are over and
aboue their wages: To Sara thirteene shillinges
foure pence, Alsoe my Will and pleasure is that
Mr. Woodnoth should be mine Executor to whome
I bequeath twenty pound, whereof fifteene pound
shall be bestowed vppon Leighton Church, the other
five pound I giue to himselfe. Lastlie I besech Sir
John Danvers that he would be pleased to be
Overseer of this Will —
GEORGE HERBERT.
(Testes) Nathaniell Bostocke — Elizabeth
Burden.
On the other side are the names of those to
whome my deceased Neece left legacyes.
All those that are crost are discharged already,
the rest are to be payd.
To Mrcs Magdalen Vaughan one hvndred pound
To Mrs Catharine Vaughan one hvndred pound
To Mr George Herbert one hvndred poundx To
THE WILL 415
Mrs Beatrice Herbert forty poundx To Mrs Jane
Herbert tenn poundx To Mrs Danvers five poundx
To Amy Danvers thirty shillinges To Mrs Anne
Danvers twenty shillinges To Mrs Mary Danvers
twenty shillinges To Mrs Michel twenty shillinges
To Mrs Elizabeth Danvers Mr Henry Danvers
wife twenty shillinges, to the poore of the parish
twenty poundx To my Lord of Cherbury tenn
pound To Mr Bostocke forty shillingesx To
Elizabeth Burthen thirty shillinges x To Mary
Gifford tenn shillinges x To Anne Hibbert tenn
shillingesx To Willuam Scuce twenty shillingesx
To Mrs Judith Spencer five pound To Mary
Owens forty shillinges. To Mrs Mary Lawly fifty
shillingesx To Mr Gardiner tenn pound MS. that
the fiue pound due to Mrs Judeth Spencer is to be
payd to Mrs Mary Lawly at Chelsey MS. that
there are diuers moneys of mine in Mr Stephens
handes Stationer of London, having lately receaved
an hvndred and two poundes besides some Re
mainders of monyes whereof he is to giue as I
know he will a Just account : if there be any body
els that owe me any thing else of old debt I forgiue
them.
PROBATUM fuit Testamentum suprascriptum
apud London coram venerabili viro magistro Wil-
limo Mericke legum Doctore Surrogate venerabilis
viri Domini Henrici Marten militis legum etiam
doctoris Curiae Prerogative Cantuariensis Magis-
teri Custodis sive Commissarij legitime constituti
416
THE WILL
duodecimo die mensis Martij Anno Domini juxta
cursum et computaconem Ecclesie Anglicane Mil-
lesimo sexcentesimo tricesimo secundo juramento
Arthuri Woodnoth Executoris in hujusmodi Testa-
mento nominati cui commissa fuit administratio
omnium et singulorum bonorum jurium et credi-
torum dicti defuncti de bene et fideliter adminis-
trando eadem ad Sancta Dei Evangelia in debita
juris forma jurat.
NOTES
THE COUNTRY PARSON
1, p. 209. Revoking = calling back.
2, p. 209. Colossians i, 2, 4.
3, p. 209. The Dignity. To a court friend who dissuaded
Herbert from entering into sacred orders, as
too mean an employment and too much be
low his birth, he replied : It hath been formerly
judged that the Domestick Servants of the King
of Heaven should be of the noblest Families on
Earth ; and though the Iniquity of the late
Times have made Clergy-men meanly valued
and the sacred name of Priest contemptible,
yet I mill labour to make it honourable by con-
' secrating all my learning and all my poor
abilities to advance the glory of that God that
gave them : Walton's Life.
1, p. 212. Keep up with= stand up to.
1, p. 213. 2VawM=travail, labor.
1, p. 215. The Parson's Knowledg. Be covetous of all
good which you see in Frenchmen, whether
it be in knowledge or in fashion or in words.
Let there be no kind of excellency which it is
possible for you to attain to, which you seek
not : Herbert to his brother Henry.
1, p. 216. Psalm cxix, 18.
420 THE COUNTRY PARSON
1, p. 220. The Parson Praying, i. e. reading the service.
2, p. 220. Treatable= deliberate.
1, p. 221. Slubbering = slovenly.
1, p. 222. " Presented, i. e. to the Bishop or Archdea
con for offences against the Canons. Such
presentations could be made by the minister,
churchwardens, or sidesmen, but were usually
made by the churchwardens. The offences
for which presentations were made under the
Canons of 1603 were such as the following:
adultery, drunkenness, swearing, usury, non-
attendance at Holy Communion, having chil
dren baptized out of the parish, disturbing
divine service, etc. : " H. C. Beeching.
1, p. 224. "Hermogenes, a Rhetorician of Tarsus in the
reign of Marcus Aurelius. He describes and
gives 'precepts' for seven 'characters of good
oratory, such as perspicuity, elegance/ etc. : "
H. C. Beeching.
1, p. 229. Induce= introduce, bring it in.
1, p. 232. Lusty = joyous, strong.
1, p. 233. Experiment = experience.
1, p. 234. By his eare. This would suggest that it was
their parents' choice, rather than their own
headlong emotion, which brought Herbert
and Jane Danvers together after a three days'
acquaintance.
2, p. 234. Account. "And he was most happy in his
Wife's unforc'd compliance with his acts of
Charity, whom he made his Almoner and paid
THE COUNTRY PARSON 421
constantly into her hand a tenth penny of
what money he receiv'd for Tythe and gave
her a power to dispose a tenth part of the Corn
that came yearly into his Barn, which trust
she did most faithfully perform and would
often offer to him an account of her steward
ship : " Walton's Life.
1, p. 235. Meets with = contends against.
2, p. 235. His children. Herbert had none.
1, p. 236. Happily = haply, perhaps.
2, p. 236. " Chamber o] London. The allusion is obvi
ously to the ancient custom of this city called
'Orphanage/ By that custom the estates of
all freemen dying intestate vested in the
Court of Mayor and Aldermen, who were by
the custom guardians of the children. They
fed, boarded, clothed, and educated them,
and provided dowers for the daughters at
marriage ; set the sons up in business, and
divided the estate when they attained their
majority. The estate being realized, the pro
ceeds were paid into the 'Chamber of Lon
don' vto the custody of the 'Chamberlain,'
who is a 'corporation sole' for these pur
poses. He made use of the money for city
purposes, allowing X4 per cent interest to
the estate. As there were neither government
securities nor banks in George Herbert's days,
and the Bank of England had not been
founded, the term 'Chamber of London*
422
THE COUNTRY PARSON
would have the force of any expression of the
present day implying undoubted security:"
A. B. Grosart.
1, p. 237. "Takes account of Sermons. It was the cus
tom in many households even of the last
generation to require an epitome of the ser
mon:" H. C. Beeching.
1, p. 238. Boards a chUd= approaches, ranks as ; cf.
THE CHURCH-PORCH, II, 57, 1. 368.
2, p. 238. Back-side= back-yard. Dr. Grosart quotes
from Vaughan's Looking Back, " How brave
a prospect is a bright back-side."
1, p. 239. With these prescriptions for fasting compare
Herbert's poem LENT, II, 171.
1, p. 240. "Roots : as potatoes, which first came to
England in Herbert's youth : " A. B. Grosart.
1, p. 244. Presently = immediately, without postpone
ment.
1, p. 247. Incense. Isaiah Ixvi, 3.
1, p. 248. The midde way, more precisely described in
THE BRITISH CHURCH, III, 101.
1, p. 249. Afternoons: his mornings being given to study.
1, p. 252. Nothing is little, the subject of THE ELIXER,
II, 99.
1, p. 255. The Countrey Parson is. The emphasis falls
on is.
1, p. 256. In 1640 a collection of proverbs was published
under the title OUTLANDISH PROVERBS se
lected by Mr. G. H. In the second edition
(1652) this title was changed to JACULA
THE COUNTRY PARSON 423
PRUDENTUM : OB OUTLANDISH PROVERBS, SEN
TENCES, ETC.
1, p. 258. Censure = judgment.
1, p. 260. Set at= assessed for, put down as capable of
furnishing for the public service.
2, p. 260. Respectively = with suitable respect, as in
THE CHURCH-PORCH, II, 45, 1. 253.
1, p. £61. Briefe= an official order that a collection be
made.
1, p. 263. Dischargeth. He himself performs for his
people the promises God has made them.
1, p. 267. Silly = uneducated.
1, p. 268. Invertue= virtually, in substance.
1, p. 270. Willingly =&i times fixed by himself.
2, p. 270. H. C. Beeching quotes ; " Let priests also take
care that they do not permit wanton names to
be given to children, especially female chil
dren, in baptism:" Wilk. Cone, ii, 33. And
R. A. Willmott quotes from Crabbe's Parish
Register, Pt. I:
"Pride lives with all; strange names our rustics give
To helpless infants, that their own may live;
Pleased to be known, they'll some attention claim
And find some by-way to the house of fame.
'Why Lonicera willt thou name thy child?'
I asked the gardener's wife in accents mild.
*We have a right,' replied the sturdy dame,
And Lonicera was the infant's name."
1, p. 271. Course = coarse.
1, p. 272. "Loosely and unldely=iiot in set form and
sequence:" A. B. Grosart.
424
THE COUNTRY PARSON
2, p. 272. Puts up to= assumes himself to be.
1, p. 274. Michael Dalton's The Country Justice was
published in 1618, a fourth edition in 1630.
1, p. 275. Tickle. Ed. 1671 reads ticklish, i. e. difficult.
1, p. 276. A nat(my= either a dissection, or a diagram of
the human body.
2, p. 276. John Francis Fernelius (1506-1558), physi
cian to Henry II of France.
1, p. 277. Bolearmena=a,n astringent Armenian earth.
1, p. 279. Reduce=\ea,d back. So p. 209, 1. 2.
1, p. 281. C ousters = construes.
1, p. 284. Baned= diseased. In his Will Herbert re
membered his servants.
1, p. 286. John Gerson (1363-1429), chancellor of the
University of Paris.
1, p. 288. Defixed= firmly fixed.
1, p. 289. Bold and impartial reproof. "There was not
a man in his way (be he of what Ranke he
would) that spoke awry (in order to God) but
he wip'd his mouth with a modest, grave and
Christian reproof:" Oley, Life of Herbert,
prefixed to THE COUNTRY PARSON.
1, p. 296. "Herbert's apologue raises more difficulties
than it lays. Healthy children do not get
worms from apples, if the apples are good;
and what would the piece of gold mean to the
child but more apples?" H. C. Beeching.
1, p. 297. Exigent = exigency ; used again in second
paragraph of the translation of Cornaro.
1, p. 300. Idlenesse, cf. THE CHURCH-PORCH, II, 23,
1. 79-96.
THE COUNTRY PARSON 425
1, p. 302. Drowning = flooding.
1, p. 303. Nothing to that= nothing comparable.
1, p. 304. Morning man = one who merely attends the
regular morning sessions.
1, p. 305. The Great Horse=a war horse, ridden in full
armor.
2, p. 305. Not weakned. Later editions read now.
1, p. 306. Those new Plantations, i. e. America.
1, p. 311. Hoopes= restraints.
1, p. 312. Joseph, Genesis xli, 35.
1, p. 313. Success= fulfilment.
1, p. 315. Onely=a,nd that alone.
1, p. 316. Procession=f( beating the bounds" or walking
in religious procession to mark out the parish
boundaries.
2, p. 316. M islikes= takes it in ill part.
1, p. 318. Niceness= disposition to refine overmuch.
1, p. 319. Ill Priests mayUesse. The 26th of the 39 Arti
cles is entitled, "Of the unworthiness of the
ministers, which hinders not the effect of the
Sacrament."
2, p. 319. Commination. The English Prayer Book (not
the American) has a special service of " Com
mination or denouncing of God's anger and
judgments against sinners."
1, p. 320. In writing Letters. H. C. Beeching remarks
that only two complete letters of Herbert writ
ten from Bemerton are preserved, one to
Ferrar and one to the Countess of Pembroke,
and each concludes with a blessing.
426
PRAYERS
1, p. 325. Prayers Before and After Sermon
Dr. Grosart prints the following note: "With
reference to these prayers, they first appeared
in Herbert's REMAINS (1652). Mr. Yeowell
doubted their genuineness on this ground:
'When it is remembered how punctiliously
George Herbert walked according to canoni
cal rule in small as in great matters, it seems
highly improbable that he would use these
two unauthorized prayers in divine service.'
(N. & Q. 2d S. iii, p. 88.) Professor Mayor
answered (ib. p. 120): * Perhaps the Prayers
before and after Sermon were intended for
private use. Or, if not, I see nothing in THE
COUNTRY PARSON or elsewhere to prove that
Herbert would scruple to use prayers of his
own composition before and after sermon ;
and these prayers seem to be altogether in his
tone.' Dr. Sibbes, Dr. Fuller, and many
others had similar prayers."
LETTERS
1, p. 393. For an account of Herbert's stepfather, Sir
John Danvers, see Introd. Essay, I, 24, and
CONSTANCIE, III, 119. Herbert makes him
the executor of his Will. This letter send
ing thanks for the gift of a horse, which is
mentioned in the next letter as already in
use, was probably written a little earlier than
that.
1, p. 396. Written probably in 1617-8 (cf. with p. 397).
Henry Herbert was two years younger than
George.
2, p. 396. Wink=to hah* close the eyes, as in MISERIE,
II, 257, 1. 62.
1, p. 397. Probably written before he obtained the Ora-
torship, at which time his income was in
creased. The letter seems to connect itself
with that of March 18, 1617-8, to his step
father, in which this increase of the annuity is
first proposed.
1, p. 398. Ancient. Sir John Danvers had married Her
bert's mother but eight years before.
1, p. 400. The passage on the Oratorship shows this let
ter to have been written in 1619.
1, p. 402. 200 miles. Is this the journey mentioned in
the fourth letter to Sir John Danvers?
428
LETTERS
2, p. 402. Herbert's eldest sister, Elizabeth, born in 1583
and married to Sir Henry Jones, was an in
valid during many years.
1, p. 403. Bottome=a, spool, as in THE DISCHARGE,
III, 191, 1. 45.
1, p. 404. Disquiet. Donne, in his funeral sermon on
Lady Danvers, says that in her last years
she was disposed to melancholy. To this
disposition Herbert appears to address his
letter.
1, p. 405. Like to continue long. She did not die until
1627.
1, p. 407. This third sister was afterwards received at
Bemerton.
1, p. 408. Building, i. e. the rebuilding of the Rec
tory.
2, p. 408. Outlandish=foTeign, and strange, as in FAITH,
II, 233, 1. 9, and THE BRITISH CHURCH, III,
101, 1. 10.
1, p. 409. Duchess, i. e. the Duchess of Lenox, whose
home was at Leighton. So, too, p. 411.
1, p. 410. These letters to Ferrar must belong in the
years 1628-32, the first one apparently to
some early year within this period.
1, p. 412. The Countess of Pembroke was Lady Anne
Clifford, daughter of the third Earl of Cum
berland. Her first husband was the Earl of
Dorset. After his death she married, in 1630,
Philip, fourth Earl of Pembroke. His brutali
ties obliged her to separate from him.
LETTERS 429
2, p. 412. Metheglin, or mead=a liquor made of fer
mented honey.
3, p. 412. Mother. Her mother was Lady Margaret
Russell, daughter of the Duke of Bed
ford.
INDEXES
TITLES ARRANGED IN THE TRADI
TIONAL ORDER
The Dedication, II, ix.
The Church-Porch, II, 15.
Superliminare, II, 119.
The Altar, II, 121.
The Sacrifice, II, 123.
The Thanksgiving, II, 287.
The Reprisal!, II, 293.
The Agonie, III, 153.
The Sinner, II, 295.
Good Friday, II, 149.
Redemption, II, 237.
Sepulchre, III, 155.
Easter, II, 153.
Easter Wings, II, 335.
H. Baptisme, II, 191.
Nature, II, 303.
Sinne, II, 229.
Affliction, II, 247.
Repentance, II, 305.
Faith, II, 233.
Prayer, II, 181.
H. Communion, II, 195.
Antiphon, II, 107.
Love, II, 83.
The Temper, II, 313.
The Temper, II, 315.
Jordan, II, 87.
Employment, II, 103.
H. Scriptures, II, 187.
Whitsunday, II, 157.
Grace, II, 311.
Praise, II, 95.
Affliction, II, 339.
Mattens, II, 285.
Sinne, II, 231.
Even-Song, III, 59.
Church-Monuments, II, 201.
Church-Musick, II, 199.
Church-Lock and Key, II, 301.
The Church Floore, III, 167.
The Windows, III, 15.
Trinitie-Sunday, II, 161.
Content, II, 353.
The Quidditie, II, 97.
Humilitie, II, 239.
Frailtie, II, 359.
Constancie, III, 119.
Affliction, III, 269.
The Starre, II, 365.
Sunday, II, 175.
Avarice, III, 113.
Anagram, III, 165.
To All Angels and Saints, II,
163.
Employment, II, 347
Deniall, II, 297.
Christmas, II, 167.
Ungratefulnesse, II, 243.
Sighs and Grones, III, 277.
The World, II, 225.
Our Life is Hid, &c., H, 283.
Vanitie, II, 357.
Lent, II, 171.
Vertue, III, 335.
The Pearl, II, 381.
Affliction, III, 271.
Man, II, 215.
Antiphon, III, 63.
Unkindnesse, II, 309.
Life, III, 321.
Submission, III, 205.
Justice, III, 253.
Charms and Knots, II, 211.
Affliction, III, 273.
Mortification, II, 259.
Decay, III, 115.
INDEX
Miserie, H, 251.
Jordan, II, 91.
Prayer, II, 183.
Obedience, II, 385.
Conscience, III, 229.
Sion, III, 265.
Home, III, 325.
The British Church, III, 101.
The Quip, III, 33.
Vanitie, III, 133.
The Dawning, III, 333.
Jesu, III, 303.
Businesse, III, 139.
Dialogue, II, 369.
Dulnesse, III, 207.
Love-Joy, III, 163.
Providence, III, 79.
Hope, III, 203.
Sinnes Round, HI, 143.
Time, III, 339.
Gratefulnesse, III, 41.
Peace, II, 377.
Confession, III, 259.
Giddinesse, III, 129.
The Bunch of Grapes, III,
215.
Love Unknown, III, 179.
Man's Medley, III, 125.
The Storm, III, 263.
Paradise, III, 39.
The Method, III, 197.
Divinitie, III, 97.
Grieve Not the Holy Spirit,
&c., HI, 255.
The Familie, III, 185.
The Size, III, 193.
Artillerie, II, 361.
Church-Rents and Schismes,
III, 105.
Justice, III, 117.
The Pilgrimage, III, 237
The Holdfast, III, 17.
Complaining, III, 267.
The Discharge, III, 187.
Praise, II, 397.
An Offering, II, 393.
Longing, III, 281.
The Bag, HI, 157.
The Jews, III, 1
The Collar, III,
Assurance, III, 225.
The Call, III, 9.
Clasping of Hands, IE, 37.
Praise, III, 45.
Joseph's Coat, IH, 301.
The Pulley, III, 149.
The Priesthood, II, 373.
The Search, III, 219.
Grief, III, 323.
The Crosse, III, 231.
The Flower, IH, 305.
Dotage, III, 137.
The Sonne, III, 161.
A True Hymne, IH, 27.
The Answer, II, 351.
A Dialogue - Antheme, HI,
343.
The Water-Course, HI, 147.
Self-Condemnation, III, 111.
Bitter-Sweet, III, 251.
The Glance, III, 331.
The 23 Psalme, III, 19.
Marie Magdalene, III, 151.
Aaron, III, 11.
The Odour, III, 23.
The Foil, III, 123.
The Forerunners, IH, 317.
The Rose, II, 389.
Discipline, III, 297.
The Invitation, III, 49.
The Banquet, III, 53.
The Posie, III, 29.
A Parodie, III, 293.
The Elixer, II, 99.
A Wreath, II, 319.
Death, II, 263.
Dooms-Day, II, 267.
Judgement, II, 271.
Heaven, II, 273.
Love, II, 401.
The Church Militant, III,
359.
L'Envoy, HI, 381.
TITLES ARRANGED IN THE ORDER
OF THIS EDITION
Dedication, n, ix.
GROUP I: THE CHURCH-
PORCH.
The Church-Porch, n, 15.
GROUP II: THE RESOLVE.
Two Sonnets to his Mother,
II, 79.
Love, n, 83.
Jordan, II, 87.
; Jordan, II, 91.
Praise, II, 95.
The Quidditie, II, 97.
The Elixer, II, 99.
Employment, II, 103.
Antiphon, II, 107.
GROUP III: THE CHURCH.
Superliminare, II, 119.
The Altar, II, 121.
The Sacrifice, II, 123.
Good Friday, II, 149.
Easter, II, 153.
Whitsunday, II, 157.
Trinitie-Sunday, II, 161.
To All Angels and Saints,
II, 163.
Christmas, II, 167.
Lent, n, 171.
Sunday, II, 175.
Prayer, II, 181.
Prayer, II, 183.
The H. Scriptures, H, 187.
H. Baptisme, II, 191.
H. Baptisme, II, 193.
H. Communion, II, 195.
Church-Musick, II, 199.
Church - Monuments, II,
201.
GROUP IV: MEDITATION.
Charms and Knots, II,
211.
Man, II, 215.
The World, II, 225.
Sinne, II, 229.
Sinne, II, 231.
Faith, II, 233.
Redemption, II, 237.
Humilitie, II, 239.
Ungratefulnesse, II, 243.
Affliction, II, 247.
Miserie, II, 251.
Mortification, II, 259.
Death, II, 263.
Dooms-Day, II, 267.
Judgement, II, 271.
Heaven, II, 273.
GROUP V: THE INNER LIFE.
Our Life is Hid, &c.. n,
283.
Mattens, II, 285.
The Thanksgiving, II, 287.
The Reprisall, II, 293.
The Sinner, II, 295.
Deniall, II, 297.
Church-Lock and Key, n,
301.
Nature, H, 303.
Repentance, II, 305.
Unkindnesse, II, 309.
Grace, II, 311.
The Temper, H, 313.
436
INDEX
The Temper, II, 315.
A Wreath, II, 319.
GROUP VI: THE CRISIS.
Easter Wings, II, 335.
Affliction, II, 339.
Employment, II, 347.
The Answer, II, 351.
Content, II, 353.
Vanitie, II, 357.
Frailtie, II, 359.
Artillerie, II, 361.
The Starre, II, 365.
Dialogue, II, 369.
The Priesthood, II, 373.
Peace, H, 377.
The Pearl, II, 381.
Obedience, II, 385.
The Rose, II, 389.
An Offering, II, 393.
Praise, II, 397.
Love, II, 401.
GROUP VII: THE HAPPY
PRIEST.
The Call, HI, 9.
Aaron, III, 11.
The Windows, III, 15.
The Holdfast, III, 17.
The 23 Psalme, III, 19.
The Odour, HI, 23.
A True Hymne, III, 27.
The Posie, III, 29.
The Quip, III, 33.
Clasping of Hands, III, 37.
Paradise, III, 39.
Gratefulnesse, IH, 41.
Praise, III, 45.
The Invitation, III, 49.
The Banquet, HI, 53.
Even-Song, IH, 59.
Antiphon, III, 63.
GROUP VIII: BEMERTON
STUDY.
To My Successor, III, 75.
Providence, III, 79.
Divinitie, IH, 97.
The British Church, HI,
101.
Church-Rents and Schismes,
HI, 105.
The Jews, HI, 109.
Self-Condemnation,HI, 111.
Avarice, III, 113.
Decay, III, 115.
Justice, III, 117.
Constancie, HI, 119.
The Foil, III, 123.
Man's Medley, HI, 125.
Giddinesse, IH, 129.
Vanitie, III, 133.
Dotage, III, 137.
Businesse, III, 139.
Sinnes Round, III, 143.
The Water-Course, III, 147.
The Pulley, III, 149.
Marie Magdalene, HI, 151.
The Agonie, HI, 153.
Sepulchre, IH, 155.
The Bag, III, 157.
The Sonne, HI, 161.
Love-Joy, III, 163.
Anagram, III, 165.
The Church -Floore, ITT.
167.
GROUP IX: RESTLESSNESS.
Love Unknown, III, 179.
The Familie, III, 185.
The Discharge, IH, 187.
The Size, HI, 193.
The Method, III, 197.
Hope, III, 203.
Submission, HI, 205.
Dulnesse, III, 207.
The Collar, HI, 211.
The Bunch of Grapes, III,
215.
The Search, HI, 219.
Assurance, HI, 225.
Conscience, HI, 229.
The Crosse, III, 231.
The Pilgrimage, HI, 237.
INDEX
437
GROUP X: SUFFERING.
Bitter-Sweet, III, 251.
Justice, III, 253.
Grieve Not the Holy Spirit,
&c., Ill, 255.
Confession, III, 259.
The Storm, III, 263.
Sion, III, 265.
Complaining, III, 267.
Affliction, III, 269.
Affliction, III, 271.
Affliction, III, 273.
Sighs and Grones, HI, 277.
Longing, III, 281.
The Glimpse, III, 289.
A Parodie, III, 293.
Discipline, III, 297.
Joseph's Coat, III, 301.
Jesu, III, 303.
The Flower, III, 305.
GROUP XI: DEATH.
The Forerunners, III, 317.
Life, III, 321.
Grief, III, 323.
Home, III, 325.
The Glance, HI, 331.
The Dawning, IH, 333.
Vertue, HI, 335.
Time, IH, 339.
A Dialogue-Antheme, HI,
343.
GROUP XH: ADDITIONAL AND
DOUBTFUL POEMS.
The Church-Militant, IH,
359.
L'Envoy, HI, 381.
H. Communion, III, 383.
Love, IH, 387.
Trinitie-Sunday, III, 389.
Even-Song, HI, 391.
The Knell, HI, 393.
Perseverance, III, 395.
The Convert, III, 397.
On an Anchor-Seal, IH,
399.
To John Donne, D. D., HI,
401.
A Paradox IH, 403.
Psalm H, III, 407.
Psalm IH, III, 410.
Psalm IV, IH, 411.
Psalm VI, IH, 413.
Psalm VH, HI, 415.
Gloria to Psalm XXIH, HI,
419.
On Sir John Danvers» HI,
421.
On Lord Danvers, HI,
423.
To the Queene of Bohemia,
IH, 425.
L'Envoy, IH, 431.
BIBLICAL ALLUSIONS
Genesis:
i, 9, 10, II, 220.
27, II, 58.
ii,7,II,128, 160, 180,111, 282.
8, II, 246.
21, II, 146.
iii, 3-6, II, 142.
3-7, II, 226.
7, III, 226, 278.
15, II, 232.
17, III, 280.
18, II, 138.
19, II, 200.
vi, 18, III, 360.
viii, 4, III, 360.
9, II, 130, III, 218.
ix, 20, III, 216, 358.
xi, 4, II, 358, III, 144.
9, III, 372.
31, III, 360.
xii, 5, III, 360.
10, III, 360.
xvii, 19, III, 360.
xviii, 33, III, 114.
xix, 3, III, 114.
xxiv, 11, III, 114.
xxxii, 10, III, 30.
24, III, 114.
28, II, 290.
xxxvii, 3, III, 300.
xli, 35, I, 425.
Exodus:
iii, 2, in, 114.
viii, 3, III, 360.
x, 22, III, 278.
xii, 22, II, 118.
xiii, 21, III, 186.
xiv, 25, III, 44.
xvi, 1-16, II, 124.
xix, 16, H, 66.
xix, 20, HI, 114.
xx, 7, II, 20.
25, II, 120.
xxiv, 12, II, 294.
xxviii, 30, III, 12.
33-35, III, 12, 114.
36, III, 12.
xxxii, 10, III, 114.
14, III, 114.
xxxiv, 33, II, 136.
xxxvii, 1, III, 360.
Leviticus :
xxiii, 14, II, 170.
Numbers:
viii, 7, II, 4.
xi, 5, III, 366.
xiii, 23, III, 214.
xx, 8, II, 134.
11, III, 180.
xxxiii, 10, III, 214.
Deuteronomy:
v, 15, II, 124.
xxxi, 26, ni, 360.
Joshua:
vii, 21, II, 194.
Judges:
vi, 11, III, 114.
xvi, 3, II, 178.
1 Samuel:
vi, 10, II, 46.
xvii, 50, II, 54, 94.
xviii, 1, II, 46.
2 Samuel:
vi, 6, II, 374.
xiv, 14, III, 54.
1 Kings:
vii, 23, 51, m, 264.
xix, 9, III, 114.
Ezra:
iii, 12, III, 374.
440
BIBLICAL ALLUSIONS
Nehemiah:
viii, 12, II, 178.
Job:
xiv, 2, III, 304.
7-9, II, 310.
9, III, 108, 306.
xxiii, 3, III, 218.
4, HI, 270.
xxviii, 18, II, 380.
xxxviii, 11, III, 82.
Psalms:
i, 3, III, 430.
ii, 2, H, 124.
viii, 4, II, 284, 386.
xv, III, 120.
xviii, 2, II, 180.
xxi, 3, II, 286.
xxii, 6, II, 44, III, 254.
xxiv, 8, II, 396.
xxv, 11, II, 304.
xxviii, 1, III, 394.
xxxi, 2, III, 282.
3, III, 226.
12, III, 272.
14, III, 318.
xxxiii, 6, II, 142.
xxxviii, 15, III, 34.
xlii, 1, II, 84.
3, III, 218.
xlvi, 4, II, 168.
xlvii, 7, III, 406.
li, 8, II, 306.
Iv, 6, II, 156, 336, HI, 328.
Ivi, 3, H, 344.
8, III, 46.
Ixv, 7, III, 82.
Ixxi, 7, HI, 272.
Ixxvi, 2, II, 378.
Ixxvii, 7-9, III, 220.
Ixxviii, 24, 25, II, 146.
Ixxx, 8, III, 358.
Ixxxvi, 11, III, 128, 272.
xc, 15, III, 304.
xciv, 9, II, 400, IH, 282.
xcv, 4, H, 134.
ci, III, 118.
ci, 2, II, 296.
cii, HI, 280.
10, HI, 232.
ciii, 15, HI, 304.
civ, HI, 77.
19, H, 184.
27, III, 82.
cvi, 2, III, 94.
cvii, 8, III, 360.
cix, 18, II, 306.
cxvi, II, 396.
16, II, 126.
cxviii, 24, H, 178.
cxix, 18, I, 419.
103, II, 168, 186.
105, H, 176.
165, II, 378.
cxxx, 3, HI, 58.
cxxxix, 3, II, 250, 318.
8, III, 218.
10, III, 204.
12, II, 210.
14, II, 214.
17, IH, 360.
cxliv, 1, II, 130.
cxlv, 10, IH, 78.
Proverbs:
iii, 9, 10, II, 212.
vi, 1-4, II, 48.
viii, 17, H, 210.
x, 18, II, 212.
xi, 24, II, 210.
xii, 4, II, 16.
xiii, 7, II, 34.
xvi, 28, III, 264.
xvii, 24, II, 62.
xix, 17, II, 58, 288.
xx, 27, IH, 110.
xxiii, 26, II, 244.
xxx, 4, II, 134.
Song of Solomon:
ii, 1, III, 104.
16, IH, 36.
Isaiah:
i, 3, II, 176.
v, 1, 2, H, 230.
BIBLICAL ALLUSIONS
441
v, 1-7, II, 138.
4, II, 104.
vi, 5, II, 130.
5-8, II, 364.
ix, 6, II, 134, 396.
xiv, 29, in, 144.
xl, 6, III, 304.
24, II, 310.
xlv, 9, II, 370.
xlviii, 10, III, 282.
liii, 9, II, 144.
Ivii, 20, II, 22.
Iviii, 7, II, 172.
lix, 5, III, 144.
Ix, 2, III, 374.
19, III, 120.
Ixiii, 3, III, 152, 216.
5, III, 324.
Ixiv, 12, II, 140.
Ixvi, 3, I, 422.
Jeremiah:
v, 22, III, 82.
ix, 1, IH, 322.
15, II, 306.
x, 24, III, 296.
xxxi, 33, II, 302, 384, III,
134.
xxxviii, 11, II, 258.
Lamentations:
i, 12, II, 124.
ii, 15, II, 124.
18, III, 322.
Ezekiel:
xi, 19, II, 196.
xviii, 25, 29, III, 252.
xxxvi, 26, II, 302.
Daniel:
xiv 3, II, 364.
Zechariah :
iv, 12, n, 158.
vii, 12, II, 120.
Malachi:
iii, 8-10, II, 58.
Ecclesiasticus:
xxii, 19, H, 358.
Book of Wisdom:
vii, 17-23, II, 380.
viii, 1, III, 78.
xvi, 13, III, 306.
Matthew:
ii, 1, 2, II, 126.
9, II, 148.
iii, 16, II, 156.
iv. 2, II, 172.
v, 8, II, 14.
48, II, 172, m, 16.
vi, 16, II, 170.
25-34, III, 186.
vii, 13, II, 22.
14, II, 192.
viii, 24, III, 156.
31, II, 140.
xiii, 45, II, 381.
xvi, 18, III, 370.
19, II, 372.
24, II, 142.
xviii, 9, II, 260.
xxi, 8, II, 154.
xxii, 12, II, 400.
xxv, 40, II, 58.
xxvi, 15, II, 124.
28, II, 146, III, 180.
40^3, II, 124.
46-57, II, 124.
53, II, 136.
59, II, 128.
68, II, 136.
xxvii, 25, II, 132.
26, II, 134.
27, II, 136.
28, II, 138.
29, II, 138.
31, II, 140.
32, II, 142.
34, II, 146.
35, II, 146.
37, II, 144.
38, II, 144.
39, II, 124.
40, 42, n, 144.
442
BIBLICAL ALLUSIONS
xxvii, 46, II, 142, 286.
xxviii, 2, II, 178, III, 360.
Mark:
xi, 15-17, m, 184.
xiii, 31, HI, 226.
xiv, 24, m, 216.
50, H, 126.
65, H, 134.
Luke:
ii, 7, m, 158.
20, n, 168.
iv, 23, H, 144.
v, 35, n, 170.
vi, 24-26, m, 194.
vii, 38, HI, 150.
x, 24, H, 140.
xiv, 13, m, 50.
xvi, 2, H, 66.
xvii, 2, H, 34.
21, HI, 114.
xix, 40, n, 120.
41, n, 398.
xxii, 20, H, 270.
42, H, 124.
44, H, 124, 136, m, 268.
48, II, 126.
64, n, 136.
xxiii, 11, 12, H, 128.
is, n, 132.
19, II, 132.
21, U, 140.
28, H, 136.
43, H, 236.
John:
i, 9, HI, 110.
ii, 15, H, 62.
19, n, 128.
21, HI, 264.
vi, 55, H, 232.
viii, 12, H, 132.
44, HI, 110.
58, n, 132.
ix, 6, H, 134.
x, 33, H, 128.
xii, 3, m, 150.
5, H, 124.
xii, 6, II, 124.
xiii, 1, HI, 226.
7, in, 178.
13, ID, 22.
23, n, 46.
xiv, 6, n, 370, HI, 8.
xv, 1, U, 148, m, 162, 216.
xvi, 6, n, 126.
xviii, 24, n, 156.
xix, 15, U, 134.
34, n, 146, 190, HI, 158,
180.
Acts:
ii, 3, n, 156.
vii, 47, 48, IH, 264.
viii, 32, U, 128.
x, 4, n, 58.
xvii, 30, n, 256, CD, 212.
xxii, 22, II, 132.
Romans:
v, 12-21, n, 232.
vi, 11, m, 286.
viii, 26, H, 152.
35, HI, 8, 60, 222.
ix, 21, H, 372.
x, 6-8, m, 134.
1 Corinthians:
i, 21, n, 64.
iii, 16, m, 264.
17, n, 62.
v, 7, n, 196.
ix, 27, m, 394.
x, 4, H, 138.
11, HI, 216.
xi, is, m, no.
xv, 22, m, 16.
31, n, 258, D3, 268,
270.
32, n, 250.
55, m, 342.
2 Corinthians:
ii, 15, m, 23.
16, n, 62.
iii, 3, m, 154.
13, n, 136.
14, IU, 116.
BIBLICAL ALLUSIONS
443
iv, 7, II, 64.
8-10, III, 250.
v, 8, III, 328.
21, II, 400.
vi, 10, III, 250.
16, III, 264.
x, 4, II, 302.
Galatians:
iii, 13, II, 142.
iv, 24, II, 236.
Ephesians :
ii, 14, III, 360.
iii, 8, III, 30.
iv, 8, II, 144.
yi, 30, in, 255.
Philippians:
i, 23, III, 340.
ii, 6, II, 128.
6-8, II, 370.
13, III, 16.
iii, 19, II, 20.
iv, 3, II, 190.
7, II, 134.
Colossians:
i, 2, 4, I, 419.
24, III, 380.
ii. 12, II, 152.
iii, 3, II, 283.
9, III, 12.
14, III, 166.
2 Thessalonians:
i, 11, II, 384.
1 Timothy, vi, 10, HI, 112,
194.
12, II, 126.
Hebrews :
ii, 15, III, 342.
17, III, 158.
vi, 19, in, 202, 398.
vii, 2, II, 378.
viii, 2, III, 164.
x, 13, II, 166.
16, II, 384.
22, II, 4.
xi, 1, II, 232.
14, III, 234.
xii, 14, n, 118.
James:
i, 6, II, 368.
8, II, 338.
15, II, 14.
ii, 19, HI, 388.
iii, 17, II, 182.
iv, 14, H, 350.
1 Peter:
i, 12, n, 140.
2 Peter:
iii, 10, III, 336.
1 John:
ii, 13, II, 192.
Revelation:
iv, 4, 10, II, 162.
vii, 14, II, 178.
viii, 6, m, 108.
x, 6, m, 340.
9, HI, 250.
xiiii, 8, II, 190.
xvi, 1, III, 278.
xvii, 5, III, 370.
xx, 12, II, 270.
xxi, 8, III, 140.
9, II, 176.
22, III, 264.
27, II, 118.
xxii, 2, H, 272.
12, n, 270.
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