The lives of Dr. John Donne, Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. Richard Hooker, Mr. George Herbert, and Dr. Robert Sanderson

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

IRVINE

FROM THE LIBRARY OF
R. BENNETT WEAVER

THE JLIVES OF DR. JOHN DONNE,
SIR HENRY WOTTON, MR.
RICHARD HOOKER, MR. GEORGE
HERBERT, AND DR. ROBERT

SANDERSC)N: BY IZAAK WALTON.
EDITED BY CHARLES HILL DICK.

IS9?

LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, LTD.
PATERNOSTER SQUARE.

INTRODUCTION.

BIOGRAPHY is a department of literature which has a place .
of considerable eminence in England. There is, of course,
the general reason that the history of a notable man pos-
sesses an inevitable interest for men 'who live under
conditions similar to his, nay, for men in every estate, the
greatest circumstances of life being common to all. For a
second reason, I am not sure that many a reader of a
biography does not feel himself in a position superior to
the subject of it. He reads and criticises, condemns and
praises ; and if he choose to publish his judgment there is
none to say him nay. The biographer has stated his case,
the evidence has been given, judgment is challenged,
any man may be the judge. The vain mind flies to such
opportunities. We may find another, a humaner reason in
what may be called the personal interest in biography. A
trait of character or a passage of events may correspond
to something in one's own experience, and community of
interest creates sympathy. Such a contingency disarms
the reader and. conquers him. The parallel flatters or dis-
concerts him, but in any case he is supremely interested.
Finally, as to our own literature, there is the particular reason
that an Englishman is commonly devoted to matters of
fact, thinks them more reputable than fiction, and, though
taking pleasure in the latter, gives them a place of greater
dignity. And so, in spite of the inferiority of biography
as a form of literature, its popularity is briefly explicable.

vi INTRODUCTION.

But, although we have many biographies in our literature,
only a few attain to any great excellence, for to write a
man's life adequately is one of the most difficult tasks
conceivable. That accuracy of narrative, indeed, which is
one of the biographer's first ambitions is comparatively
easy to compass. A capacity for unearthing facts and
arranging them in their appropriate sequence and per-
spective is all that is necessary. But truth of portraiture,
a more important desideratum, is less frequently achieved.
In fact, it is doubtful if the perfect biography has yet been
realised. For this there will be required of the author
not only an intimate personal acquaintance with the man
of whom he writes and a complete knowledge of his history,
but also a power of apprehending the lesser and finer as
well as the greater and more obvious qualities of his char-
acter, a perception of the subtleties and delicacies of his
motives and sentiment, a sympathy with the whimsicalities
from which no character is free, and an appreciation of the
serious extent to which these can affect a man's career,
circumstances, and relations. And if by good fortune he
should have these qualifications he may yet lack one thing.
He may not have that mastery over his material which
would enable him to arrange and mould the form of his
work in such a way as to make it at once true biography
and distinguished literature.

There are, I think, two methods of writing a life which
are fairly distinguishable. They may be described as the
presentative and the representative. According to the
former, there are given as many details in the history as
are possible, a complete account of each year in the man's
life, of his meetings with various people, of the sayings and
witticisms to which he gave utterance on the several occa-
sions, of his correspondence, of his treatment at the hands

INTRODUCTION. vii

of the Admiralty if he be a sailor, of his doings in Parlia-
ment if he be a politician, of the circumstances in which he
wrote his books if he be a man of letters ; while according
to the latter method, certain significant events and episodes
are selected and recounted with a view to revealing the
character of the man as completely as possible, a method
which is the more difficult in virtue of the greater demand
made upon the writer's power of discrimination and upon
his ability to present what he does in a way that shall
be adequate and convincing to the reader. It is of
the second method that Walton has given us so many
pleasing examples.

It may be admitted at once that Izaak Walton was by
no means a faultless practitioner of his art. It was his
misfortune to write of men who had been differently edu-
cated and whose interests were sometimes remote from his
own. Further, he suffered from two difficulties of a
peculiar kind. In more than one case he was called upon
to be the historian of a life which had been concluded
before he arrived at mature years; and in these circum-
stances a biographer is placed at the greatest disadvantage,
for he lacks a primary qualification. He gets his facts from
books or other men's lips, the different estimates of char-
acter which he hears probably conflict, one speaker gives
prominence to a feature which another devotes to oblivion,
and so he is in danger of falling into an ineffectual train of
facts, of drawing the lines of his portrait with a halting
incertitude, of .indicating his shadows vaguely, and perhaps
of missing his man altogether. The other difficulty was
that of the man whose limitation of view confines his
attention to a certain aspect of the character he is con-
cerned with, in consequence of which he may set forth a
partial view of it, failing of proportion and perspective.

viii INTRODUCTION.

Into this danger Walton fell grievously. From the other,
however, he made a most creditable escape, although the
biographies of Bishop Hooker and George Herbert were
written without personal acquaintance. So seldom, indeed,
can a biographer see his subject from the centre and treat
it with completeness and impartiality, that in considering
his work it is usually necessary to discover his point of
view ; and to indicate this in Walton's case will be the
most appropriate way of introducing the present volume.

It can scarcely be denied that Walton took a narrow
jrjew^ of the characters he treated in that collection of
biographies known as The Lives of Dr. John Donne, Sir
Henry Wotton, Mr. Richard Hooker, Mr. George Herbert,
and Dr. Robert Sanderson. For a general understanding
of his intention, indeed, we learn from his own words that
he did not aim at the making of great literature, whether in
The Compleat Angler or in The Lives: to convey to his
readers some pleasure or profit, not unmixed with a little
mirth, or to make such slight collection and presentation
of the acts and virtues of his departed friends as might
save these from an ignorant neglect, was the sum of his
ambition. In consequence of a natural peculiarity of
temperament, Walton when writing of other men's lives
became less biographer than eulogist, seeking to point
morals and commend what was good and virtuous in his
characters, rather than make complete and impartial
records of their history. Now it is the privilege, or
rather the characteristic, of the eulogist to neglect super-
fluous details and aspects which are irrelevant to his
purpose. Walton's eulogies exemplify this characteristic
in the highest degree.

He was a firm believer in the Church and the Royalist
party ; but he was so limited as to regard these as the only

INTRODUCTION. ix

meritorious institutions of their kind. It never occurred
to him that his opinions might change in such a way that
he might come to regard the Puritans as the true followers
of religion, and Cromwell as the apostle of just government.
Puritanism and the Commonwealth were remote from his
conception of the ideal England. He was quite aware
of their existence, but counted them amongst those things
which are contrary to the ordinances of a wise Providence,
and therefore unworthy of consideration by devout and
loyal men. " Be of the quiet and thankful party," was one
of his counsels. However creditable was his attitude
towards Church and King, we can scarcely commend the
uncritical frame of mind in which he maintained his con-
sistency. It may be that the Stuarts were much abused in
Walton's time ; but it would have been only fair to inquire
sincerely whether or not the Royal Martyr were a paragon
of all the kingly virtues. " 'Twas the good and conscien-
tious King Charles the First," — so Walton writes ; and we
should be inclined to suspect him of a political affectation,
were it not for his ostrich-like disregard of whatever was
foreign to his sympathies.

That this peculiar attitude was not an affectation we
are assured when we see how consistently it was maintained
even when there was no motive supplied by partisanship.
His antipathy to all that flavoured of opposition to royalty
and the Church was but a particular case of his abhorrence
of evil deeds and opinions and his refusal to give ear to
them. This peculiarity of his finds a more praiseworthy
illustration in his attitude towards his friends. He would
never listen to, still less would he repeat or record, a story
that was discreditable to a friend. If evil existed, it were
better to close one's eyes to it, contemn it, ignore it, so that
its influence in the affairs of men might be brought as

x INTRODUCTION.

nearly to a shadow as possible, that its hold upon existence
might be the minimum. And even though scandal-mongers
and calumniators were abroad, he at least would be of the
devout men who believed in devoutness.

He abounded in sympathy with the common life of men :
counting their virtues of greater importance than their
defects, giving prominence to the former when he engaged
in biography, and in his daily dealings with his fellows
probably treating the latter with the same neglect that he
accorded them in his writings. He cherished the senti-
ments of love and friendship, being, indeed, himself a
friend of many, and placing high value upon the relation,
and never, I suppose, losing a friend save when death
bereaved him. And as for the inevitable cessation of
mortal activity itself, he was deeply touched by the pity of
it, while regarding with a composed reverence the mystery
which overhangs the exit of the vital spirit.

To his point of view, which was perhaps a matter of
natural disposition as much as of principle, must be
attributed the one-sidedness of his biographies. He dwelt
upon the good deeds and high virtues of those whose lives
he was called upon to write, and neglected the faults of
their characters as lying outside his plan. His love of
the beautiful and the good was so sincere that he could
fulfil his intention in a singularly attractive manner; so
that, while The Lives cannot pretend to great excellence as
complete biography, they will always rank among the most
agreeable examples of eulogy.1

1 This aspect of Walton's character and its influence upon his work
was treated also in my Introduction to The Compleat Angler, which may
be had in "The Scott Library." The reader is referred to that
Introduction for what facts are known concerning the life of Izaak
Walton.

INTRODUCTION. xi

He described The Coinpleat Angler as a picture of his
own disposition. The Lives give us a yet fuller under-
standing of it, a still more confident belief in his goodness.
They also afford us a completer conviction of his peculiar
weaknesses ; for a character such as his had its inevitable
defects. It is, indeed, beyond a doubt that when a man
reserves his warmest admiration for ecclesiastical dignitaries
and is disposed to hold that, however good a man may be,
he becomes a fitter object of adoration when he has been
initiated into holy orders and has donned the cassock, he
must be infected with a certain degree of " old-wifeishness."
And the extent to which Walton ignored many influences
which play an important part in human life made a just
and adequate view of the relation of things impossible.

The partiality of The Life of Dr. John Donne is
obvious to any one who knows his writings. Walton tells
us much of the Dean of St. Paul's, of his diffidence in
entering the ministry, his devotion to his wife, his loyalty to
the king ; we hear the minimum of the days when he was
known as Jack Donne, when he wrote the Satires, the
Elegies, and the Epithalamiums. These writings of his
were not more blameworthy in respect of coarseness than
much of the literature of the time, while, in addition, they
were qualified by many of Donne's peculiar excellences as
a poet. Donne, indeed, saw fit in his mature years to dis-
approve of some of these youthful works ; but Walton
seems to endorse his disapprobation somewhat hastily,
dismissing his poetical work in a paragraph. Donne was
unfortunate in having for his biographer a man who was
incapable of appreciating so strong and intense an intellect
as his, or of doing justice to an imagination of such
calibre, that so temperate a critic as Ben Jonson thought
its owner "the first poet of the world in some things."

xii INTRODUCTION.

Walton was one of Donne's parishioners ; it was, indeed,
in this relation that he first made his acquaintance; and
so, regarding him in his biography almost entirely from
this point of view, though they really lived in intimacy for
many years, he practically ignored those greater 'and more
individual elements in Donne's character which make him
one of the most interesting figures in the history of English
literature. He is all for the second St. Austin of the
English Church and his holy exhortations; so that, for
want of a complete representation of Donne's character, we
must content ourselves with his portrait in clerical robes,
which, indeed, is a very pleasing one, though indicative of
that predilection for the ecclesiastical which is one of
Walton's less attractive characteristics.

This feature in his sympathies finds a positive illustra-
tion in The Life of George Herbert, which is one of the
most pleasant of the biographies, though Walton never
knew its subject personally, but wrote from information
given him by like-minded friends. Herbert had "spent
much of his childhood in a sweet content under the eye
and care of his prudent Mother, and the tuition of a
Chaplain." "The beauties of his pretty behaviour and
wit shined, and became so eminent and lovely in this his
innocent age, that he seemed to be marked out for piety,
and to become the care of Heaven, and of a particular
good angel to guard and guide him." Having become an
accomplished scholar and made a brilliant reputation at
Court, he renounced the secular life on the death of James
the First and took holy orders. He brought his poetic
talent to the making of divine poems, made the service of
the priesthood the centre of his days, and led so measured
a life that The Coimtry Parson might be regarded as the
record of, as much as the rule for, his ministry. And his

INTRODUCTION. xiii

character had other graceful qualities. He was a fond
lover of music and proficient in its practice, and of it he
would say "that it did relieve his drooping spirits, com-
pose his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul so
far above earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of
Heaven, before he possessed them." Here, then, was a
man after Walton's own heart : his life had been exemplary
from beginning to end, and he had devoted himself to the
calling which Walton peculiarly loved. All his talents and
energies having been brought into its service find their
appropriate place in the biography. Hence it is that,
though wanting perhaps a little in vividness, The Life
of George Herbert is in a sense the completest of The
Lives, — he accorded best with Walton's ideal of the
churchman.

Besides his point of view, Walton had many minor
peculiarities which I shall not attempt to indicate, for they
are most enjoyed by the reader when discovered freshly
for himself — peculiarities which, inhering in his character,
naturally found expression in all that he said, whether by
tongue or by pen. His way of saying things is distinctly his
own. It had that one virtue of style, that it should embody
the way of thinking, that the words should clothe the thought,
as people used to say, not, indeed, like a loosely hanging
gown, but as some close-fitting garment that reveals the
whole bodily form. The thought was not always concise
or compact, and neither was the style. The thought often
rambled, and the style rambled accordingly. So true is it
that clear writing requires clear thinking. But could those
long, inconsequent paragraphs have been transcribed in
some precise style, the charm that consists in appropriate-
ness would have gone.

Had WTalton been a man of strong, clear, orderly intel-

xiv INTRODUCTION.

lect, one can imagine what strength, what clarity, what
precision his writing might have possessed, for he had the
one thing needful, the power to express himself in his
style.

CHARLES HILL DICK.

COLDSTREAM, BERWICKSHIRE, 1899.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

THE LIFE OK DR. JOHN DONNE - 7

THE LIFE OF SIR HENRY WOTTON - - 69

THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER - 121

THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT - 195

THE LIFE OF DR. ROBERT SANDERSON - - 251

APPENDIX ON THE CHARACTER OF MR. HOOKER - 319

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE AND REVEREND FATHER IN GOD,

GEORGE,
LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER,

AND PRELATE OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER.

MY LORD, I did some years past present you with a plain
relation of the Life of Mr. Richard Hooker, that humble man,
to whose memory Princes and the most learned of this nation
have paid a reverence at the mention of his name. And now,
with Mr. Hooker's, I present you also the Life of that pattern
of primitive piety, Mr. George Herbert ; and with his the Life
of Dr. Donne, and your friend Sir Henry Wotton, all reprinted.
The two first were written under your roof; for which reason,
if they were worth it, you might justly challenge a Dedication.
And indeed, so you might of Dr. Donne's, and Sir Henry
Wotton's : because, if I had been fit for this undertaking, it
would not have been by acquired learning or study, but by
the advantage of forty years' friendship, and thereby, with
hearing and discoursing with your Lordship, that hath enabled
me to make the relation of these lives passable — if they prove
so — in an eloquent and captious age.

And indeed, my Lord, though these relations be well-meant
sacrifices to the memory of these worthy men, yet I have so
little confidence in my performance, that I beg pardon for

2

2 WALTON'S LIVES.

superscribing your name to them ; and desire all that know
your Lordship, to apprehend this not as a Dedication, — at
least by which you receive any addilWn of honour, — but rather
as an humble and more public acknowledgment of your long-
continued, and your now daily favours to

My Lord,
Your most affectionate,

and most humble servant,
IZAAK WALTON.

TO THE READER.

THOUGH the several Introductions to these several Lives have
partly declared the reasons how and why I undertook them, yet
since they are come to be reviewed, and augmented, and re-
printed, and the four are now become one book,1 I desire leave
to inform you that shall become my Reader that when I some-
times look back upon my education and mean abilities, it is not
without some little wonder at myself, that I am come to be
publicly in print. And though I have in those Introductions
declared some of the accidental reasons that occasioned me to
be so, yet let me add this to what is there said, that by my
undertaking to collect some notes for Sir Henry Wotton's
writing the Life of Dr. Donne, and by Sir Henry Wotton's
dying before he performed it, I became like those men that
enter easily into a lawsuit or a quarrel, and having begun,
cannot make a fair retreat and be quiet, when they desire it. —
And really, after such a manner, I became engaged into a
necessity of writing the Life of Dr. Donne, contrary to my first
intentions ; and that begot a like necessity of writing the Life of
his and my ever-honoured friend, Sir Henry Wotton.

And having writ these two Lives, I lay quiet twenty years,
without a thought of either troubling myself or others, by any
new engagement in this kind ; for I thought I knew my unfit-
ness. But, about that time, Dr. Gauden (then Lord Bishop of
Exeter) published the Life of Mr. Richard Hooker (so he called
it), with so many dangerous mistakes, both of him and his
books, that discoursing of them with his Grace Gilbert, that

1 Only the first four of The Lives had been written in 1670, the date of
the first collected edition. The Life of Dr. Robert Sanderson was added
in 1678.

4 TO THE READER.

now is Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, he enjoined me to
examine some circumstances, and then rectify the Bishop's
mistakes, by giving the world a fuller and truer account of Mr.
Hooker and his books than that Bishop had done ; and I know
I have done so. And let me tell the Reader, that till his Grace
had laid this injunction upon me, I could not admit a thought
of any fitness in me to undertake it ; but when he twice had
enjoined me to it, I then declined my own, and trusted his
judgment, and submitted to his commands ; concluding, that if
I did not, I could not forbear accusing myself of disobedience,
and indeed of ingratitude, for his many favours. Thus I became
engaged into the third life.

For the life of that great example of holiness, Mr. George
Herbert, I profess it to be so far a free-will offering, that it was
writ chiefly to please myself, but yet not without some respect
to posterity: for though he was not a man that the next age
can forget, yet many of his particular acts and virtues might
have been neglected, or lost, if I had not collected and presented
them to the imitation of those that shall succeed us : for I
humbly conceive writing to be both a safer and truer preserver
of men's virtuous actions than tradition ; especially as it is
managed in this age. And I am also to tell the Reader, that
though this Life of Mr. Herbert was not by me writ in haste,
yet I intended it a review before it should be made public ; but
that was not allowed me, by reason of my absence from London
when it was printing ; so that the Reader may find in it some
mistakes, some double expressions, and some not very proper,
and some that might have been contracted, and some faults that
are not justly chargeable upon me, but the printer ; and yet I
hope none so great, as may not, by this confession, purchase
pardon from a good-natured Reader.

And now I wish, that as that learned Jew, Josephus, and
others, so these men had also writ their own lives ; but since it
is not the fashion of these times, I wish their relations or friends
would do it for them, before delays make it too difficult. And
I desire this the more, because it is an honour due to the dead,
and a generous debt due to those that shall live and succeed us,

TO THE READER. 5

and would to them prove both a content and satisfaction. For
when the next age shall (as this does) admire the learning and
clear reason which that excellent casuist Dr. Sanderson (the
late Bishop of Lincoln) hath demonstrated in his sermons and
other writings ; who, if they love virtue, would not rejoice to
know, that this good man was as remarkable for the meekness
and innocence of his life, as for his great and useful learning ;
and indeed as remarkable for his fortitude in his long and
patient suffering (under them that then called themselves the
godly party) for that doctrine which he had preached and
printed in the happy days of the nation's and the Church's
peace ? And who would not be content to have the like
account of Dr. Field, that great schoolman, and others of noted
learning ? And though I cannot hope that my example or
reason can persuade to this undertaking, yet I please myself,
that I shall conclude my preface with wishing that it were so.

I. W.

THE LIFE OF

DR. JOHN DONNE,

LATE DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, LONDON.

INTRODUCTION.

IF that great master of language and art, Sir Henry Wotton,
the late provost of Eton College, had lived to see the
publication of these sermons, he had presented the world
with the author's life exactly written ; and 'twas pity he did
net, for it was a work worthy his undertaking, and he fit to
undertake it : betwixt whom and the author there was so
mutual a knowledge, and such a friendship contracted in their
youth, as nothing but death could force a separation. And,
though their bodies were divided, their affections were not ;
for that learned knight's love followed his friend's fame beyond
death and the forgetful grave ; which he testified by entreating
me, whom he acquainted with his design, to inquire of
some particulars that concerned it, not doubting but my
knowledge of the author, and love to his memory, might
make my diligence useful : I did most gladly undertake the
employment, and continued it with great content, till I had
made my collection ready to be augmented and completed
by his matchless pen : but then death prevented his intentions.

When I heard that sad news, and heard also that these
sermons were to be printed, and want the author's life, which
I thought to be very remarkable ; indignation or grief — indeed
I know not which — transported me so far, that I reviewed
my forsaken collections, and resolved the world should see
the best plain picture of the author's life, that my artless
pencil, guided by the hand of truth, could present to it.

And if I shall now be demanded, as once Pompey's poor

io INTRODUCTION.

bondman was,1 "the grateful wretch had been left alone on
the sea-shore with the forsaken dead body of his once glorious
lord and master ; and was then gathering the scattered pieces
of an old broken boat to make a funeral pile to burn it; which
was the custom of the Romans — Who art thou, that alone
hast the honour to bury the body of Pompey the Great?" so,
who am I, that do thus officiously set the author's memory on
fire? I hope the question will prove to have in it more of
wonder than disdain ; but wonder indeed the reader may,
that I, who profess myself artless, should presume with my
faint light to show forth his life, whose very name makes it
illustrious ! But, be this to the disadvantage of the person
represented ; certain I am, it is to the advantage of the beholder,
who shall here see the author's picture in a natural dress, which
ought to beget faith in what is spoken : for he that wants skill
to deceive may safely be trusted.

And if the author's glorious spirit, which now is in heaven,
can have the leisure to look down and see me, the poorest, the
meanest of all his friends, in the midst of his officious duty,
confident I am that he will not disdain this well-meant sacrifice
to his memory: for, whilst his conversation made me and many
others happy below, I know his humility and gentleness were
then eminent ; and I have heard divines say, those virtues that
were but sparks upon earth, become great and glorious flames
in heaven.

Before I proceed further, I am to entreat the reader to take
notice, that when Dr. Donne's sermons were first printed, this
was then my excuse for daring to write his life ; and I dare not
now appear without it.

i Plutarch.

THE LIFE OF DR. DONNE.

MASTER JOHN DONNE was born In London, in the year j 573,
of good and virtuous parents ; and, though his own learning
and other multiplied merits may justly appear sufficient to
dignify both himself and his posterity, yet the reader may be
pleased to know that his father was masculinely and lineally
descended from a very. ancient family in \Yales,, .where many of
his name now live, that deserve, and have great reputation in
that country.

By his mother he was descended of the family of the famous
and learned Sir Thomas More, sometime Lord Chancellor of
England : as also, from that worthy and laborious judge Rastall,
who left posterity the vast statutes of the law of this nation most
exactly abridged.

He had his first breeding in his father's house, where a
private tutor had the care of him, until the tenth year of his
age ; and, in his eleyenih, year, was sent to the University of
Oxford,: having at that time a good command both of the
X French and Latin tongue. This, and some other of his remark-
able abilities, made one then give this censure of him : That _ h
this age had brought forth another Pjcys Mirandola; of ^
whom story says that he was rathei born than made wise by Vvw~

st udy.

There he remained for some years in Hart Hall, having, for
the advancement of his studies, tutors of several sciences to
attend and instruct him, till time made him capable, and his
learning expressed in public exercises declared him worthy, to
receive his first degree in the schools, which he forbore by
advice from his friends, who, being for their religion of the

12 THE LIFE OF

Romish persuasion, were conscionably averse to some parts
of the oath that is always tendered at those times, and not
to be refused by those that expect the titulary honour of their
studies.

About the fourteenth year of his age he was transplanted
from Oxford to Cambridge, where, that he might receive
nourishment from both soils, he stayed till his seventeenth
year; all which time he was almost laborious student, often
changing his studies, but endeavouring to take no degree, for
the reasons formerly mentioned.

About the seventeenth year of his age he was removed to
London, and then admitted into Lincoln's Inn, with an intent
to study the law ; where he gave great testimonies of his wit,
his learning, and of his improvement in that profession ; which
never served him for other use than an ornament and self-
satisfaction.

His father died before his admission into this society, and,
being a merchant, left him his portion in money. (It was
.£3000.) His mother, and those to whose care he was com-
mitted, were watchful to improve his knowledge, and to that
end appointed him tutors, both in the uialhejjiatics and in all
the other liberal sciences, to attend him. But with these arts
they were advised to instil into him particular principles of the
Romish Church, of which those tutors professed, though secretly,
themselves to be members.

They had almost obliged him to their faith; having for their
advantage, besides many opportunities, the example of his dear
and pious parents, which was a most powerful persuasion, and
did work much upon him, as he professeth in his Preface to his
Pseudo-Martyr, a book of which the reader shall have some
account in what follows.

He was now entered into the eighteenth year of his age,
and at that time had betrothed himself to no religion that
might give him any other denomination than a Christian. And
reason and piety had both persuaded him that there could be
no such sin as schism, if an adherence to some visible church
were not necessary.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 13

About the nineteenth year of his age, he, being then unresolved
what religion to adhere to, and considering how much it con-
cerned his soul to choose the most orthodox, did therefore, —
though his youth and health promised him a long life, — to
rectify all scruples that might concern that, presently laid
aside all study of the law, and of all other sciences that might
give him a denomination; and began seriously to survey and
consider the body of divinity, as it was then controverted
betwixt the reformed and the Roman Church. And as God's
blessed Spirit did then awaken him to the search, and in that
industry did never forsake him, — they be his own words,1 — so
he calls the same Holy Spirit to witness this protestation ; that
in that disquisition and search he proceeded with humility and
diffidence in himself, and by that which he took to be the safest
way, namely, frequent prayers, and an indifferent affection to
both parties ; and indeed, truth had too much light about her
to be hid from so sharp an inquirer; and he had too much
ingenuity not to acknowledge he had found her.

Being to undertake this search, he believed the Cardinal
Bellarmine to be the best defender of the Roman cause, and
therefore betook himself to the examination of his reasons.
The cause was weighty, and wilful delays had been inexcusable
both towards God and his own conscience: he therefore pro-
ceeded in this search with all moderate haste, and about the
twentieth year of his age did show the then Dean of Gloucester
— whose name my memory hath now lost — all the Cardinal's
works marked with many weighty observations under his own
hand ; which works were bequeathed by him, at his death, as a
legacy to a most dear friend.

About a year following he resolved to travel; and the Earl of 0\
Essex going first to Cales, and after the island voyages, the
first anno 1596, the second 1597, he took the advantage of those
opportunities, waited upon his lordship, and was an eye-witness
of those happy and unhappy employments.

But he returned not back into England till he had stayed
some years, first in Italy, and then in Spain, where he made
1 In his Preface to Pseudo- Martyr.

14 THE LIFE OF

many useful observations of those countries, their laws and
manner of government, and returned rjerfect in their languages,.

The time that he spent in Spain was, at his first going into
Italy, designed for travelling to the Holy Land, and for viewing
Jerusalem and the sepulchre of our Saviour. But at his being
in the farthest parts of Italy, the disappointment of company,
or of a safe convoy, or the uncertainty of returns of money into
those remote parts, denied him that happiness, which he did
often occasionally mention with a deploration.

Not long after his return into England, that exemplary
pattern of gravity and wisdom, the Lord Ellesmere, then
Keeper of the Great Seal, the Lord Chancellor of England,
taking notice of his learning, languages, and other abilities, and
much affecting his person and behaviour, took him to be his
chief secretary; supposing and intending it to be an introduc-
tion to some more weighty employment in the State ; for which,
his Lordship did often protest, he thought him very fit.

Nor did his Lordship in this time of Master Donne's attend-
ance upon him, account him to be so much his servant, as to
forget he was his friend; and, to testify it, did always use him
with much courtesy, appointing him a place at his own table,
to which he esteemed his company and discourse to be a great
ornament.

He continued that employment for the space of five years,
being daily useful, and not mercenary to his friend. During
which time, he — I dare not say unhappily — fell into such a
liking, as — with her approbation — increased into a love, with a
young gentlewoman that lived in that family, who was niece to
the Lady Ellesmere, and daughter to Sir George More, then
Chancellor of the Garter and Lieutenant of the Tower.

Sir George had some intimation of it, and, knowing prevention
to be a great part of wisdom, did therefore remove her with
much haste from that to his own house at Lothesley, in the
County of Surrey ; but too late, by reason of some faithful
promises which were so interchangeably passed, as never to be
violated by either party.

These promises were only known to themselves ; and the

DR. JOHN DONNE. 15

friends of both parties used much diligence, and many argu-
ments, to kill or cool their affections to each other: but in vain ;
for love is a flattering mischief, that hath denied aged and wise
men a foresight of those evils that too often prove to be the
children of that blind father ; a passion, that carries us to
commit errors with as much ease as whirlwinds move feathers,
and begets in us an unwearied industry to the attainment of
what we desire. And such an industry did, notwithstanding
much watchfulness against it, bring them secretly together, — I
forbear to tell the manner how, — and at last to a marriage too,
without the allowance of those friends, whose approbation
always was, and ever will be necessary, to make even a virtuous
love become lawful.

And, that the knowledge of their marriage might not fall, like
an unexpected tempest, on those that were unwilling to have it
so ; and that pre-apprehensions might make it the less enor-
mous when it was known, it was purposely whispered into the
ears of many that it was so, yet by none that could affirm it.
But, to put a period to the jealousies of Sir George, — doubt
often begetting more restless thoughts than the certain know-
ledge of what we fear, — the news was, in favour to Mr. Donne,
and with his allowance, made known to Sir George by his
honourable friend and neighbour, Henry, Earl of Northumber-
land ; but it was to Sir George so immeasurably unwelcome,
and so transported him, that, as though his passion of anger
and inconsideration might exceed theirs of love and error, he
presently engaged his sister, the Lady Ellesmere, to join with
him to procure her lord to discharge Mr. Donne of the place
he held under his Lordship. This request was followed with
violence ; and though Sir George was remembered that errors
might be over-punished, and desired therefore to forbear till
second considerations might clear some scruples, yet he
became restless until his suit was granted, and the punish-
ment executed. And though the Lord Chancellor did not,
at Mr. Donne's dismission, give him such a commendation
as the great Emperor Charles the Fifth did of his Secretary
Eraso, when he parted with him to his son and successor,

16 THE LIFE OF

Philip the Second, saying, " That in his Eraso, he gave to him
a greater gift than all his estate, and all the kingdoms which
he then resigned to him ;" yet the Lord Chancellor said, "He
parted with a friend, and such a secretary as was fitter to serve
a king than a subject."

Immediately after his dismission from his service he sent a
sad letter to his wife, to acquaint her with it ; and after the
subscription of his name, writ,

•John Donne, Anne Donne, Un-done;

And God knows it proved too true ; for this bitter physic of
Mr. Donne's dismission was not enough to purge out all Sir
George's choler; for he was not satisfied till Mr. Donne and
his sometime corn-pupil in Cambridge, that married him,
namely, Samuel Brooke, who was after Doctor in Divinity and
Master of Trinity College, and his brother, Mr. Christopher
Brooke, sometime Mr. Donne's chamber-fellow in Lincoln's
Inn, who gave Mr. Donne his wife, and witnessed the marriage,
were all committed to three several prisons.

Mr. Donne was first enlarged, who neither gave rest to his
body or brain, nor to any friend in whom he might hope to have
an interest, until he had procured an enlargement for his two
imprisoned friends.

He was now at liberty, but his days were still cloudy : and
being past these troubles, others did still multiply upon him;
for jiis wife was — to her extreme sorrow — detained from him ;
and though with Jacob he endured not a hard service for her,
yet he lost a good one, and was forced to make good his title,
and to get possession of her by a long and restless suit in law ;
which proved, troublesome and sadly chargeable to him, whose
youth, and travel, and needless bounty had brought his estate
into a narrow compass.

It is observed, and most truly, that silence and submission
are charming qualities, and work most upon passionate men ;
and it proved so with Sir George; for these, and a general
report of Mr. Donne's merits, together with his winning

DR. JOHN DONNE. 17

behaviour, which, when it would entice, had a strange kind of
elegant irresistible art ; — these and time had so dispassionated
Sir George, that as the world had approved his daughter's
choice, so he also could not but see a more than ordinary
merit in his new son ; and this at last melted him into so
much remorse, — for love and anger are so like agues, as to
have hot and cold fits ; and love in parents, though it may be
quenched, yet is easily re-kindled, and expires not till death
denies mankind a natural heat, — that he laboured his son's
restoration to his place; using to that end both his own and
his sister's power to her lord ; but with no success, for his
answer was, "That though he was unfeignedly sorry for what
he had done, yet it was inconsistent with his place and credit
to discharge and re-admit servants at the request of passionate
petitioners."

Sir George's endeavour for Mr. Donne's re-admission was by
all means to be kept secret : for men do more naturally reluct
for errors than submit to put on those blemishes that attend
their visible acknowledgment. — But, however, it was not long
before Sir George appeared to be so far reconciled as to wish
their happiness, and not to deny them his paternal blessing,
but yet refused to contribute any means that might conduce to
their livelihood.

Mr. Donne's estate was the greater part spent in many and
chargeable travels, books, and dear-bought experience : he out
of all employment that might yield a support for himself and
wife, who had been curiously and plentifully educated ; both
their natures generous, and accustomed to confer, and not to
receive, courtesies : these and other considerations, but chiefly
that his wife was to bear a part in his sufferings, surrounded
him with many sad thoughts, and some apparent apprehensions
of want.

But his sorrows were lessened and his wants prevented by
the seasonable courtesy of their noble kinsman, Sir Francis
Wolly, of Pirford, in Surrey, who entreated them to a cohabita-
tion with him, where they remained with much freedom to
themselves, and equal content to him, for some years ; and as

3

iS THE LIFE OF

their charge increased — she had yearly a child — so did his love
and bounty.

It hath been observed by wise and considering men that
wealth hath seldom been the portion, and never the mark to
discover good people ; but that Almighty God, who disposeth
all things wisely, hath of his abundant goodness denied it —
He only knows why — to many whose minds He hath enriched
with the greater blessings of knowledge and virtue, as the
fairer testimonies of his love to mankind: and this was the
present condition of this man of so excellent erudition and
endowments ; whose necessary and daily expenses were hardly
reconcilable with his uncertain and narrow estate. Which I
mention, for that at this time there was a most generous offer
made him for the moderating of his worldly cares ; the declara-
tion of which shall be the next employment of my pen.

God hath been so good to his church as to afford it in every
age some such men to serve at his altar as have been piously
ambitious of doing good to mankind; a disposition that is
so like to God himself that it owes itself only to Him, who
takes a pleasure to behold it in his creatures. These times3
He did bless with many such; some of which still live to
be patterns of apostolical charity, and of more than human
patience. I have said this because I have occasion to mention
one of them in my following discourse, namely, Dr. Morton,
the most laborious and learned Bishop of Durham ; one that
God hath blessed with perfect intellectuals and a cheerful
heart at the age of ninety-four years — and is yet living ; — one that
in his days of plenty had so large a heart as to use his large
revenue to the encouragement of learning and virtue, and is
now — be it spoken with sorrow — reduced to a narrow estate,
which he embraces without repining; and still shows the
beauty of his mind by so liberal a hand, as if this were an
age in which to-morrow were to care for itself. I have taken
a pleasure in giving the reader a short but true character of
this good man, my friend, from whom I received this following
relation. — He sent to Mr. Donne, and entreated to borrow an

i 1648,

DR. JOHN DONNE. 19

hour of his time for a conference the next day. After their
meeting there was not many minutes passed before he spake to
Mr. Donne to this purpose : " Mr. Donne, the occasion of
sending for you is to propose to you what I have often revolved
in my own thought since I last saw you: which, nevertheless,
I will not declare but upon this condition, that you shall not
return me a present answer, but forbear three days, and bestow
some part of that time in fasting and prayer; and after a serious
consideration of what I shall propose, then return to me with your
answer. Deny me not, Mr. Donne; for it is the effect of a true
love, which I would gladly pay as a debt due for yours to me."

This request being granted, the Doctor expressed himself
thus : —

" Mr. Donne, I know your education and abilities ; I know
your expectation of a State employment ; and I know your
fitness for it; and I know, too, the many delays and con-
tingencies that attend Court promises : and let me tell you that
my love, begot by our long friendship and your merits, hath
prompted me to such an inquisition after your present temporal
estate as makes me no stranger to your necessities, which I
know to be such as your generous spirit could not bear if it
were not supported with a pious patience. You know I have
formerly persuaded you to waive your Court hopes, and enter
into holy orders ; which I now again persuade you to embrace,
with this reason added to my former request : The King
hath yesterday made me Dean of Gloucester, and I am also
possessed of a benefice, the profits of which are equal to those
of my deanery ; I will think my deanery enough for my main-
tenance,— who am, and resolved to die, a single man, — and
will quit my benefice, and estate you in it, which the patron
is willing I shall do, if God shall incline your heart to embrace
this motion. Remember, Mr. Donne, no man's education or
parts make him too good for this employment, which is to be
an ambassador for the God of glory; that God who by a vile
death opened the gates of life to mankind. Make me no
present answer; but remember your promise, and return to
me the third day with your resolution."

20 THE LIFE OF

At the hearing of this, Mr. Donne's faint breath and per-
plexed countenance give a visible testimony of an inward
conflict; but he performed his promise, and departed without
returning an answer till the third day, and then his answer was
to this effect : —

" My most worthy and most dear friend, since I saw you
I have been faithful to my promise, and have also meditated
much of your great kindness, which hath been such as would
exceed even my gratitude; but that it cannot do; and more
I cannot return you; and I do that with an heart full of
humility and thanks, though I may not accept of your offer:
but, sir, my refusal is not for that I think myself too good
for that calling, for which kings, if they think so, are not good
enough ; nor for that my education and learning, though not
eminent, may not, being assisted with God's grace and humility,
render me in some measure fit for it : but I dare make so dear
a friend as you are my confessor. Some irregularities of my
life have been so visible to some men, that though I have, I
thank God, made my peace with Him by penitential resolutions
against them, and by the assistance of his grace banished them
my affections ; yet this, which God knows to be so, is not so
visible to man as to free me from their censures, and it may
be that sacred calling from a dishonour. And besides, whereas
it is determined by the best of casuists that God's glory should
be the first end, and a maintenance the second motive to em-
brace that calling, and though each man may propose to
himself both together, yet the first may not be put last
without a violation of conscience, which he that searches the
heart will judge. And truly my present condition is such
that if I ask my own conscience whether it be reconcilable to
that rule, it is at this time so perplexed about it, that I can
neither give myself nor you an answer. You know, sir,
who says, ' Happy is that man whose conscience doth not
accuse him for that thing which he does.' To these I might
add other reasons that dissuade me; but I crave your favour
that I may forbear to express them, and thankfully decline your
Offer."

DR. JOHN DONNE. 21

This was his present resolution, but the heart of man is not
in his own keeping; and he was destined to this sacred service
by an higher hand — a hand so powerful as at last forced him
to a compliance : of which I shall give the reader an account
before I shall give a rest to my pen.

Mr. Donne and his wife continued with Sir Francis Wolly
till his death : a little before which time Sir Francis was so happy
as to make a perfect reconciliation betwixt Sir George and his
forsaken son and daughter ; Sir George conditioning by bond
to pay to Mr. Donne .£800 at a certain day, as a portion with his
wife, or £20 quarterly for their maintenance as the interest for
it, till the said portion was paid.

Most of those years that he lived with Sir Francis he studied
the Civil and Canon Laws ; in which he acquired such a per-
fection, as was judged to hold proportion with many who had
made that study the employment of their whole life.

Sir Francis being dead, and that happy family dissolved,
Mr. Donne took for himself a house in Mitcham, near to
Croydon in Surrey, a place noted for good air and choice
company: there his wife and children remained; and for
himself he took lodgings in London, near to Whitehall,
whither his friends and occasions drew him very often, and
where he was as often visited by many of the nobility and
others of this nation, who used him in their counsels of
greatest consideration, and with some rewards for his better
subsistence.

Nor did our own nobility only value and favour him, but
his acquaintance and friendship was sought for by most
ambassadors of foreign nations, and by many other strangers,
whose learning or business occasioned their stay in this
nation.

He was much importuned by many friends to make his
constant residence in London ; but he still denied it, having
settled his dear wife and children at Mitcham, and near some
friends that were bountiful to them and him ; for they, God
knows, needed it : and that you may the better now judge of the

22 THE LIFE OF

then present condition of his mind and fortune, I shall present
you with an extract collected out of some few of his many
letters.

"... And the reason why I did not send an answer to your
last week's letter was, because it then found me under too great
a sadness ; and at present 'tis thus with me : There is not one
person, but myself, well of my family : I have already lost half
a child, and, with that mischance of hers, my wife has fallen
into such a discomposure as would afflict her too extremely,
/ but that the sickness of all her other children stupefies her — of
I one of which, in good faith, I have not much hope ; and these
meet with a fortune so ill-provided for physic, and such relief,
that if God should ease us with burials, I know not how to
perform even that : but I flatter myself with this hope, that I
;im dying too ; for I cannot waste faster than by such griefs.

As for,

From my Hospital at Mitcham,
Aug. 10. JOHN DONNE."

Thus he did bemoan himself ; and thus in other letters —

"... For, we hardly discover a sin, when it is but an
omission of some good, and no accusing act : with this or the
former I have often suspected myself to be overtaken ; which
is, with an over-earnest desire of the next life : and, though I
know it is not merely a weariness of this, because I had the
same desire when I went with the tide, and enjoyed fairer
hopes than I now do ; yet I doubt worldly troubles have

I increased it : 'tis now spring, and all the pleasures of it
displease me ; every other tree blossoms, and I wither; I grow

i older, and not better ; my strength diminisheth, and my load
grows heavier ; and yet I_ would fain be or do something ;
but that I cannot tell what, is no wonder in this time of my
sadness ; foifto choose is to do^ but to be no part of any body
is as to be nothing : and so 1 am, and shall so judge myself,
unless I could be so incorporated into a part of the world, as by

DR. JOHN DONNE. 23

business to contribute some sustentation to the whole. This I
made account : I began early, when I understood the study of
our laws ; but was diverted by leaving that, and embracing the
worst voluptuousness, an hydroptic immoderate desire of human
learning and languages : beautiful ornaments indeed to men of
great fortunes, but mine was grown so low as to need an
occupation ; which I thought I entered well into, when I sub-
jected myself to such a service as I thought might exercise my
poor abilities: and there I stumbled, and fell too; and now I
am become so little, or such a nothing, that I am not a subject
good enough for one of my own letters. — Sir, I fear my present
discontent does not proceed from a good root, that I am so
well content to be nothing, that is, dead. But, sir, though my
fortune hath made me such, as that I am rather a sickness or
a disease of the world, than any part of it, and therefore neither
love it nor life, yet I would gladly live to become some such
thing as you should not repent loving me. Sir, your own soul
cannot be more zealous for your good than I am; and God,
who loves that zeal in me, will not suffer you to doubt
it. You would pity me now if you saw me write, for my pain
hath drawn my head so much awry, and holds it so, that my
eye cannot follow my pen. I therefore receive you into my
prayers with mine own weary soul, and commend myself to
yours. I doubt not but next week will bring you gooa news,
for I have either mending or dying on my side; but if I do
continue longer thus, I shall have comfort in this, that my
blessed Saviour in exercising his justice upon my two worldly
parts, my fortune and my body, reserves all his mercy for that
which most needs it, my soul ! which is, I doubt, too like a
porter, that is very often near the gate, and yet goes not out
Sir, I profess to you truly that my loathness to give over
writing now seems to myself a sign that I shall write no more.
Your poor friend, and

God's poor patient,
Sept. 7. JOHN DONNE."

By this you have seen a part of the picture of his narrow

\

24 THE LIFE OF

fortune, and the perplexities of his generous mind : and thus it
continued with him for about two years, all which time his
family remained constantly at Mitcham; and to which place
he often retired himself, and destined some days to a constant
study of some points of controversy betwixt the English and
Roman Church, and especially those of Supremacy and
Allegiance : and to that place and such studies he could
willingly have wedded himself during his life ; but the earnest
persuasion of friends became at last to be so powerful as to cause
the removal of himself and family to London, where Sir Robert
Drewry, a gentleman of a very noble estate, and a more liberal
mind, assigned him and his wife an useful apartment in his own
large house in Drury Lane, and not only rent free, but was also
a cherisher of his studies, and such a friend as sympathised with
him and his, in all their joy and sorrows.

At this time of Mr. Donne's and his wife's living in Sir
Robert's house, the Lord Hay was, by King James, sent upon
a glorious embassy to the then French king, Henry the Fourth ;
and Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to accompany him
to the French court, and to be present at his audience there.
> And Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to solicit Mr. Donne
to be his companion in that journey. And this desire was
suddenly made known to his wife, who was then with child,
and otherwise under so dangerous a habit of body, as to her
health, that she professed an unwillingness to allow him any
absence from her ; saying, " Her divining soul boded her some
ill in his absence ; " and therefore desired him not to leave her.
This made Mr. Donne lay aside all thoughts of the journey,
and really to resolve against it. But Sir Robert became restless
in his persuasions for it, and Mr. Donne was so generous as
to think he had sold his liberty, when he received so many
charitable kindnesses from him ; and told his wife so, who did
therefore, with an unwilling-willingness, give a faint consent to
the journey, which was proposed to be but for two months; for
about that time they determined their return. Within a few
days after this resolve, the Ambassador, Sir Robert, and Mr.
Donne left London j and were the twelfth day got all safe to

10,

DR. JOHN DONNE. 25

Paris. Two days after their arrival there, Mr. Donne was left
alone in that room in which Sir Robert, and he, and some other
friends had dined together. To this place Sir Robert returned
within half-an-hour; and as he left, so he found, Mr. Donne 1
alone, but in such an ecstasy, and so altered as to his looks, as I
amazed Sir Robert to behold him; insomuch that he earnestly /
desired Mr. Donne to declare what had befallen him in the
short time of his absence. To which Mr. Donne was not able
to make a present answer, but after a long and perplexed pause,
did at last say, " I have seen a dreadful vision since I saw you:
I have seen my dear wife pass twice by me through this room,
with her hair hanging about her shoulders, and a dead child
in her arms ; this I have seen since I saw you." To which Sir
Robert replied, " Sure, sir, you have slept since I saw you ; and
this is the result of some melancholy dream, which I desire you
to forget, for you are now awake." To which Mr. Donne's
reply was, " I cannot be surer that I now live than that I have
not slept since I saw you ; and am as sure that at her second
appearing she stopped and looked me in the face, and vanished."
Rest and sleep had not altered Mr. Donne's opinion the next
day, for he then affirmed this opinion with a more deliberate,
and so confirmed a confidence, that he inclined Sir Robert to a
faint belief that the vision was true. — It is truly said that desire
and doubt have no rest, and it proved so with Sir Robert;
for he immediately sent a servant to Drewry House, with a
charge to hasten back, and bring him word whether Mrs.
Donne were alive; and, if alive, in what condition she was
as to her health. The twelfth day the messenger returned \
with this account : That he found and left Mrs. Donne very \
sad, and sick in her bed ; and that, after a long and dangerous J
labour, she had been delivered of a dead child. And, upon I
examination, the abortion proved to be the same day, and about
the very hour, that Mr. Donne affirmed he saw her pass by
him in his chamber.

This is a relation that will beget some wonder, and it well
may ; for most of our world are at present possessed with an
opinion that visions and miracles are ceased. And, though it

Jc*

26 THE LIFE OF

is most certain that two lutes, being both strung and tuned to
an equal pitch, and then one played upon, the other, that is
not touched, being laid upon a table at a fit distance, will — like
an echo to a trumpet — warble a faint audible harmony in answer
to the same tune ; yet many will not believe there is any such
thing as a sympathy of souls ; and I am well pleased that every
reader do enjoy his own opinion. But if the unbelieving will
not allow the believing reader of this story a liberty to believe
that it may be true, then I wish him to consider, many wise
men have believed that the ghost of Julius Caesar did appear to
Brutus, and that both St. Austin and Monica his mother had
visions in order to his conversion. And though these, and
many others — too many to name — have but the authority of
human story, yet the incredible reader may find in the sacred
story1 that Samuel did appear to Saul even after his death —
whether really or not, I undertake not to determine.— And
Bildad, in the Book of Job, says these words: "A spirit
passed before my face ; the hair of my head stood up ; fear
and trembling came upon me, and made all my bones to
shake."2 Upon which words I will make no comment, but
leave them to be considered by the incredulous reader; to
whom I will also commend this following consideration: That
there be many pious and learned men that believe our merciful
God hath assigned to every man a particular guardian angel, to
be his constant monitor, and to attend him in all his dangers,
both of body and soul. And the opinion that every man hath
his particular Angel may gain some authority by the relation of
St. Peter's miraculous deliverance out of prison,3 not by many,
but by one angel. And this belief may yet gain more credit
by the reader's considering, that when Peter after his enlarge-
ment knocked at the door of Mary the mother of John, and
Rhode, the maidservant, being surprised with joy that Peter
was there, did not let him in, but ran in haste and told the
disciples — who were then and there met together — that Peter was
at the door; and they, not believing it, said she was mad; yet,

i 1 Sam. xxviii. 14. - Job iv. 13-16.

a Actsxii. 7-10; ib. 13-15.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 27

when she again affirmed it, though they then believed it not,
yet they concluded, and said, " It is his angel."

More observations of this nature, and inferences from them,
might be made to gain the relation a firmer belief ; but I
forbear, lest I, that intended to be but a relator, may be thought
to be an engaged person for the proving what was related to
me ; and yet I think myself bound to declare, that though it
was not told me by Mr. Donne himself, it was told me — now
long since — by a person of honour, and of such intimacy with
him, that he knew more of the secrets of his soul than any
person then living : and I think he told me the truth ; for it was
told with such circumstances, and such asseveration, that — to
say nothing of my own thoughts — I verily believe he that told it
me did himself believe it to be true.

I forbear the reader's further trouble, as to the relation, and
what concerns it ; and will conclude mine with commending to
his view a copy of verses given by Mr. Donne to his wife at
the time he then parted from her. And I beg leave to tell
that I have heard some critics, learned both in languages and
poetry, say that none of the Greek or Latin poets did ever
equal them.

A VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING TO MOURN.

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,

The breath goes now, and some say No :

So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

'Twere profanation of our joys,
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears :

Men reckon what it did or meant :
But trepidation of the spheres,

Though greater far, is innocent.

28 THE LIFE OF

Dull sublunary lovers' love —
Whose soul is sense — can not admit

Absence, because that doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so far refined,

That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,

Care not hands, eyes, or lips to miss.

;)ur two souls therefore, which are one, —
Though I must go, — endure not yet
i breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If we be two ? we are two so

As stiff twin-compasses are two :
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

To move, but does if th' other do.

And though thine in the centre sit,

Yet, when my other far does roam,
Thine leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect as mine comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

Like th' other foot, obliquely run:
Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And me to end where I begun.

I return from my account of the vision, to tell the reader
that both before Mr. Donne's going into France, at his being
there, and after his return, many of the nobility and others
that were powerful at Court, were watchful and solicitous to
the King for some secular employment for him. The King
had formerly both known and put a value upon his company,
and had also given him some hopes of a State employment;
being always much pleased when Mr. Donne attended him,

DR. JOHN DONNE. 29

especially at his meals, where there were usually many deep
discourses of general learning, and very often friendly disputes,
or debates of religion, betwixt his Majesty and those divines
whose places required their attendance on him at those times,
particularly the Dean of the Chapel, who then was Bishop
Montague — the publisher of the learned and the eloquent works
of his Majesty — and the most Reverend Doctor Andrews, the
late learned Bishop of Winchester, 'who was then the king's
almoner.

About this time there grew many disputes that concerned
the oath of supremacy and allegiance, in which the King had
appeared, and engaged himself by his public writings now
extant ; and his Majesty discoursing with Mr. Donne concern-
ing many of the reasons which are usually urged against the
taking of those oaths, apprehended such a validity and clearness
in his stating the questions, and his answers to them, that his
Majesty commanded him to bestow some time in drawing
the arguments into a method, and then to write his answers
to them ; and, having done that, not to send, but be his own
messenger, and bring them to him. To this he presently and
diligently applied himself, and within six weeks brought them
to him under his own handwriting, as they be now printed;
the book bearing the name of P_seudo- Martyr, printed anno
1610.

When the King had read and considered that book, he
persuaded Mr. Donne to enter into the ministry; to which,
at that time, he was, and appeared, very unwilling, apprehend-
ing it — such was his mistaken modesty — to be too weighty for
his abilities: and though his Majesty had promised him a
favour, and many persons of worth mediated with his Majesty
for some secular employment for him, — to which his education
had apted him, — and particularly the Earl of Somerset, when in
his greatest height of favour; who being then at Theobald's
with the King, where one of the clerks of the council died
that night, the Earl posted a messenger for Mr. Donne to
come to him immediately, and at Mr. Donne's coming said,
" Mr. Donne, to testify the reality of my affection, and my

30 THE LIFE OF

purpose to prefer you, stay in this garden till I go up to the
King and bring you word that you are clerk of the council:
doubt not my doing this, for I know the King loves you, and
know the King will not deny me." But the King gave a
positive denial to all requests, and, having a discerning spirit,
replied, " I know Mr. Donne is a learned man, has the abilities
of a learned divine, and will prove a powerful preacher ; and
my desire is to prefer him that way, and in that way I will deny
you nothing for him."

After that time, as he professeth,1 "the King descended to a
persuasion, almost to a solicitation, of him to enter into sacred
orders;" which, though he then denied not, yet he deferred it
for almost three years. All which time he applied himself to
an incessant study of textual divinity, and to the attainment
of a greater perfection in the learned languages, Greek and
Hebrew.

In the first and most blessed times of Christianity, when the
clergy were looked upon with reverence, and deserved it, when
they overcame their opposers by high examples of virtue, by
a blessed patience and long suffering, those only were then
judged worthy the ministry whose quiet and meek spirits did
make them look upon that sacred calling with an humble
adoration and fear to undertake it; which indeed requires
such great degrees of humility, and labour, and care, that
none but such were then thought worthy of that celestial
dignity. And such only were then sought out, and solicited
to undertake it. This I have mentioned, because forwardness
and inconsideration could not, in Mr. Donne, as in many others,
be an argument of insufficiency or unfitness ; for he had con-
sidered long, and had many strifes within himself concerning
the strictness of life, and competency of learning, required in
such as enter into sacred orders ; and doubtless, considering
his own demerits, did humbly ask God with St. Paul, "Lord,
who is sufficient for these things?" and with meek Moses,
" Lord, who am I ?" And sure, if he had consulted with flesh
and blood, he had not for these reasons put his hand to that
1 In his Book of Devotions.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 31

holy plough. But God, who is able to prevail, wrestled with
him, as the an^fel did with Jacob, and marked him ; marked
him for his own ; marked him with a blessing, a blessing of
obedience to the motions of his blessed Spirit And then, as
he had formerly asked God with Moses, " Who am I ? " so
now, being inspired with an apprehension of God's particular
mercy to him, in the King's and others' solicitations of him, he
came to ask King David's thankful question, " Lord, who am I,
that thou art so mindful of me ? " So mindful of me, as to lead
me for more than forty years through this wilderness of the
many temptations and various turnings of a dangerous life ;
so merciful to me, as to move the learnedest of Kings to
descend to move me to serve at the altar ! So merciful to
me, as at last to move my heart to embrace this holy
motion ! Thy motions I will and do embrace ; and I now
say with the blessed Virgin, " Be it with thy servant as
seemeth best in thy sight ; " and so, Blessed Jesus, I do take
the cup of salvation, and will call upon thy name, and will
preach thy gospel.

Such strifes as these St. Austin had, when St. Ambrose
endeavoured his conversion to Christianity ; with which he
confesseth he acquainted his friend Alipius. Our learned
author — a man fit to write after no mean copy — did the like.
And declaring his intentions to his dear friend Dr. King, then
Bishop of London, a man famous in his generation, and no
stranger to Mr. Donne's abilities, — for he had been chaplain to
the Lord Chancellor at the time of Mr. Donne's being his
Lordship's secretary, — that reverend man did receive the news
with much gladness ; and, after some expressions of joy, and a
persuasion to be constant in his pious purpose, he proceeded
with all convenient speed to ordain him first deacon, and then
priest not long after.

Now the English Church had gained a second St. Austin ;
for I think none was so like him before his conversion, none
so like St. Ambrose after it : and if his youth had the infirmities
of the one, his age had the excellencies of the other ; the learn-
ing and holiness of both.

32 THE LIFE OF

And now all his studies,-which had been occasionally diffused,
were all concentered^ in divinity. Now he had a new calling,
new thoughts, and a new employment for his wit and eloquence.
Now, all his earthly affections were changed into divine love ;
and all the faculties of his own soul were engaged in the con-
version of others ; in preaching the glad tidings of remission to
repenting sinners, and peace to each troubled soul. To these
he applied himself with all care and diligence ; and now such a
change was wrought in him, that he could say with David, "O
how amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts ! "
Now he declared openly, "that when he required a temporal,
God gave him a spiritual blessing." And that "he was now
gladder to be a door-keeper in the house of God, than he could
be to enjoy the noblest of all temporal employments."

Presently after he entered into his holy profession, the King
sent for him, and made him his chaplain in ordinary, and
promised to take a particular care for his preferment.

And though his long familiarity with scholars and persons
of greatest quality was such as might have given some men
boldness enough to have preached to any eminent auditory,
yet his modesty in this employment was such that he
could not be persuaded to it, but went usually accompanied
with some one friend to preach privately in some village, not
far from London, his first sermon being preached at Padding-
ton. This he did, till his Majesty sent and appointed him a
day to preach to him at Whitehall ; and, though much were
expected from him, both by his Majesty and others, yet he
was so happy — which few are — as to satisfy and exceed their
expectations : preaching the Word so, as showed his own heart
was possessed with those very thoughts and joys that he
laboured to distil into others ; a preacher in earnest ; weeping
sometimes for his auditory, sometimes with them ; "always
preaching to himself, like an angel from a cloud, but in" none;
/ carrying some, as St. Paul was, to heaven in holy raptures^ and
enticing others by a sacred art and courtship to amend their
lives ; here picturing a vice so as to make it ugly to those that
practised it, and a virtue so as to make it beloved even by those

DR. JOHN DONNE. 33

that loved it not ; and all this with a most particular grace and
an unexpressible addition of comeliness.

There may be some that may incline to think — such indeed
as have not heard him — that my affection to my friend hath
transported me to an immoderate commendation of his preach-
ing. If this meets with any such, let me entreat, though I will
omit many, yet that they will receive a double witness for what
I say; it being attested by a gentleman of worth, — Mr. Chidley,
a frequent hearer of his sermons, — in part of a funeral elegy
writ by him on Dr. Donne; and is a known truth, though it
be in verse —

Each altar had his fire

He kept his love, but not his object ; wit

He did not banish, but transplanted it ;

Taught it both time and place, and brought it home

To piety which it doth best become.

For say, had ever pleasure such a dress ?

Have you seen crimes so shaped, or loveliness

Such as his lips did clothe religion in ?

Had not reproof a beauty passing sin ?

Corrupted Nature sorrow'd that she stood

So near the danger of becoming good.
/ And, when he preach'd, she wish'd her ears exempt
i From piety, that had such power to tempt.

How did his sacred flattery beguile

Men to amend ?

More of this, and more witnesses, might be brought ; but I
forbear and return.

That summer, in the very same month in which he entered
into sacred orders, and was made the King's chaplain, his
Majesty then going his progress, was entreated to receive an
entertainment in the University of Cambridge ; and Mr. Donne
attending his Majesty at that time, his Majesty was pleased
to recommend him to the University, to be made doctor in
divinity. Dr. Harsnett, after Archbishop of York, was then

4

34 THE LIFE OF

Vice-Chancellor, who, knowing him to be the author of that
learned book, The Pseudo-Martyr, required no other proof of
his abilities, but proposed it to the University, who presently
assented, and expressed a gladness that they had such an
occasion to entitle him to be theirs.

His abilities and industry in his profession were so eminent,
and he so known and so beloved by persons of quality, that
within the first year of his entering into sacred orders he had
fourteen advowsons of several benefices presented to him; but
they were in the country, and he could not leave his beloved
London, to which place he had a natural inclination, having
received both his birth and education in it, and there contracted
a friendship with many, whose conversation multiplied the joys
of his life : but an employment that might affix him that place
would be welcome, for he needed it.

Immediately after his return from Cambridge his wife died,
leaving him a man of a narrow, unsettled state, and — having

buried five — the careful father of seven children then living, to
whom he gave a voluntary assurance never to bring them under
^ - \ A the subjection of a step-mother ; which promise he kept most
faithfully, burying with his tears all his earthly joys in his most
dear and deserving wife's grave, and betook himself to a most
retired and solitary life.

In this retiredness, which was often from the sight of his
dearest friends, he became crucified to the world, and all those
vanities, those imaginary pleasures, that are daily acted on that
restless stage ; and they were as perfectly crucified to him.
Nor is it hard to think — being, passions may be both changed
and heightened by accidents — but that that abundant affection
which once was betwixt him and her, who had long been the
delight of his eyes and the companion of his youth ; her, with
whom he had divided so many pleasant sorrows and contented
fears, as common people are not capable of ; — not hard to think
but that she being now removed by death, a commensurable
grief took as full a possession of him as joy had done ; and so
I indeed it did ; for now/his very soul was elemented of nothing
\ but sadness ) now grief took so full a possession of his heart, as

DR. JOHN DONNE. 35

to leave no place for joy : if it did, it was a joy to be alone,
where, like a pelican in the wilderness, he might bemoan him-
self without witness or restraint, and pour forth his passions like
Job in the days of his affliction : " Oh that I might have the
desire of my heart ! Oh that God would grant the thing that
I long for ! " For then, as the grave is become her house, so I
would hasten to make it mine also ; that we two might there
make our beds together in the dark. Thus, as the Israelites
sat mourning by the rivers of Babylon, when they remembered
Sion, so he gave some ease to his oppressed heart by thus
venting his sorrows : thus he began the day, and ended the
night ; ended the restless night and began the weary day in
lamentations. And thus he continued, till a consideration
of his new engagements to God, and St. Paul's " Woe is me,
if 1 preach not the gospel ! " dispersed those sad clouds that
had then benighted his hopes, and now forced him to behold
the light.

His first motion from his house was to preach where his
beloved wife lay buried, — in St. Clement's Church, near Temple
Bar, London, — and his text was a part of the Prophet Jeremy's
Lamentation : " Lo, I am the man that have seen affliction."

And indeed his very words and looks testified him to be
truly such a man ; and they, with the addition of his sighs and
tears, expressed in his sermon, did so work upon the affections of
his hearers, as melted and moulded them into a companionable
sadness; and so they left the congregation-; but then their
houses presented them with objects of diversion, and his
presented him with nothing but fresh objects of sorrow, in
beholding many helpless children, a narrow fortune, and a
consideration of the many cares and casualties that attend
their education.

In this time of sadness he was importuned by the grave
Benchers of Lincoln's Inn — who were once the companions
and friends of his youth — to accept of their lecture, which, by
reason of Dr. Gataker's removal from thence, was then void ;
of which he accepted, being most glad to renew his intermitted
friendship with those whom he so much loved, and where he

If

36 THE LIFE OF

had been a Saul, — though not to persecute Christianity, or to
deride it, yet in his irregular youth to neglect the visible
practice of it, — there to become a Paul, and preach salvation
to his beloved brethren.

And now his life was a shining light among his old friends ;
now he gave an ocular testimony of the strictness and regularity
of it ; now he might say, as St. Paul adviseth his Corinthians,
" Be ye followers of me, as I follow Christ, and walk as ye have
me for an example : " not the example of a busy body, but of
a contemplative, a harmless, an humble and an holy life and
conversation.

The love of that noble society was expressed to him many
ways ; for, besides fair lodgings that were set apart, and newly
furnished for him with all necessaries, other courtesies were
also daily added ; indeed so many, and so freely, as if they
meant their gratitude should exceed his merits : and in this
love-strife of desert and liberality, they continued for the space
of two years, he preaching faithfully and constantly to them,
and they liberally requiting him. About which time the
Emperor of Germany died, and the Palsgrave, who had lately
married the Lady Elizabeth, the king's only daughter, was
elected and crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning
of many miseries in that nation.

King James, whose motto — Beati pactfici — did truly speak the
very thoughts of his heart, endeavoured first to prevent, and
after to compose, the discords of that discomposed State : and,
amongst other his endeavours, did then send the Lord Hay,
Earl of Doncaster, his ambassador to those unsettled Princes ;
and, by a special command from his Majesty, Dr. Donne was
appointed to assist and attend that employment to the princes
of the union; for which the Earl was most glad, who had
always put a great value on him, and taken a great pleasure
in his conversation and discourse: and his friends at Lincoln's
Inn were as glad, for they feared that his immoderate study
and sadness for his wife's death would, as Jacob said, " make
his days few," and, respecting his bodily health, "evil" too; and
of this there were many visible signs.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 37

At his going he left his friends of Lincoln's Inn, and they
him, with many reluctations ; for, though he could not say as
St. Paul to his Ephesians, " Behold, you, to whom I have
preached the kingdom of God, shall from henceforth see my
face no more," yet he, believing himself to be in a consumption,
questioned, and they feared it : all concluding that his troubled
mind, with the help of his unintermitted studies, hastened the
decays of his weak body. But God, who is the God of all
wisdom and goodness, turned it to the best; for this employ-
ment— to say nothing of the event of it — did not only divert
him from those too serious studies and sad thoughts, but
seemed to give him a new life, by a true occasion of joy, to
be an eye-witness of the health of his most dear and most
honoured mistress, the Queen of Bohemia, in a foreign nation ;
and to be a witness of that gladness which she expressed
to see him : who, having formerly known him a courtier,
was much joyed to see him in a canonical habit, and more
glad to be an ear-witness of his excellent and powerful
preaching.

About fourteen months after his departure out of England,
he returned to his friends of Lincoln's Inn, with his sorrows
moderated, and his health improved; and there betook himself
to his constant course of preaching.

About a year after his return out of Germany, Dr. Carey was
made Bishop of Exeter, and by his removal the Deanery of St.
Paul's being vacant, the King sent to Dr. Donne, and appointed
him to attend him at dinner the next day. When his Majesty
was sat down, before he had eat any meat, he said after his
pleasant manner, "Dr. Donne, I have invited you to dinner;
and, though you sit not down with me, yet I will carve to you
of a dish that I know you love well ; for, knowing you love
London, I do therefore make you Dean of St. Paul's; and,
when I have dined, then do you take your beloved dish home
to your study, say grace there to yourself, and much good may
it do you."

Immediately after he came to his deanery he employed work-
men to repair and beautify the chapel; suffering, as holy David

38 THE LIFE OF

once vowed, " his eyes and temples to take no rest till he had
first beautified the house of God."

The next quarter following, when his father-in-law, Sir
George More — whom time had made a lover and admirer of
him — came to pay to him the conditioned sum of twenty pounds,
he refused to receive it ; and said, as good Jacob did when he
heard his beloved son Joseph was alive, "' It is enough;' you
have been kind to me and mine. I know your present condition
is such as not to abound, and I hope mine is, or will be such as
not to need it : I will therefore receive no more from you upon
that contract ; " and in testimony of it freely gave him up his
bond.

Immediately after his admission into his deanery, the vicarage.
QL£ St Dunstan in the West, London, fell to him by the death of
Dr. White, the advowson of it having been given to him long
before by his honourable friend, Richard, Earl of Dorset, then
the patron, and confirmed by his brother, the late deceased
Edward, both of them men of much honour.

By these, and another ecclesiastical endowment which fell to
him about the same time, given to him formerly by the Earl of
Kent, he was enabled to become charitable to the poor, and
kind to his friends, and to make such provision for his children
that they were not left scandalous, as relating to their or his
profession and quality.

The next Parliament, which was within that present year,
he was chosen Prolocutor to the Convocation, and about that
time was appointed by his Majesty, his most gracious master,
to preach very many occasional sermons, as at St. Paul's Cross,
and other places. All which employments he performed to the
admiration of the representative body of the whole clergy of this
nation.

He was once, and but once, clouded with the King's dis-
pleasure, and it was about this time ; which was occasioned
by some malicious whisperer, who had told his Majesty that
Dr. Donne had put on the general humours of the pulpits, and
was become busy in insinuating a fear of the King's inclining to
Popery, and a dislike of his government ; and particularly for

DR. JOHN DONNE. 39

the King's then turning the evening lectures into catechising,
and expounding the Prayer of our Lord, and of the Belief and
Commandments. His Majesty was the more inclinable to
believe this, for that a person of nobility and great note,
betwixt whom and Dr. Donne there had been a great friend-
ship, was at this very time discarded the court — I shall forbear
his name, unless I had a fairer occasion — and justly committed
to prison ; which begot many rumours in the common people,
who in this nation think they are not wise unless they be busy
about w^hat they understand not, and especially about religion.

The King received this news with so much discontent and
restlessness, that he would not suffer the sun to set and leave
him under this doubt ; but sent for Dr. Donne, and required his
answer to the accusation ; which was so clear and satisfactory,
that the King said " he was right glad he rested no longer
under the suspicion." When the King had said this, Dr.
Donne kneeled down and thanked his Majesty, and protested
his answer was faithful, and free from all collusion, and there-
fore, " desired that he might not rise, till, as in like cases, he
always had from God, so he might have from his Majesty,
some assurance that he stood clear and fair in his opinion."
At which the King raised him from his knees with his own
hands, and " protested he believed him ; and that he knew he
was an honest man, and doubted not but that he loved him
truly." And, having thus dismissed him, he called some lords
of his council into his chamber, and said with much earnestness,
" My doctor is an honest man ; and, my lords, I was never
better satisfied with an answer than he hath now made me ;
and I always rejoice when I think that by my means he became
a divine."

He was made dean in the fiftieth year of his age ; and in
his fifty-fourth year a dangerous sfckness seized him, which
inclined him to a consumption : but God, as Job thankfully
acknowledged, preserved his spirit, and kept his intellectuals
as clear and perfect as when that sickness first seized his body;
but it continued long, and threatened him with death, which he
dreaded not.

40 THE LIFE OF

In this distemper of body, his dear friend, Dr. Henry King,
— then chief residentiary of that church, and late Bishop of
Chichester, — a man generally known by the clergy of this
nation, and as generally noted for his obliging nature, visited
him daily ; and observing that his sickness rendered his
recovery doubtful, he chose a seasonable time to speak to
him to this purpose :

" Mr. Dean, I am, by your favour, no stranger to your
temporal estate, and you are no stranger to the offer lately
made us, for the renewing a lease of the best Prebend's corps
belonging to our church ; and you know 'twas denied, for that
our tenant being very rich, offered to fine at so low a rate as
held not proportion with his advantages : but I will either raise
him to a higher sum, or procure that the other residentiaries
shall join to accept of what was offered ; one of these, I can
and will by your favour do without delay, and without any
trouble either to your body or mind : I beseech you to accept of
my offer, for I know it will be a considerable addition to your
present estate, which I know needs it."

To this, after a short pause, and raising himself upon his bed,
he made this reply :

" My most dear friend, I most humbly thank you for your
many favours, and this in particular ; but in my present con-
dition I shall not accept of your proposal ; for doubtless there
is such a sin as sacrilege ; if there were not, it could not have
a name in Scripture ; and the primitive clergy were watchful
against all appearances of that evil ; and indeed then all
Christians looked upon it with horror and detestation, judging
it to be even an open defiance of the power and providence of
Almighty God, and a sad presage of a declining religion. But
instead of such Christians, who had selected times set apart to
fast and pray to God, for a pious clergy, which they then did
obey, our times abound with men that are busy and litigious
about trifles and church ceremonies, and yet so far from
scrupling sacrilege, that they make not so much as a quaere
what it is : but I thank God I have ; and dare not now upon
my sick-bed, when Almighty God hath made me useless to the

DR. JOHN DONNE. 41

service of the Church, make any advantages out of it. But if
He shall again restore me to such a degree of health, as again
to serve at his altar, I shall then gladly take the reward which
the bountiful benefactors of this church have designed me ; for
God knows my children and relations will need it. In which
number, my mother — whose credulity and charity has contracted
a very plentiful to a very narrow estate — must not be forgotten.
But, Dr. King, if I recover not, that little worldly estate that I
shall leave behind me — that very little, when divided into eight
parts — must, if you deny me not so charitable a favour, fall into
your hands, as my most faithful friend and executor, of whose
care and justice I make no more doubt than of God's blessing,
on that which I have conscientiously collected for them; but it
shall not be augmented on my sick-bed ; and this I declare to
be my unalterable resolution."

The reply to this was only a promise to observe his request.

Within a few days his distempers abated; and as his strength
increased, so did his thankfulness to Almighty God, testified in
his most excellent Book of Devotions, which he published at
his recovery; in which the reader may see the most secret
thoughts that then possessed his soul, paraphrased and made
public : a book that may not unfitly be called a sacred picture
of spiritual ecstasies, occasioned and appliable to the emer-
gencies of that sickness; which book, being a composition of
meditations, disquisitions, and prayers, he writ on his sick-
bed; herein imitating the holy patriarchs, who were wont
to build their altars in that place where they had received
their blessings.

This sickness brought him so near to the gates of death, and
he saw the grave so ready to devour him, that he would often
say his recovery was supernatural : but that God that then
restored his health continued it to him till the fifty-ninth year
of his life ; and then, in August 1630, being with his eldest
daughter, Mrs. Harvey, at Abury Hatch, in Essex, he there
fell into a fever, which, with the help of his constant infirmity
— vapours from the spleen — hastened him into so visible a
consumption, that his beholders might say, as St. Paul of

42 THE LIFE OF

himself, "He dies daily;" and he might say with Job, "My
welfare passeth away as a cloud, the days of my affliction
have taken hold of me, and weary nights are appointed
for me."

Reader, this sickness continued long, not only weakening,
but wearying him so much, that my desire is he may now take
some rest ; and that before I speak of his death, thou wilt not
think it an impertinent digression to look back with me upon
some observations of his life, which, whilst a gentle slumber
gives rest to his spirits, may, I hope, not unfitly exercise thy
consideration.

His marriage was the remarkable error of his life— an error
which, though he had a wit able and very apt to maintain
paradoxes, yet he was very far from justifying it ; and though
his wife's competent years, and other reasons, might be justly
urged to moderate severe censures, yet he would occasionally
condemn himself for it ; and doubtless it had been attended
with an heavy repentance, if God had not blessed them with
so mutual and cordial affections, as in the midst of their
sufferings made their bread of sorrow taste more pleasantly
than the banquets of dull and low-spirited people.

The recreations of his youth were poetry, in which he was so
happy, as if nature and all her varieties had been made only to
exercise his shaj3L_vvjt and highjancy; and in those pieces
which were facetiously compose^ and carelessly scattered —
most of them being written befoVe the twentieth year of his
age — it may appear by his choice [metaphors that both nature
and all the arts joined to assist him with their utmost skill.

It is a truth, that in his penitential years, viewing some of
those pieces that had been loosely — God knows, too loosely —
scattered in his youth, he wished they had been abortive, or so
short-lived that his own eyes had witnessed their funerals:
but, though he was no friend to them, he was not so fallen out
with heavenly poetry as to forsake that; no, not in his declining
age ; witnessed then by many f1iyinfi gnnn^tg, and other high,
holy, and harmonious composures. Yea, even on his former
sick-bed he wrote this heavenly hymn, expressing the great joy

DR. JOHN DONNE. 43

that then possessed his soul, in the assurance of God's favour
to him when he composed it —

AN HYMN

TO GOD THE FATHER.

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,

Which was my sin, though it were done before ?

Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore ?

When thou hast nbne, thou hast not ftjbne,

ForIhaveTnore.

Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their _dopj ?

Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two ; — but wallow'd in a score ?

When thou hast done, thou hast not done,

For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore|

But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore ;

And having done that, thou hast done,

I fear no more.

I have the rather mentioned this hymn, for that he caused it
to be set to a most grave and solemn tune, and to be often
sung to the organ by the choristers of St. Paul's Church, in
his own hearing, especially at the evening service; and at
his return from his customary devotions in that place, did
occasionally say to a friend, "The words of this hymn have
restored to me the same thoughts of joy that possessed my
soul in my sickness, when I composed it. And, O th£L_pp_wex
of church-music ! that harmony added to this hymn has raised
the affections of my heart, and quickened my graces of zeal
and gratitude ; and I observe that I always return from

44 THE LIFE OF

paying this public duty of prayer and praise to God, with
an unexpressible tranquillity of mind, and a willingness to
leave the world."

After this manner did the disciples of our Saviour, and the
best of Christians in those ages of the church nearest to his
time, offer their praises to Almighty God. And the reader of
St. Augustine's life may there find that towards his dissolution
he wept abundantly, that the enemies of Christianity had broke
in upon them, and profaned and ruined their sanctuaries, and
because their public hymn.s and lauds were lost out of their
churches. And after this manner have many devout souls lifted
up their hands and offered acceptable sacrifices unto Almighty
God, where Dr. Donne offered his, and now lies buried.

But now, O Lord ! how is that place become desolate I1

Before I proceed further, I think fit to inform the reader, that
not long before his death he caused to be drawn a figure of the
body of Christ extended upon an anchor, like those which
painters draw when they would present us with the picture
of Christ crucified on the cross: his varying no otherwise, than
to affix him not to a cross, but to an anchor— the emblem of
hope ;— this he caused to be drawn in little, and then many of
those figures thus drawn to be engraven very small in Helio-
tropium stones, and set in gold ; and of these he sent to many
of his dearest friends, to be used as seals, or rings, and kept as
memorials of him, and of his affection to them.

His dear friends and benefactors, Sir Henry Goodier and Sir
Robert Drewry, could not be of that number; nor could the
Lady Magdalen Herbert, the mother of George Herbert, for
they had put off mortality, and taken possession of the grave
before him: but Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Hall, the then late
deceased Bishop of Norwich, were; and so were Dr. Duppa,
Bishop of Salisbury, and Dr. Henry King, Bishop of Chichester
— lately deceased, — men in whom there was such a commixture
of general learning, of natural eloquence, and Christian humility,
that they deserve a commemoration by a pen equal to their own,
which none have exceeded.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 45

And in this enumeration of his friends, though many must be
omitted, yet that man of primitive piety, Mr. George Herbert,
may not . j Ijriean that Tjebrge* Herbert wTio~wa¥'fKe"'autTro"r of
The Temple, or Sacred Poems and Ejaculations. A book in
which, by declaring his own spiritual conflicts, he hath com-
forted and raised many a dejected and discomposed soul, and
charmed them into gweet and quiet thoughts ; a book, by the
frequent reading whereof, and the assistance of that spirit that
seemed to inspire the author, the reader may attain habits of
peace and piety, and all the gifts of the Holy Ghost and
heaven ; and may, by still reading, still keep those sacred
fires burning upon the altar of so pure a heart, as shall free
it from the anxieties of this world, and keep it fixed upon
things that are above. Betwixt this George Herbert and Dr.
Donne there was a long and dear friendship, made up by such
a sympathy of inclinations, that they coveted and joyed to be
in each other's company; and this happy friendship was still
maintained by many sacred endearments ; of which that which
followeth may be some testimony.

TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT.

SENT HIM WITH ONE OF MY SEALS OF THE ANCHOR AND CHRIST.

A Sheaf of Snakes used heretofore to be my Seal, which is the Crest
of our poor family.

Qui prius assuetus serpentum falce tabellas

Signare, haec nostrse symbola parva domus,
Adscitus domui Domini

Adopted in God's family, and so

My old coat lost, into new Arms I go.

The Cross, my Seal in Baptism, spread below,

Does by that form into an Anchor grow.

Crosses grow Anchors, bear as thou shouldst do

Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.

But he that makes our Crosses Anchors thus,

Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.

Yet with this I may my first Serpents hold; —

46 THE LIFE OF

God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old —

The Serpent, may, as wise, my pattern be ;

My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.

And, as he rounds the earth to murder, sure

He is my death ; but on the Cross, my cure,

Crucify nature then ; and then implore

All grace from him, crucified there before.

When all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown

This Seal's a Catechism, not a Seal alone.

Under that little Seal great gifts I send,

Both works and prayers, pawns and fruits of a friend.

Oh ! may that Saint that rides on our Great Seal,

To you that bear his name, large bounty deal.

JOHN DONNE.

IN SACRAM ANCHORAM PISCATORIS
GEORGE HERBERT.

Quod Crux nequibat fixa clavique additi, —
Tenere Christum scilicet ne ascenderet,
Tuive Christum

Although the Cross could not here Christ detain,

When nail'd unto 't, but he ascends again ;

Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still,

But only whilst thou speak'st — this Anchor will :

Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to

This certain Anchor add a Seal; and so

The water and the earth both unto thee

Do owe the symbol of their certainty.

Let the world reel, we and all our's stand sure,

This holy Cable's from all storms secure.

GEORGE HERBERT.

I return to tell the reader that, besides these verses to his
dear Mr. Herbert, and that hymn that I mentioned to be sung
in the choir of St. Paul's Church, he did also shorten and
beguile many sad hours by composing other sacred ditties; and
he writ an hymn on his death-bed, which bears this title :

DR. JOHN DONNE. 47

AN HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS.
March 23, 1630.

(Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy Choir of Saints, for evermore
I shall be made thy music, as I come
I tune my instrument here at the door,
And, what I must do then, think here before.
Since my Physicians by their loves are grown
Cosmographers ; and I their map, who lye
Flat on this bed

So, in his purple wrapt, receive my Lord !
By these his thorns, give me his other Crown :

And, as to other souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,
" That he may raise; therefore the Lord throws down."

If these fall under the censure of a soul whose too much
mixture with earth makes it unfit to judge of these high raptures
and illuminations, let him know, that many holy and devout
men have thought the soul of Prudentius to be most refined,
when, not many days before his death, "he charged it to
present his God each morning and evening with a new and
spiritual song;" justified by the example of King David and
the good King Hezekiah, who, upon the renovation of his years
paid his thankful vows to Almighty God in a royal hymn,
which he concludes in these words : " The Lord was ready to
save ; therefore I will sing my songs to the stringed instruments
all the days of my life in the temple of my God."

The latter part of his life may be said to be a continued
study ; for as he usually preached once a week, if not oftener,
so after his sermon he never gave his eyes rest, till he had
chosen out a new text, and that night cast his sermon into
a form, and his text into divisions ; and the next day betook
himself to consult the fathers, and so commit his meditations to
his memory^ which was excellent. But upon Saturday he usually
gave himself and his mind a rest from the weary burthen of his

V

48 THE LIFE OF

week's meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of
friends, or some other diversions of his thoughts ; and would
say, " that he gave both his body and mind that refreshment,
that he might be enabled to do the work of the day following,
not faintly, but with courage and cheerfulness."

Nor was his age only so industrious, but in. the most unsettled
days of his youth his bed was not able to detain him beyond
the hour of four in the _rnqrningj_ and it was no common
business that drew him out of his chamber till past ten; all
which time was employed in study; though he took great
liberty after it. And if this seem strange, it may gain a belief
by the visible fruits of his labours ; some of which remain as
testimonies of what is here written : for he left the resistance
of 1400 authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his
own hand ; he left also six s,CQr_e_ of his sermons, all written with
his own hand; also an exact and laborious treatise concerning
self-murder, called mathanatosj wherein all the laws violated
by that act are diligently surveyed, and judiciously censured :
a treatise written in his younger days, which alone might
declare him then not only perfect in the civil and canon law,
but in many other such studies and arguments as enter not
into the consideration of many that labour to be thought great
clerks, and pretend to know all things.

Nor were these only found in his study, but all__businesses
that passed of any public consequence, either in this or any of
our neighbour nations,\he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the
language of that nation, and kept I them by him for useful
memorials. So he did the copies of givfiisJetters and cases of
conscience, that had concerned his friends, with his observations
and solutions of them ; and divers other businesses of import-
ance, all particularly and methodically digested by himself.

He did prepare to leave the world before life left him, making
his will when no faculty of his soul was damped or made defective
by pain or sickness, or he surprised by a sudden apprehension
of death : but it was made with mature deliberation, expressing
himself an impartial father, by making his children's portions
equal ; and a lover of his friends, whom he remembered with

DR. JOHN DONNE. 49

legacies fitly and discreetly chosen and bequeathed. I cannot
forbear a nomination of some of them ; for methinks they be
persons that seem to challenge a recordation in this place ; as
namely, to his brother-in-law, Sir Thomas Grimes, he gave that
striking clock, which he had long worn in his pocket; to his
dear friend and executor, Dr. King, — late Bishop of Chichester
— that model of gold of the Synod of Dort, with which the States
presented him at his last being at the Hague ; and the two
pictures of Padre Paolo and Fulgentio, men of his acquaintance
when he travelled Italy, and of great note in that nation for their
remarkable learning. — To his ancient friend Dr. Brook, — that
married him — Master of Trinity College in Cambridge, he gave
the picture of the Blessed Virgin and Joseph. — To Dr. Winniff,
who succeeded him in the Deanery, he gave a picture called
the Skeleton. — To the succeeding Dean, who was not then
known, he gave many necessaries of worth, and useful for his
house ; and also several pictures and ornaments for the chapel,
with a desire that they might be registered, and remain as a
legacy to his successors. — To the Earls of Dorset and Carlisle
he gave several pictures ; and so he did to many other friends ;
legacies, given rather to express his affection, than to make
any addition to their estates: but unto the poor he was full
of charity, and unto many others, who, by his constant and
long-continued bounty, might entitle themselves to be his
alms-people: for all these he made provision, and so largely,
as, having then six children living, might to some appear more
than proportionable to his estate. I forbear to mention any
more, lest the reader may think I trespass upon his patience :
but I will beg his favour, to present him with the beginning
and end of his will.

"In the name of the blessed and glorious Trinity, Amen.
I, John Donne, by the mercy of Christ Jesus, and by the
calling of the Church of England, priest, being at this time
in good health and perfect understanding, — praised be God
therefore — do hereby make my last will and testament in
manner and form following.

" First, I give my gracious God an entire sacrifice of body

5

50 l THE LIFE OF

and soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance
which his blessed Spirit imprints in me now of the salvation
of the one, and the resurrection of the other; and for that
constant and cheerful resolution, which the same Spirit hath
established in me, to live and die in the religion now pro-
fessed in the Church of England. In expectation of that
resurrection, I desire my body may be buried — in the most
, private manner that may be— tin that place of St. Paul's Church,
: London, that the now residentiaries have at my request designed
for that purpose, etc. — And this my last will and testament,
made in the fear of God, — whose mercy I humbly beg, and
constantly rely upon in Jesus Christ — and in perfect love and
charity with all the world — whose pardon I ask, from the lowest
of my servants, to the highest of my superiors — written all with
my own hand, and my name subscribed to every page, of which
there are five in number.
"Sealed December 13, 1630."

Nor was this blessed sacrifice of charity expressed only at
his death, but in his life also, by a cheerful and frequent
visitation of any friend whose mind was dejected, or his
fortune necessitous ; he was inquisitive after the wants of
prisoners, and redeemed many from prison that lay for their
fees or small debts : he was a continual giver to poor scholars,
both of this and foreign nations. Besides what he gave with
his own hand, he usually sent a servant, or a discreet and trusty
friend, to distribute his charity to all the prisons in London, at
all the festival times of the year, especially at the birth and
resurrection of our Saviour. He gave an hundred pounds at one
time to an old friend, whom he had known live plentifully, and
by a too liberal heart and carelessness became decayed in his
estate; and when the receiving of it was denied, by the gentle-
man's saying, " He wanted not ; " — for the reader may note, that
as there be some spirits so generous as to labour to conceal and
endure a sad poverty, rather than expose themselves to those
blushes that attend the confession of it; so there be others, to
whom nature and grace have afforded such sweet and com-

DR. JOHN DONNE. 51

passionate souls, as to pity and prevent the distresses of
mankind ; — which I have mentioned because of Dr. Donne's
reply, whose answer was : " I know you want not what will
sustain nature ; for a little will do that ; but my desire is, that
you, who in the days of your plenty have cheered and raised
the hearts of so many of your dejected friends, would now
receive this from me, and use it as a cordial for the cheering
of your own : " and upon these terms it was received. He was
an happy reconciler of many differences in the families of his
friends and kindred, — which he never undertook faintly; for
such undertakings have usually faint effects — and they had such
a faith in his judgment and impartiality, that he never advised
them to any thing in vain. He was, even to her death, a most
dutiful son to his mother, careful to provide for her supportation,
of which she had been destitute, but that God raised him up to
prevent her necessities ; who having sucked in the religion of
the Roman Church with the mother's milk, spent, her estate in
foreign countries, to enjoy a liberty in it, and died in his house
but three months before him.

And to the end it may appear how just a steward he was
of his lord and master's revenue, I have thought fit to let the
reader know, that after his entrance into his Deanery, as he
numbered his years, he, at the foot of a private account, to
which God and his angels were only witnesses with him, —
computed first his revenue, then what was given to the poor,
and other pious uses ; and lastly, what rested for him and
his ; and having done that, he then blessed each year's poor
remainder with a thankful prayer ; which, for that they dis-
cover a more than common devotion, the reader shall partake
some of them in his own words :

So all is that remains this year — [1624-5].

Deo Opt. Max. benigno largitori, a me, et ab iis quibus hcec
a me reservantur, Gloria et gratia in seternum. Amen.

TRANSLATED THUS.
To God all Good, all Great, the benevolent Bestower, by

52 THE LIFE OF

me and by them, for whom, by me, these sums are laid up,
be glory and grace ascribed for ever. Amen.

So that this year [1626] God hath blessed me and mine
with : —

Multiplicatas sunt super nos misericordiae tuae, Domine.

TRANSLATED THUS.
Thy mercies, O Lord ! are multiplied upon us.

Da, Domine, ut quae ex immensa bonitate tua nobis elargiri
dignatus sis, in quorumcunque manus devenerint, in tuam
semper cedant gloriam. Amen.

TRANSLATED THUS.

Grant, O Lord ! that what out of thine infinite bounty
thou hast vouchsafed to lavish upon us, into whosesoever hands
it may devolve, may always be improved to thy glory. Amen.

In fine horum sex annorum manet : — [1628-9].

Quid habeo quod non accepi a Domino ? Largitur etiam
ut quae largitus est sua iterum fiant, bono eorum usu ; ut
quemadmodum nee officiis hujus mundi, nee loci in quo me
posuit dignitati, nee servis, nee egenis, in toto hujus anni
curriculo mihi conscius sum me defuisse ; ita et liberi, quibus
quas supersunt, supersunt, grato animo ea accipiant, et bene-
ficum authorem recognoscant. Amen.

TRANSLATED THUS.
At the end of these six years remains : —

What have I, which I have not received from the Lord ?
He bestows, also, to the intent that what he hath bestowed
may revert to him by the proper use of it : that, as I have
not consciously been wanting to myself during the whole
course of the past year, either in discharging my secular duties,
in retaining the dignity of my station, or in my conduct to-
wards my servants and the poor, — so my children for whom

DR. JOHN DONNE. 53

remains whatever is remaining, may receive it with gratitude,
and acknowledge the beneficent Giver. Amen.

But I return from my long digression.

We left the author sick in Essex, where he was forced to
spend much of that winter, by reason of his disability to remove
from that place ; and having never, for almost twenty years,
omitted his personal attendance on his Majesty in that month,
in which he was to attend and preach to him; nor having ever
been left out of the roll and number of Lent preachers, and
there being then — in January 1630 — a report brought to
London, or raised there, that Dr. Donne was dead; that report
gave him occasion to write the following letter to a dear friend :

" Sir, — This advantage you and my other friends have by
my frequent fevers, that I am so much the oftener at the gates
of heaven; and this advantage by the solitude and close im-
prisonment that they reduce me to after, that I am so much the
oftener at my prayers, in which I shall never leave out your
happiness; and I doubt not, among his other blessings, God will
add some one to you for my prayers. A man would almost be
content to die, — if there were no other benefit in death, — to
hear of so much sorrow, and so much good testimony from
good men, as I — God be blessed for it — did upon the report
of my death : yet I perceive it went not through all ; for one
writ to me, that some — and he said of my friends — conceived
that I was not so ill as I pretended, but withdrew myself to live
at ease, discharged of preaching. It is an unfriendly, and, God
knows, an ill-grounded interpretation ; for I have always been
sorrier when I could not preach, than any could be they could
not hear me. It hath been my desire, and God may be pleased
to grant it, that I might die in the pulpit; if not that, yet that I
might take my death in the pulpit; that is, die the sooner by
occasion of those labours. Sir, I hope to see you presently after
Candlemas ; about which time will fall my Lent sermon at
court, except my Lord Chamberlain believe me to be dead, and
so leave me out of the roll : but as long as I live, and am
not speechless, I would not willingly decline that service. I

54 THE LIFE OF

have better leisure to write, than you to read ; yet I would not
willingly oppress you with too much letter. God so bless you

and your son, as I wish to ,r f • j ,

Your poor friend and servant

in Christ Jesus,

J. DONNE."

Before that month ended, he was appointed to preach upon
his old constant day, the first Friday in Lent: he had notice of
it, and had in his sickness so prepared for that employment,
that as he had long thirsted for it, so he resolved his weakness
should not hinder his journey; he came therefore to London
some few days before his appointed day of preaching. At his
coming thither, many of his friends — who with sorrow saw his
sickness had left him but so much flesh as did only cover his
bones — doubted his strength to perform that task, and did
therefore dissuade him from undertaking it, assuring him how-
ever, it was like to shorten his life: but he passionately denied
their requests, saying "he would not doubt that that God, who
in so many weaknesses had assisted him with an unexpected
strength, would now withdraw it in his last employment ; pro-
fessing an holy ambition to perform that sacred work." And when,
to the amazement of some of the beholders, he appeared in the
pulpit, many of them thought he presented himself not to preach
mortification by a living voice, but mortality by a decayed body
and a dying face. And doubtless many did secretly ask that
question in Ezekiel,' — "Do these bones live? or, can that soul
organise that tongue, to speak so long time as the sand in
that glass will move towards its centre, and measure out an
hour of this dying man's unspent life ? Doubtless it cannot."
And yet, after some faint pauses in his zealous prayer, his
strong desires enabled his weak body to discharge his memory
of his preconceived meditations, which were of dying; the
text being, " To God the Lord belong the issues from death."
Many that then saw his tears, and heard his faint and hollow
voice, professing they thought the text prophetically chosen,
and that Dr. Donne had preached his own funeral sermon.
1 Chap, xxxvii. 3.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 55

Being full of joy that God had enabled him to perform this
desired duty, he hastened to his house ; out of which he never
moved, till, like St. Stephen, "he was carried by devout men to
his grave."

The next day after his sermon, his strength being much
wasted, and his spirits so spent as indisposed him to business
or to talk, a friend that had often been a witness of his free and
facetious discourse asked him, "Why are you sad?" To
whom he replied, with a countenance so full of cheerful
gravity, as gave testimony of an inward tranquillity of mind,
and of a soul willing to take a farewell of this world ; and said, —

" I am not sad ; but most of the night past I have entertained
myself with many thoughts of several friends that have left me
here, and are gone to that place from which they shall not return ;
and that within a few days I also shall go hence, and be no
more seen. And my preparation for this change is become my
nightly meditation upon my bed, which my infirmities have
now made restless to me. But at this present time, I was in a
serious contemplation of the providence and goodness of God to
me ; to me, who am less than the least of his mercies : and
looking back upon my life past, I now plainly see it was his
hand that prevented me from all temporal employment ; and
that it was his will I should never settle nor thrive till I entered
into the ministry ; in which I have now lived almost twenty
years — I hope to his glory, — and by which, I most humbly
thank him, I have been enabled to requite most of those friends
which showed me kindness when my fortune was very low, as
God knows it was : and — as it hath occasioned the expression
of my gratitude — I thank God most of them have stood in need
of my requital. I have lived to be useful and comfortable to my
good father-in-law, Sir George More, whose patience God hath
been pleased to exercise with many temporal crosses; I have
maintained my own mother, whom it hath pleased God, after
a plentiful fortune in her younger days; to bring to great decay
in her very old age. I have quieted the consciences of many
that have groaned under the burthen of a wounded spirit, whose
prayers I hope are available for me. I cannot plead innocency

56 THE LIFE OF

of life, especially of my youth ; but I am to be judged by a
merciful God, who is not willing to see what I have done amiss.
And though of myself I have nothing to present to him but
sins and misery, yet I know he looks not upon me now as I am
of myself, but as I am in my Saviour, and hath given me, even
at this present time, some testimonies by his Holy Spirit, that
I am of the number of his elect : I am therefore full of
inexpressible joy, and shall die in peace."

I must here look so far back, as to tell the reader that at his
first return out of Essex, to preach his last sermon, his old
friend and physician, Dr. Fox — a man of great worth — came to
him to consult his health ; and that after a sight of him, and
some queries concerning his distempers, he told him, " That by
cordials, and drinking milk twenty days together, there was a
probability of his restoration to health;" but he passionately
denied to drink it. Nevertheless, Dr. Fox, who loved him most
entirely, wearied him with solicitations, till he yielded to take
it for ten days ; at the end of which time he told Dr. Fox,
" He had drunk it more to satisfy him, than to recover his
health ; and that he would not drink it ten days longer, upon
the best moral assurance of having twenty years added to his
life ; for he loved it not ; and was so far from fearing death,
which to others is the King of Terrors, that he longed for the
day of dissolution."

It is observed, that a desire of glory or commendation is
rooted in the very nature of man ; and that those of the
severest and most mortified lives, though they may become so
humble as to banish self-flattery, and such weeds as naturally
grow there; yet they have not been able to kill this desire of
glory, but that like our radical heat, it will both live and die with
us ; and many think it should do so; and we want not sacred
examples to justify the desire of having our memory to outlive
our lives ; which I mention, because Dr. Donne, by the
persuasion of Dr. Fox, easily yielded at this very time to have
a monument made for him ; but Dr. Fox undertook not to
persuade him how, or what monument it should be; that was
left to Dr. Donne himself.

A monument being resolved upon, Dr. Donne sent for a

DR. JOHN DONNE. 57

Carver to make for him in wood the figure of an urn, giving
him directions for the compass and height of it ; and to bring
with it a board, of the just height of his body. " These bei
got, then without delay a choice painter was got to be in
readiness to draw his picture, which was taken as followeth. —
Several charcoal fires being first made in his large study, he
brought with him into that place his winding-sheet in his hand,
and having put off all his clothes, had this sheet put on him,
and so tied with knots at his head and feet, and his hands so
placed as dead bodies are usually fitted, to be shrouded and
put into their coffin, or grave. Upon this urn he thus stood,
with his eyes shut, and with so much of the sheet turned aside
as might show his lean, pale, and death-like face, which was
purposely turned towards the east, from whence he expected
the second coming of his and our Saviour Jesus." In this
posture he was drawn at his just height ; and when the picture
was fully finished, he caused it to be set by his bed-side, where
it continued and became his hourly object till his death, and
was then given to his dearest friend and executor Dr. Henry
King, then chief residentiary of St. Paul's, who caused him to
be thus carved in one entire piece of white' marble, as it now
stands in that church ; and by Dr. Donne's own appointment,
these words were to be affixed to it as an epitaph :

JOHANNES DONNE,

SAC. THEOL. PROFESS.

POST VARIA STVDIA, QVIBUS AB ANNIS
TENERRIMIS FIDELITER, NEC INFELICITER

INCVBVIT ;
INSTINCTV ET IMPVLSV SP. SANCTI, MONITV

ET HORTATV

REGIS JACOBI, ORDINES SACROS AMPLEXVS,

ANN SVI JESV, MDCXIV. ET SVJE ^TATIS XLII.

DECANATV HVJVS ECCLESLE INDVTVS,

XXVII. NOVEMBRIS, MDCXXL

EXVTVS MORTE VLTIMO DIE MARTII, MDCXXXI.

HIC LICET IN OCCIDVO CIKERE, ASPICIT EVM

CVJVS NOMEN EST ORIENS.

58 THE LIFE OF

And now, having brought him through the many labyrinths
and perplexities of a various life, even to the gates of death and
the grave ; my desire is, he may rest, till I have told my reader
that I have seen many pictures of him, in several habits, and at
several ages, and in several postures : and I now mention this,
because I have seen one picture of him, drawn by a curious
hand, at his age of eighteen, with his sword, and what other
adornments might then suit with the present fashions of youth
and the giddy gaieties of that age ; and his motto then was —

How much shall I be changed,
Before I am changed !

And if that young and his now dying picture were at this
time set together, every beholder might say, Lord ! how much
is Dr. Donne already changed, before he is changed ! And the
view of them might give my reader occasion to ask himself
with some amazement, " Lord ! how much may I also, that am
now in health, be changed before I am changed ; before this
vile, this changeable body shall put off mortality ! " and there-
fore to prepare for it. — But this is not writ so much for my
reader's memento, as to tell him that Dr. Donne would often
in his private discourses, and often publicly in his sermons,
mention the many changes both of his body and mind;
especially of his mind from a vertiginous giddiness ; and would
as often say, "His great and most blessed change was from a
temporal to a spiritual employment;" in which he was so
. happy, that he accounted the former part of his life to be lost ;
and the beginning of it to be from his first entering into sacred
orders, and serving his most merciful God at his altar.

Upon Monday, after the drawing this picture, he took his
last leave of his beloved study; and, being sensible of his
hourly decay, retired himself to his bed-chamber; and that
week sent at several times for many of his most considerable
friends, with whom he took a solemn and deliberate farewell,
commending to their considerations some sentences useful for
the regulation of their lives ; and then dismissed them, as good
Jacob did his sons, with a spiritual benediction. The Sunday

DR. JOHN DONNE. 59

following, he appointed his servants, that if there were any
business yet undone that concerned him or themselves, it should
be prepared against Saturday next ; for after that day he would
not mix his thoughts with anything that concerned this world;
nor ever did ; but, as Job, so he " waited for the appointed day
of his dissolution."

And now he was so happy as to have nothing to do but to
die, to do which, he stood in need of no longer time ; for he
had studied it long, and to so happy a perfection, that in a
former sickness he called God to witness1 "He was that
minute ready to deliver his soul into his hands, if that minute
God would determine his dissolution." In that sickness he
begged of God the constancy to be preserved in that estate for
ever; and his patient expectation to have his immortal soul
disrobed from her garment of mortality, makes me confident
that he nosv had a modest assurance that his prayers were then
heard, and his petition granted. He lay fifteen days earnestly
expecting his hourly change ; and in the last hour of his last
day, as his body melted away, and vapoured into spirit, his soui
having, I verily believe, some revelation of the beatifical vision,
he said, " I were miserable if I might not die ;" and after those
words, closed many periods of his faint breath by saying often,
"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done." His speech, which
had long been his ready and faithful servant, left him not till
the last minute of his life, and then forsook him, not to serve
another master — for who speaks like him, — but died before
him; for that it was then become useless to him, that now con-
versed with God on earth, as angels are said to do in heaven,
only by thoughts and looks. Being speechless, and seeing
heaven by that illumination by which he saw it, he did, as St.
Stephen, "look steadfastly into it, till he saw the Son of Man
standing at the right hand of God his Father;" and being
satisfied with this blessed sight, as his soul ascended, and his
last breath departed from him, he closed his own eyes, and then
disposed his hands and body into such a posture as required
not the least alteration by those that came to shroud him.
1 In Lis Book of Devotions written then.

5o THE LIFE OF

Thus variable, thus virtuous was the life : thus excellent, thus
exemplary was the death of this memorable man.

He was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church, which he
had appointed for that use some years before his death ; and by
which he passed daily to pay his public devotions to Almighty
God — who was then served twice a day by a public form of
prayer and praises in that place : — but he_was not buried,
privately, though he desired it ; for, beside an unnumbered
number of others, many persons of nobility, and of eminence
for learning, who did love and honour him in his life, did show
it at his death, by a voluntary and sad attendance of his body to
the grave, where nothing was so remarkable as a public sorrow.

To which place of his burial some mournful friends repaired,

and, as Alexander the Great did to the grave of the famous

Achilles, so they strewed his with an abundance of curious and

costly flowers ; which course, they — who were never yet known

— continued morning and evening for many days, not ceasing,

till the stones, that were taken up in that church, to give his

body admission into the cold earth — now his bed of rest, — were

again by the. mason's art so levelled and firmed as they had

/ been formerly, and his place of burial undistinguishable to

' *; common view.

The next day after his burial, some unknown friend, some
one of the many lovers and admirers of his virtue and learning,
writ this epitaph with a coal on the wall over his grave : —

Reader ! I am to let thee know,
Donne's Body only lies below ;
For, could the grave his Soul comprise,
Earth would be richer than the Skies !

Nor was this all the honour done to his reverend ashes ; for,
as there be some persons that will not receive a reward for that
for which God accounts himself a debtor ; persons that dare
trust God with their charity, and without a witness ; so there
was by some grateful unknown friend, that thought Dr. Donne's
memory ought to be perpetuated, an hundred marks sent to his
faithful friends1 and executors, towards the making of his
1 Dr. Kiii'' aiul Dr. Moutford.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 61

monument. It was not for many years known by whom ; but,
after the death of Dr. Fox, it was known that it was he that
sent it ; and he lived to see as lively a representation of his
dead friend as marble can express: a statue indeed so like Dr.
Donne, that — as his friend Sir Henry Wotton hath expressed
himself — " It seems to breathe faintly, and posterity shall look
upon it as a kinJ of artificial miracle."

He was of stature moderately tall; of a straight and equally-
proportioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an
unexpressible addition of comeliness.

The melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so con-
tempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and made his
company one of the delights of mankind.

His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great
witi both being made useful by a commanding judgment.

His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony
of a clear knowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself.

His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, full of
noble compassion ; of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too
much a Christian not to pardon them in others.

He did much contemplate — especially after he entered into
his sacred calling — the mercies of Almighty God, the immor-
tality of the soul, and the joys of heaven: and would often say
in a kind of sacred ecstasy, — " Blessed be God that he is God,
only and divinely like himself."

He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to reluct
at the excesses of it. A great lover of the offices of humanity,
and of so me.rciful a spirit, that he never beheld the miseries of
mankind without pity and relief.

He was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge,
with which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in
a continual praise of that God that first breathed it into his
active bcdy : that body, which once was a temple of the Holy
Ghost, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust : —

But I shall see it re-animated.
Feb. is, 1639-

62 THE LIFE OF

AN EPITAPH

WRITTEN BY

DOCTOR CORBET, LATE BISHOP OF OXFORD,

ON HIS FRIEND DR. DONNE.

HE that would write an Epitaph for thee,
And write it well, must first begin to be
Such as thou wert ; for none can truly know
Thy life and worth, but he that hath liv'd so :
He must have Wit to spare, and to hurl down,
Enough to keep the gallants of the town.
He must have Learning plenty ; both the Laws,
Civil and common, to judge any cause.
Divinity, great store, above the rest,
Not of the last edition, but the best.
He must have Language, Travel, all the Arts,
Judgment to use, or else he wants thy parts.
He must have friends the highest, able to do,
Such as Mecsenas and Augustus too.
He must have such a sickness, such a death,
Or else his vain descriptions come beneath.
He that would write an Epitaph for thee,
Should first be dead ; — let it alone for me.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 63

TO THE MEMORY OF

MY EVER-DESIRED FRIEND DOCTOR DONNE.

AN ELEGY
BY H. KING, LATE BISHOP OF CHICHESTER.

To have liv'd eminent, in a degree
Beyond our loftiest thoughts, that is, like Thee ;
Or t' have had too much merit is not safe,
For such excesses find no epitaph.

At common graves we have poetic eyes

Can melt themselves in easy elegies ;

Each quill can drop his tributary verse,

And pin it, like the hatchments, to the hearse :

But at thine, poem or inscription —

Rich soul of wit and language — we have none.

Indeed a silence does that tomb befit,

Where is no herald left to blazon it.

Widow'd Invention justly doth forbear

To come abroad, knowing thou art not there :

Late her great patron, whose prerogative

Maintain'd and cloth'd her so, as none alive

Must now presume to keep her at thy rate,

Tho' he the Indies for her dower estate.

Or else, that awful fire which once did burn

In thy clear brain, now fallen into thy urn,

Lives there, to fright rude empirics from thence,

Which might profane thee by their ignorance.

Whoever writes of thee, and in a style

Unworthy such a theme, does but revile

Thy precious dust, and wakes a learned spirit,

Which may revenge his rapes upon thy merit;

64 THE LIFE OF

For, all a low-pitch'd fancy can devise
Will prove at best but hallow'd injuries.
Thou like the dying swan didst lately sing,
Thy mournful dirge in audience of the King ;
When pale looks and faint accents of thy breath,
Presented so to life that piece of death,
That it was fear'd and prophesy'd by all
Thou thither cam'st to preach thy funeral.
Oh ! hadst thou in an elegiac knell
Rung out unto the world thine own farewell,
And in thy high victorious numbers beat
The solemn measures of thy griev'd retreat,
Thou mightst the Poet's service now have miss'd
As well as then thou didst prevent the Priest ;
And never to the world beholden be,
So much as for an epitaph for thee.

I do not like the office ; nor is't fit
Thou, who didst lend our age such sums of wit,
Shouldst now re-borrow from her bankrupt mine
That ore to bury thee which first was thine :
Rather still leave us in thy debt ; and know,
Exalted soul, more glory 'tis to owe
Thy memory what we can never pay,
Than with embased coin those rites defray.

Commit we then Thee to Thyself, nor blame
Our drooping loves, that thus to thine own fame
Leave Thee executor, since but thine own
No pen could do thee justice, nor bays crown
Thy vast deserts ; save that we nothing can
Depute, to be thy ashes' guardian.

So Jewellers no art or metal trust,

To form the diamond, but the diamond's dust.

II. K.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 65

AN ELEGY ON DR. DONNE

BY IZAAK WALTON.

OUR Donne is dead ! and we may sighing say,
We had that man, where language choose to stay,
And show her utmost power. I would not praise
That, and his great wit, which in our vain days
Make others proud ; but as these serv'd to unlock
That cabinet his mind, where such a stock
Of knowledge was repos'd, that I lament
Our just and general cause of discontent.

And I rejoice I am not so severe,
But as I write a line, to weep a tear
For his decease ; such sad extremities
Can make such men as I write elegies.

And wonder not ; for when so great a loss
Falls on a nation, and they slight the cross,
God hath rais'd Prophets to awaken them
From their dull lethargy ; witness my pen,
Not us'd to upbraid the world, though now it must
Freely and boldly, for the cause is just.

Dull age ! Oh, I would spare thee, but thou'rt worse :
Thou art not only dull, but hast a curse
Of black ingratitude; if not, couldst thou
Part wilh this matchless man, and make no vow
For thee and thine successively to pay
Some sad remembrance to his dying day ?

Did his youth scatter Poetry, wherein
Lay Love's Philosophy ? was every sin
Pictur'd in his sharp Satires, made so foul,
That some have fear'd sin's shapes, and kept their soul

6

66 THE LIFE OF

Safer by reading verse ; did he give days
Past marble monuments, to those whose praise
He would perpetuate ? Did he — I fear
Envy will doubt — these at his twentieth year ?

But, more matur'd, did his rich soul conceive
And in harmonious holy numbers weave
A Crown of Sacred Sonnets, fit t' adorn
A dying martyr's brow, or to be worn
On that blest head of Mary Magdalen,
After she wip'd Christ's feet, but not till then ;
Did he — fit for such penitents as she
And he to use — leave us a Litany,
Which all devout men love, and doubtless shall,
As times grow better, grow more classical ?
Did he write Hymns, for piety and wit,
Equal to those great grave Prudentius writ ?
Spake he all Languages? Knew he all Laws?
The grounds and use of Physic ; but, because
'Twas mercenary, wav'd it ? went to see
That happy place of Christ's nativity ?
Did he return and preach him ? preach him so,
As since St. Paul none ever did ? they know —
Those happy souls that heard him — know this truth.
Did he confirm thy ag'd ? convert thy youth ?
Did he these wonders ? and is his dear loss
Mourn'd by so few ? few for so great a cross.

But sure the silent are ambitious all
To be close mourners of his funeral.
If not, in common pity they forbear
By repetitions to renew our care :
Or knowing grief conceiv'd and hid, consumes
Man's life insensibly, — as poison's fumes
Corrupt the brain, — take silence for the way
T' enlarge the soul from these walls, mud and clay,-
Materials of this body — to remain
With him in heaven, where no promiscuous pain
Lessens those joys we have ; for with him all
Are satisfied with joys essential.

DR. JOHN DONNE. 67

Dwell on these joys, my thoughts ! Oh ! do not call
Grief back, by thinking on his funeral.
Forget he lov'd me : waste not my swift years,
Which haste to David's seventy, fill'd with fears
And sorrows for his death : forget his parts,
They find a living grave in good men's hearts :
And, for my first is daily paid for sin,
Forget to pay my second sigh for him :
Forget his powerful preaching; and forget
I am his convert. Oh my frailty ! let
My flesh be no more heard ; it will obtrude
This lethargy : so should my gratitude,
My vows of gratitude should so be broke,
Which can no more be, than his virtues, spoke
By any but himself: for which cause, I
Write no encomiums, but this elegy ;
Which, as a free-will offering, I here give
Fame and the world ; and parting with it, grieve
I want abilities fit to set forth
A monument, as matchless as his worth.

IZ. WA.
April '7, 1631.

THE LIFE OF

SIR HENRY WOTTON, KNIGHT,

LATE PROVOST OF ETON COLLEGE.

THE LIFE OF SIR HENRY WOTTON

SIR HENRY WOTTON — whose life I now intend to write — was
born in the year of our redemption 1568, in Bocton Hall, —
commonly called Bocton, or Boughton Place, or Palace,— in the
Parish of Bocton Malherbe, in the fruitful country of Kent.
Bocton Hall being an ancient and goodly structure, beauti-
fying and being beautified by the Parish Church of Bocton
Malherbe adjoining unto it, and both seated within a fair park
of the Wottons, on the brow of such a hill as gives the
advantage of a large prospect, and of equal pleasure to all
beholders.

But this house and church are not remarkable for anything
so much as for that the memorable family of the Wottons have
so long inhabited the one, and now lie buried in the other, as
appears by their many monuments in that church : the Wottons
being a family that hath brought forth divers persons eminent
for wisdom and valour; whose heroic acts, and noble employ-
ments, both in England and in foreign parts, have adorned
themselves and this nation ; which they have served abroad
faithfully, in the discharge of their great trust, and prudently
in their negotiations with several princes ; and also served at
home with much honour and justice, in their wise managing a
great part of the public affairs thereof, in the various times
both of war and peace.

But lest I should be thought by any, that may incline either
to deny or doubt this truth, not to have observed moderation
in the commendation of this family ; and also for that I believe
the merits and memory of such persons ought to be thankfully
recorded, I shall offer to the consideration of every reader, out

7* THE LIFE OF

of the testimony of their pedigree and our chronicles, a part —
and but a part — of that just commendation which might be
from thence enlarged, and shall then leave the indifferent
reader to judge whether my error be an excess or defect of
commendations.

Sir Robert Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Knight, was born
about the year of Christ 1460 : he, living in the reign of King
Edward the Fourth, was by him trusted to be Lieutenant of
Guisnes, to be Knight Porter, and Comptroller of Calais, where
he died, and lies honourably buried.

Sir Edward Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Knight, — son and
heir of the said Sir Robert — was born in the year of Christ 1489,
in the reign of King Henry the Seventh ; he was made
Treasurer of Calais, and of the Privy Council to King Henry
the Eighth, who offered him to be Lord Chancellor of England:
but, saith Holinshed,1 out of a virtuous modesty, he refused it.

Thomas Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Esquire, son and heir
of the said Sir Edward, and the father of our Sir Henry, that
occasions this relation, was born in the year of Christ 1521.
He was a gentleman excellently educated, and studious in all
the liberal arts ; in the knowledge whereof he attained unto a
great perfection ; who, though he had — besides those abilities,
a very noble and plentiful estate, and the ancient interest of
his predecessors — many invitations from Queen Elizabeth to
change his country recreations and retirement for a court,
offering him a knighthood, — she was then with him at his
Bocton Hall — and that to be but as an earnest of some more
honourable and more profitable employment under her; yet he
humbly refused both, being "a man of great modesty, of a most
plain and single heart, of an ancient freedom, and integrity
of mind." A commendation which Sir Henry Wotton took
occasion often to remember with great gladness, and thankfully
to boast himself the son of such a father; from whom indeed
he derived that noble ingenuity that was always practised by
himself, and which he ever both commended and cherished in
others. This Thomas was also remarkable for hospitality, a
1 In liis Chronicle.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 73

great lover and much beloved of his country; to which may
justly be added, that he was a cherisher of learning, as appears
by that excellent antiquary Mr. William Lambarde, in his
Perambulation of Kent.

This Thomas had four sons, Sir Edward, Sir James, Sir John,
and Sir Henry.

Sir Edward was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and made
Comptroller of her Majesty's Household. " He was," saith
Camden, " a man remarkable for many great employments in
the State, during her reign, and sent several times ambassador
into foreign nations. After her death, he was by King James
made Comptroller of his household, and called to be of his
Privy Council, and by him advanced to be Lord Wotton, Baron
of Merley in Kent, and made Lord Lieutenant of that County."

Sir James, the second son, may be numbered among the
martial men of his age, who was, in the thirty-eighth of Queen
Elizabeth's reign — with Robert, Earl of Sussex, Count Lodowick
of Nassau, Don Christophoro, son of Antonio, king of Portugal,
and divers other gentlemen of nobleness and valour — knighted
in the field near Cadiz in Spain, after they had gotten great
honour and riches, besides a notable retaliation of injuries, by
taking that town.

Sir John, being a gentleman excellently accomplished, both
by learning and travel, was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and
by her looked upon with more than ordinary favour, and with
intentions of preferment ; but death in his younger years put
a period to his growing hopes.

Of Sir Henry my following discourse shall give an account.

The descent of these fore-named Wottons was all in a direct
line, and most of them and their actions in the memory of
those with whom we have conversed ; but if I had looked so
far back as to Sir Nicholas Wotton, who lived in the reign of
King Richard the Second, or before him upon divers others of
great note in their several ages, I might by some be thought
tedious ; and yet others may more justly think me negligent,
if I omit to mention Nicholas Wotton, the fourth son of Sir
Robert, whom I first named.

74 THE LIFE OF

This Nicholas Wotton was Doctor of Law, and some time
Dean both of York and Canterbury; a man whom God did not
only bless with a long life, but with great abilities of mind,
and an inclination to employ them in the service of his country,
as is testified by his several employments,1 having been sent
nine times ambassador unto foreign princes ; and by his being
a Privy Councillor to King Henry the Eighth, to Edward the
Sixth, to Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth, who also, after he
had been, during the wars between England, Scotland, and
France, three several times — and not unsuccessfully — employed
in committees for settling of peace betwixt this and those
kingdoms, "died," saith learned Camden, "full of commendations
for wisdom and piety." He was also, by the will of King
Henry the Eighth, made one of his executors, and Chief
Secretary of State to his son, that pious prince, Edward the
Sixth. Concerning which Nicholas Wotton I shall say but
this little more ; that he refused — being offered it by Queen
Elizabeth — to be Archbishop of Canterbury,2 — and that he
died not rich, though he lived in that time of the dissolution
of abbeys.

More might be added ; but by this it may appear that Sir
Henry Wotton was a branch of such a kindred as left a stock
of reputation to their posterity : such reputation as might
kindle a generous emulation in strangers, and preserve a noble
ambition in those of his name and family, to perform actions
worthy of their ancestors.

And that Sir Henry Wotton did so might appear more
perfectly than my pen can express it, if of his many surviving
friends, some one of higher parts and employments had been
pleased to have commended his to posterity; but since some
years are now past, and they have all — I know not why —
forborne to do it, my gratitude to the memory of my dead
friend, and the renewed request of some 3 that still live solicitous
to see this duty performed ; these have had a power to persuade

1 Camden in his Britannia. - llolinshed.

3 Sir Edward Bysshe, Clarencieux King of Anns, Mr. Charles Cotton,
and Mr. Nic. Ondert, sometime Sir Henry Wottou's servant.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 75

me to undertake it ; which truly I have not done but with
distrust of mine own abilities; and yet so far from despair, that
I am modestly confident my humble language shall be accepted,
because I shall present all readers with a commixture of truth,
and Sir Henry Wotton's merits.

This being premised, I proceed to tell the reader that the
father of Sir Henry Wotton was twice married ; first to
Elizabeth, the daughter of Sir John Rudstone, Knight ; after
whose death, though his inclination was averse to all contentions,
yet necessitated he was to several suits in law ; in the pro-
secution whereof — which took up much of his time, and were
the occasion of many discontents — he was by divers of his
friends earnestly persuaded to a re-marriage; to whom he as
often answered, "That if ever he did put on a resolution to
marry, he was seriously resolved to avoid three sorts of persons :
namely,

Those that had children ;

Those that had law-suits ;

And those that were of his kindred"

And yet, following his own law-suits, he met in Westminster
Hall with Mrs. Eleonora Morton, widow to Robert Morton, of
Kent, Esquire, who was also engaged in several suits in law :
and he observing her comportment at the time of hearing one
of her causes before the judges, could not but at the same time
both compassionate her condition, and affect her person ;
for the tears of lovers, or beauty dressed in sadness, are
observed to have in them a charming eloquence, and to become
very often too strong to be resisted: which I mention, because
it proved so with this Thomas Wotton ; for although there
were in her a concurrence of all those accidents against which
he had so seriously resolved, yet his affection to her grew then
so strong, that he resolved to solicit her for a wife, and did,
and obtained her.

By her — who was the daughter of Sir William Finch, of
Eastwell, in Kent — he had only Henry his youngest son.
His mother undertook to be tutoress unto him during much of

76 THE LIFE OF

his childhood ; for whose care and pains he paid her each day
with such visible signs of future perfection in learning, as
turned her employment into a pleasing trouble ; which she
was content to continue, till his father took him into his own
particular care, and disposed of him to a tutor in his own house
at Bocton.

And when time and diligent instruction had made him fit
for a removal to an higher form, — which was very early, — he
was sent to Winchester School ; a place of strict discipline and
order, that so he might in his youth be moulded into a method
of living by rule, which his wise father knew to be the most
necessary way to make the future part of his life both happy
to himself and useful for the discharge of all business, whether
public or private.

And that he might be confirmed in this regularity, he was,
at a fit age, removed from that school, to be a commoner of
New College in Oxford ; both being founded by William
Wickham, Bishop of Winchester.

There he continued till about the eighteenth year of his age,
and was then transplanted into Queen's College : where,
within that year, he was by the chief of that College per-
suasively enjoined to write a play for their private use;— it
was the Tragedy of Tancredo — which was so interwoven with
sentences, and for the method and exact personating those
humours, passions and dispositions, which he proposed to
represent, so performed, that the gravest of that society
declared he had, in a slight employment, given an early and
a solid testimony of his future abilities. And though there
may be some sour dispositions which may think this not
worth a memorial, yet that wise knight, Baptista Guarini, —
whom learned Italy accounts one of her ornaments, — thought
it neither an uncomely nor an unprofitable employment for
his age.

But I pass to what will be thought more serious.

About the twentieth year of his age he proceeded Master
of Arts ; and at that time read in Latin three lectures de
Oculoj wherein he having described the form, the motion, the

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 77

curious composure of the Eye, and demonstrated how of those
very many, every humour and nerve performs its distinct office,
so as the God of order hath appointed, without mixture or
confusion ; and all this to the advantage of man, to whom the
eye is given, not only as the body's guide, but whereas all
other of his senses require time to inform the soul, this in an
instant apprehends and warns him of danger; teaching him in
the very eyes of others to discover wit, folly, love, and
hatred. After he had made these observations, he fell to
dispute this optic question : "Whether we see by the emission
of the beams from within, or reception of the species from
without?" And after that, and many other like learned
disquisitions, he, in the conclusion of his lectures, took a fair
occasion to beautify his discourse with a commendation of the
blessing and benefit of " Seeing ; — by which we do not only
discover nature's secrets, but, with a continued content — for
the eye is never weary of seeing — behold the great light of
the world, and by it discover the fabric of the heavens, and
both the order and motion of the celestial orbs ; nay, that if
the eye look but downward, it may rejoice to behold the bosom
of the earth, our common mother, embroidered and adorned
with numberless and various flowers, which man sees daily
grow up to perfection, and then silently moralise his own
condition, who, in a short time, — like those very flowers,—
decays, withers, and quickly returns again to that earth from
which both had their first being."

These were so exactly debated, and so rhetorically heightened,
as, among other admirers, caused that learned Italian, Albericus
Gentilis, then Professor of the Civil Law in Oxford, to call him
" Henrice mi Ocelle;" which dear expression of his was also
used by divers of Sir Henry's dearest friends, and by many
other persons of note during his stay in the University.

But his stay there was not long, at least not so long as his
friends once intended; for the year after Sir Henry proceeded
Master of Arts, his father — whom Sir Henry did never mention
without this, or some like reverential expression, as, "That
good man my father," or, " My father, the best of men ; " — about

78 THE LIFE OF

that time, this good man changed this for a better life; leaving
to Sir Henry, as to his other younger sons, a rent-charge of an
hundred marks a year, to be paid for ever out of some one of
his manors, of a much greater value.

And here, though this good man be dead, yet I wish a
circumstance or two that concerns him may not be buried
without a relation ; which I shall undertake to do, for that I
suppose they may so much concern the reader to know, that I
may promise myself a pardon for a short digression.

In the year of our redemption 1553, Nicholas Wotton, Dean
of Canterbury, — whom I formerly mentioned, — being then am-
bassador in France, dreamed that his nephew, this Thomas
Wotton, was inclined to be a party in such a project, as, if he
were not suddenly prevented, would turn both to the loss of his
life and ruin of his family.

Doubtless the good Dean did well know that common dreams
are but a senseless paraphrase on our waking thoughts, or of the
business of the day past, or are the result of our over-engaged
affections, when we betake ourselves to rest ; and knew that the
observation of them may turn to silly superstitions, as they too
often do. But though he might know all this, and might also
believe that prophecies are ceased ; yet doubtless he could
not but consider that all dreams are not to be neglected or cast
away without all consideration ; and did therefore rather lay this
dream aside, than intend totally to lose it ; and dreaming the
same again the night following, when it became a double
dream, like that of Pharaoh, — of which double dreams the
learned have made many observations, — and considering that
it had no dependence on his waking thoughts, much less on the
desires of his heart, then he did more seriously consider it ; and
remembered that God Almighty was pleased in a dream to
reveal and to assure Monica,1 the mother of St. Austin, " That
he, her son, for whom she wept so bitterly and prayed so much,
should at last become a Christian:" This, I believe, the good
Dean considered; and considering also that Almighty God
— though the causes of dreams be often unknown — hath even
1 St. Austin's Confession.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 79

in these latter times also by a certain illumination of the soul in
sleep, discovered many things that human wisdom could not
foresee; upon these considerations he resolved to use so prudent
a remedy by way of prevention, as might introduce no great
inconvenience either to himself or to his nephew. And to that
end he wrote to the Queen, — 'twas Queen Mary, — and besought
her, "That she would cause his nephew, Thomas Wotton, to be
sent for out of Kent ; and that the Lords of her Council might
interrogate him in some such feigned questions as might give
a colour for his commitment into a favourable prison ; declaring
that he would acquaint her Majesty with the true reason of his
request, when he should next become so happy as to see and
speak to her Majesty."

It was done as the Dean desired : and in prison I must leave
Mr. Wotton, till I have told the reader what followed.

At this time a marriage was concluded betwixt our Queen
Mary and Philip, King of Spain; and though this was con-
cluded with the advice, if not by the persuasion, of her Privy
Council, as having many possibilities of advantage to this
nation ; yet divers persons of a contrary persuasion did not
only declare against it, but also raised forces to oppose it :
believing — as they said — it would be a means to bring England
to be under a subjection to Spain, and make those of this nation
slaves to strangers.

And of this number, Sir Thomas Wyat, of Boxley Abbey in
Kent, — betwixt whose family and the family of the Wottons
there had been an ancient and entire friendship, — was the
principal actor; who having persuaded many of the nobility
and gentry — especially of Kent — to side with him, and he
being defeated, and taken prisoner, was legally arraigned and
condemned, and lost his life: so did the Duke of Suffolk and
divers others, especially many of the gentry of Kent, who were
there in several places executed as Wyat's assistants.

And of this number, in all probability, had Mr. Wotton been,
if he had not been confined ; for though he could not be
ignorant that "another man's treason makes it mine by con-
cealing it," yet he durst confess to his uncle, when he returned

8o THE LIFE OF

into England, and then came to visit him in prison, " That he
had more than an intimation ofWyat's intentions;" and thought
he had not continued actually innocent, if his uncle had not so
happily dreamed him into a prison ; out of which place when he
was delivered by the same hand that caused his commitment,
they both considered the dream more seriously, and then both
joined in praising God for it ; " That God who ties himself to no
rules, either in preventing of evil, or in showing of mercy to
those whom of good pleasure he hath chosen to love."

And this dream was the more considerable, because that
God, who in the days of old did use to speak to his people in
visions, did seem to speak to many of this family in dreams ;
of which I will also give the reader one short particular of this
Thomas Wotton, whose dreams did usually prove true, both in
foretelling things to come, and discovering things past ; and the
particular is this. — This Thomas, a little before his death,
dreamed that the University treasury was robbed by townsmen
and poor scholars, and that the number was five ; and being
that day to write to his son Henry at Oxford, he thought it
worth so much pains as by a postscript in his letter to make a
slight inquiry of it. The letter — which was writ out of Kent,
and dated three days before — came to his son's hands the very
morning after the night in which the robbery was committed ;
and when the city and University were both in a perplexed
inquest of the thieves, then did Sir Henry Wotton show his
father's letter, and by it such light was given of this work of
darkness, that the five guilty persons were presently discovered
and apprehended, without putting the University to so much
trouble as the casting of a figure.

And it may yet be more considerable, that this Nicholas and
Thomas Wotton should both — being men of holy lives, of even
tempers, and much given to fasting and prayer — foresee and
foretell the very days of their own death. Nicholas did so,
being then seventy years of age, and in perfect health.
Thomas did the like in the sixty-fifth year of his age: who
being then in London, — where he died, — and foreseeing his
death there, gave direction in what manner his body should be

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 81

carried to Bocton ; and though he thought his Uncle Nicholas
worthy of that noble monument which he built for him in the
Cathedral Church of Canterbury, yet this humble man gave
directions concerning himself, to be buried privately, and
especially without any pomp at his funeral. This is some
account of his family, which seemed to be beloved of God.

But it may now seem more than time that I return to Sir
Henry Wotton at Oxford; where, after his optic lecture, he was
taken into such a bosom friendship with the learned Albericus
Gentilis, — whom I formerly named, — that, if it had been possible,
Gentilis would have breathed all his excellent knowledge, both
of the mathematics and law, into the breast of his dear Harry,
for so Gentilis used to call him : and though he was not able to
do that, yet there was in Sir Henry such a propensity and
connaturalness to the Italian language, and those studies
whereof Gentilis was a great master, that the friendship be-
tween them did daily increase, and proved daily advantageous
to Sir Henry, for the improvement of him in several sciences
during his stay in the University.

From which place, before I shall invite the reader to follow
him into a foreign nation, though I must omit to mention divers
persons that were then in Oxford, of memorable note for
learning, and friends to Sir Henry Wotton ; yet I must not
omit the mention of a love that was there begun betwixt him
and Dr. Donne, sometime Dean of St. Paul's ; a man of whose
abilities I shall forbear to say anything, because he who is of
this nation, and pretends to learning or ingenuity, and is
ignorant of Dr. Donne, deserves not to know him. The friend-
ship of these two I must not omit to mention, being such a
friendship as was generously elemented ; and as it was begun
in their youth, and in an University, and there maintained by
correspondent inclinations and studies, so it lasted till age
and death forced a separation.

In Oxford he stayed till about two years after his father's
death ; at which time he was about the twenty-second year of
his age ; and having to his great wit added the ballast of
learning, and knowledge of the arts, he then laid aside his

7

82 THE LIFE OF

books, and betook himself to the useful library of travel, and a
more general conversation with mankind; employing the re-
maining part of his youth, his industry, and fortune, to adorn
his mind, and to purchase the rich treasure of foreign knowledge :
of which both for the secrets of nature, the dispositions of many
nations, their several laws and languages, he was the possessor
in a very large measure; as I shall faithfully make to appear,
before I take my pen from the following narration of his life.

In his travels, which was almost nine years before his return
into England, he stayed but one year in France, and most of
that in Geneva, where he became acquainted with Theodore
Beza, — then very aged ; — and with Isaac Casaubon, in whose
house, if I be rightly informed, Sir Henry Wotton was lodged,
and there contracted a most worthy friendship with that man
of rare learning and ingenuity.

Three of the remaining eight years were spent in Germany,
the other five in Italy, — the stage on which God appointed he
should act a great part of his life ; — where, both in Rome,
Venice, and Florence, he became acquainted with the most
eminent men for learning and all manner of arts ; as picture,
sculpture, chemistry, architecture, and other manual arts, even
arts of inferior nature; of all which he was a most dear lover,
and a most excellent judge.

He returned out of Italy into England about the thirtieth
year of his age, being then noted by many both for his person
and comportment : for indeed he was of a choice shape, tall of
stature, and of a most persuasive behaviour ; which was so
mixed with sweet discourse and civilities, as gained him much
love from all persons with whom he entered into an acquaintance.

And whereas he was noted in his youth to have a sharp wit,
and apt to jest ; that, by time, travel, and conversation, was so
polished, and made so useful, that his company seemed to be
one of the delights of mankind ; insomuch as Robert, Earl of
Essex — then one of the darlings of fortune, and in greatest
favour with Queen Elizabeth — invited him first into a friendship,
and, after a knowledge of his great abilities, to be one of his
secretaries ; the other being Mr. Henry Cuffe, sometime of

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 83

Merton College in Oxford, — and there also the acquaintance of
Sir Henry Wotton in his youth, — Mr. Cufife being then a man
of no common note in the University for his learning; nor, after
his removal from that place, for the great abilities of his mind,
nor indeed for the fatalness of his end.

Sir Henry Wotton, being now taken into a serviceable friend-
ship with the Earl of Essex, did personally attend his counsels
and employments in two voyages at sea against the Spaniards,
and also in that — which was the Earl's last — into Ireland ; that
voyage, wherein he then did so much provoke the Queen to
anger, and worse at his return into England ; upon whose im-
movable favour the Earl had built such sandy hopes, as en-
couraged him to those undertakings, which, with the help of a
contrary faction, suddenly caused his commitment to the Tower.

Sir Henry Wotton observing this, though he was not of that
faction — for the Earl's followers were also divided into their
several interests — which encouraged the Earl to those under-
takings which proved so fatal to him and divers of his confedera-
tion, yet, knowing treason to be so comprehensive as to take
in even circumstances, and out of them to make such positive
conclusions, as subtle statesmen shall project, either for
their revenge or safety ; considering this, he thought prevention,
by absence out of England, a better security than to stay
in it, and there plead his innocency in a prison. Therefore
did he, so soon as the Earl was apprehended, very quickly, and
as privately, glide through Kent to Dover, without so much as
looking toward his native and beloved Bocton ; and was, by the
help of favourable winds, and liberal payment of the mariners,
within sixteen hours after his departure from London, set upon
the French shore; where he heard shortly after, that the Earl
was arraigned, condemned, and beheaded ; and that his friend
Mr. Cuffe was hanged, and divers other persons of eminent
quality executed.

The times did not look so favourably upon Sir Henry Wotton
as to invite his return into England : having therefore pro-
cured of Sir Edward Wotton, his elder brother, an assurance
that his annuity should be paid him in Italy, thither he went,

84 THE LIFE OF

happily renewing his intermitted friendship and interest, and
indeed his great content in a new conversation with his old
acquaintance in that nation, and more particularly in Florence,
— which city is not more eminent for the great Duke's court,
than for the great recourse of men of choicest note for
learning and arts, — in which number he there met with his
old friend Signior Vietta, a gentleman of Venice, and then
taken to be secretary to the great Duke of Tuscany.

After some stay in Florence, he went the fourth time to visit
Rome, where, in the English College he had very many friends ;
— their humanity made them really so, though they knew him
to be a dissenter from many of their principles of religion ; and
having enjoyed their company, and satisfied himself concerning
some curiosities that did partly occasion his journey thither, he
returned back to Florence, where a most notable accident befell
him; an accident that did not only find new employment for
his choice abilities, but did introduce him to a knowledge and
interest with our King James, then King of Scotland ; which I
shall proceed to relate.

But first I am to tell the reader, that though Queen Eliza-
beth, or she and her Council, were never willing to declare her
successor, yet James, then King of the Scots, was confidently
believed by most to be the man upon whom the sweet trouble
of kingly government would be imposed; and the Queen de-
clining very fast, both by age and visible infirmities, those that
were of the Romish persuasion in point of religion, — even Rome
itself, and those of this nation, — knowing that the death of the
Queen and the establishing of her successor were taken to
be critical days for destroying or establishing the Protestant re-
ligion in this nation, did therefore improve all opportunities for
preventing a Protestant Prince to succeed her. And as the
Pope's excommunication of Queen Elizabeth had both by the
judgment and practice of the Jesuited Papist, exposed her to
be warrantably destroyed ; so, — if we may believe an angry
adversary, a secular priest 1 against a Jesuit — you may believe
that about that time there were many endeavours, first
1 Watson in his Quodlibets.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 85

to excommunicate, and then to shorten the life of King
James.

Immediately after Sir Henry Wotton's return from Rome to
Florence, — which was about a year before the death of Queen
Elizabeth — Ferdinand the great Duke of Florence had inter-
cepted certain letters, that discovered a design to take away
the life of James, the then King of Scots. The Duke abhor-
ring this fact, and resolving to endeavour a prevention of it,
advised with his secretary, Vietta, by what means a caution
might be best given to that King; and after consideration it
was resolved to be done by Sir Henry Wotton, whom Vietta
first commended to the Duke, and the Duke had noted and
approved of above all the English that frequented his court.

Sir Henry .was gladly called by his friend Vietta to the Duke,
who, after much profession of trust and friendship, acquainted
him with the secret; and being well instructed, despatched him
into Scotland with letters to the King, and with those letters
such Italian antidotes against poison as the Scots till then had
been strangers to.

Having parted from the Duke, he took up the name and
language of an Italian ; and thinking it best to avoid the line of
English intelligence and danger, he posted into Norway, and
through that country towards Scotland, where he found the
King at Stirling. Being there, he used means, by Bernard
Lindsey, one of the King's Bed-chamber, to procure him a
speedy and private conference with his Majesty; assuring him,
" That the business which he was to negotiate was of such con-
sequence, as had caused the great Duke of Tuscany to enjoin
him suddenly to leave his native country of Italy to impart it
to his King."

This being by Bernard Lindsey made known to the King, the
King, after a little wonder — mixed with jealousy — to hear of an
Italian ambassador, or messenger, required his name, — which
was said to be Octavio Baldi, — and appointed him to be heard
privately at a fixed hour that evening.

When Octavio Baldi came to the presence-chamber door, he
was requested to lay aside his long rapier— which, Italian-like,

86 THE LIFE OF

he then wore ; — and being entered the chamber, he found there
with the King three or four Scotch lords standing distant in
several corners of the chamber : at the sight of whom he made
a stand ; which the King observing, "bade him be bold, and
deliver his message; for he would undertake for the secrecy of
all that were present." Then did Octavio Baldi deliver his
letters and his message to the King in Italian ; which when the
King had graciously received, after a little pause, Octavio Baldi
steps to the table, and whispers to the King in his own language,
that he was an Englishman, beseeching him for a more private
conference with his Majesty, and that he might be concealed
during his stay in that nation ; which was promised and really
performed by the King, during all his abode there, which was
about three months; all which time was spent with much
pleasantness to the King, and with as much to Octavio Baldi
himself as that country could afford ; from which he departed as
true an Italian as he came thither.

To the Duke at Florence he returned with a fair and grateful
account of his employment; and within some few months after
his return, there came certain news to Florence that Queen
Elizabeth was dead : and James, King of the Scots, proclaimed
King of England. The Duke knowing travel and business to
be the best schools of wisdom, and that Sir Henry Wotton
had been tutored in both, advised him to return presently to
England, and there joy the King with his new and better title,
and wait there upon fortune for a better employment.

When King James came into England, he found amongst
other of the late Queen's officers, Sir Edward, who was, after
Lord Wotton, Comptroller of the House, of whom he demanded,
" If he knew one Henry Wotton, that had spent much time
in foreign travel ? " The Lord replied he knew him well, and
that he was his brother. Then the King, asking where he then
was, was answered, At Venice or Florence ; but by late letters
from thence he understood he would suddenly be at Paris.
"Send for him," said the King, "and when he shall come into
England, bid him repair privately to me." The Lord Wotton,
after a little wonder, asked the King, "If he knew him?" To

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 87

which the King answered, "You must rest unsatisfied of that
till you bring the gentleman to me."

Not many months after this discourse, the Lord Wotton
brought his brother to attend the King, who took him in his
arms, and bade him welcome by the name of Octavio Baldi, say-
ing, he was the most honest, and therefore the best dissembler
that ever he met with: and said, "Seeing I know you neither
want learning, travel, nor experience, and that I have had so
real a testimony of your faithfulness and abilities to manage an
ambassage, I have sent for you to declare my purpose ; which
is, to make use of you in that kind hereafter. " And indeed the
King did so, most of those two-and-twenty years of his reign;
but before he dismissed Octavio Baldi from his present attend-
ance upon him, he restored him to his old name of Henry
Wotton, by which he then knighted him.

Not long after this, the King having resolved according to his
motto — Beati pacifici — to have a friendship with his neighbour
kingdoms of France and Spain ; and also, for divers weighty
reasons, to enter into an alliance with the State of Venice, and
to that end to send ambassadors to those several places, did
propose the choice of these employments to Sir Henry Wotton;
who, considering the smallness of his own estate, — which he
never took care to augment, — and knowing the courts of great
princes to be sumptuous, and necessarily expensive, inclined
most to that of Venice, as being a place of more retirement, and
best suiting with his genius, who did ever love to join with
business, study, and a trial of natural experiments; for both
which, fruitful Italy, that darling of nature, and cherisher of all
arts, is so justly famed in all parts of the Christian world.

Sir Henry having, after some short time and consideration,
resolved upon Venice, and a large allowance being appointed
by the King for his voyage thither, and a settled maintenance
during his stay there, he left England, nobly accompanied
through France to Venice by gentlemen of the best families
and breeding that this nation afforded : they were too many to
name; but these two, for the following reasons, may not be
omitted. Sir Albertus Morton, his nephew, who went his

8fc THE LIFE OF

secretary; and William Bedel, a man of choice learnfng, and
sanctified wisdom, who went his chaplain.

And though his dear friend Dr. Donne — then a private
gentleman — was not one of the number that did personally
accompany him in this voyage, yet the reading of this following
letter, sent by him to Sir Henry Wotton, the morning before he
left England, may testify he wanted not his friend's best wishes
to attend him.

SIR,

After those reverend papers, whose soul is
Our good and great King's loved hand and fear'd name,
By which to you he derives much of his,
And, how he may, makes you almost the same :

A taper of his torch ; a copy writ

From his original, and a fair beam

Of the same warm and dazzling Sun, though it

Must in another sphere his virtue stream :

After those learned papers, which your hand
Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too :
From which rich treasury you may command
Fit matter whether you will write or do :

After those loving papers which friends send
With glad grief to your sea- ward steps farewell,
And thicken on you now as prayers ascend
To Heaven on troops at a good man's passing-bell :

Admit this honest paper, and allow
It such an audience as yourself would ask ;
What you would say at Venice, this says now,
And has for nature what you have for task.

To swear much love; nor to be changed before
Honour alone will to your fortune fit;
Nor shall I then honour your fortune more,
Than I have done your honour wanting wit.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 89

But 'tis an easier load — though both oppress —
To want, than govern greatness ; for we are
In that, our own and only business ;
In this, we must for others' vices care.

'Tis therefore well your spirits now are placed

In their last furnace, in activity,

Which fits them ; Schools, and Courts, and Wars o'erpast

To touch and taste in any best degree.

For me ! — if there be such a thing as I —
Fortune — if there be such a thing as she —
Finds that I bear so well her tyranny,
That she thinks nothing else so fit for me.

But though she part us, to hear my oft prayers
For your increase, God is as near me here :
And, to send you what I shall beg, his stairs
In length and ease are alike every where.

J. DONNE.

Sir Henry Wotton was received by the State of Venice with
much honour and gladness, both for that he delivered his am-
bassage most elegantly in the Italian language, and came also
in such a juncture of time, as his master's friendship seemed
useful for that Republic. The time of his coming thither was
about the year 1604, Leonardo Donate being then Duke ; a
wise and resolved man, and to all purposes such — Sir Henry
Wotton would often say it — as the State of Venice could not
then have wanted; there having been formerly, in the time of
Pope Clement the Eighth, some contests about the privileges of
churchmen, and the power of the civil magistrates ; of which,
for the information of common readers, I shall say a little,
because it may give light to some passages that follow.

About the year 1603, the Republic of Venice made several
injunctions against lay-persons giving lands or goods to the
Church, without licence from the civil magistrate; and in that
inhibition they expressed their reasons to be, "For that when
any goods or land once came into the hands of the ecclesiastics,
it was not subject to alienation : by reason whereof — the lay-

go THE LIFE OF

people being at their death charitable even to excess — the
clergy grew every day more numerous, and pretended an exemp-
tion from all public service and taxes, and from all secular
judgment; so that the burden grew thereby too heavy to be
borne by the laity."

Another occasion of difference was, that about this time com-
plaints were justly made by the Venetians against two clergy-
men, the Abbot of Nervesa, and a Canon of Vicenza, for com-
mitting such sins as I think not fit to name : nor are these
mentioned with an intent to fix a scandal upon any calling; —
for holiness is not tied to ecclesiastical orders, — and Italy is
observed to breed the most virtuous and most vicious men of
any nation. These two having been long complained of at Rome
in the name of the State of Venice, and no satisfaction being
given to the Venetians, they seized the persons of this Abbot
and Canon, and committed them to prison.

The justice or injustice of such, or the like power, then used
by the Venetians, had formerly had some calm debates betwixt
the former Pope Clement the Eighth and that Republic : I say,
calm, for he did not excommunicate them ; considering, — as I
conceive, — that in the late Council of Trent, it was at last — after
many politic disturbances and delays, and endeavours to pre-
serve the Pope's present power, — in order to a general reforma-
tion of those many errors, which were in time crept into the
Church, declared by that Council, " That though discipline and
especial excommunication be one of the chief sinews of church
government, and intended to keep men in obedience to it: for
which end it was declared to be very profitable; yet it was
also declared, and advised to be used with great sobriety and
care, because experience had informed them that when it was
pronounced unadvisedly or rashly, it became more contemned
than feared." And, though this was the advice of that Council
at the conclusion of it, which was not many years before this
quarrel with the Venetians : yet this prudent, patient Pope
Clement dying, Pope Paul the Fifth, who succeeded him, —
though not immediately, yet in the same year, — being a man
of a much hotter temper, brought this difference with the

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 91

Venetians to a much higher contention ; objecting those late
acts of that State to be a diminution of his just power, and
limited a time of twenty-four days for their revocation;
threatening if he were not obeyed, to proceed to the excom-
munication of the Republic, who still offered to show both
reason and ancient custom to warrant their actions. But this
Pope, contrary to his predecessor's moderation, required abso-
lute obedience without disputes.

Thus it continued for about a year, the Pope still threatening
excommunication, and the Venetians still answering him with
fair speeches, and no compliance; till at last the Pope's zeal to
the Apostolic see did make him to excommunicate the Duke,
the whole senate, and all their dominions, and, that done, to
shut up all their churches ; charging the whole clergy to forbear
all sacred offices to the Venetians, till their obedience should
render them capable of absolution.

But this act of the Pope's did but the more confirm the
Venetians in their resolution not to obey him : and to that end,
upon the hearing of the Pope's interdict, they presently pub-
lished, by sound of trumpet, a proclamation to this effect :

" That whosoever hath received from Rome any copy of a
papal interdict, published there, as well against the law of God
as against the honour of this nation, shall presently render it to
the Council of Ten, upon pain of death." And made it loss of
estate and nobility but to speak in behalf of the Jesuits.

Then was Duado their ambassador called home from Rome,
and the inquisition presently suspended by order of the State :
and the flood-gates being thus set open, any man that had a
pleasant or scoffing wit might safely vent it against the Pope,
either by free speaking, or by libels in print ; and both became
very pleasant to the people.

Matters thus heightened, the state advised with Father Paul,
a holy and learned friar, — the author of the History of the
Council of Trent, — whose advice was, " Neither to provoke the
Pope, nor lose their own right : " he declaring publicly in print,
in the name of the State, " That the Pope was trusted to keep
two keys, one of prudence and the other of power: and that, if

92 THE LIFE OF

they were not both used together, power alone is not effectual
in an excommunication."

And thus these discontents and oppositions continued, till a
report was blown abroad that the Venetians were all turned
Protestants ; which was believed by many, for that it was ob-
served that the English ambassador was so often in conference
with the Senate, and his chaplain, Mr. Bedel, more often with
Father Paul, whom the people did not take to be his friend :
and also, for that the Republic of Venice was known to give
commission to Gregory Justiniano, then their ambassador in
England, to make all these proceedings known to the King of
England, and to crave a promise of his assistance, if need should
require : and in the meantime they required the King's advice
and judgment ; which was the same that he gave to Pope
Clement, at his first coming to the Crown of England;— that
Pope then moving him to an union with the Roman Church;
— namely, " To endeavour the calling of a free Council, for the
settlement of peace in Christendom ; and that he doubted not
but that the French king, and divers other princes, would join
to assist in so good a work; and, in the meantime, the sin of
this breach, both with his and the Venetian dominions, must of
necessity lie at the Pope's door."

In this contention — which lasted almost two years — the Pope
grew still higher, and the Venetians more and more resolved
and careless ; still acquainting King James with their proceed-
ings, which was done by the help of Sir Henry Wotton, Mr.
Bedel, and Padre Paulo, whom the Venetians did then call to
be one of their consulters of State, and with his pen to defend
their just cause ; which was by him so performed, that the Pope
saw plainly he had weakened his power by exceeding it, and
offered the Venetians absolution upon very easy terms ; which
the Venetians still slighting, did at last obtain by that which
was scarce so much as a show of acknowledging it : for they
made an order, that in that day in which they were absolved,
there should be no public rejoicing, nor any bonfires that night,
lest the common people might judge that they desired an
absolution, or were absolved for committing a fault.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 93

These contests were the occasion of Padre Paulo's knowledge
and interest with King James ; for whose sake principally,
Padre Paulo compiled that eminent history of the remarkable
Council of Trent ; which history was, as fast as it was written,
sent in several sheets in letters by Sir Henry Wotton, Mr.
Bedel, and others, unto King James, and the then Bishop of
Canterbury, into England, and there first made public, both in
English and the universal language.

For eight years after Sir Henry Wotton's going into Italy, he
stood fair and highly valued in the King's opinion; but at last
became much clouded by an accident, which I shall proceed to
relate.

At his first going ambassador into Italy, as he passed through
Germany, he stayed some days at Augusta ; where having been
in his former travels well known by many of the best note
for learning and ingeniousness, — those that are esteemed the
virtuosi of that nation, — with whom he passing an evening in
merriments, was requested by Christopher Flecamore to write
some sentence in his Albo; — a book of white paper, which for
that purpose many of the German gentry usually carry about
them : — and Sir Henry Wotton consenting to the motion, took
an occasion, from some accidental discourse of the present
company, to write a pleasant definition of an ambassador in
these very words :

" Legatus est vir bonus, peregre missus ad mentiendum rei-
publicEe causa."

Which Sir Henry Wotton could have been content should
have been thus Englished :

"An ambassador is an honest man, sent to lie abroad for the
good of his country."

But the word for lie — being the hinge upon which the conceit
was to turn — was not so expressed in Latin as would admit —
in the hands of an enemy especially — so fair a construction as
Sir Henry thought in English. Yet as it was, it slept quietly
among other sentences in this Albo almost eight years, till by
accident it fell into the hands of Jasper Scioppius, a Romanist,
a man of a restless spirit and a malicious pen ; who, with books

94 THE LIFE OF

against King James, prints this as a principle of that religion
professed by the King, and his ambassador Sir Henry Wotton,
then at Venice ; and in Venice it was presently after written in
several glass-windows, and spitefully declared to be Sir Henry
Wotton's.

This coming to the knowledge of King James, he apprehended
it to be such an oversight, such a weakness, or worse, in Sir
Henry Wotton, as caused the King to express much wrath
against him : and this caused Sir Henry Wotton to write two
apologies, one to Velserus — one of the chiefs of Augusta — in the •
universal language, which he caused to be printed, and given
and scattered in the most remarkable places both of Germany
and Italy, as an antidote against the venomous books of
Scioppius, and another apology to King James ; which were
both so ingenious, so clear, and so choicely eloquent, that
his Majesty — who was a pure judge of it — could not forbear,
at the receipt thereof, to declare publicly, "That Sir Henry
Wotton had commuted sufficiently for a greater offence."

And how, as broken bones well set become stronger, so Sir
Henry Wotton did not only recover, but was much more
confirmed in his Majesty's estimation and favour than formerly
he had been.

And, as that man of great wit and useful fancy, his friend Dr.
Donne, gave in a will of his — a will of conceits — his reputation
to his friends, and his industry to his foes, because from thence
he received both : so those friends that in this time of trial
laboured to excuse this facetious freedom of Sir Henry Wotton's
were to him more dear, and by him more highly valued ; and
those acquaintance that urged this as an advantage against
him, caused him by this error to grow both more wise, and
— which is the best fruit error can bring forth — for the future
to become more industriously watchful over his tongue and
pen.

I have told you a part of his employment in Italy; where,
notwithstanding the death of his favourer, the Duke Leonardo.
Donate, who had an undissembled affection for him, and the
malicious accusation of Scioppius, yet his interest — as though it

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 95

had been an entailed love — was still found to live and increase
in all the succeeding Dukes during his employment to that
State, which was almost twenty years ; all which time he
studied the dispositions of those Dukes, and the other consulters
of State ; well knowing that he who negotiates a continued
business, and neglects the study of dispositions, usually fails in
his proposed ends. But in this Sir Henry Wotton did not fail ;
for, by a fine sorting of fit presents, curious, and not costly
entertainments, always sweetened by various and pleasant
discourse — with which, and his choice application of stories,
and his elegant delivery of all these, even in their Italian
language, he first got, and still preserved, such interest
in the State of Venice, that it was observed— such was
either his merit or his modesty — they never denied him any
request.

But all this shows but his abilities, and his fitness for that
employment; it will therefore be needful to tell the reader what
use he made of the interest which these procured him : and
that indeed was rather to oblige others than to enrich himself:
he still endeavouring that the reputation of the English might
be maintained, both in the German Empire and in Italy; where
many gentlemen, whom travel had invited into that nation,
received from him cheerful entertainments, advice for their
behaviour, and, by his interest, shelter or deliverance from
those accidental storms of adversity which usually attend upon
travel.

And because these things may appear to the reader to be but
generals, I shall acquaint him with two particular examples:
one of his merciful disposition, and one of the nobleness of his
mind; which shall follow.

There had been many English soldiers brought by com-
manders of their own country to serve the Venetians for pay
against the Turk; and those English, having by irregularities,
or improvidence, brought themselves into several galleys and
prisons, Sir Henry Wotton became a petitioner to that State
for their lives and enlargement ; and his request was granted :
so that those — which were many hundreds, and there made the

96 THE LIFE OF

sad examples of human misery, by hard imprisonment and
unpitied poverty in a strange nation — were by his means
released, relieved, and in a comfortable condition sent to thank
God and him, for their lives and liberty in their own country.

And this I have observed as one testimony of the com-
passionate nature of him, who was, during his stay in those
parts, as a city of refuge for the distressed of this and other
nations.

And for that which I offer as a testimony of the nobleness of
his mind, I shall make way to the reader's clearer understanding
of it, by telling him, that beside several other foreign employ-
ments, Sir Henry Wotton was sent thrice ambassador to the
Republic of Venice. And at his last going thither, he was
employed ambassador to several of the German princes, and
more particularly to the Emperor Ferdinando the Second ; and
that his employment to him, and those princes, was to incline
them to equitable conditions for the restoration of the Queen of
Bohemia and her descendants to their patrimonial inheritance
of the Palatinate.

This was, by his eight months' constant endeavours and
attendance upon the Emperor, his court and council, brought
to a probability of a successful conclusion, without bloodshed.
But there were at that time two opposite armies in the field;
and as they were treating, there was a battle fought, in the
managery whereof there were so many miserable errors on the
one side, — so Sir Henry Wotton expresses it in a despatch to
the King — and so advantageous events to the Emperor, as put
an end to all present hopes of a successful treaty ; so that Sir
Henry, seeing the face of peace altered by that victory, prepared
for a removal from the court ; and at his departure from the
Emperor, was so bold as to remember him, "That the events of
every battle move on the unseen wheels of Fortune, which are
this moment up, and down the next : and therefore humbly
advised him to use his victory so soberly, as still to put on
thoughts of peace." Which advice, though it seemed to be
spoken with some passion, — his dear mistress the Queen of
Bohemia being concerned in it — was yet taken in good part by

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 97

the Emperor; who replied, "That he would consider his advice.
And though he looked on the King his master as an abettor
of his enemy, the Palsgrave; yet for Sir Henry himself, his
behaviour had been such during the manage of the treaty, that
he took him to be a person of much honour and merit; and did
therefore desire him to accept of that jewel, as a testimony of
his good opinion of him:" which was a jewel of diamonds of
more value than a thousand pounds.

This jewel was received with all outward circumstances and
terms of honour by Sir Henry Wotton. But the next morning,
at his departing from Vienna, he, at his taking leave of the
Countess of Sabrina — an Italian lady, in whose house the
Emperor had appointed him to be lodged, and honourably
entertained — acknowledged her merits, and besought her to
accept of that jewel, as a testimony of his gratitude for her
civilities ; presenting her with the same that was given him by
the Emperor; which being suddenly discovered, and told to the
Emperor, was by him taken for a high affront, and Sir Henry
Wotton told so by a messenger. To which he replied, "That
though he received it with thankfulness, yet he found in himself
an indisposition to be the better for any gift that came from an
enemy to his Royal mistress, the Queen of Bohemia;" for so
she was pleased he should always call her. Many other of his
services to his Prince and this nation might be insisted upon ;
as, namely, his procurations of privileges and courtesies with
the German princes, and the Republic of Venice, for the
English merchants : and what he did by direction of King
James with the Venetian State, concerning the Bishop of
Spalato's return to the Church of Rome. But for the parti-
culars of these, and many more that I meant to make known,
I want a view of some papers that might inform me, — his late
Majesty's letter-office having now suffered a strange alienation,
— and indeed I want time too; for the printer's press stays for
what is written : so that I must hasten to bring Sir Henry
Wotton in an instant from Venice to London, leaving the
reader to make up what is defective in this place, by the
small supplement of the inscription under his arms, which

98 THE LIFE OF

he left at all those houses where he rested, or lodged, when
he returned from his last embassy into England.

Henricus Wottonius Anglo-Cantianus, Thomae optimi viri
films natu minimus, a Serenissimo Jacobo I. Mag. Brit. Rege,
in equestrem titulum adscitus, ejusdemque ter ad Rempublicam
Venetam Legatus Ordinarius, semel ad Confoederatarum Pro-
vinciarum Ordines in Juliacensi negotio. Bis ad Carolum
Emanuel, Sabaudiae Ducem ; semel ad Unitos Superioris
Germaniae Principes in Conventu Heilbrunensi, postremo ad
Archiducem Leopoldum, Ducem Wittembergensem, Civitates
Imperiales, Argentinam, Ulmamque, et ipsum Romanorum
Imperatorem Ferdinandum Secundum, Legatus Extraordinarius,
tandem hoc didicit,

Animas fieri sapientiores quiescendo.

To London he came the year before King James died; who
having, for the reward of his foreign service, promised him the
reversion of an office, which was fit to be turned into present
money, which he wanted, for a supply of his present necessities;
and also granted him the reversion of the Master of the Rolls
place, if he outlived charitable Sir Julius Caesar, who then
possessed it, and then grown so old that he was said to be
kept alive beyond nature's course by the prayers of those many
poor which he daily relieved.

But these were but in hope ; and his condition required a
present support : for in the beginning of these employments he
sold to his elder brother, the Lord Wotton, the rent-charge left
by his good father; and — which is worse — was now at his
return indebted to several persons, whom he was not able to
satisfy, but by the King's payment of his arrears, due for his foreign
employments. He had brought into England many servants,
of which some were German and Italian artists : this was part
of his condition, who had many times hardly sufficient to supply
the occasions of the day : for it may by no means be said of his
providence, as himself said of Sir Philip Sydney's wit, "That
it was the very measure of congruity," he being always so
careless of money, as though our Saviour's words, " Care not
for to-morrow," were to be literally understood.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 99

But it pleased the God of Providence, that in this juncture of
time the Provostship of his Majesty's College of Eton became
void by the death of Mr. Thomas Murray, for which there were,
as the place deserved, many earnest and powerful suitors to the
King. And Sir Henry, who had for many years — like Sisyphus
— rolled the restless stone of a State employment, knowing
experimentally that the great blessing of sweet content was not
to be found in multitudes of men or business, and that a college
was the fittest place to nourish holy thoughts, and to afford rest
both to his body and mind, which his age — being now almost
threescore years — seemed to require, did therefore use his own,
and the interest of all his friends to procure that place. By
which means, and quitting the King of his promised reversionary
offices, and a piece of honest policy, — which I have not time to
relate, — he got a grant of it from his Majesty.

And this was a fair satisfaction to his mind : but money was
wanting to furnish him with those necessaries which attend
removes, and a settlement in such a place ; and, to procure
that, he wrote to his old friend Mr. Nicholas Pey, for his
assistance. Of which Nicholas Pey I shall here say a little, for
the clearing of some passages that I shall mention hereafter.

He was in his youth a clerk, or in some such way a servant
to the Lord Wotton, Sir Henry's brother; and by him, when
he was Comptroller of the King's Household, was made a great
officer in his Majesty's house. This and other favours being con-
ferred upon Mr. Pey — in whom there was a radical honesty —
were always thankfully acknowledged by him, and his gratitude
expressed by a willing and unwearied serviceableness to that
family even till his death. To him Sir Henry Wotton wrote,
to use all his interest at court to procure five hundred pounds
of his arrears, for less would not settle him in the college ;
and the want of such a sum "wrinkled his face with care"; —
'twas his own expression, — and, that money being procured,
he should the next day after find him in his college, and
"Invidice remedium" writ over his study door.

This money, being part of his arrears, was, by his own, and
the help of honest Nicholas Pey's interest in court, quickly

ioo THE LIFE OF

procured him, and he as quickly in the college; the place,
where indeed his happiness then seemed to have its beginn ng;
the college being to his mind as a quiet harbour to a seafaring
man after a tempestuous voyage ; where, by the bounty of
the pious founder, his very food and raiment were plentifully
provided for him in kind, and more money than enough;
where he was freed from all corroding cares, and seated on
such a rock as the waves of want could not probably shake :
where he might sit in a calm, and, looking down, behold the
busy multitude turmoiled and tossed in a tempestuous sea of
trouble and dangers; and — as Sir William Davenant has happily
expressed the like of another person —

Laugh at the graver business of the State,
Which speaks men rather wise than fortunate.

Being thus settled according to the desires of his heart,
his first study was the statutes of the college ; by which he
conceived himself bound to enter into holy orders, which he
did, being made Deacon with all convenient speed. Shortly
after which time, as he came in his surplice from the church
service, an old friend, a person of quality, met him so attired,
and joyed him of his new habit. To whom Sir Henry Wotton
replied, " I thank God and the King, by whose goodness I am
now in this condition ; a condition which that Emperor Charles
the Fifth seemed to approve ; who, after so many remarkable
victories, when his glory was great in the eyes of all men,
freely gave up his crown, and the many cares that attended
it, to Philip his son, making a holy retreat to a cloisteral life,
where he might, by devout meditations, consult with God, —
which the rich or busy men seldom do — and have leisure both
to examine the errors of his life past, and prepare for that
great day wherein all flesh must make an account of their
actions : and after a kind of tempestuous life, I now have the like
advantage from him, ' that makes the outgoings of the morning
to praise him;' even from my God, whom I daily magnify
for this particular mercy of an exemption from business, a
quiet mind, and a liberal maintenance, even in this part of

SIR HENRY WOTTON. loi

my life, when my age and infirmities seem to sound me a retreat
from the pleasures of this world, and invite me to contemplation,
in which I have ever taken the greatest felicity."

And now to speak a little of the employment of his time
in the college. After his customary public devotions, his use
was to retire into his study, and there to spend some hours
in reading the Bible, and Authors in Divinity, closing up his
meditations with private prayer; this was, for the most part,
his employment in the forenoon. But when he was once sat
to dinner, then nothing but cheerful thoughts possessed his
mind, and those still increased by constant company at his
table of such persons as brought thither additions both of
learning and pleasure; but some part of most days was usually I
spent in philosophical conclusions. Nor did he forget his \
innate pleasure of angling, which he would usually call "his I
idle time not idly spent;" saying often, "he would rather live |
five May months than forty Decembers."

He was a great lover of his neighbours, and a bountiful
entertainer of them very often at his table, where his meat
was choice, and his discourse better.

He was a constant cherisher of all those youths in that
school in which he found either a constant diligence, or a
genius that prompted them to learning; for whose encourage-
ment he was — beside many other things of necessity and
beauty — at the charge of setting up in it two rows of pillars,
on which he caused to be choicely drawn the pictures of divers
of the most famous Greek and Latin historians, poets, and
orators ; persuading them not to neglect rhetoric, because i
"Almighty God has left mankind affections to be wrought (I
upon : " And he would often say, " That none despised eloquence,
but such dull souls as were not capable of it." He would also
often make choice of some observations out of those historians
and poets; and would never leave the school without dropping
some choice Greek or Latin apophthegm or sentence, that
might be worthy of a room in the memory of a growing
scholar.

He was pleased constantly to breed up one or more hopeful

102 THE LIFE OF

youths, which he picked out of the school, and took into his
own domestic care, and to attend him at his meals ; out of
whose discourse and behaviour he gathered observations for
the better completing of his intended work of education : of
which, by his still striving to make the whole better, he lived to
leave but part to posterity.

He was a great enemy to wrangling disputes of religion ;
concerning which I shall say a little, both to testify that, and to
show the readiness of his wit.

Having at his being in Rome made acquaintance with a
pleasant priest, who invited him one evening to hear their
vesper music at church; the priest seeing Sir Henry stand
obscurely in a corner, sends to him by a boy of the choir this
question, writ on a small piece of paper: "Where was your
religion to be found before Luther?" To which question Sir
Henry presently underwrit, " My religion was to be found then,
where yours is not to be found now, in the written Word of God."

The next vesper, Sir Henry went purposely to the same
church, and sent one of the choir boys with this question to
his honest, pleasant friend, the priest : " Do you believe all
those many thousands of poor Christians were damned that
were excommunicated because the Pope and the Duke of
Venice could not agree about their temporal power — even
those poor Christians that knew not why they quarrelled?
Speak your conscience." To which he underwrit in French,
" Monsieur, excusez-moi."

To one that asked him, "Whether a Papist may be saved?"
he replied, " You may be saved without knowing that. Look to
yourself."

To another, whose earnestness exceeded his knowledge, and
was still railing against the Papists, he gave this advice :
"Pray, sir, forbear till you have studied the points better;
for the wise Italians have this proverb: 'He that understands
amiss concludes worse.' And take heed of thinking, the farther
you go from the Church of Rome the nearer you are to God."

And to another that spake indiscreet and bitter words against
Arminius, I heard him reply to this purpose :

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 103

" In my travel towards Venice, as I passed through Germany,
I rested almost a year at Leyden, where I entered into an
acquaintance with Arminius, — then the Professor of Divinity in
that university, — a man much talked of in this age, which is
made up of opposition and controversy. And indeed, if 1
mistake not Arminius in his expressions, — as so weak a brain as
mine is may easily do, — then I know I differ from him in some
points ; yet I profess my judgment of him to be, that he was a
man of most rare learning, and I knew him to be of a most
strict life, and of a most meek spirit. And that he was so mild
appears by his proposals to our Master Perkins of Cambridge,
from whose book, Of the Order and Causes of Salvation — which
first was writ in Latin — Arminius took the occasion of writing
some queries to him concerning the consequents of his doctrine;
intending them, 'tis said, to come privately to Mr. Perkins' own
hands, and to receive from him a like private and a like loving
answer. But Mr. Perkins died before those queries came to
him, and 'tis thought Arminius meant them to die with him ;
for though he lived long after, I have heard he forbore to
publish them : but since his death his sons did not. And 'tis
pity, if God had been so pleased, that Mr. Perkins did not live
to see, consider, and answer those proposals himself; for he
was also of a most meek spirit, and of great and sanctified
learning. And though, since their deaths, many of high parts
and piety have undertaken to clear the controversy; yet for
the most part they have rather satisfied themselves, than
convinced the dissenting party. And, doubtless, many middle-
witted men, which yet may mean well, many scholars that are
in the highest form for learning, which yet may preach well,
men that are but preachers, and shall never know, till they
come to heaven, where the questions stick betwixt Arminius
and the Church of England, — if there be any, — will yet in
this world be tampering with, and thereby perplexing the
controversy, and do thereby justly fall under the rebuke of
St. Jude, for being busy-bodies, and for meddling with things
they understand not."

And here it offers itself — I think not unfitly, to tell the

io4 THE LIFE OF

reader, that a friend of Sir Henry Wotton's being designed
for the employment of an ambassador, came to Eton, and
requested from him some experimental rules for his prudent
and safe carriage in his negotiations ; to whom he smilingly
gave this for an infallible aphorism : " That, to be in safety
himself, and serviceable to his country, he should always, and
upon all occasions, speak the truth, — it seems a State paradox
— for, says Sir Henry Wotton, you shall never be believed;
and by this means your truth will secure yourself, if you shall
ever be called to any account; and it will also put your
adversaries — who will still hunt counter— to a loss in all their
disquisitions and undertakings."

Many more of this nature might be observed ; but they must
be laid aside : for I shall here make a little stop, and invite the
reader to look back with me, whilst, according to my promise,
I shall say a little of Sir Albertus Morton, and Mr. William
Bedel, whom I formerly mentioned.

I have told you that are my reader, that at Sir Henry
Wotton's first going ambassador into Italy, his cousin, Sir
Albertus Morton, went his secretary : and I am next to tell
you that Sir Albertus died Secretary of State to our late King;
but cannot, am not able to express the sorrow that possessed
Sir Henry Wotton, at his first hearing the news that Sir
Albertus was by death lost to him and this world. And yet
the reader may partly guess by these following expressions :
the first in a letter to his Nicholas Pey, of which this that
followeth is a part.

"... And, my dear Nich., when I had been here almost a
fortnight, in the midst of my great contentment, I received
notice of Sir Albertus Morton his departure out of this world,
who was dearer to me than mine own being in it: what a
wound it is to my heart, you that knew him, and know me,
will easily believe: but our Creator's will must be done, and
unrepiningly received by his own creatures, who is the Lord of
all nature and of all fortune, when he taketh to himself now one,
and then another, till that expected day, wherein it shall please
him to dissolve the whole, and wrap up even the heaven itself

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 105

as a scroll of parchment. This is the last philosophy that we
must study upon earth; let us therefore, that yet remain here,
as our days and friends waste, reinforce our love to each other;
which of all virtues, both spiritual and moral, hath the highest
privilege, because death itself cannot end it. And my good
Nich.," etc.

This is a part of his sorrow thus expressed to his Nich.
Pey: the other part is in this following elegy, of which the reader
may safely conclude it was too hearty to be dissembled.

TEARS

WEPT AT THE GRAVE OF SIR ALBERTUS MORTON,
BY HENRY WOTTON.

SILENCE, in truth would speak my sorrow best,
For deepest wounds can least their feeling tell:
Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest,
A time to bid him, whom I loved, farewell.

Oh, my unhappy lines ! you that before
Have served my youth to vent some wanton cries,
And now, congeal'd with grief, can scarce implore
Strength to accent, " Here my Albertus lies."

This is that sable stone, this is the cave
And womb of earth, that doth his corse embrace :
While others sing his praise, let me engrave
These bleeding numbers to adorn the place.

Here will I paint the characters of woe;
Here will I pay my tribute to the dead;
And here my faithful tears in showers shall flow,
To humanise the flints on which I tread.

Where, though I mourn my matchless loss alone,
And none between my weakness judge and me;
Yet even these pensive walls allow my moan,
Whose doleful echoes to my plaints agree.

106 THE LIFE OF

But is he gone ? and live I rhyming here,
As if some Muse would listen to my lay ?
When all distuned sit waiting for their dear,
And bathe the banks where he was wont to play.

Dwell then in endless bliss with happy souls,
Discharged from Nature's and from Fortune's trust;
Whilst on this fluid globe my hour-glass rolls,
And runs the rest of my remaining dust.

H. W.

This concerning his Sir Albertus Morton.

And for what I shall say concerning Mr. William Bedel, I
must prepare the reader by telling him, that when King James
sent Sir Henry Wotton ambassador to the State of Venice, he
sent also an ambassador to the King of France, and another to
the King of Spain. With the ambassador of France went
Joseph Hall, late Bishop of Norwich, whose many and useful
works speak his great merit ; with the ambassador to Spain
went James Wadsworth ; and with Sir Henry Wotton went
William Bedel.

These three chaplains to these three ambassadors were all
bred in one university, all of one college,1 all beneficed in one
diocese, and all most dear and entire friends. But in Spain,
Mr. Wadsworth met with temptations, or reasons, such as were
so powerful as to persuade him — who of the three was formerly
observed to be the most averse to that religion that calls itself
Catholic — to disclaim himself a member of the Church of
England, and to declare himself for the Church of Rome,
discharging himself of his attendance on the ambassador,
and betaking himself to a monasterial life, in which he lived
very regularly and so died.

When Dr. Hall, the late Bishop of Norwich, came into
England, he wrote to Mr. Wadsworth,— it is the first epistle in
his printed Decades, — to persuade his return, or to show the
reason of his apostasy. The letter seemed to have in it many
sweet expressions of love ; and yet there was in it some
1 Emanuel College in Cambridge.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 107

expression that was so unpleasant to Mr. Wadsworth, that
he chose rather to acquaint his old friend Mr. Bedel with his
motives ; by which means there passed betwixt Mr. Bedel and
Mr. Wadsworth divers letters which be extant in print, and did
well deserve it ; for in them there seems to be a controversy,
not of religion only, but who should answer each other with
most love and meekness ; which I mention the rather, because
it too seldom falls out to be so in a book-war.

There is yet a little more to be said of Mr. Bedel, for the
greater part of which the reader is referred to this following
letter of Sir Henry Wotton's, written to our late King Charles
the First :—

" May it please Your most Gracious Majesty,

" Having been informed that certain persons have, by the
good wishes of the Archbishop of Armagh, been directed
hither, with a most humble petition unto your Majesty that
you will be pleased to make Mr. William Bedel —now resident
upon a small benefice in Suffolk — governor of your college at
Dublin, for the good of that society; and myself being re-
quired to render unto your Majesty some testimony of the said
William Bedel who was long my chaplain at Venice, in the
time of my first employment there, I am bound in all conscience
and truth — so far as your Majesty will vouchsafe to accept my
poor judgment — to affirm of him, that I think hardly a fitter
man for that charge could have been propounded unto your
Majesty in your whole kingdom, for singular erudition and
piety, conformity to the rites of the Church, and zeal to
advance the cause of God, wherein his travails abroad were not
obscure in the time of the excommunication of the Venetians.

" For it may please your Majesty to know, that this is the
man whom Padre Paulo took, I may say, into his very soul, with
whom he did communicate the inwardest thoughts of his heart;
from whom he professed to have received more knowledge in
all divinity, both scholastical and positive, than from any that
he had ever practised in his days; of which all the passages
Were well known to the King your father, of most blessed
memory. And so, with your Majesty's good favour, I will end

io8 THE LIFE OF

this needless office ; for the general fame of his learning, his
life, and Christian temper, and those religious labours which
himself hath dedicated to your Majesty, do better describe him
than I am able.

Your Majesty's
Most humble and faithful servant,

H. WOTTON."

To this letter I shall add this : that he was — to the great joy
of Sir Henry Wotton — made governor of the said college;1 and
that, after a fair discharge of his duty and trust there he was
thence removed to be Bishop of Kilmore.2 In both places his
life was so holy, as seemed to equal the primitive Christians :
for as they, so he kept all the ember-weeks, observed — besides
his private devotions — the canonical hours of prayer very
strictly, and so he did all the feasts and fast-days of his
mother, the Church of England. To which I may add, that his
patience and charity were both such as showed his affections
were set upon things that are above ; for indeed his whole life
brought forth the fruits of the Spirit; there being in him such
a remarkable meekness, that as St. Paul advised his Timothy
in the election of a bishop, " That he have a good report of
those that be without;"3 so had he: for those that were
without, even those that in point of religion were of the Roman
persuasion, — of which there were very many in his diocese, —
did yet — such is the power of visible piety — ever look upon
him with respect and reverence, and testified it by a concealing,
and safe protecting him from death in the late horrid rebellion
in Ireland, when the fury of the wild Irish knew no distinction
of persons : and yet, there and then he was protected and
cherished by those of a contrary persuasion; and there and
then he died, not by violence or misusage, but by grief in a
quiet prison (1642). And with him was lost many of his
learned writings which were thought worthy of preservation ;
and amongst the rest was lost the Bible, which by many
years' labour, and conference, and study, he had translated

i Aug. 1627. 2 Sept. 3, 1629. 3 1 Tim. iii. 7.

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 109

into the Irish tongue, with an intent to have printed it for
public use.

More might be said of Mr. Bedel, who, I told the reader,
was Sir Henry Wotton's first chaplain; and much of his second
chaplain, Isaac Bargrave, Doctor in Divinity, and the late
learned and hospitable Dean of Canterbury; as also of the
merits of many others, that had the happiness to attend Sir
Henry in his foreign employments : but the reader may think
that in this digression I have already carried him too far from
Eton College, and therefore I shall lead him back as gently
and as orderly as I may to that place, for a further conference
concerning Sir Henry Wotton.

Sir Henry Wotton had proposed to himself, before he
entered into his collegiate life, to write the Life of Martin
Luther, and in it the History of the Reformation, as it was
carried on in Germany: for the doing of which he had many
advantages by his several embassies into those parts, and his
interest in the several princes of the Empire; by whose means
he had access to the records of all the Hans Towns, and the
knowledge of many secret passages that fell not under common
view; and in these he had made a happy progress, as was well
known to his worthy friend Dr. Duppa, the late Reverend
Bishop of Salisbury. But in the midst of this design, his late
Majesty King Charles the First, that knew the value of Sir
Henry Wotton's pen, did, by a persuasive loving violence — to
which may be added a promise of ,£500 a year — force him to
lay Luther aside, and betake himself to write the History of
England ; in which he proceeded to write some short characters
of a few kings, as a foundation upon which he meant to build ;
but, for the present, meant to be more large in the story of
Henry the Sixth, the founder of that college in which he
then enjoyed all the worldly happiness of his present being.
But Sir Henry died in the midst of this undertaking, and the
footsteps of his labours are not recoverable by a more than
common diligence.

This is some account both of his inclination and the employ-
ment of his time in the college, where he seemed to have his

no THE LIFE OF

youth renewed by a continual conversation with that learned
society, and a daily recourse of other friends of choicest
breeding and parts ; by which that great blessing of a cheerful
heart was still maintained ; he being always free, even to the
last of his days, from that peevishness which usually attends
age.

And yet his mirth was sometimes damped by the remem-
brance of divers old debts, partly contracted in his foreign
employments, for which his just arrears due from the King
would have made satisfaction : but being still delayed with
court promises, and finding some decays of health, he did,
about two years before his death, out of a Christian desire that
none should be a loser by him, make his last will; concerning
which a doubt still remains, namely, whether it discovered more
holy wit or conscionable policy. But there is no doubt but that
his chief design was a Christian endeavour that his debts might
be satisfied.

And that it may remain, as such, a testimony and a legacy to
those that loved him, I shall here impart it to the reader as it
was found written with his own hand.

" In the name of God Almighty and All-merciful, I, Henry
Wotton, Provost of his Majesty's College by Eton, being mindful
of mine own mortality, which the sin of our first parents did
bring upon all flesh, do by this last will and testament thus
dispose of myself, and the poor things I shall leave in this
world. My soul I bequeath to the Immortal God my Maker,
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, my blessed Redeemer and
Mediator, through his all sole-sufficient satisfaction for the sins
of the whole world, and efficient for his elect ; in the number
of whom I am one by his mere grace, and therefore most
unremovably assured by his Holy Spirit, the true eternal
Comforter. My body I bequeath to the earth, if I shall end
my transitory days at or near Eton, to be buried in the chapel
of the said college, as the Fellows shall dispose thereof, with
whom I have lived — my God knows — in all loving affection;
or if I shall die near Bocton Malherbe, in the county of
Kent, then I wish to be laid in that parish church, as near

SIR HENRY WOTTON. in

as may be to the sepulchre of my good father, expecting a
joyful resurrection with him in the day of Christ."

After this account of his faith, and this surrender of his soul
to that God that inspired it, and this direction for the disposal
of his body, he proceeded to appoint that his executors should
lay over his grave a marble stone, plain, and not costly: and
considering that time moulders even marble to dust, — for —
monuments themselves must die ; therefore did he — waving the
common way — think fit rather to preserve his name — to which
the son of Sirach adviseth all men — by a useful apophthegm,
than by a large enumeration of his descent or merits, of both
which he might justly have boasted ; but he was content to
forget them, and did choose only this prudent, pious sentence to
discover his disposition, and preserve his memory.

It was directed by him to be thus inscribed :

Hicjacet hujus Sententice primus Author:

DISPUTANDI PRURITUS ECCLESIARUM SCABIES.

Nomen alias quare.

Which may be Englished thus :

Here lies the first Author of this sentence :

THE ITCH OF DISPUTATION WILL PROVE

THE SCAB OF THE CHURCH.

Inquire his Name elsewhere.

And if any shall object, as I think some have, that Sir Henry
Wotton was not the first author of this sentence : but that this,
or a sentence like it, was long before his time ; to him I answer,
that Solomon says, " Nothing can be spoken that hath not been
spoken ; for there is no new thing under the sun." But grant
that in his various reading he had met with this, or a like
sentence, yet reason mixed with charity should persuade all
readers to believe that Sir Henry Wotton's mind was then so
fixed on that part of the communion of saints which is above,
that an holy lethargy did surprise his memory. For doubtless,

ii2 THE LIFE OF

if he had not believed himself to be the first author of what he
said, he was too prudent first to own, and then expose it to
public view and censure of every critic. And questionless it
will be charity in all readers to think his mind was then so
fixed on heaven that a holy zeal did transport him ; and that,
in this sacred ecstasy, his thoughts were then only of the
Church triumphant, into which he daily expected his admission ;
and that Almighty God was then pleased to make him a
prophet, to tell the Church militant, and particularly that part
of it in this nation, where the weeds of controversy grow to
be daily both more numerous and more destructive to humble
piety; and where men have consciences that boggle at
ceremonies, and yet scruple not to speak and act such sins
as the ancient humble Christians believed to be a sin to think;
and where, our reverend Hooker says, " former simplicity, and
softness of spirit, is not now to be found, because zeal hath
drowned charity, and skill meekness." It will be good to think
that these sad changes have proved this epitaph to be a useful
caution unto us of this nation ; and the sad effects thereof in
Germany have proved it to be a mournful truth.

This by way of observation concerning his epitaph ; the rest
of his will follows in his own words.

" Further, I, the said Henry Wotton, do constitute and ordain
to be joint executors of this my last will and testament, my
two grand-nephews, Albert Morton, second son to Sir Robert
Morton, Knight, late deceased, and Thomas Bargrave, eldest
son to Dr. Bargrave, Dean of Canterbury, husband to my right
virtuous and only niece. And I do pray the foresaid Dr.
Bargrave, and Mr. Nicholas Pey, my most faithful and chosen
friends, together with Mr. John Harrison, one of the fellows
of Eton College, best acquainted with my books and pictures,
and other utensils, to be supervisors of this my last will and
testament. And I do pray the foresaid Dr. Bargrave and Mr.
Nicholas Pey to be solicitors for such arrearages as shall
appear due unto me from his Majesty's exchequer at the time
of my death ; and to assist my forenamed executors in some
reasonable and conscientious satisfaction of my creditors, and

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 113

discharge of my legacies now specified ; or that shall be here-
after added unto this my testament, by any codicil or schedule,
or left in the hands, or in any memorial with the aforesaid Mr.
John Harrison. And first, to my most dear sovereign and
master, of incomparable goodness, — in whose gracious opinion
I have ever had some portion, as far as the interest of a plain
honest man — I leave four pictures at large of those Dukes of
Venice in whose time I was there employed, with their names
written on the back side, which hang in my great ordinary
dining-room, done after the life by Edoardo Fialetto: likewise
a table of the Venetian College, where ambassadors had their
audience, hanging over the mantel of the chimney in the said
room, done by the same hand, which containeth a draught in
little, well resembling the famous Duke Leonardo Donato, in n
time which needed a wise and constant man. Item: The
picture of a Duke of Venice, hanging over against the door,
done either by Titiano, or some other principal hand, long
before my time. Most humbly beseeching his Majesty, that
the said pieces may remain in some corner of any of his houses,
for a poor memorial of his most humble vassal.

" Item : I leave his said Majesty all the papers and negotiations
of Sir Nich. Throgmorton, Knight, during his famous employment
•under Queen Elizabeth, in Scotland, and in France; which
contain divers secrets of State, that perchance his Majesty will
think fit to be preserved in his paper-office, after they have
been perused and sorted by Mr. Secretary Windebank, with
whom I have heretofore, as I remember, conferred about them.
They were committed to my disposal by Sir Arthur Throgmorton,
his son, to whose worthy memory I cannot better discharge my
faith than by assigning them to the highest place of trust.
Item : I leave to our most gracious and virtuous Queen Mary,
Dioscorides, with the plants naturally coloured, and the text
translated by Matthiolo, in the best language of Tuscany,
whence her said Majesty is lineally descended, for a poor
token of my thankful devotion for the honour she was once
pleased to do my private study with her presence. I leave
to the most hopeful Prince the picture of the elected and

9

u4 THE LIFE OF

crowned Queen of Bohemia, his aunt, of clear and resplendent
virtues, through the clouds of her fortune. To my Lord's Grace
of Canterbury now being, I leave my picture of Divine Love,
rarely copied from one in the King's galleries, of my presentation
to his Majesty; beseeching him to receive it as a pledge of my
humble reverence to his great wisdom. And to the most worthy
Lord Bishop of London, Lord High Treasurer of England, in
true admiration of his Christian simplicity and contempt of
earthly pomp, I leave a picture of Heraclitus bewailing, and
Democritus laughing at the world; most humbly beseeching
the said Lord Archbishop his Grace, and the Lord Bishop of
London, of both whose favours I have tasted in my lifetime, to
intercede with our most gracious Sovereign after my death, in
the bowels of Jesus Christ, that out of compassionate memory
of my long services, — wherein I more studied the public honour
than mine own utility, — some order may be taken out of my
arrears due in the exchequer, for such satisfaction of my
creditors, as those whom I have ordained supervisors of this
my last will and testament shall present unto their Lordships,
without their further trouble: hoping likewise in his Majesty's
most indubitable goodness, that he will keep me from all
prejudice, which I may otherwise suffer by any defect of formality

in the demand of my said arrears. To for a poor addition

to his cabinet, I leave, as emblems of his attractive virtues and
obliging nobleness, my great loadstone, and a piece of amber,
of both kinds naturally united, and only differing in degree of
concoction, which is thought somewhat rare. Item: a piece of
crystal sexangular — as they grow all — grasping divers several
things within it, which I bought among the Rhastian Alps, in
the very place where it grew; recommending most humbly
unto his Lordship the reputation of my poor name in the point
of my debts, as I have done to the forenamed Spiritual Lords,
and am heartily sorry that I have no better token of my humble
thankfulness to his honoured person. Item: I leave to Sir
Francis Windebank, one of his Majesty's principal secretaries
of State, — whom I found my great friend in point of necessity,
— the Four Seasons of old Bassano, to hang near the eye in his

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 115

parlour, — being in little form, — which I bought at Venice, where
I first entered into his most worthy acquaintance.

" To the above-named Dr. Bargrave, Dean of Canterbury, I
leave all my Italian books not disposed in this will. I leave to
him likewise my Viol da gamba, which hath been twice with
me in Italy, in which country I first contracted with him an
unremovable affection. To my other supervisor, Mr. Nicholas
Pey, I leave my chest, or cabinet of instruments and engines
of all kinds of uses: in the lower box whereof are some1 fit to
be bequeathed to none but so entire an honest man as he is. I
leave him likewise forty pounds for his pains in the solicitation
of my arrears ; and am sorry that my ragged estate can reach
no further to one that hath taken such care for me in the same
kind, during all my foreign employments. To the Library of
Eton College I leave all my manuscripts not before disposed,
and to each of the Fellows a plain ring of gold, enamelled black,
all save the verge, with this motto within, ''Amor unit omnia?

" This is my last will and testament, save what shall be added
by a schedule thereunto annexed, written on the ist of October,
in the present year of our redemption, 1637, and subscribed by
myself, with the testimony of these witnesses,

" Nich. Oudert, HENRY WOTTON."

" Geo. Lash."

And now, because the mind of man is best satisfied by the
knowledge of events, I think fit to declare, that every one that
was named in his will did gladly receive their legacies : by
which, and his most just and passionate desires for the payment
of his debts, they joined in assisting the overseers of his will;
and by their joint endeavours to the King, — than whom none
was more willing — conscionable satisfaction was given for his
just debts.

The next thing wherewith I shall acquaint the reader is, that
he went usually once a year, if not oftener, to that beloved

1 In it were Italian locks, pick-locks, screws to force open doors, and
many things of worth and rarity that he had gathered in his foreign
travel.

n6 THE LIFE OF

Bocton Hall, where he would say, "He found a cure for all
cares, by the cheerful company, which he called the living
furniture of that place: and a restoration of his strength, by
the connaturalness of that which he called his genial air."

He yearly went also to Oxford. But the summer before his
death he changed that for a journey to Winchester College, to
which school he was first removed from Bocton. And as he
returned from Winchester towards Eton College, said to a
friend, his companion in that journey : " How useful was that
advice of a holy monk, who persuaded his friend to perform his
customary devotions in a constant place, because in that place
we usually meet with those very thoughts which possessed us
at our last being there ! And I find it thus far experimentally
true, that at my now being in that school, and seeing that very
place where I sat when I was a boy, occasioned me to remem-
ber those very thoughts of my youth which then possessed me :
sweet thoughts indeed, that promised my growing years numer-
ous pleasures, without mixtures of cares : and those to be
enjoyed, when time — which I therefore thought slow-paced—
had changed my youth into manhood. But age and experience
have taught me that those were but empty hopes; for I have
always found it true, as my Saviour did foretell, ' Sufficient for
the day is the evil thereof.' Nevertheless, I saw there a suc-
cession of boys using the same recreations, and, questionless,
possessed with the same thoughts that then possessed me.
Thus one generation succeeds another, both in their lives,
recreations, hopes, fears, and death."

After his return from Winchester to Eton, which was about
five months before his death, he became much more retired and
contemplative: in which time he was often visited by Mr. John
Hales, — learned Mr. John Hales,— then a Fellow of that college,
to whom upon an occasion he spake to this purpose: " I have,
in my passage to my grave, met with most of those joys of
which a discoursive soul is capable; and been entertained with
more inferior pleasures than the sons of men are usually made
partakers of: nevertheless, in this voyage I have not always
floated on the calm sea of content; but have often met with

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 117

cross winds and storms, and with many troubles of mind and
temptations to evil. And yet, though I have been, and am a
man compassed about with human frailties, Almighty God hath
by his grace prevented me from making shipwreck of faith and
a good conscience, the thought of which is now the joy of my
heart, and I most humbly praise him for it : and I humbly
acknowledge that it was not myself, but he that hath kept me
to this great age, and let him take the glory of his great mercy.
— And, my dear friend, I now see that I draw near my harbour
of death ; that harbour that will secure me from all the future
storms and waves of this restless world ; and I praise God I am
willing to leave it, and expect a better ; that world wherein
dwelleth righteousness ; and I long for it!"

These and the like expressions were then uttered by him at
the beginning of a feverish distemper, at which time he was
also troubled with an asthma, or short spitting: but after less
than twenty fits, by the help of familiar physic and a spare diet,
this fever abated, yet so as to leave him much weaker than it
found him ; and his asthma seemed also to be overcome in a
good degree by his forbearing tobacco, which, as many thought-
ful men do, he also had taken somewhat immoderately. This
was his then present condition, and thus he continued till about
the end of October 1639, which was about a month before his
death, at which time he again fell into a fever, which though he
seemed to recover, yet these still left him so weak, that they,
and those other common infirmities that accompany age, were
wont to visit him like civil friends, and after some short time
to leave him, — came now both oftener and with more violence,
and at last took up their constant habitation with him, still
weakening his body and abating his cheerfulness ; of both
which he grew more sensible, and did the oftener retire into his
study, and there made many papers that had passed his pen,
both in the days of his youth and in the busy part of his life,
useless, by a fire made there to that purpose. These, and
several unusual expressions to his servants and friends, seemed
to foretell that the day of his death drew near; for which he
seemed to those many friends that observed him to be well

n8 THE LIFE OF

prepared, and to be both patient and free from all fear, as
several of his letters writ on this his last sick-bed may testify.
And thus he continued till about the beginning of December
following, at which time he was seized more violently with a
quotidian fever; in the tenth fit of which fever his better part,
that part of Sir Henry Wotton which could not die, put off
mortality with as much content and cheerfulness as human
frailty is capable of, being then in great tranquillity of mind,
and in perfect peace with God and man.

And thus the circle of Sir Henry Wotton's life — that circle
which began at Bocton, and in the circumference thereof did
first touch at Winchester School, then at Oxford, and after
upon so many remarkable parts and passages in Christendom —
that circle of his life was by death thus closed up and com-
pleted, in the seventy and second year of his age, at Eton
College ; where, according to his will, he now lies buried, with
his motto on a plain gravestone over him : dying worthy of his
name and family, worthy of the love and favour of so many
princes, and persons of eminent wisdom and learning, worthy
of the trust committed unto him, for the service of his prince
and country.

And all readers are requested to believe that he was worthy
of a more worthy pen, to have preserved his memory and com-
mended his merits to the imitation of posterity. Iz. WA.

AN ELEGY ON SIR HENRY WOTTON

WRIT BY

MR. ABRAHAM COWLEY.

WHAT shall we say, since silent now is he,
Who when he spoke all things would silent be?
Who had so many languages in store,
That only Fame shall speak of him in more.
Whom England now no more return'd, must see;
He's gone to Heaven, on his fourth embassy.
On earth he travell'd often, not to say,
He'd been abroad to pass loose time away;

SIR HENRY WOTTON. 119

For in whatever land he chanced to come,
He read the men and manners ; bringing home
Their wisdom, learning, and their piety,
As if he went to conquer, not to see.
So well he understood the most and best
Of tongues that Babel sent into the West;
Spoke them so truly, that he had, you'd swear,
Not only liv'd, but been born everywhere.
Justly each nation's speech to him was known,
Who for the world was made, not us alone:
Nor ought the language of that man be less,
Who in his breast had all things to express.
We say that learning's endless, and blame Fate
For not allowing life a longer date,
He did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find,
And found them not so large as was his mind;
But, like the brave Pelican youth, did moan,
Because that Art had no more worlds than one.
And when he saw that he through all had past,
He died — lest he should idle grow at last.

A. COWLEY.

THE LIFE OF

MR. RICHARD HOOKER,

THE AUTHOR OF THOSE LEARNED BOOKS OF THE LAWS OF
ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY.

INTRODUCTION.

I HAVE been persuaded, by a friend whom I reverence, and
ought to obey, to write the life of Richard Hooker, the happy
author of five — if not more — of the eight learned books of The
Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity. And though I have undertaken
it, yet it hath been with some unwillingness: because I foresee
that it must prove to me, and especially at this time of my age,
a work of much labour to inquire, consider, research, and de-
termine what is needful to be known concerning him. For I
knew him not in his life, and must therefore not only look back
to his death — now sixty-four years past — but almost fifty years
beyond that, even to his childhood and youth; and gather
thence such observations and prognostics as may at least
adorn, if not prove necessary for the completing of what I have
undertaken.

This trouble I foresee, and foresee also that it is impossible
to escape censures ; against which I will not hope my well-
meaning and diligence can protect me, — for I consider the age
in which I live — and shall therefore but entreat of my reader a
suspension of his censures, till I have made known unto him
some reasons which I myself would now gladly believe do make
me in some measure fit for this undertaking : and if these
reasons shall not acquit me from all censures, they may at least
abate of their severity, and this is all I can probably hope for.
My reasons follow.

About forty years past — for I am now past the seventy of my
age — I began a happy affinity with William Cranmer, — now with
God, — a grand-nephew unto the great archbishop of that name; —
a family of noted prudence and resolution; with him and two of
his sisters I had an entire and free friendship: one of them was

i24 INTRODUCTION.

the wife of Dr. Spencer, a bosom friend and sometime com-
pupil with Mr. Hooker in Corpus Christi College in Oxford,
and after president of the same. I name them here, for that I
shall have occasion to mention them in the following discourse,
as also George Cranmer, their brother, of whose useful abilities
my reader may have a more authentic testimony than my pen
can purchase for him, by that of our learned Camden and others.

This William Cranmer and his two fore-named sisters had
some affinity, and a most familiar friendship, with Mr. Hooker,
and had had some part of their education with him in his house,
when he was parson of Bishopsbourne, near Canterbury; in
which city their good father then lived. They had, I say, a part
of their education with him as myself, since that time, a happy
cohabitation with them ; and having some years before read
part of Mr. Hooker's works with great liking and satisfaction,
my affection to them made me a diligent inquisitor into many
things that concerned him; as namely, of his person, his
nature, the management of his time, his wife, his family, and the
fortune of him and his. Which inquiry hath given me much
advantage in the knowledge of what is now under my con-
sideration, and intended for the satisfaction of my reader.

I had also a friendship with the Reverend Dr. Usher, the late
learned Archbishop of Armagh; and with Dr. Morton, the late
learned and charitable Bishop of Durham; as also the learned
John Hales, of Eton College; and with them also — who loved
the very name of Mr. Hooker — I have had many discourses
concerning him; and from them, and many others that have
now put off mortality, I might have had more informations, if I
could then have admitted a thought of any fitness for what by
persuasion I have now undertaken. But though that full
harvest be irrecoverably lost, yet my memory hath preserved
some gleanings, and my diligence made such additions to them,
as I hope will prove useful to the completing of what I intend:
in the discovery of which I shall be faithful, and with this
assurance put a period to my introduction.

THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD
HOOKER.

IT is not to be doubted, but that Richard Hooker was born at
Heavytree, near, or within the precincts, or in the city of Exeter;
a city which may justly boast that it was the birthplace of him
and Sir Thomas Bodley ; as indeed the county may, in which it
stands, that it hath furnished this nation with Bishop Jewel, Sir
Francis Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, and many others, memorable
for their valour and learning. He was born about the year of
our redemption 1553, and of parents that were not so remark-
able for their extraction or riches, as for their virtue and
industry, and God's blessing upon both ; by which they were
enabled to educate their children in some degree of learning, of
which our Richard Hooker may appear to be one fair testimony,
and that nature is not so partial as always to give the great
blessings of wisdom and learning, and with them the greater
blessings of virtue and government, to those only that are of a
more high and honourable birth.

His complexion — if we may guess by him at the age of forty
— was sanguine, with a mixture of choler; and yet his motion
was slow even in his youth, and so was his speech, never
expressing an earnestness in either of them, but an humble
gravity suitable to the aged. And it is observed — so far as
inquiry is able to look back at this distance of time — that at his
being a school-boy he was an early questionist, quietly in-
quisitive " why this was, and that was not, to be remembered ?
why this was granted, and that denied?" This being mixed
with a remarkable modesty, and a sweet, serene quietness of

126 THE LIFE OF

nature, and with them a quick apprehension of many perplexed
parts of learning, imposed then upon him as a scholar, made
his master and others to believe him to have an inward blessed
divine light, and therefore to consider him to be a little wonder.
For in that, children were less pregnant, less confident and
more malleable, than in this wiser, but no better, age.

This meekness and conjuncture of knowledge, with modesty
in his conversation, being observed by his schoolmaster, caused
him to persuade his parents — who intended him for an appren-
tice— to continue him at school till he could find out some
means, by persuading his rich uncle, or some other charitable
person, to ease them of a part of their care and charge ; assur-
ing them that their son was so enriched with the blessings of
nature and grace, that God seemed to single him out as a
special instrument of his glory. And the good man told them
also, that he would double his diligence in instructing him.
and would neither expect nor receive any other reward than
the content of so hopeful and happy an employment.

This was not unwelcome news, and especially to his mother,
to whom he was a dutiful and dear child, and all parties were
so pleased with this proposal, that it was resolved so it should
be. And in the meantime his parents and master laid a
foundation for his future happiness, by instilling into his soul
the seeds of piety, those conscientious principles of loving and
fearing God, of an early belief, that he knows the very secrets
of our souls; that he punisheth our vices, and rewards our
innocence ; that we should be free from hypocrisy, and appear
to man what we are to God, because first or last the crafty
man is catched in his own snare. These seeds of piety were
so seasonably planted, and so continually watered with the
daily dew of God's blessed Spirit, that his infant virtues grew
into such holy habits, as did make him grow daily into more
and more favour both with God and man ; which, with the
great learning that he did after attain to, hath made Richard
Hooker honoured in this, and will continue him to be so to
succeeding generations.

This good schoolmaster, whose name I am not able to re-

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 127

cover, — and am sorry, for that I would have given him a better
memorial in this humble monument, dedicated to the memory
of his scholar, — was very solicitous with John Hooker, then
chamberlain of Exeter, and uncle to our Richard, to take his
nephew into his care, and to maintain him for one year in
the university, and in the meantime to use his endeavours
to procure an admission for him into some college, though it
were but in a mean degree ; still urging and assuring him
that his charge would not continue long; for the lad's learning
and manners were both so remarkable, that they must of
necessity be taken notice of; and that doubtless God would
provide him some second patron, that would free him and his
parents from their future care and charge.

These reasons, with the affectionate rhetoric of his good
master, and God's blessing upon both, procured from his
uncle a faithful promise that he would take him into his care
and charge before the expiration of the year following, which
was performed by him, and with the assistance of the learned
Mr. John Jewel; of whom this may be noted, that he left,
or was about the first of Queen Mary's reign expelled out of
Corpus Christi College in Oxford, — of which he was a Fellow, —
for adhering to the truth of those principles of religion, to
which he had assented and given testimony in the days of
her brother and predecessor, Edward the Sixth; and this
John Jewel, having within a short time after a just cause to
fear a more heavy punishment than expulsion, was forced, by
forsaking this, to seek safety in another nation ; and, with
that safety, the enjoyment of that doctrine and worship for
which he suffered.

But the cloud of that persecution and fear ending with the
life of Queen Mary, the affairs of the Church and State did
then look more clear and comfortable; so that he, and with
him many others of the same judgment, made a happy return
into England about the first of Queen Elizabeth; in which
year this John Jewel was sent a commissioner or visitor of
the churches of the western parts of this kingdom, and
especially of those in Devonshire, in which county he was

128 THE LIFE OF

born; and then and there he contracted a friendship with
John Hooker, the uncle of our Richard.

About the second or third year of her reign, this John
Jewel was made Bishop of Salisbury; and there being always
observed in him a willingness to do good, and to oblige his
friends, and now a power added to his willingness ; this John
Hooker gave him a visit in Salisbury, and besought him for
charity's sake to look favourably upon a poor nephew of his,
whom nature had fitted for a scholar; but the estate of his
parents was so narrow, that they were unable to give him the
advantage of learning; and that the Bishop would therefore
become his patron, and prevent him from being a tradesman,
for he was a boy of remarkable hopes. And though the Bishop
knew men do not usually look with an indifferent eye upon
their own children and relations, yet he assented so far to
John Hooker, that he appointed the boy and his schoolmaster
should attend him, about Easter next following, at that place :
which was done accordingly; and then, after some questions
and observations of the boy's learning, and gravity, and be-
haviour, the Bishop gave his schoolmaster a reward, and took
order for an annual pension for the boy's parents; promising
also to take him into his care for a future preferment, which
he performed : for about the fifteenth year of his age, which
was anno 1567, he was by the Bishop appointed to remove to
Oxford, and there to attend Dr. Cole, then president of Corpus
Christi College. Which he did ; and Dr. Cole had — according
to a promise made to the Bishop — provided for him both a
tutor — which was said to be the learned Dr. John Reynolds,
— and a clerk's place in that college: which place, though
it were not a full maintenance, yet, with the contribution of
his uncle, and the continued pension of his patron, the good
Bishop, gave him a comfortable subsistence. And in this con-
dition he continued until the eighteenth year of his age, still
increasing in learning and prudence, and so much in humility
and piety, that he seemed to be filled with the Holy Ghost; and
even like St. John Baptist, to be sanctified from his mother's
womb, who did often bless the day in which she bare him.

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 129

About this time of his age, he fell into a dangerous sickness,
which lasted two months ; all which time his mother, having
notice of it, did in her hourly prayers as earnestly beg his life
of God as Monica the mother of St. Augustine did, that he
might become a true Christian ; and their prayers were both
so heard as to be granted. Which Mr. Hooker would often
mention with much joy, and as often pray that "he might
never live to occasion any sorrow to so good a mother; of whom
he would often say, he loved her so dearly, that he would
endeavour to be good, even as much for her as for his own sake."

As soon as he was perfectly recovered from his sickness, he
took a journey from Oxford to Exeter, to satisfy and see his
good mother, being accompanied with a countryman and com-
panion of his own college, and both on foot ; which was then
either more in fashion, or want of money, or their humility
made it so : but on foot they went, and took Salisbury in their
way, purposely to see the good Bishop, who made Mr. Hooker
and his companion dine with him at his own table: which Mr.
Hooker boasted of with much joy and gratitude when he saw
his mother and friends : and at the Bishop's parting with him,
the Bishop gave him good counsel, and his benediction, but for-
got to give him money; which, when the Bishop had considered,
he sent a servant in all haste to call Richard back to him : and
at Richard's return, the Bishop said to him, " Richard, I sent for
you back to lend you a horse, which hath carried me many a
mile, and, I thank God, with much ease;" and presently de-
livered into his hand a walking-staff, with which he professed
he had travelled through many parts of Germany. And he said,
" Richard, I do not give, but lend you my horse: be sure you be
honest, and bring my horse back to me at your return this way
to Oxford. And I do now give you ten groats, to bear your
charges to Exeter; and here is ten groats more, which I charge
you to deliver to your mother and tell her I send her a bishop's
benediction with it, and beg the continuance of her prayers for
me. And if you bring my horse back to me, I will give you ten
groats more, to carry you on foot to the college : and so God
bless you, good Richard."

10

i3o THE LIFE OF

And this, you may believe, was performed by both parties.
But, alas ! the next news that followed Mr. Hooker to Oxford
was that his learned and charitable patron had changed this
for a better life. Which happy change may be believed, for
that as he lived, so he died, in devout meditation and prayer:
and in both so zealously, that it became a religious question,
"Whether his last ejaculations or his soul did first enter into
heaven ? "

And now Mr. Hooker became a man of sorrow and fear: of
sorrow, for the loss of so dear and comfortable a patron ; and of
fear for his future subsistence. But Dr. Cole raised his spirits
from this dejection, by bidding him go cheerfully to his studies,
and assuring him he should neither want food nor raiment, —
which was the utmost of his hopes, — for he would become his
patron.

And so he was for about nine months, and not longer; for
about that time this following accident did befall Mr. Hooker.

Edwin Sandys— sometime Bishop of London, and after Arch-
bishop of York — had also been in the days of Queen Mary
forced, by forsaking this, to seek safety in another nation;
where, for some years, Bishop Jewel and he were companions
at bed and board in Germany; and where, in this their exile,
they did often eat the bread of sorrow, and by that means they
there began such a friendship as lasted till the death of Bishop
Jewel, which was in September 1571. A little before which
time the two bishops meeting, Jewel had an occasion to begin a
story of his Richard Hooker, and in it gave such a character
of his learning and manners, that though Bishop Sandys was
educated in Cambridge, where he had obliged, and had many
friends, yet his resolution was that his son Edwin should be
sent to Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and by all means be
pupil to Mr. Hooker, though his son Edwin was not much
younger than Mr. Hooker then was : for the Bishop said, " I
will have a tutor for my son that shall teach him learning by
instruction, and virtue by example : and my greatest care shall
be of the last ; and, God willing, this Richard Hooker shall be
the man into whose hands I will commit my Edwin." And the

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 131

Bishop did so about twelve months, or not much longer, after
this resolution.

And doubtless, as to these two, a better choice could not be
made; for Mr. Hooker was now in the nineteenth year of his
age ; had spent five in the university ; and had, by a constant
unwearied diligence, attained unto a perfection in all the learned
languages ; by the help of which, an excellent tutor, and his
unintermitted studies, he had made the subtilty of all the arts
easy and familiar to him, and useful for the discovery of such
learning as lay hid from common searchers. So that by these,
added to his great reason, and his restless industry added to both,
he did not only know more of causes and effects ; but what he
knew, he knew better than other men. And with this knowledge
he had a most blessed and clear method of demonstrating what
he knew, to the great advantage of all his pupils, — which in time
were many, — but especially to his two first, his dear Edwin
Sandys, and his as dear George Cranmer; of which there will
be a fair testimony in the ensuing relation.

This for Mr. Hooker's learning. And for his behaviour,
amongst other testimonies, this still remains of him, that in
four years he was but twice absent from the chapel prayers; and
that his behaviour there was such as showed an awful reverence
of that God which he then worshipped and prayed to; giving
all outward testimonies that his affections were set on heavenly
things. This was his behaviour towards God ; and for that to
man, it is observable that he was never known to be angry, or
passionate, or extreme in any of his desires; never heard to
repine or dispute with Providence, but, by a quiet, gentle
submission and resignation of his will to the wisdom of his
Creator, bore the burthen of the day with patience; never
heard to utter an uncomely word : and by this, and a grave
behaviour, which is a divine charm, he begot an early reverence
unto his person, even from those that at other times and in
other companies took a liberty to cast off that strictness of
behaviour and discourse that is required in a collegiate life.
And when he took any liberty to be pleasant, his wit was never
blemished with scoffing, or the utterance of any conceit that

i32 THE LIFE OF

bordered upon or might beget a thought of looseness in his
hearers. Thus mild, thus innocent and exemplary was his
behaviour in his college; and thus this good man continued till
his death, still increasing in learning, in patience, and piety.

In this nineteenth year of his age, he was, December 24. 1573,
admitted to be one of the twenty scholars of the foundation ;
being elected and so admitted as born in Devon or Hantshire ;
out of which counties a certain number are to be elected
in vacancies by the founder's statutes. And now as he was
much encouraged, so now he was perfectly incorporated into
this beloved college, which was then noted for an eminent
library, strict students, and remarkable scholars. And indeed
it may glory that it had Cardinal Poole, but more that it had
Bishop Jewel, Dr. John Reynolds, and Dr. Thomas Jackson, of
that foundation. The first famous for his learned apology for
the Church of England, and his defence of it against Harding.
The second, for the learned and wise manage of a public dispute
with John Hart, of the Romish persuasion, about the Head and
Faith of the Church, and after printed by consent of both
parties. And the third, for his most excellent Exposition of
the Creed, and other treatises ; all such as have given greatest
satisfaction to men of the greatest learning. Nor was Dr.
Jackson more noteworthy for his learning than for his strict
and pious life, testified by his abundant love, and meekness,
and charity to all men.

And in the year 1576, February 23, Mr. Hooker's grace was
given him for Inceptor of Arts; Dr. Herbert Westphaling, a
man of note for learning, being then Vice-Chancellor: and the
Act following he was completed Master, which was anno 1577,
his patron, Dr. Cole, being Vice-Chancellor that year, and his
dear friend, Henry Savile of Merton College, being then one
of the proctors. 'Twas that Henry Savile that was after Sir
Henry Savile, Warden of Merton College, and Provost of
Eton; he which founded in Oxford two famous lectures; and
endowed them with liberal maintenance.

It was that Sir Henry Savile that translated and enlightened
the History of Cornelius Tacitus, with a most excellent comment ;

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 133

and enriched the world by his laborious and chargeable collect-
ing the scattered pieces of St. Chrysostom, and the publication
of them in one entire body in Greek; in which language he was
a most judicious critic. It was this Sir Henry Savile that had
the happiness to be a contemporary and familiar friend to Mr.
Hooker ; and let posterity know it.

And in this year of 1577, he was so happy as to be admitted
Fellow of the college ; happy also in being the contemporary and
friend of that Dr. John Reynolds of whom I have lately spoken,
and of Dr. Spencer; both which were after, and successively
made presidents of Corpus Christi College : men of great learn-
ing and merit, and famous in their generations.

Nor was Mr. Hooker more happy in his contemporaries of his
time and college than in the pupilage and friendship of his
Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer ; of whom my reader may
note, that this Edwin Sandys was after Sir Edwin Sandys, and
as famous for his Speculum Europce, as his brother George for
making posterity beholden to his pen by a learned relation and
comment on his dangerous and remarkable travels ; and for his
harmonious translation of the Psalms of David, the Book of
Job, and other poetical parts of Holy Writ, into most high
and elegant verse. And for Cranmer, his other pupil, I shall
refer my reader to the printed testimonies of our learned Mr.
Camden, of Fynes Moryson, and others.

" This Cranmer," says Mr. Camden in his Annals of Queen
Elizabeth, "whose Christian name was George, was a gentle-
man of singular hopes, the eldest son of Thomas Cranmer, son
of Edmund Cranmer, the Archbishop's brother: he spent much
of his youth in Corpus Christi College in Oxford, where he
continued Master of Arts for some time before he removed,
and then betook himself to travel, accompanying that worthy
gentleman Sir Edwin Sandys into France, Germany, and Italy,
for the space of three years ; and after their happy return, he
betook himself to an employment under Secretary Davison, a
Privy Councillor of note, who, for an unhappy undertaking,
became clouded and pitied : after whose fall, he went in place
of secretary with Sir Henry Killegrew in his embassage into

134 THE LIFE OF

France : and after his death he was sought after by the most
noble Lord Mountjoy, with whom he went into Ireland, where
he remained, until in a battle against the rebels near Carling-
ford, an unfortunate wound put an end both to his life and the
great hopes that were conceived of him, he being then but in
the thirty-sixth year of his age."

Betwixt Mr. Hooker and these his two pupils there was a
sacred friendship; a friendship made up of religious principles,
which increased daily by a similitude of inclinations to the same
recreations and studies; a friendship elemented in youth, and in
an university, free from self-ends, which the friendships of age
usually are not. And in this sweet, this blessed, this spiritual
amity, they went on for many years : and as the holy prophet
saith, " so they took sweet counsel together, and walked in the
house of God as friends." By which means they improved this
friendship to such a degree of holy amity, as bordered upon
heaven : a friendship so sacred, that when it ended in this
world, it began in that next, where it shall have no end.

And, though this world cannot give any degree of pleasure
equal to such a friendship ; yet obedience to parents, and a
desire to know the affairs, manners, laws, and learning of other
nations, that they might thereby become the more serviceable
unto their own, made them put off their gowns, and leave the
college and Mr. Hooker to his studies, in which he was daily
more assiduous, still enriching his quiet and capacious soul with
the precious learning of the philosophers, casuists, and school-
men; and with them the foundation and reason of all laws,
both sacred and civil; and indeed with such other learning as
lay most remote from the track of common studies. And, as he
was diligent in these, so he seemed restless in searching the
scope and intention of God's Spirit revealed to mankind in the
sacred scripture : for the understanding of which, he seemed to
be assisted by the same Spirit with which they were written; He
that regardeth truth in the inward parts, making him to under-
stand wisdom secretly. And the good man would often say,
that "God abhors confusion as contrary to his nature;" and as
often say, " That the scripture was not writ to beget disputations

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 135

and pride, and opposition to government; but charity and
humility, moderation, obedience to authority, and peace to man-
kind;" of which virtues he would as often say, "no man did
ever repent himself on his death-bed." And that this was
really his judgment did appear in his future writings and in all
the actions of his life. Nor was this excellent man a stranger
to the more light and airy parts of learning, as music and
poetry; all which he had digested and made useful; and of
all which the reader will have a fair testimony in what will
follow.

In the year 1579, the Chancellor of the University was given
to understand that the public Hebrew lecture was not read
•according to the statutes; nor could be, by reason of a distem-
per that had then seized the brain of Mr. Kingsmill, who was
to read it; so that it lay long unread, to the great detriment of
those that were studious of that language. Therefore the Chan-
cellor writ to his Vice-Chancellor, and the university, that he
had heard such commendations of the excellent knowledge of
Mr. Richard Hooker in that tongue, that he desired he might
be procured to read it: and he did, and continued to do so, till
he left Oxford.

Within three months after his undertaking this lecture, —
namely in October 1579, — he was, with Dr. Reynolds and others
expelled his college; and this letter, transcribed from Dr.
Reynolds his own hand, may give some account of it.

"To SIR FRANCIS KNOLLES.

" I am sorry, Right Honourable, that I am enforced to make
unto you such a suit, which I cannot move, but I must complain
of the unrighteous dealing of one of our college; who hath
taken upon him, against all law and reason, to expel out of our
house both me and Mr. Hooker, and three other of our fellows,
for doing that which by oath we were bound to do. Our matter
must be heard before the Bishop of Winchester, with whom I
do not doubt but we shall find equity. Howbeit, forasmuch as
some of our adversaries have said that the Bishop is already

136 THE LIFE OF

forestalled, and will not give us such audience as we look for;
therefore I am humbly to beseech your Honour that you will
desire the Bishop, by your letters, to let us have justice; though
it be with vigour, so it be justice: our cause is so good, that I
am sure we shall prevail by it. Thus much I am bold to request
of your Honour for Corpus Christi College sake, or rather for
Christ's sake; whom I beseech to bless you with daily increase
of his manifold gifts, and the blessed graces of his Holy Spirit.
Your Honour's

in Christ to command,
LONDON, October 9, 1579. JOHN REYNOLDS."

This expulsion was by Dr. John Barfoote, then Vice-president
of the college, and chaplain to Ambrose Earl of Warwick. I
cannot learn the pretended cause ; but, that they were restored
the same month is most certain.

I return to Mr. Hooker in his college, where he continued his
studies with all quietness, for the space of three years ; about
which time he entered into sacred orders, being then made
deacon and priest, and, not long after, was appointed to preach
at St. Paul's Cross.

In order to which Sermon, to London he came, and imme-
diately to the Shunamite's house; which is a house so called,
for that, besides the stipend paid the preacher, there is provi-
sion made also for his lodging and diet for two days before, and
one day after his sermon. This house was then kept by John
Churchman, sometime a draper of good note in Watling Street,
upon whom poverty had at last come like an armed man, and
brought him into a necessitous condition; which, though it be a
punishment, is not always an argument of God's disfavour; for
he was a virtuous man. I shall not yet give the like testimony
of his wife, but leave the reader to judge by what follows. But
to this house Mr. Hooker came so wet, so weary, and weather-
beaten, that he was never known to express more passion than
against a friend that dissuaded him from footing it to London,
and for finding him no easier an horse, — supposing the horse
trotted when he did not ; — and at this time also, such a faint-

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 137

ness and fear possessed him, that he would not be persuaded
two days' rest and quietness, or any other means could be used
to make him able to preach his Sunday's sermon; but a warm
bed, and rest, and drink proper for a cold, given him by Mrs.
Churchman, and her diligent attendance added unto it, enabled
him to perform the office of the day, which was in or about the
year 1581.

And in this first public appearance to the world, he was not
so happy as to be free from exceptions against a point of
doctrine delivered in his sermon ; which was, " That in God
there were two wills; an antecedent and a consequent will :
his first will, that all mankind should be saved ; but his second
will was, that those only should be saved that did live answer-
able to that degree of grace which he had offered or afforded
them." This seemed to cross a late opinion of Mr. Calvin's,
and then taken for granted by many that had not a capacity to
examine it, as it had been by him before, and hath been since
by Master Henry Mason, Dr. Jackson, Dr. Hammond, and
others of great learning, who believe that a contrary opinion
intrenches upon the honour and justice of our merciful God.
How he justified this, I will not undertake to declare ; but it
was not excepted against — as Mr. Hooker declares in his
rational Answer to Mr. Travers— by John Elmer, then Bishop
of London, at this time one of his auditors, and at last one of
his advocates too, when Mr. Hooker was accused for it.

But the justifying of this doctrine did not prove of so bad
consequence as the kindness of Mrs. Churchman's curing him
of his late distemper and cold ; for that was so gratefully
apprehended by Mr. Hooker, that he thought himself bound in
conscience to believe all that she said : so that the good man
came to be persuaded by her, "that he was a man of a tender
constitution ; and that it was best for him to have a wife, that
might prove a nurse to him; such a one as might both prolong
his life, and make it more comfortable ; and such a one she
could and would provide for him, if he thought fit to many."
And he, not considering that "the children of this world are
wiser in their generation than the children of light;" but, like

138 THE LIFE OF

a true Nathanael, fearing no guile, because he meant none, did
give her such a power as Eleazar was trusted with, — you may
read it in the book of Genesis, — when he was sent to choose a
wife for Isaac ; for even so he trusted her to choose for him,
promising upon a fair summons to return to London, and
accept of her choice ; and he did so in that, or about the year
following. Now, the wife provided for him was her daughter
Joan, who brought him neither beauty nor portion ; and for
her conditions, they were too like that wife's, which is by
Solomon compared to a dripping house : so that the good man
had no reason to "rejoice in the wife of his youth;" but too
just cause to say with the holy prophet, " Woe is me, that I am
constrained to have my habitation in the tents of Kedar ! "

This choice of Mr. Hooker's — if it were his choice — may be
wondered at: but let us consider that the Prophet Ezekiel
says, " There is a wheel within a wheel ; " a secret sacred wheel
of Providence, — most visible in marriages, — guided by His hand
that " allows not the race to the swift," nor " bread to the wise,"
nor good wives to good men : and he that can bring good out
of evil — for mortals are blind to this reason — only knows why
this blessing was denied to patient Job, to meek Moses, and to
our as meek and patient Mr. Hooker. But so it was ; and let
the reader cease to wonder, for affliction is a divine diet; which
though it be not pleasing to mankind, yet Almighty God hath
often, very often, imposed it as good, though bitter physic to
those children whose souls are dearest to him.

And by this marriage the good man was drawn from the
tranquillity of his college; from that garden of piety, of pleasure,
of peace, and a sweet conversation, into the thorny wilderness
of a busy world ; into those corroding cares that attend a
married priest, and a country parsonage; which was Drayton-
Beauchamp in Buckinghamshire, not far from Aylesbury, and
in the diocese of Lincoln ; to which he was presented by John
Cheney, Esq. — then patron of it — the 9th of December, 1584,
where he behaved himself so as to give no occasion of evil, but
as St. Paul adviseth a minister of God — "in much patience, in
afflictions, in anguishes, in necessities, in poverty, and no doubt

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 139

in long-suffering;" yet troubling no man with his discontents
and wants.

And in this condition he continued about a year; in which
time his two pupils, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took
a journey to see their tutor; where they found him with a
book in his hand, — it was the Odes of Horace, — he being then
like humble and innocent Abel, tending his small allotment of
sheep in a common field; which he told his pupils he was
forced to do then, for that his servant had gone home to dine,
and assist his wife to do some necessary household business.
But when his servant returned and released him, then his two
pupils attended him unto his house, where their best entertain-
ment was his quiet company, which was presently denied
them ; for Richard was called to rock the cradle ; and the rest
of their welcome was so like this, that they stayed but till next
morning, which was time enough to discover and pity their
tutor's condition ; and they having in that time rejoiced in the
remembrance, and then paraphrased on many of the innocent
recreations of their younger days, and other like diversions,
and thereby given him as much present comfort as they were
able, they were forced to leave him to the company of his wife
Joan, and seek themselves a quieter lodging for next night.
But at their parting from him, Mr. Cranmer said, " Good tutor,
I am sorry your lot is fallen in no better ground, as to your
parsonage ; and more sorry that your wife proves not a more
comfortable companion, after you have wearied yourself in your
restless studies." To whom the good man replied, " My dear
George, if saints have usually a double share in the miseries of
this life, I, that am none, ought not to repine at what my wise
Creator hath appointed for me : but labour — as indeed I do
daily — to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in
patience and peace."

At their return to London, Edward Sandys acquaints his
father, who was then Archbishop of York, with his tutor's sad
condition, and solicits for his removal to some benefice that might
give him a more quiet and a more comfortable subsistence;
which his father did most willingly grant him when it should

140 THE LIFE OF

next fall into his power. And not long after this time, which
was in the year 1585, Mr. Alvey — Master of the Temple —
died, who was a man of a strict life, of great learning, and of
so venerable behaviour, as to gain so high a degree of love and
reverence from all men, that he was generally known by the
-name of Father Alvey. And at the Temple reading, next after
the death of this Father Alvey, he, the said Archbishop of
York being then at dinner with the judges, the reader, and
the benchers of that Society, met with a general condolement
for the death of Father Alvey, and with a high commendation
of his saint-like life, and of his great merit both towards God
and man ; and as they bewailed his death, so they wished for a
like pattern of virtue and learning to succeed him. And here
came in a fair occasion for the Bishop to commend Mr. Hooker
to Father Alvey's place, which he did with so effectual an
earnestness, and that seconded with so many other testimonies
of his worth, that Mr. Hooker was sent for from Drayton-
Beauchamp to London, and there the mastership of the Temple
proposed unto him by the Bishop, as a greater freedom from
his country cares, the advantages of a better society, and a
more liberal pension than his country parsonage did afford him.
But these reasons were not powerful enough to incline him to
a willing acceptance of it: his wish was rather to gain a better
country living, where he might see God's blessings spring out
of the earth, and be free from noise,— so he expressed the
desire of his heart, — and eat that bread which he might more
properly call his own, in privacy and quietness. But, notwith-
standing this averseness, he was at last persuaded to accept of
the Bishop's proposal ; and was, by patent1 for life, made Master

1 This you may find in the Temple Records. William Ermstead was
Master of the Temple at the Dissolution of the Priory, and died 2 Eliz.
(1559).

Richard Alvey, Bat. Divinity, Pat. 13 Febr., 2 Eliz., Magister, sive
Ctistos Dom&s ct Ecclesice Novi Templi, died 27 Eliz. (1585).

Richard Hooker succeeded that year by Patent, in teruiinis, as Alvey
had it, and he left it 33 Eliz. (1591).

That year Dr. Balgey succeeded Richard Hooker.

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 141

of the Temple the I7th of March 1585, he being then in the
thirty-fourth year of his age.

And here I shall make a stop ; and, that the reader may the
better judge of what follows, give him a character of the times
and temper of the people of this nation, when Mr. Hooker had
his admission into this place ; a place which he accepted, rather
than desired: and yet here he promised himself a virtuous
quietness, that blessed tranquillity which he always prayed and
laboured for, that so he might in peace bring forth the fruits of
peace, and glorify God by uninterrupted prayers and praises.
For this he always thirsted and prayed : but Almighty God did
not grant it; for his admission into this place was the very
beginning of those oppositions and anxieties which till then
this good man was a stranger to ; and of which the reader may
guess by what follows.

In this character of the times, I shall by the reader's favour,
and for his information, look so far back as to the beginning of
the reign of Queen Elizabeth; a time in which the many
pretended titles to the crown, the frequent treasons, the doubts
of her successor, the late civil war, and the sharp persecution
for religion that raged to the effusion of so much blood in the
reign of Queen Mary, were fresh in the memory of all men;
and begot fears in the most pious and wisest of this nation, lest
the like days should return again to them, or their present
posterity. And the apprehension of these dangers begot a
hearty desire of a settlement in the Church and State: believing
there was no other probable way left to make them sit quietly
under their own vines and fig-trees, and enjoy the desired fruit
of their labours. But time, and peace, and plenty, begot self-
ends : and these begot animosities, envy, opposition and un-
thankfulness for those very blessings for which they lately
thirsted, being then the very utmost of their desires, and even
beyond their hopes.

This was the temper of the times in the beginning of her
reign; and thus it continued too long; for those very people
that had enjoyed the desires of their hearts in a reformation
from the Church of Rome, became at last so like the grave, as

i42 THE LIFE OF

never to be satisfied, but were still thirsting for more and
more; neglecting to pay that obedience, and perform those
vows, which they made in their days of adversities and fear: so
that in short time there appeared three several interests, each
of them fearless and restless in the prosecution of their designs:
they may for distinction be called the active Romanists, the
restless Non-conformists, — of which there were many sorts, —
and the passive peaceable Protestant. The counsels of the first
considered and resolved on in Rome; the second both in
Scotland, in Geneva, and in divers selected, secret, dangerous
conventicles, both there and within the bosom of our own
nation ; the third pleaded and defended their cause by esta-
blished laws, both ecclesiastical and civil: and if they were
active, it was to prevent the other two from destroying what
was by those known laws happily established to them and their
posterity.

I shall forbear to mention the very many and dangerous plots
of the Romanists against the Church and State ; because what
is principally intended in this digression is an account of the
opinions and activity of the Non-conformists : against whose
judgment and practice Mr. Hooker became at last, but most
unwillingly, to be engaged in a book-war ; a war which he
maintained not as against an enemy, but with the spirit of
meekness and reason.

In which number of Non-conformists, though some might be
sincere, well-meaning men, whose indiscreet zeal might be so
like charity, as thereby to cover a multitude of their errors; yet
of this party there were many that were possessed with a high
degree of spiritual wickedness ; I mean with an innate restless
pride and malice ; I do not mean the visible carnal sins of
gluttony and drunkenness, and the like, — from which, good
Lord, deliver us ! — but sins of a higher nature, because they
are more unlike God, who is the God of love, and mercy, and
order, and peace : and more like the devil, who is not a glutton,
nor can be drunk, and yet is a devil : but I mean those spiritual
wickednesses of malice and revenge, and an opposition to
government: men that joyed to be the authors of misery,

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 143

which is properly his work that is the enemy and disturber of
mankind; and thereby greater sinners than the glutton or
drunkard, though some will not believe it. And of this party
there were also many whom prejudice and a furious zeal had
so blinded, as to make them neither to hear reason nor adhere
to the ways of peace : men that were the very dregs and pest
of mankind ; men whom pride and self-conceit had made to
over-value their own pitiful crooked wisdom so much as not to
be ashamed to hold foolish and unmannerly disputes against
those men whom they ought to reverence, and those laws
which they ought to obey; men that laboured and joyed first
to find out the faults, and then speak evil of government, and
to be the authors of confusion ; men whom company, and
conversation, and custom had at last so blinded, and made so
insensible that these were sins, that like those that perished in
the gainsaying of Korah, so these died without repenting of
these spiritual wickednesses ; of which the practices of Cop-
pinger and Racket in their lives, and the death of them and
their adherents, are, God knows, too sad examples, and ought
to be cautions to those men that are inclined to the like
spiritual wickednesses.

And in these times, which tended thus to confusion, there
were also many of these scruple-mongers that pretended a
tenderness of conscience, refusing to take an oath before a law-
ful magistrate : and yet these very men in their secret con-
venticles did covenant and swear to each other to be assiduous
and faithful in using their best endeavours to set up the Pres-
byterian doctrine and discipline ; and both in such a manner as
they themselves had not yet agreed on ; but up that govern-
ment must. To which end there were many that wandered up
and down and were active in sowing discontents and seditions,
by venomous and secret murmurings, and a dispersion of
scurrilous pamphlets and libels against the Church and State,
but especially against the bishops; by which means, together
with venomous and indiscreet sermons, the common people
became so fanatic as to believe the bishops to be Antichrist,
and the only obstrurters of God's discipline! and at last some

i44 THE LIFE OF

of them were given over to so bloody a zeal, and such other
desperate delusions, as to find out a text in the Revelation of
St. John, that Antichrist was to be overcome by the sword.
So that those very men, that began with tender and meek
petitions, proceeded to admonitions ; then to satirical remon-
strances; and at last — having, like Absalom, numbered who
was not, and who was, for their cause — they got a supposed
certainty of so great a party, that they durst threaten first the
bishops, and then the Queen and Parliament, to all which they
were secretly encouraged by the Earl of Leicester, then in
great favour with her Majesty, and the reputed cherisher and
patron-general of these pretenders to tenderness of conscience;
his design being, by their means, to bring such an odium upon
the bishops, as to procure an alienation of their lands, and a
large proportion of them for himself: which avaricious desire
had at last so blinded his reason, that his ambitious and greedy
hopes seemed to put him into a present possession of Lambeth
House.

And to these undertakings the Non-conformists of this
nation were much encouraged and heightened by a corre-
spondence and confederacy with that brotherhood in Scotland ;
so that here they became so bold, that one1 told the Queen
openly in a sermon, " She was like an untamed heifer, that
would not be ruled by God's people, but obstructed his dis-
cipline." And in Scotland they were more confident ; for there2
they declared her an atheist, and grew to such an height, as
not to be accountable for anything spoken against her, nor
for treason against their own King, if it were but spoken in the
pulpit; showing at last such a disobedience to him, that his
mother being in England, and then in distress, and in prison,
and in danger of death, the Church denied the King their
prayers for her; and at another time, when he had appointed a
day of feasting, the Church declared for a general fast, in
opposition to his authority.

To this height they were grown in both nations, and by these

1 Mr. Dering.

2 Vide Bishop Spotswood's History of the Church of Scotland.

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 145

means there was distilled into the minds of the common people
such other .venomous and turbulent principles as were incon-
sistent with the safety of the Church and State: and these
opinions vented so daringly, that, beside the loss of life and
limbs, the governors of the Church and State were forced to
use such other severities as will not admit of an excuse, if it
had not been to prevent the gangrene of confusion, and the
perilous consequences of it; which, without such prevention,
would have been first confusion, and then ruin and misery, to
this numerous nation.

These errors and animosities were so remarkable, that they
begot wonder in an ingenious Italian, who being about this
time come newly into this nation, and considering them, writ
scoffingly to a friend in his own country, to this purpose: "That
the common people of England were wiser than the wisest of
his nation ; for here the very women and shopkeepers were
able to judge of predestination, and to determine what laws
were fit to be made concerning Church government ; and then,
what were fit to be obeyed or abolished. That they were more
able — or at least thought so — to raise and determine perplexed
cases of conscience, than the wisest of the most learned colleges
in Italy! That men of the slightest learning, and the most
ignorant of the common people, were mad for a new, or super,
or re-reformation of religion ; and that in this they appeared
like that man who would never cease to whet and whet his
knife, till there was no steel left to make it useful." And he
concluded ' his letter with this observation, "That those very
men that were most busy in oppositions, and disputations, and
controversies, and finding out the faults of their governors, had
usually the least of humility and mortification, or of the power
of godliness."

And to heighten all these discontents and dangers, there was
also sprung up a generation of godless men ; men that had so
long given way to their own lusts and delusions, and so highly
opposed the blessed motions of his Spirit, and the inward light
of their own consciences, that they became the very slaves of
vice, and had thereby sinned themselves into a belief of that

II

i46 THE LIFE OF

which they would, but could not believe, into a belief which is
repugnant even to human nature; — for the heathens believe
that there are many gods; — but these had sinned themselves
into a belief that there was no God ! and so, finding nothing in
themselves but what was worse than nothing, began to wish
what they were not able to hope for, namely, "That they might
be like the beasts that perish ! " and in wicked company — which
is the atheist's sanctuary — were so bold as to say so : though
the worst of mankind, when he is left alone at midnight, may
wish, but is not then able to think it: even into a belief that
there is no God. Into this wretched, this reprobate condition
many had then sinned themselves.

And now, when the Church was pestered with them, and with
all those other fore-named irregularities ; when her lands were
in danger of alienation, her power at least neglected, and her
peace torn to pieces by several schisms, and such heresies as
do usually attend that sin : — for heresies do usually outlive their
first authors ; — when the common people seemed ambitious of
doing those very things that were forbidden and attended with
most dangers, that thereby they might be punished, and then
applauded and pitied : when they called the spirit of opposition
a tender conscience, and complained of persecution, because
they wanted power to persecute others; when the giddy
multitude raged, and became restless to find out misery for
themselves and others ; and the rabble would herd them-
selves together, and endeavour to govern and act in spite of
authority: — in this extremity of fear, and danger of the Church
and State, when, to suppress the growing evils of both, they
needed a man of prudence and piety, and of an high and
fearless fortitude, they were blest in all by John Whitgift, his
being made Archbishop of Canterbury; of whom Sir Henry
Wotton— that knew him well in his youth, and had studied
him in his age — gives this true character: "That he was a
man of reverend and sacred memory, and of the primitive
temper; such a temper as when the Church by lowliness of
spirit did flourish in highest examples of virtue." And indeed
this man proved so.

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 147

And though I dare not undertake to add to this excellent and
true character of Sir Henry Wotton ; yet I shall neither do
right to this discourse nor to my reader if I forbear to give
him a further and short account of the life and manners of
this excellent man; and it shall be short, for I long to end
this digression, that I may lead my reader back to Mr. Hooker
where we left him at the Temple.

John Whitgift was born in the county of Lincoln, of a family
that was ancient ; and noted to be both prudent and affable,
and gentle by nature. He was educated in Cambridge ; much
of his learning was acquired in Pembroke Hall, — where Mr.
Bradford the martyr was his tutor; — from thence he was removed
to Peter House; from thence to be Master of Pembroke Hall;
and from thence to the Mastership of Trinity College. About
which time the Queen made him her chaplain; and not long
after Prebend of Ely, and then Dean of Lincoln ; and having
for many years past looked upon him with much reverence and
favour, gave him a fair testimony of both by giving him the
Bishoprick of Worcester, and — which was not with her a usual
favour — forgiving him his first fruits ; then by constituting him
Vice-President of the Principality of Wales. And having
experimented his wisdom, his justice, and moderation in the
manage of her affairs in both these places, she, in the twenty-
sixth of her reign, 1583, made him Archbishop of Canterbury,
and, not long after, of her Privy Council ; and trusted him
to manage all her ecclesiastical affairs and preferments. In all
which removes he was like the ark, which left a blessing on the
place where it rested; and in all his employments was like
Jehoiada, that did good unto Israel.

These were the steps of this bishop's ascension to this place
of dignity and cares : in which place — to speak Mr. Camden's
very words in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth — "he devoutly
consecrated both his whole life to God and his painful labours
to the good of his Church."

And yet in this place he met with many oppositions in the
regulation of Church affairs, which were much disordered at
his entrance, by reason of the age and remissness of Bishop

i48 THE LIFE OF

Grindal, his immediate predecessor, the activity of the Non-
conformists and their chief assistant the Earl of Leicester; and
indeed by too many others of the like sacrilegious principles.
With these he was to encounter ; and though he wanted neither
courage nor a good cause, yet he foresaw that without a great
measure of the Queen's favour, it was impossible to stand in the
breach that had been lately made into the lands and immunities
of the Church, or indeed to maintain the remaining lands and
rights of it. And therefore by justifiable sacred insinuations,
such as St. Paul to Agrippa, — "Agrippa, believest thou? I
know thou believest," he wrought himself into so great a degree
of favour with her, as, by his pious use of it, hath got both of
them a great degree of fame in this world, and of glory in that
into which they are now both entered.

His merits to the Queen, and her favours to him were such
that she called him "her little black husband," and called "his
servants her servants:" and she saw so visible and blessed a
sincerity shine in all his cares and endeavours for the Church's
and for her good, that she was supposed to trust him with the
very secrets of her soul, and to make him her confessor; of
which she gave many fair testimonies : and of which one was,
that "she would never eat flesh in Lent without obtaining a
licence from her little black husband : " and would often say
"she pitied him because she trusted him, and had thereby
eased herself by laying the burthen of all her clergy cares
upon his shoulders, which .he managed with prudence and
piety."

I shall not keep myself within the promised rules of brevity
in this account of his interest with her Majesty, and his care of
the Church's rights, if in this digression I should enlarge to
particulars; and therefore my desire is, that one example may
serve for a testimony of both. And, that the reader may the
better understand it, he may take notice, that not many years
before his being made Archbishop, there passed an Act, or Acts
of Parliament, intending the better preservation of the Church
lands, by recalling a power which was vested in others to sell
or lease them, by lodging and trusting the future care and

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 149

protection of them only in the Crown : and amongst many
that made a bad use of this power or trust of the Queen's, the
Earl of Leicester was one; and the Bishop having, by his
interest with her Majesty, put a stop to the Earl's sacrilegious
designs, they two fell to an open opposition before her; after
which they both quitted the room, not friends in appearance.
But the Bishop made a sudden and seasonable return to her
Majesty, — for he found her alone — and spake to her with great
humility and reverence, to this purpose.

" I beseech your Majesty to hear me with patience, and to
believe that yours and the Church's safety are dearer to me than
my life, but my conscience dearer than both: and therefore give
me leave to do my duty, and tell you that princes are deputed
nursing fathers of the Church, and owe it a protection ; and
therefore God forbid that you should be so much as passive in
her ruin, when you may prevent it ; or that I should behold it
without horror and detestation ; or should forbear to tell your
Majesty of the sin and danger of sacrilege. And though you
and myself were born in an age of frailties, when the primitive
piety and care of the Church's lands and immunities are much
decayed; yet, Madam, let me beg that you would first consider
that there are such sins as profaneness and sacrilege: and that
if there were not, they could not have names in Holy Writ, and
particularly in the New Testament. And I beseech you to
consider that though our Saviour said he judged no man; and,
to testify it, would not judge nor divide the inheritance betwixt
the two brethren, nor would judge the woman taken in adultery;
yet in this point of the Church's rights he was so zealous that
he made himself both the accuser, and the judge, and the
executioner too, to punish these sins; witnessed, in that he
himself made the whip to drive the profaners out of the
temple, overthrew the tables of the money-changers, and drove
them out of it. And I beseech you to consider that it was St.
Paul that said to those Christians of his time that were offended
with idolatry, and yet committed sacrilege: ' Thou that abhorrest
idols, dost thou commit sacrilege?' supposing, I think, sacrilege
the greater sin. This may occasion your Majesty to consider

ISO THE LIFE OF

that there is such a sin as sacrilege ; and to incline you to
prevent the curse that will follow it, I beseech you also to
consider that Constantine, the first Christian Emperor, and
Helena his mother; that King Edgar, and Edward the
Confessor: and indeed many others of your predecessors,
and many private Christians, have also given to God, and
to his Church, much land, and many immunities, which they
might have given to those of their own families, and did not:
but gave them for ever as an absolute right and sacrifice to
God: and with these immunities and lands they have entailed a
curse upon the alienators of them : God prevent your Majesty
and your successors from being liable to that curse, which will
cleave unto Church lands as the leprosy to the Jews.

"And to make you, that are trusted with their preservation,
the better to understand the danger of it, I beseech you forget
not, that to prevent these curses, the Church's land and power
have been also endeavoured to be preserved, as far as human
reason and the law of this nation have been able to preserve
them, by an immediate and most sacred obligation on the con-
sciences of the princes of this realm. For they that consult
Magna Charta shall find, that as all your predecessors were at
their coronation, so you also were sworn before all the nobility
and bishops then present, and in the presence of God, and in
his stead to him that anointed you, to maintain the Church
lands, and the rights belonging to it: and this you yourself
have testified openly to God at the holy altar, by laying your
hands on the Bible then lying upon it. And not only Magna
Charta, but many modern statutes have denounced a curse
upon those that break Magna Charta; a curse like the leprosy
that was entailed on the Jews : for as that, so these curses have,
and will cleave to the very stones of those buildings that have
been consecrated to God ; and the father's sin of sacrilege hath,
and will prove to be entailed on his son and family. And now,
Madam, what account can be given for the breach of this oath
at the last great day, either by your Majesty, or by me, if it be
wilfully, or but negligently, violated, I know not.

"And therefore, good Madam, let not the late Lord's ex-

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 151

ceptions against the failings of some few clergymen prevail
with you to punish posterity for the errors of the present age ;
let particular men suffer for their particular errors; but let
God and his Church have their inheritance : and though I
pretend not to prophesy, yet I beg posterity to take notice of
what is already become visible in many families ; that Church
land added to an ancient and just inheritance hath proved like a
moth fretting a garment, and secretly consumed both : or like
the eagle that stole a coal from the altar, and thereby set her
nest on fire, which consumed both her young eagles and herself
that stole it. And though I shall forbear to speak reproach-
fully of your father, yet I beg you to take notice, that a part of
the Church's rights added to the vast treasures left him by his
father, hath been conceived to bring an unavoidable con-
sumption upon both, notwithstanding all his diligency to
preserve them.

" And consider, that after the violation of those laws, to
which he had sworn in Magna Charta, God did so far deny
him his restraining grace, that as King Saul, after he was
forsaken of God, fell from one sin to another ; so he, till at last
he fell into greater sins than I am. willing to mention. Madam,
religion is the foundation and cement of human societies; and
when they that serve at God's altar shall be exposed to poverty,
then religion itself will be exposed to scorn, and become con-
temptible; as you may already observe it to be in too many
poor vicarages in this nation. And therefore, as you are by a
late Act or Acts of Parliament, intrusted with a great power to
preserve or waste the Church lands ; yet dispose of them, for
Jesus' sake, as you have promised to men, and vowed to God,
that is, as the donors intended : let neither falsehood nor
flattery beguile you to do otherwise; but put a stop to God's
and the Levites' portion, I beseech you, and to the approaching
ruins of his Church, as you expect comfort at the last great day;
for kings must be judged. Pardon this affectionate plainness,
my most dear Sovereign, and let me beg to be still continued
in your favour; and the Lord still continue you in his."

The Queen's patient hearing this affectionate speech, and her

15* THE LIFE OF

future care to preserve the Church's rights, which till then had
been neglected, may appear a fair testimony that he made
hers and the Church's good the chiefest of his cares, and that
she also thought so. And of this there were such daily testi-
monies given, as begot betwixt them so mutual a joy and
confidence, that they seemed born to believe and do good to
each other ; she not doubting his piety to be more than all his
opposers, which were many ; nor doubting his prudence to be
equal to the chiefest of her council, who were then as remarkable
for active wisdom as those dangerous times did require, or this
nation did ever enjoy. And in this condition he continued
twenty years ; in which time he saw some flowings, but many
more ebbings of her favour towards all men that had opposed
him, especially the Earl of Leicester: so that God seemed still
to keep him in her favour, that he might preserve the remaining
Church lands and immunities from sacrilegious alienations.
And this good man deserved all the honour and power with
which she gratified and trusted him ; for he was a pious man,
and naturally of noble and grateful principles : he eased her of
all her Church cares by his wise manage of them; he gave her
faithful and prudent counsels in all the extremities and dangers
of her temporal affairs, which were very many ; he lived to be
the chief comfort of her life in her declining age, and to be then
most frequently with her, and her assistant at her private de-
votions ; he lived to be the greatest comfort of her soul upon
her deathbed, to be present at the expiration of her last breath,
and to behold the closing of those eyes that had long looked
upon him with reverence and affection. And let this also be
added, that he was the chief mourner at her sad funeral ; nor
let this be forgotten, that, within a few hours after her death, he
was the happy proclaimer that King James — her peaceful
successor — was heir to the Crown.

Let me beg of my reader to allow me to say a little, and but
a little, more of this good Bishop, and I shall then presently
lead him back to Mr. Hooker; and because I would hasten, I
will mention but one part of the Bishop's charity and humility;
but this of both. He built a large alms-house near to his own

MR. RICHARD HOOKER 153

palace at Croydon in Surrey, and endowed it with maintenance
for a master and twenty-eight poor men and women ; which he
visited so often, that he knew their names and dispositions;
and was so truly humble, that he called them brothers and
sisters; and whensoever the Queen descended to that lowliness
to dine with him at his palace in Lambeth, — which was very
often, — he would usually the next day show the like lowliness
to his poor brothers and sisters at Croydon, and dine with them
at his hospital ; at which time, you may believe, there was joy
at the table. And at this place he built also a fair free-school,
with a good accommodation and maintenance for the master
and scholars. Which gave just occasion for Boyse Sisi, then
ambassador for the French king, and resident here at the
Bishop's death, to say, "the Bishop had published many learned
books; but a free-school to train up youth, and an hospital to
lodge and maintain aged and poor people, were the best
evidences of Christian learning that a bishop could leave to
posterity." This good bishop lived to see King James settled
in peace, and then fell into an extreme sickness at his palace
in Lambeth; of which when the King had notice, he went
presently to visit him, and found him in his bed in a declining
condition and very weak ; and after some short discourse be-
twixt them, the King at his departure assured him, " He had a
great affection for him, and a very high value for his prudence
and virtues, and would endeavour to beg his life of God for the
good of his Church." To which the good Bishop replied, "Pro
E celesta Dei / Pro Ecclesia Dei ! " which were the last words
he ever spake ; therein testifying, that as in his life, so at his
death, his chiefest care was of God's Church.

This John Whitgift was made archbishop in the year 1583.
In which busy place he continued twenty years and some
months; and in which time you may believe he had many
trials of his courage and patience: but his motto was "Vinctt
qui patiturj" and he made it good.

Many of his trials were occasioned by the then powerful Earl
of Leicester, who did still — but secretly — raise and cherish a
faction of Non-conformists to oppose him; especially one

154 THE LIFE OF

Thomas Cartwright, a man of noted learning, sometime con-
temporary with the Bishop in Cambridge, and of the same
college of which the Bishop had been master; in which place
there began some emulations, — the particulars I forbear, — and
at last open and high oppositions betwixt them; and in which
you may believe Mr. Cartwright was most faulty, if his ex-
pulsion out of the university can incline you to it.

And in this discontent after the Earl's death, — which was
1588, — Mr. Cartwright appeared a chief cherisher of a party
that were for the Geneva Church government; and, to effect it,
he ran himself into many dangers both of liberty and life,
appearing at the last to justify himself and his party in many
remonstrances, which he caused to be printed: and to which
the Bishop made a first answer, and Cartwright replied upon
him; and then the Bishop having rejoined to his first reply, Mr.
Cartwright either was, or was persuaded to be, satisfied, for he
wrote no more, but left the reader to be judge which had
maintained their cause with most charity and reason. After
some silence, Mr. Cartwright received from the Bishop many
personal favours and betook himself to a more private living,
which was at Warwick, where he was made master of an
hospital, and lived quietly, and grew rich; and where the
Bishop gave him a licence to preach, upon promises not to
meddle with controversies, but incline his hearers to piety and
moderation: and this promise he kept during his life, which
ended 1602, the Bishop surviving him but some few months;
each ending his days in perfect charity with the other.

And now after this long digression, made for the information
of my reader concerning what follows, I bring him back to
venerable Mr. Hooker, where we left him in the Temple, and
where we shall find him as deeply engaged in a controversy
with Walter Travers, — a friend and favourite of Mr. Cartwright's
— as the Bishop had ever been with Mr. Cartwright himself,
and of which I shall proceed to give this following account.

And first this: that though the pens of Mr. Cartwright and
the Bishop were now at rest, yet there was sprung up a new
generation of restless men, that by company and clamours

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. " 155

became possessed of a faith which they ought to have kept to
themselves, but could not: men that were become positive in
asserting, "That a Papist cannot be saved:" insomuch, that
about this time, at the execution of the Queen of Scots,
the Bishop that preached her funeral sermon — which was
Dr. Howland, then Bishop of Peterborough — was reviled for
not being positive for her damnation. And besides this bold-
ness of their becoming gods, so far as to set limits to his
mercies, there was not only one Martin Mar-Prelate, but other
venomous books daily printed and dispersed; books that were
so absurd and scurrilous, that the graver divines disdained
them an answer. And yet these were grown into high esteem
with the common people, till Tom Nash appeared against them
all, who was a man of a sharp wit, and the master of a scoffing,
satirical, merry pen, which he employed to discover the ab-
surdities of those blind, malicious, senseless pamphlets, and
sermons as senseless as they; Nash's answer being like his
books, which bore these, or like titles: "An Almond for a
Parrot;" "A Fig for my Godson;" " Come Crack Me this Nut,"
and the like; so that this merry wit made some sport, and such
a discovery of their absurdities, as — which is strange — he put a
greater stop to these malicious pamphlets, than a much wiser
man had been able.

And now the reader is to take notice, that at the death of
Father Alvey, who was Master of the Temple, this Walter
Travers was lecturer there for the evening sermons, which he
preached with great approbation, especially of some citizens,
and the younger gentlemen of that society; and for the most
part approved by Mr. Hooker himself, in the midst of their
oppositions. For he continued lecturer a part of his time; Mr.
Travers being indeed a man of competent learning, of a winning
behaviour, and of a blameless life. But he had taken orders
by the Presbytery in Antwerp, — and with them some opinions
that could never be eradicated, — and if in anything he was
transported, it was in an extreme desire to set up that govern-
ment in this nation ; for the promoting of which he had a
correspondence with Theodore Beza at Geneva, and others

156 THE LIFE OF

in Scotland ; and was one of the chiefest assistants to Mr.
Cartwright in that design.

Mr. Travers had also a particular hope to set up this govern-
ment in the Temple, and to that end used his most zealous
endeavours to be Master of it ; and his being disappointed by
Mr. Hooker's admittance proved the occasion of a public oppo-
sition betwixt them in their sermons: many of which were con-
cerning the doctrine and ceremonies of this Church: insomuch
that, as St. Paul withstood St. Peter to his face, so did they
withstand each other in their sermons : for, as one hath
pleasantly expressed it, " The forenoon sermon spake Canter-
bury; and the afternoon Geneva."

In these sermons there was little of bitterness, but each party
brought all the reasons he was able to prove his adversary's
opinion erroneous. And thus it continued a long time, till the
oppositions became so visible, and the consequences so dan-
gerous, especially in that place, that the prudent Archbishop
put a stop to Mr. Travers his preaching by a positive prohibi-
tion. Against which Mr. Travers appealed, and petitioned her
Majesty's Privy Council to have it recalled; where, besides his
patron, the Earl of Leicester, he met also with many assisting
friends : but they were not able to prevail with, or against the
Archbishop, whom the Queen had intrusted with all Church
power; and he had received so fair a testimony of Mr. Hooker's
principles, and of his learning and moderation, that he with-
stood all solicitations. But the denying this petition of Mr.
Travers was unpleasant to divers of his party; and the reason-
ableness of it became at last to be so publicly magnified by
them, and many others of that party, as never to be answered :
so that, intending the Bishop's and Mr. Hooker's disgrace,
they procured it to be privately printed and scattered abroad;
and then Mr. Hooker was forced to appear, and make as public
an answer; which he did, and dedicated it to the Archbishop;
and it proved so full an answer, an answer that had in it so
much of clear reason, and writ with so much meekness and
majesty of style, that the Bishop began to have him in ad-
miration, and to rejoice that he had appeared in his cause,

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 157

and disdained not earnestly to beg his friendship ; even a
familiar friendship with a man of so much quiet learning and
humility.

To enumerate the many particular points in which Mr.
Hooker and Mr. Travers dissented — all, or most of which I
have seen written — would prove at least tedious; and therefore
I shall impose upon my reader no more than two, which shall
immediately follow, and by which we may judge of the rest.

Mr. Travers excepted against Mr. Hooker, for that in one of
his sermons he declared, " That the assurance of what we believe
by the Word of God is not to us so certain as that which we
perceive by sense." And Mr. Hooker confesseth he said so,
and endeavours to justify it by the reasons following : —

" First : I taught that the things which God promises in his
Word are surer than what we touch, handle, or see: but are
we so sure and certain of them ? If we be, why doth God so
often prove his promises to us as he doth, by arguments
drawn from our sensible experience? For we must be surer
of the proof than of the things proved ; otherwise it is no
proof. For example : how is it that many men looking on
the moon, at the same time, every one knoweth it to be the
moon as certainly as the other doth ? but many believing one
and the same promise, have not all one and the same fulness
of persuasion. For how falleth it out, that men being assured
of any thing by sense, can be no surer of it than they are ;
when as the strongest in faith that liveth upon the earth hath
always need to labour, strive, and pray, that his assurance con-
cerning heavenly and spiritual things may grow, increase, and
be augmented ? "

The sermon, that gave him the cause of this his justifica-
tion, makes the case more plain, by declaring, " That there is,
besides this certainty of evidence, a certainty of adherence."
In which having most excellently demonstrated what the cer-
tainty of adherence is; he makes this comfortable use of it,
"Comfortable," he says, "as to weak believers, who suppose
themselves to be faithless, not to believe, when notwithstanding
they have their adherence; the Holy Spirit hath his private

158 THE LIFE OF

operations, and worketh secretly in them, and effectually too,
though they want the inward testimony of it."

Tell this, saith he, to a man that hath a mind too much
dejected by a sad sense of his sin; to one that, by a too severe
judging of himself, concludes that he wants faith, because he
wants the comfortable assurance of it; and his answer will be,
Do not persuade me against my knowledge, against what I
find and feel in myself: I do not, I know I do not, believe. —
Mr. Hooker's own words follow : — " Well then, to favour such
men a little in their weakness, let that be granted which they
do imagine; be it, that they adhere not to God's promises, but
are faithless, and without belief: but are they not grieved for
their unbelief? They confess they are ; do they not wish it
might, and also strive that it may be otherwise? We know
they do. Whence cometh this, but from a secret love and
liking that they have of those things believed ? For no man
can love those things which in his own opinion are not; and
if they think those things to be, which they show they love
when they desire to believe them, then must it be that, by
desiring to believe, they prove themselves true believers : for
without faith no man thinketh that things believed are : which
argument all the subtilties of infernal powers will never be able
to dissolve." This is an abridgment of part of the reasons Mr.
Hooker gives for his justification of this his opinion, for which
he was excepted against by Mr. Travers.

Mr. Hooker was also accused by Mr. Travers, for that he in
one of his sermons had declared, " That he doubted not but
that God was merciful to many of our forefathers living in
Popish superstition, forasmuch as they sinned ignorantly;" and
Mr. Hooker in his answer professeth it to be his judgment,
and declares his reasons for this charitable opinion to be as
followeth.

But first, he states the question about Justification and
Works, and how the foundation of Faith without works is
overthrown ; and then he proceeds to discover that way which
natural men and some others have mistaken to be the way by
which they hope to attain true and everlasting happiness: and

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 159

having discovered the mistake, he proceeds to direct to that
true way by which, and no other, everlasting life and blessed-
ness is attainable. And these two ways he demonstrates thus ;
— they be his own words that follow: — "That, the way of
nature ; this, the way of grace ; the end of that way, salvation
merited, pre-supposing the righteousness of men's works; their
righteousness, a natural ability to do them; that ability, the
goodness of God, which created them in such perfection. But
the end of this way, salvation bestowed upon men as a gift:
pre-supposing not their righteousness, but the forgiveness of
their unrighteousness, justification; their justification, not their
natural ability to do good, but their hearty sorrow for not
doing, and unfeigned belief in him, for whose sake not-doers
are accepted, which is their vocation; their vocation, the elec-
tion of God, taking them out of the number of lost children :
their election, a mediator in whom to be elected; this media-
tion, inexplicable mercy : this mercy, supposing their misery
for whom he vouchsafed to die, and make himself a mediator."
And he also declareth, "There is no other meritorious cause
for our justification, but Christ: no effectual, but his mercy;"
and says also, " We deny the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,
we abuse, disannul and annihilate the benefit of his passion, if
by a proud imagination we believe we can merit everlasting
life, or can be worthy of it." This belief, he declareth, is to
destroy the very essence of our justification ; and he makes
all opinions that border upon this to be very dangerous. "Yet
nevertheless," — and for this he was accused, — "considering
how many virtuous and just men, how many saints and martyrs
have had their dangerous opinions, amongst which this was
one, that they hoped to make God some part of amends, by
voluntary punishments which they laid upon themselves:
because by this, or the like erroneous opinions, which do by
consequence overthrow the merits of Christ, shall man be so
bold as to write on their graves, "Such men are damned; there
is for them no salvation ? " St. Austin says, Errare possum,
Hareticus esse nolo. And except we put a difference betwixt
them that err ignorantly, and them that obstinately persist in it,

160 THE LIFE OF

how is it possible that any man should hope to be saved ?
Give me a Pope or Cardinal, whom great afflictions have made
to know himself, whose heart God hath touched with true sor-
row for all his sins, and filled with a love of Christ and his
gospel; whose eyes are willingly open to see the truth, and his
mouth ready to renounce all error, — this one opinion of merit
excepted, which he thinketh God will require at his hands ; —
and because he wanteth, trembleth, and is discouraged, and yet
can say, Lord, cleanse me from all my secret sins ! shall I
think, because of this, or a like error, such men touch not so
much as the hem of Christ's garment ? If they do, wherefore
should I doubt but that virtue may proceed from Christ to
save them ? No, I will not be afraid to say to such a one, You
err in your opinion ; but be of good comfort ; you have to do
with a merciful God, who will make the best of that little
which you hold well ; and not with a captious sophister, who
gathereth the worst out of everything in which you are mis-
taken."

But it will be said, says Mr. Hooker, the admittance of merit
in any degree overthroweth the foundation, excludeth from the
hope of mercy, from all possibility of salvation. (And now Mr.
Hooker's own words follow.)

"What, though they hold the truth sincerely in all other
parts of Christian faith; although they have in some measure
all the virtues and graces of the Spirit, although they have all
other tokens of God's children in them ? although they be far
from having any proud opinion, that they shall be saved by
the worthiness of their deeds ? although the only thing that
troubleth and molesteth them be a little too much dejection,
somewhat too great a fear arising from an erroneous conceit,
that God will require a worthiness in them, which they are
grieved to find wanting in themselves? although they be not
obstinate in this opinion ? although they be willing, and would
be glad to forsake it, if any one reason were brought sufficient
to disprove it ? although the only cause why they do not forsake
it ere they die, be their ignorance of that means by which it
might be disproved ? although the cause why the ignorance in

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 161

this point is not removed, be the want of knowledge in such as
should be able, and are not, to remove it ? Let me die," says
Mr. Hooker, "if it be ever proved that simply an error doth
exclude a Pope or Cardinal in such a case utterly from hope of
life. Surely, I must confess, that if it be an error to think that
God may be merciful to save men, even when they err, my
greatest comfort is my error : were it not for the love I bear to
this error, I would never wish to speak or to live."

I was willing to take notice of these two points, as sup-
posing them to be very material; and that, as they are thus
contracted, they may prove useful to my reader; as also for
that the answers be arguments of Mr. Hooker's great and
clear reason, and equal charity. Other exceptions were also
made against him by Mr. Travers, as " That he prayed before,
and not after, his sermons; that in his prayers he named
bishops; that he kneeled, both when he prayed, and when
he received the sacrament;" and — says Mr. Hooker in his
defence — "other exceptions so like these, as but to name, I
should have thought a greater fault than to commit them."

And it is not unworthy the noting, that in the manage of
so great a controversy, a sharper reproof than this, and one
like it, did never fall from the happy pen of this humble man.
That like it was upon a like occasion of exceptions, to which
his answer was, "Your next argument consists of railing and
of reasons: to your railing I say nothing; to your reasons I
say what follows." And I am glad of this fair occasion to
testify the dove-like temper of this meek, this matchless man.
And doubtless, if Almighty God had blessed the dissenters from
the ceremonies and discipline of this Church, with a like
measure of wisdom and humility, instead of their pertinacious
zeal, then obedience and truth had kissed each other; then
peace and piety had flourished in our nation, and this Church
and State had been blessed like Jerusalem, that is at unity
with itself: but this can never be expected, till God shall
bless the common people of this nation with a belief that
schism is a sin, and they not fit to judge what is schism :
and bless them also with a belief that there may be offences

12

i62 THE LIFE OF

taken which are not given, and that laws are not made for
private men to dispute, but to obey.

And this also may be worthy of noting, that these ex-
ceptions of Mr. Travers against Mr. Hooker proved to be
felix error, for they were the cause of his transcribing those
few of his sermons which we now see printed with his books ;
and of his Answer to Mr, Travers his Supplication; and of
his most learned and useful Discourse of Justification, of
Faith, and Works: and by their transcription they fell into
such hands as have preserved them from being lost, as too
many of his other matchless writings were: and from these
I have gathered many observations in this discourse of his life.

After the publication of his Answer to the Petition of Mr.
Travers, Mr. Hooker grew daily into greater repute with the>
most learned and wise of the nation; but it had a contrary
effect in very many of the Temple, that were zealous for Mr.
Travers, and for his Church discipline; insomuch, that though
Mr. Travers left the place, yet the seeds of discontent could
not be rooted out of that society, by the great reason, and
as great meekness, of this humble man: for though the chief
benchers gave him much reverence and encouragement, yet
he there met with many neglects and oppositions by those
of Master Travers' judgment; insomuch that it turned to his
extreme grief: and, that he might unbeguile and win them,
he designed to write a deliberate, sober treatise of the Church's
power to make canons for the use of ceremonies, and by law
to impose an obedience to them, as upon her children ; and
this he proposed to do in Eight Books of the Law of Ecclesiastical
Polity; intending therein to show such arguments as should
force an assent from all men, if reason, delivered in sweet
language, and void of any provocation, were able to do it :
and, that he might prevent all prejudice, he wrote before it
a large preface, or epistle to the dissenting brethren, wherein
there were such bowels of love, and such a commixture of
that love with reason, as was never exceeded but in Holy
Writ; and particularly by that of St. Paul to his dear brother
and fellow-labourer Philemon: than which none ever was more

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 163

like this epistle of Mr. Hooker's. So that his dear friend and
companion in his studies, Dr. Spencer, might, after his death,
justly say, " What admirable height of learning, and depth of
judgment, dwelt in the lowly mind of this truly humble man ;
— great in all wise men's eyes, except his own ; with what
gravity and majesty of speech his tongue and pen uttered
heavenly mysteries; whose eyes, in the humility of his heart,
were always cast down to the ground; how all things that
proceeded from him were breathed as from the spirit of love;
as if he, like the bird of the Holy Ghost, the dove, had wanted
gall: — let those that knew him not in his person judge by these
living images of his soul, his writings."

The foundation of these books was laid in the Temple; but
he found it no fit place to finish what he had there designed;
he therefore earnestly solicited the Archbishop for a remove
from that place; to whom he spake to this purpose: "My
Lord, when I lost the freedom of my cell, which was my college,
yet I found some degree of it in my quiet country parsonage :
but I am weary of the noise and oppositions of this place; and
indeed God and nature did not intend me for contentions, but
for study and quietness. My Lord, my particular contests with
Mr. Travers here have proved the more unpleasant to me,
because I believe him to be a good man; and that belief hath
occasioned me to examine mine own conscience concerning his
opinions; and, to justify that, I have consulted the scripture,
and other laws, both human and divine, whether the conscience
of him, and others of his judgment, ought to be so far complied
with, as to alter our frame of Church government, our manner
of God's worship, our praising and praying to him, and our
established ceremonies, as often as his and other tender
consciences shall require us. And in this examination I have
not only satisfied myself, but have begun a treatise, in which I
intend a justification of the laws of our ecclesiastical polity; in
which design God and his holy angels shall at the last great
day bear me that witness which my conscience now does; that
my meaning is not to provoke any, but rather to satisfy all
tender consciences: and I shall never be able to do this, but

1 64 THE LIFE OF

where I may study, and pray for God's blessing upon my
endeavours, and keep myself in peace and privacy, and behold
God's blessings spring out of my mother earth, and eat my own
bread without oppositions; and therefore, if your Grace can
judge me worthy of such a favour, let me beg it, that I may
perfect what I have begun."

About this time the parsonage or rectory of Boscum, in the
diocese of Sarum, and six miles from that city, became void.
The Bishop of Sarum is patron of it; but in the vacancy of that
see, — which was three years betwixt the translation of Bishop
Pierce to the See of York and Bishop Caldwell's admission into
it, — the disposal of that, and all benefices belonging to that see,
during this said vacancy, came to be disposed of by the Arch-
bishop of Canterbury: and he presented Richard Hooker to it
in the year 1591. And Richard Hooker was also in the said
year instituted, July 17, to be a Minor Prebend of Salisbury,
the corps to it being Nether Haven, about ten miles from that
city; which prebend was of no great value, but intended chiefly
to make him capable of a better preferment in that church. In
this Boscum he continued till he had finished four of his eight
proposed books of The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, and these
were entered into the register-book in Stationers' Hall, the 9th
of March, 1592, but not published till the year 1594, and then
were with the before-mentioned large and affectionate preface,
which he directs to them that seek — as they term it — the
reformation of the Laws and Orders Ecclesiastical in the
Church of England; of which books I shall yet say nothing
more, but that he continued his laborious diligence to finish
the remaining four during his life; — of all which more properly
hereafter; — but at Boscum he finished and published but only
the first four, being then in the thirty-ninth year of his age.

He left Boscum in the year 1595, by a surrender of it into the
hands of Bishop Caldwell : and he presented Benjamin Russell,
who was instituted into it the 23rd of June in the same year.

The parsonage of Bishop's- Bourne in Kent, three miles from
Canterbury, is in that Archbishop's gift: but in that latter end
of the year 1594, Dr. William Redman, the rector of it, was

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 165

made Bishop of Norwich; by which means the power of
presenting to it was pro ed vice in the Queen ; and she
presented Richard Hooker, whom she loved well, to this
good living of Bourne, the 7th July, 1595; in which living
he continued till his death, without any addition of dignity
or profit.

And now having brought our Richard Hooker from his birth-
place to this where he found a grave, I shall only give some
account of his books and of his behaviour in this parsonage
of Bourne, and then give a rest both to myself and my reader.

His first four books and large epistle have been declared to
be printed at his being at Boscum, anno 1594. Next I am to
tell, that at the end of these four books there was, when he
first printed them, this advertisement to the reader. " I have
for some causes thought it at this time more fit to let go these
first four books by themselves, than to stay both them and
the rest, till the whole might together be published. Such
generalities of the cause in question as are here handled, it
will be perhaps not amiss to consider apart, by way of intro-
duction unto the books that are to follow concerning particulars;
in the meantime the reader is requested to mend the printer's
errors, as noted underneath."

And I am next to declare, that his fifth book — which is larger
than his first four — was first also printed by itself, anno 1597,
and dedicated to his patron — for till then he chose none — the
Archbishop. These books were read with an admiration of
their excellency in this, and their just fame spread itself also
into foreign nations. And I have been told, more than forty
years past, that either Cardinal Allen, or learned Dr. Stapleton,
— both Englishmen, and in Italy about the time when Mr.
Hookers four books were first printed, — meeting with this
general fame of them, were desirous to read an author that
both the reformed and the learned of their own Romish Church
did so much magnify; and therefore caused them to be sent for
to Rome: and after reading them, boasted to the Pope, — which
then was Clement the Eighth, — " That though he had lately
said he never met with an English book whose writer deserved

1 66 THE LIFE OF

the name of author, yet there now appeared a wonder to them,
and it would be so to his Holiness, if it were in Latin: for a poor
obscure English priest had writ four such books of laws and
Church Polity, and in a style that expressed such a grave and
so humble a majesty, with such clear demonstration of reason,
that in all their readings they had not met with any that
exceeded him:" and this begot in the Pope an earnest desire
that Dr. Stapleton should bring the said four books, and,
looking on the English, read a part of them to him in Latin;
which Dr. Stapleton did, to the end of the first book; at the
conclusion of which the Pope spake to this purpose: "There
is no learning that this man hath not searched into, nothing
too hard for his understanding: this man indeed deserves
the name of an author: his books will get reverence by age;
for there is in them such seeds of eternity, that if the rest
be like this, they shall last till the last fire shall consume all
learning."

Nor was this high, the only testimony and commendations
given to his books; for at the first coming of King James into
this kingdom, he inquired of the Archbishop Whitgift for his
friend Mr. Hooker, that writ the books of Church polity; to
which the answer was, that he died a year before Queen
Elizabeth, who received the said news of his death with very
much sorrow; to which the King replied, "And I receive it with
no less, that I shall want the desired happiness of seeing and
discoursing with that man, from whose books I have received
such satisfaction : indeed, my Lord, I have received more
satisfaction in reading a leaf or paragraph in Mr. Hooker,
though it were but about the fashion of Churches, or Church
music, or the like, but especially of the sacraments, than I
have had in reading particular large treatises written but of
one of those subjects by others, though very learned men: and
I observe there is in Mr. Hooker no affected language; but a
grave, comprehensive, clear manifestation of reason, and that
backed with the authority of the scripture, the fathers, and
schoolmen, and with all law both sacred and civil. And,
though many others write well, yet in the next age they will

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 167

be forgotten ; but doubtless there is in every page of Mr.
Hooker's book the picture of a divine soul, such pictures of
truth and reason, and drawn in so sacred colours, that they
shall never fade, but give an immortal memory to the author."
And it is so truly true, that the King thought what he spake,
that, as the most learned of the nation have, and still do mention
Mr. Hooker with reverence; so he also did never mention him
but with the epithet of learned, or judicious, or reverend, or
venerable Mr. Hooker.

Nor did his son, our late King Charles the First, ever mention
him but with the same reverence, enjoining his son, our now
gracious King, to be studious in Mr. Hooker's books. And
our learned antiquary, Mr. Camden,1 mentioning the death, the
modesty, and other virtues of Mr. Hooker, and magnifying his
books, wished " that, for the honour of this, and benefit of
other nations, they were turned into the universal language."
Which work, though undertaken by many, yet they have been
weary, and forsaken it: but the reader may now expect it,
having been long since begun and lately finished by the happy
pen of Dr. Earle, now Lord Bishop of Salisbury, of whom I
may justly say, — and let it not offend him, because it is such
a truth as ought not to be concealed from posterity, or those
that now live, and yet know him not, — that since Mr. Hooker
died, none have lived whom God hath blessed with more
innocent wisdom, more sanctified learning, or a more pious,
peaceable, primitive temper: so that this excellent person
seems to be only like himself, and our venerable Richard
Hooker, and only fit to make the learned of all nations happy,
in knowing what hath been too long confined to the language
of our little island.

There might be many more and just occasions taken to speak
of his books, which none ever did or can commend too much;
but I decline them, and hasten to an account of his Christian
behaviour and death at Bourne; in which place he continued
his customary rules of mortification and self-denial; was much
in fasting, frequent in meditation and prayers, enjoying those
1 In his Annals, 5299.

1 68 THE LIFE OF

blessed returns which only men of strict lives feel and know,
and of which men of loose and godless lives cannot be made
sensible; for spiritual things are spiritually discerned.

At his entrance into this place, his friendship was much
sought for by Dr. Hadrian Saravia, then, or about that time,
made one of the Prebends of Canterbury; a German by birth,
and sometime a pastor both in Flanders and Holland, where
he had studied, and well considered the controverted points
concerning episcopacy and sacrilege; and in England had a
just occasion to declare his judgment concerning both, unto his
brethren ministers of the Low Countries; which was excepted
against by Theodore Beza and others; against whose exceptions
he rejoined, and thereby became the happy author of many
learned tracts writ in Latin ; especially of three — one, of the
Degrees of Ministers, and of the Bishops' Superiority above
the Presbytery; a second, Against Sacrilege; and a third of
Christian Obedience to Princes; the last being occasioned by
Gretzerus the Jesuit. And it is observable that when, in a
time of Church tumults, Beza gave his reasons to the Chancellor
of Scotland for the abrogation of episcopacy in that nation,
partly by letters, and more fully in a treatise of a threefold
episcopacy, — which he calls divine, human, and satanical, — this
Dr. Saravia had, by the help of Bishop Whitgift, made such an
early discovery of their intentions, that he had almost as soon
answered that treatise as it became public; and he therein
discovered how Beza's opinion did contradict that of Calvin's
and his adherents; leaving them to interfere with themselves
in point of episcopacy. But of these tracts it will not concern
me to say more, than that they were most of them dedicated
to his, and the Church of England's watchful patron, John
Whitgift, the Archbishop; and printed about the time in which
Mr. Hooker also appeared first to the world, in the publication
of his first four books of Ecclesiastical Polity.

This friendship being sought for by this learned doctor you
may believe was not denied by Mr. Hooker, who was by fortune
so like him, as to be engaged against Mr. Travers, Mr. Cart-
wright, and others of their judgment, in a controversy too like

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 169

Dr. Saravia's; so that in this year of 1595,' and in this place of
Bourne, these two excellent persons began a holy friendship,
increasing daily to so high and mutual affections, that their two
wills seemed to be but one and the same; and their designs
both for the glory of God, and peace of the Church, still assist-
ing and improving each other's virtues, and the desired com-
forts of a peaceable piety; which I have willingly mentioned,
because it gives a foundation to some things that follow.

This parsonage of Bourne is from Canterbury three miles,
and near to the common road that leads from that city to
Dover ; in which parsonage Mr. Hooker had not been twelve
months, but his books, and the innocency and sanctity of his
life became so remarkable, that many turned out of the road,
and others — scholars especially — went purposely to see the
man whose life and learning were so much admired : and alas !
as our Saviour said of St. John Baptist, " What went they out
to see? a man clothed in purple and fine linen ?" No, indeed :
but an obscure, harmless man; a man in poor clothes, his loins
usually girt in a coarse gown, or canonical coat; of a mean
stature, and stooping, and yet more lowly in the thoughts of
his soul; his body worn out, not with age, but study and holy
mortifications; his face full of heat pimples, begot by his
unactivity and sedentary life. And to this true character of
his person, let me add this of his disposition and behaviour:
God and nature blessed him with so blessed a bashfulness, that
as in his younger days his pupils might easily look him out of
countenance; so neither then, nor in his age, did he ever
willingly look any man in the face: and was of so mild and
humble a nature, that his poor parish clerk and he did never
talk but with both their hats on, or both off, at the same time :
and to this may be added, that though he was not purblind, yet
he was short or weak-sighted; and where he fixed his eyes at
the beginning of his sermon, there they continued till it was
ended: and the reader has a liberty to believe, that his modesty
and dim sight were some of the reasons why he trusted Mrs.
Churchman to choose his wife.

This parish clerk lived till the third or fourth year of the

170 THE LIFE OF

late Long Parliament ; betwixt which time and Mr. Hooker's
death there had come many to see the place of his burial, and
the monument dedicated to his memory by Sir William Cowper,
who still lives ; and the poor clerk had many rewards for
showing Mr. Hooker's grave place, and his said monument,
and did always hear Mr. Hooker mentioned with commenda-
tions and reverence ; to all which he added his own knowledge
and observations of his humility and holiness; and in all which
discourses the poor man was still more confirmed in his opinion
of Mr. Hooker's virtues and learning. But it so fell out, that
about the said third or fourth year of the Long Parliament, the
then present parson of Bourne was sequestered, — you may
guess why, — and a Genevan minister put into his good living.
This, and other like sequestrations, made the clerk express
himself in a wonder, and say, " They had sequestered so many
good men, that he doubted, if his good master Mr. Hooker had
lived till now, they would have sequestered him too ! "

It was not long before this intruding minister had made a
party in and about the said parish, that were desirous to
receive the sacrament as in Geneva ; to which end, the day was
appointed for a select company, and forms and stools set about
the altar, or communion-table, for them to sit and eat and
drink: but when they went about this work, there was a want
of some joint-stools, which the minister sent the clerk to fetch,
and then to fetch cushions, — but not to kneel upon. When
the clerk saw them begin to sit down, he began to wonder;
but the minister bade him " cease wondering, and lock the
church door:" to whom he replied, "Pray take you the keys,
and lock me out: I will never come more into this church; for
all men will say, my master Hooker was a good man, and a
good scholar ; and I am sure it was not used to be thus in his
days : " and report says the old man went presently home and
died; I do not say died immediately, but within a few days
after.

But let us leave this grateful clerk in his quiet grave, and
return to Mr. Hooker himself, continuing our observations of
his Christian behaviour in this place, where he gave a holy

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 171

valediction to all the pleasures and allurements of earth; pos-
sessing his soul in a virtuous quietness, which he maintained
by constant study, prayers, and meditations. His use was to
preach once every Sunday, and he, or his curate, to catechise
after the second lesson in the evening prayer. His sermons
were neither long nor earnest, but uttered with a grave zeal
and an humble voice : his eyes always fixed on one place,
to prevent imagination from wandering ; insomuch, that he
seemed to study as he spake. The design of his sermons— as
indeed of all his discourses — was to show reasons for what he
spake; and with these reasons such a kind of rhetoric as did
rather convince and persuade, than frighten men into piety ;
studying not so much for matter, — which he never wanted, —
as for apt illustrations, to inform and teach his unlearned
hearers by familiar examples, and then make them better by
convincing applications ; never labouring by hard words, and
then by heedless distinctions and sub-distinctions, to amuse
his hearers, and get glory to himself; but glory only to God.
Which intention, he would often say, was as discernible in a
preacher " as a natural from an artificial beauty."

He never failed the Sunday before every ember-week to give
notice of it to his parishioners, persuading them both to fast,
and then to double their devotions for a learned and a pious
clergy, but especially the last; saying often, " That the life of
a pious clergyman was visible rhetoric; and so convincing, that
the most godless men — though they would not deny themselves
the enjoyment of their present lusts — did yet secretly wish
themselves like those of the strictest lives." And to what he
persuaded other, he added his own example of fasting and
prayer ; and did usually every ember-week take from the parish
clerk the key of the church door, into which place he retired
every day, and locked himself up for many hours ; and did the
like most Fridays and other days of fasting.

He would by no means omit the customary time of proces-
sion, persuading all, both rich and poor, if they desired the
preservation of love, and their parish rights and liberties, to
accompany him in his perambulation ; and most did so : in

172 THE LIFE OF

which perambulation he would usually express more pleasant
discourse than at other times, and would then always drop
some loving and facetious observations to be remembered
against the next year, especially by the boys and young people ;
still inclining them and all his present parishioners, to meek-
ness, and mutual kindness and love; because " Love thinks not
evil, but covers a multitude of infirmities."

He was diligent to inquire who of his parish were sick, or
any ways distressed, and would often visit them, unsent for;
supposing that the fittest time to discover to them those errors
to which health and prosperity had blinded them. And having
by pious reasons and prayers moulded them into holy resolu-
tions for the time to come, he would incline them to confession
and bewailing their sins, with purpose to forsake them, and
then to receive the communion, both as a strengthening of
those holy resolutions, and as a seal betwixt God and them
of his mercies to their souls, in case that present sickness did
put a period to their lives.

And as he was thus watchful and charitable to the sick, so
he was as diligent to prevent law-suits; still urging his
parishioners and neighbours to bear with each Other's in-
firmities, and live in love, because, as St. John says, " He that
lives in love, lives in God; for God is love." And to maintain
this holy fire of love constantly burning on the altar of a pure
heart, his advice was to watch and pray, and always keep
themselves fit to receive the communion, and then to receive
it often; for it was both a confirming and strengthening of
their graces. This was his advice; and at his entrance or
departure out of any house, he would usually speak to the
whole family, and bless them by name; insomuch, that as
he seemed in his youth to be taught of God, so he seemed
in this place to teach his precepts as Enoch did, by walking
with him in all holiness and humility, making each day a
step towards a blessed eternity. And though, in this weak
and declining age of the world, such examples are become
barren, and almost incredible; yet let his memory be blessed
by this true recordation, because he that praises Richard

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 173

Hooker, praises God who hath given such gifts to men; and
let this humble and affectionate relation of him become such a
pattern as may invite posterity to imitate these his virtues.

This was his constant behaviour both at Bourne and in all
the places in which he lived: thus did he walk with God, and
tread the footsteps of primitive piety; and yet, as that great
example of meekness and purity, even our blessed Jesus, was
not free from false accusations, no more was this disciple of his,
this most humble, most innocent, holy man. His was a slander
parallel to that of chaste Susannah's by the wicked elders; or
that against St. Athanasius, as it is recorded in his life, — for
this holy man had heretical enemies, — a slander which this age
calls trepanning. The particulars need not a repetition; and
that it was false needs no other testimony than the public
punishment of his accusers, and their open confession of his
innocency. It was said that the accusation was contrived by a
dissenting brother, one that endured not Church ceremonies,
hating him for his book's sake, which he was not able to answer;
and his name hath been told me; but I have not so much
confidence in the relation as to make my pen fix a scandal
on him to posterity; I shall rather leave it doubtful till
the great day of revelation. But this is certain, that he lay
under the great charge, and the anxiety of this accusation, and
kept it secret to himself for many months; and, being a
helpless man, had lain longer under this heavy burthen, but
that the protector of the innocent gave such an accidental
occasion, as forced him to make it known to his two dearest
friends, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, who were so
sensible of their tutor's sufferings, that they gave themselves
no rest, till by their disquisitions and diligence they had found
out the fraud, and brought him the welcome news, that his
accusers did confess they had wronged him, and begged his
pardon. To which the good man's reply was to this purpose:
"The Lord forgive them; and the Lord bless you for this
comfortable news. Now have I a just occasion to say with
Solomon, 'Friends are born for the days of adversity;' and
such you have proved to me. And to my God I say, as did the

174 THE LIFE OF

mother of St. John Baptist, 'Thus hath the Lord dealt with
me, in the day wherein he looked upon me, to take away my
reproach among men.' And, O my God ! neither my life, nor
my reputation, are safe in my own keeping; but in thine, who
didst take care of me when I yet hanged upon my mother's
breast. Blessed are they that put their trust in thee, O Lord !
for when false witnesses were risen up against me ; when
shame was ready to cover my face; when my nights were
restless; when my soul thirsted for a deliverance, as the hart
panteth after the rivers of water; then thou, Lord, didst hear
my complaints, pity my condition, and art now become my
deliverer; and as long as I live I will hold up my hands in this
manner, and magnify thy mercies, who didst not give me over
as a prey to mine enemies: the net is broken, and they are
taken in it. Oh ! blessed are they that put their trust in thee !
and no prosperity shall make me forget those days of sorrow,
or to perform those vows that I have made to thee in the days
of my affliction; for with such sacrifices, thou, O God, art well
pleased; and I will pay them."

Thus did the joy and gratitude of this good man's heart
break forth; and it is observable, that as the invitation to this
slander was his meek behaviour and dove-like simplicity, for
which he was remarkable; so his Christian charity ought to be
imitated. For though the spirit of revenge is so pleasing to
mankind, that it is never conquered but by a supernatural grace,
revenge being indeed so deeply rooted in human nature, that
to prevent the excesses of it, — for men would not know
moderation, — Almighty God allows not any degree of it to
any man, but says "vengeance is mine:" and though this be
said positively by God himself, yet this revenge is so pleasing,
that man is hardly persuaded to submit the manage of it to
the time, and justice, and wisdom of his Creator, but would
hasten to be his own executioner of it. And yet nevertheless,
if any man ever did wholly decline, and leave this pleasing
passion to the time and measure of God alone, it was this
Richard Hooker, of whom I write: for when his slanderers
were to suffer, he laboured to procure their pardon; and when

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 175

that was denied him, his reply was, "That however he would
fast and pray that God would give them repentance, and
patience to undergo their punishment." And his prayers were
so far returned into his own bosom, that the first was granted,
if we may believe a penitent behaviour, and an open con-
fession. And 'tis observable, that after this time he would
often say to Dr. Saravia, "Oh! with what quietness did I
enjoy my soul, after I was free from the fears of my slander !
And how much more after a conflict and victory over my
desires of revenge ! "

About the year 1600, and of his age forty-six, he fell into a
long and sharp sickness, occasioned by a cold taken in his
passage by water betwixt London and Gravesend, from the
malignity of which he was never recovered ; for after that
time, till his death, he was not free from thoughtful days
and restless nights: but a submission to his will that makes
the sick man's bed easy, by giving rest to his soul, made his
very languishment comfortable: and yet all this time he
was solicitous in his study, and said often to Dr. Saravia —
who saw him daily, and was the chief comfort of his life, —
"That he did not beg a long life of God for any other reason
but to live to finish his three remaining books of polity; and
then 'Lord, let thy servant depart in peace;'" which was
his usual expression. And God heard his prayers, though he
denied the Church the benefit of them, as completed by him-
self; and 'tis thought he hastened his own death, by hastening
to give life to his books. But this is certain, that the nearer he
was to his death, the more he grew in humility, in holy
thoughts, and resolutions.

About a month before his death, this good man, that never
knew, or at least never considered, the pleasures of the palate,
became first to lose his appetite, and then to have an averseness
to all food, insomuch that he seemed to live some intermitted
weeks by the smell of meat only, and yet still studied and writ.
And now his guardian angel seemed to foretell him that the day
of his dissolution drew near; for which his vigorous soul
appeared to thirst.

176 THE LIFE OF

In this time of his sickness and not many days before his
death, his house was robbed; of which he having notice, his
question was, "Are my books and written papers safe?" And
being answered that they were; his reply was, "Then it matters
not; for no other loss can trouble me."

About one day before his death, Dr. Saravia, who knew the
very secrets of his soul, — for they were supposed to be con-
fessors to each other, — came to him, and, after a conference of
the benefit, the necessity, and safety of the Church's absolution,
it was resolved the Doctor should give him both that and the
sacrament the following day. To which end the Doctor came,
and, after a short retirement and privacy, they two returned to
the company; and then the Doctor gave him, and some of those
friends which were with hiiri, the blessed sacrament of the body
and blood of our Jesus. Which being performed, the Doctor
thought he saw a reverend gaiety and joy in his face; but it
lasted not long; for his bodily infirmities did return suddenly,
and became more visible, insomuch that the Doctor appre-
hended death ready to seize him ; yet, after some amendment,
left him at night, with a promise to return early the day
following; which he did, and then found him better in appear-
ance, deep in contemplation, and not inclinable to discourse;
which gave the Doctor occasion to require his present thoughts.
To which he replied, " That he was meditating the number
and nature of angels, and their blessed obedience and order,
without which, peace could not be in heaven : and Oh ! that
it might be so on earth ! " After which words, he said, " I have
lived to see this world is made up of perturbations ; and I have
been long preparing to leave it, and gathering comfort for the
dreadful hour of making my account with God, which I now
apprehend to be near: and though I have by his grace loved
him in my youth, and feared him in mine age, and laboured to
have a conscience void of offence to him, and to all men ; yet
if thou, O Lord ! be extreme to mark what I have done amiss,
who can abide it ? And therefore, where I have failed, Lord,
show mercy to me; for I plead not my righteousness, but the
forgiveness of my unrighteousness, for his merits, who died to

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 177

purchase pardon for penitent sinners. And since I owe thee a
death, Lord, let it not be terrible, and then take thine own
time: I submit to it: let not mine, O Lord ! but let thy will be
done." With which expression he fell into a dangerous slumber;
dangerous as to his recoveiy, yet recover he did, but it was to
speak only these few words: " Good Doctor, God hath heard my
daily petitions, for I am at peace with all men, and he is at peace
with me; and from that blessed assurance I feel that inward joy,
which this world can neither give nor take from me: my con-
science beareth me this witness, and this witness makes the
thoughts of death joyful. I could wish to live to do the Church
more service; but cannot hope it, for my days are past as a
shadow that returns not.!) More he would have spoken, but his
spirits failed him; and, after a short conflict betwixt nature
and death, a quiet sigh put a period to his last breath, and so
he fell asleep. And now he seems to rest like Lazarus in
Abraham's bosom. Let me here draw his curtain, till with the
most glorious company of the patriarchs and apostles, the most
noble army of martyrs and confessors, this most learned, most
humble, holy man shall also awake to receive an eternal tran-
quillity, and with it a greater degree of glory than common
Christians shall be made partakers of.

In the meantime, Bless, O Lord ! Lord, bless his brethren,
the clergy of this nation, with effectual endeavours to attain, if
not to his great learning, yet to his remarkable meekness, his
godly simplicity, and his Christian moderation ; for these will bring
peace at the last. And, Lord, let his most excellent writings be
blest with what he designed, when he undertook them: which
was, glory to thee, O God 1 on high, peace in thy Church, and
goodwill to mankind. Amen. Amen.

IZAAK. WALTON.

This following epitaph was long since presented to the world,
in memory of Mr. Hooker, by Sir William Cowper, who also
built him a fair monument in Bourne Church, and acknowledges
him to have been his spiritual father: —

178 THE LIFE OF

Though nothing can be spoke worthy his fame,

Or the remembrance of that precious name,

Judicious Hooker ; though this cost be spent

On him, that hath a lasting monument

In his own books ; yet ought we to express,

If not his worth, then our respectfulness.

Church Ceremonies he maintain'd ; then why

Without all ceremony should he die ?

Was it because his life and death should be

Both equal patterns of humility ?

Or that perhaps this only glorious one

Was above all, to ask, why had he none?

Yet he, that lay so long obscurely low,

Doth now preferr'd to greater honours go.

Ambitious men, learn hence to be more wise,

Humility is the true way to rise :

And God in me this lesson did inspire,

To bid this humble man, " Friend, sit up higher."

AN APPENDIX

TO THE

LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER.

AND now, having by a long and laborious search satisfied myself,
and I hope my reader, by imparting to him the true relation of Mr.
Hooker's life, I am desirous also to acquaint him with some observa-
tions that relate to it, and which could not properly fall to be spoken
till after his death ; of which my reader may expect a brief and true
account in the following Appendix.

And first, it is not to be doubted but that he died in the forty-
seventh, if not in the forty-sixth year of his age : which I mention,
because many have believed him to be more aged : but I have so
examined it, as to be confident I mistake not : and for the year of
his death, Mr, Camden, \v}io in his Annals of Qiieen Elizabeth^ 1599,

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 179

mentions him with a high commendation of his life and learning,
declares him to die in the year 1599; and yet in that inscription of his
monument, set up at the charge of Sir William Cowper, in Bourne
Church, where Mr. Hooker was buried, his death is there said to be in
anno 1603 ; but doubtless both are mistaken ; for I have it attested
under the hand of William Somner, the Archbishop's registrar for the
Province of Canterbury, that Richard Hooker's will bears date
October 26th in anno 1600, and that it was proved the third of
December following.1

And that at his death he left four daughters, Alice, Cicely, Jane and
Margaret ; that he gave to each of them an hundred pounds ; that he
left Joan, his wife, his sole executrix ; and that by his inventory his
estate — a great part of it being in books — came to £iog2 95. 2d.,
which was much more than he thought himself worth ; and which was
not got by his care, much less by the good housewifery of his wife,
but saved by his trusty servant, Thomas Lane, that was wiser than his
master in getting money for him, and more frugal than his mistress in
keeping of it. Of which will of Mr. Hooker's I shall say no more, but
that his dear friend Thomas, the father of George Cranmer, — of whom
I have spoken, and shall have occasion to say more, — was one of the
witnesses to it.

One of his elder daughters was married to one Chalinor, sometime a
schoolmaster in Chichester, and are both dead long since. Margaret,
his youngest daughter, was married unto Ezekiel Charke, Bachelor in
Divinity, and Rector of St. Nicholas in Harbledown, near Canterbury,
who died about sixteen years past, and had a son Ezekiel, now living,
and in sacred orders ; being at this time Rector of Waldron in
Sussex. She left also a daughter, with both whom I have spoken not
many months past, and find her to be a widow in a condition that
wants not, but very far from abounding. And these two attested unto

1 And the Reader may take notice, that since I first writ this Appendix
to the Life of Mr. Hooker, Mr. Fulman, of Corpus Christ! College, hath
shewed me a good authority for the very day and hour of Mr. Hooker's
death, in one of his books of Polity, -which had been Archbishop Laud's.
In which book, beside many considerable marginal notes of some passages
of his time, under the Bishop's own hand, there is also written in the
title-page of that book — which now is Mr. Fulman's — this attestation :

Ricardus Hooker vir summis doctrince dotibus ornatus, de Ecclesia
prcecipue Anglicana optime, meritus, obiit Novevib. 2, circiter horam
secundam postmeridianam, Anno 1600.

i8o THE LIFE OF

me, that Richard Hooker, their grandfather, had a sister, by name
Elizabeth Harvey, that lived to the age of 121 years, and died in the
month of September 1663.

For his other two daughters I can learn little certainty, but have
heard they both died before they were marriageable. And for his
wife, she was so unlike Jephtha's daughter, that she stayed not a
comely time to bewail her widowhood ; nor lived long enough to
repent her second marriage ; for which, doubtless, she would have
found cause, if there had been but four months betwixt Mr. Hooker's
and her death. But she is dead, and let her other infirmities be buried
with her.

Thus much briefly for his age, the year of his death, his estate, his
wife, and his children. I am next to speak of his books ; concerning
which I shall have a necessity of being longer, or shall neither do
right to myself, nor my reader, which is chiefly intended in this
Appendix.

I have declared in his Life that he proposed eight books, and that
his first four were printed anno 1594, and his fifth book first printed,
and alone, anno 1597; and that he lived to finish the remaining three
of the proposed eight ; but whether we have the last three as finished
by himself, is a just and material question ; concerning which I do
declare, that I have been told almost forty years past, by one that
very well knew Mr. Hooker and the affairs of his family, that, about a
month after the death of Mr. Hooker, Bishop Whitgift, then Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, sent one of his chaplains to inquire of Mrs.
Hooker for the three remaining books of Polity, writ by her husband :
of which she would not, or could not, give any account : and that
about three months after that time the Bishop procured her to be sent
for to London, and then by his procurement she was to be examined
by some of her Majesty's council, concerning the disposal of those
books : but, by way of preparation for the next day's examination, the
Bishop invited her to Lambeth, and after some friendly questions, she
confessed to him that one Mr. Charke, and another minister that
dwelt near Canterbury, came to her, and desired that they might go
into her husband's study, and look upon some of his writings : and
that there they two burnt and tore many of them, assuring her that
they were writings not fit to be seen : and that she knew nothing more
concerning them. Her lodging was then in King Street in West-
minster, where she was found next morning dead in her bed, and her

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 181

new husband suspected and questioned for it ; but he was declared
innocent of her death.

And I declare also, that Dr. John Spencer, — mentioned in the Life
of Mr. Hooker, — who was of Mr. Hooker's college, and of his time
there, and betwixt whom there was so friendly a friendship that they
continually advised together in all their studies, and particularly in
what concerned these books of Polity — this Dr. Spencer, the three
perfect books being lost, had delivered into his hands — I think by
Bishop Whitgift — the imperfect books, or first rough draughts of them,
to be made as perfect as they might be by him, who both knew Mr.
Hooker's handwriting, and was best acquainted with his intentions.
And a fair testimony of this may appear by an epistle, first, and
usually printed before Mr. Hooker's five books, — but omitted, I know
not why, in the last impression of the eight printed together in anno
1662, in which the publishers seem to impose the three doubtful
books to be the undoubted books of Mr. Hooker, — with these two
letters, J. S. , at the end of the said epistle, which was meant for this
John Spencer : in which epistle the reader may find these words,
which may give some authority to what I have here written of his last
three books.

"And though Mr. Hooker hastened his own death by hastening to
give life to his books, yet he held out with his eyes to behold these
Benjamins, these sons of his right hand, though to him they proved
Benonies, sons of pain and sorrow. But some evil-disposed minds,
whether of malice or covetousness, or wicked blind zeal, it is uncertain,
as soon as they were born, and their father dead, smothered them,
and by conveying the perfect copies, left unto us nothing but the old,
imperfect, mangled draughts, dismembered into pieces ; no favour,
no grace, not the shadow of themselves remaining in them. Had the
father lived to behold them thus defaced, he might rightly have named
them Benonies, the sons of sorrow : but being the learned will not
suffer them to die and be buried, it is intended the world shall see
them as they are ; the learned will find in them some shadows and
resemblances of their father's face. God grant, that as they were with
their brethren dedicated to the Church for messengers of peace : so, in
the strength of that little breath of life that remaineth in them, they
may prosper in their work, and, by satisfying the doubts of such as are
willing to learn, they may help to give an end to the calamities of
these our civil wars. J. S."

182 THE LIFE OF

And next the reader may note, that this epistle of Dr. Spencer's was
writ and first printed within four years after the death of Mr. Hooker,
in which time all diligent search had been made for the perfect copies ;
and then granted not recoverable, and therefore endeavoured to be
completed out of Mr. Hooker's rough draughts, as is expressed by the
said Dr. Spencer in the said epistle, since whose death it is now fifty
years.

And I do profess by the faith of a Christian, that Dr. Spencer's wife
— who was my aunt, and sister to George Cranmer, of whom I have
spoken — told me forty years since, in these, or in words to this pur-
pose: "That her husband had made up, or finished Mr. Hooker's
last three books ; and that upon her husband's death-bed, or in his
last sickness, he gave them into her hand, with a charge that they
should not be seen by any man, but be by her delivered into the hands
of the then Archbishop of Canterbury, which was Dr. Abbot, or unto
Dr. King, then Bishop of London, and that she did as he enjoined
her."

I do conceive, that from Dr. Spencer's, and no other copy, there
have been divers transcripts ; and I know that these were to be found
in several places; as namely, in Sir Thomas Bodley's library; in that
of Dr. Andrews, late Bishop of Winton ; in the late Lord Conway's ;
in the Archbishop of Canterbury's ; and in the Bishop of Armagh's ;
and in many others : and most of these pretended to be the author's
own hand, but much disagreeing, being indeed altered and diminished,
as men have thought fittest to make Mr. Hooker's judgment suit with
their fancies, or give authority to their corrupt designs ; and for proof
of a part of this, take these following testimonies.

Dr. Barnard, sometime chaplain to Dr. Usher, late Lord Archbishop
of Armagh, hath declared in a late book, called Clavi Trabales, printed
by Richard Hodgkinson, anno 1661, that, in his search and examina-
tion of the said bishop's manuscripts, he found the three written books
which were supposed the sixth, seventh, and eighth of Mr. Hooker's
books of Ecclesiastical Polity ; and that in the said three books — now
printed as Mr. Hooker's — there are so many omissions, that they
amount to many paragraphs, and which cause many incoherencies : the
omissions are set down at large in the said printed book, to which I
refer the reader for the whole ; but think fit in this place to insert this
following short part of some of the said omissions.

First, as there could be in natural bodies no motion of anything,

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 183

unless there were some first which moved all things, and continued
umnovable ; even so in politic societies there must be some unpunish-
able, or else no man shall suffer punishment ; for sith punishments
proceed always from superiors, to whom the administration of justice
belongeth ; which administration must have necessarily a fountain,
that deriveth it to all others, and receiveth not from any, because
otherwise the course of justice should go infinitely in a circle, every
superior having his superior without end, which cannot be : therefore
a well-spring, it followeth, there is : a supreme head of justice, where-
unto all are subject, but itself in subjection to none. Which kind
of pre-eminency if some ought to have in a kingdom, who but a king
shall have it ? Kings, therefore, or no man, can have lawful power to
judge.

If private men offend, there is the magistrate over them, which
judgeth ; if magistrate, they have their prince ; if princes, there is
heaven, a tribunal before which they shall appear ; on earth they
are not accountable to any. Here, says the Doctor, it breaks off
abruptly.

And I have these words also attested under the hand of Mr. Fabian
Philips, a man of note for his useful books. "I will make oath, if I
shall be required, that Dr. Sanderson, the late Bishop of Lincoln, did
a little before his death affirm to me he had seen a manuscript affirmed
to him to be the handwriting of Mr. Richard Hooker, in which there
was no mention made of the King or supreme governors being account-
able to the people. This I will make oath, that that good man attested
to me. FABIAN PHILIPS."

So that there appears to be both omissions and additions in the said
last three printed books : and this may probably be one reason why
Dr. Sanderson, the said learned bishop, — whose writings are so highly
and justly valued, — gave a strict charge near the time of his death, or
in his last will, "That nothing of his that was not already printed,
should be printed after his death."

It is well known how high a value our learned King James put upon
the books writ by Mr. Hooker ; and known also that our late King
Charles— the martyr for the Church — valued them the second of all
books, testified by his commending them to the reading of his son
Charles, that now is our gracious King : and you may suppose that
this Charles the First was not a stranger to the three pretended booksj

i&4 THE LIFE OF

because, in a discourse with the Lord Say, in the time of the Long
Parliament, when the said Lord required the King to grant the truth
of his argument, because it was the judgment of Mr. Hooker, — quoting
him in one of the three written books, the King replied : " They were
not allowed to be Mr. Hooker's books ; but, however, he would allow
them to be Mr. Hooker's, and consent to what his Lordship proposed
to prove out of those doubtful books, if he would but consent to the
judgment of Mr. Hooker, in the other five, that were the undoubted
books of Mr. Hooker."

In this relation concerning these three doubtful books of Mr.
Hooker's, my purpose was to inquire, then set down what I observed
and know; which I have done, not as an engaged person, but in-
differently ; and now leave my reader to give sentence, for their
legitimation, as to himself; but so as to leave others the same liberty
of believing, or disbelieving them to be Mr. Hooker's : and 'tis
observable, that as Mr. Hooker advised with Dr. Spencer, in the
design and manage of these books ; so also, and chiefly with his dear
pupil, George Cranmer, — whose sister was the wife of Dr. Spencer —
of which this following letter may be a testimony, and doth also give
authority to some things mentioned both in this Appendix and in the
Life of Mr. Hooker, and is therefore added. I. W.

GEORGE CRANMER'S
LETTER UNTO MR. RICHARD HOOKER.

February, 1598.

What posterity is likely to judge of these matters concerning Church
discipline, we may the better conjecture, if we call to mind what our
own age, within few years, upon better experience, hath already
judged concerning the same. It may be remembered, that at first,
the greatest part of the learned in the land were either eagerly
affected, or favourably inclined that way. The books then written for
the most part savoured of the disciplinary style ; it sounded every-
where in pulpits, and in common phrase of men's speech. The con-
trary part began to fear they had taken a wrong course ; many which
impugned the dicipline, yet so impugned it, not as not being the
better form of government, but as not being so convenient for our
state, in regard of dangerous innovations thereby likely to grow : one

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 185

man1 alone there was to speak of, — whom let no suspicion of flattery
deprive of his deserved commendation — who, in the defiance of the
one part, and courage of the other, stood in the gap and gave others
respite to prepare themselves to the defence, which, by the sudden
eagerness and violence of their adversaries, had otherwise been pre-
vented, wherein God hath made good unto him his own impress,
Vincit qui patitur : for what contumelious indignities he hath at their
hands sustained, the world is witness ; and what reward of honour
above his adversaries God hath bestowed upon him, themselves —
though nothing glad thereof — must needs confess. Now of late
years the heat of men towards the discipline is greatly decayed ; their
judgments begin to sway on the other side ; the learned have weighed
it, and found it light ; wise men conceive some fear, lest it prove not
only not the best kind of government, but the very bane and destruc-
tion of all government. The cause of this change in men's opinions
may be drawn from the general nature of error, disguised and clothed
with the name of truth ; which did mightily and violently possess men
at first, but afterwards, the weakness thereof being by time discovered,
it lost that reputation, which before it had gained. As by the outside
of an house the passers-by are oftentimes deceived, till they see the
conveniency of the rooms within ; so, by the very name of discipline
and reformation, men were drawn at first to cast a fancy towards it,
but now they have not contented themselves only to pass by and
behold afar off the fore-front of this reformed house ; they have entered
in, even at the special request of the master-workmen and chief-builders
thereof: they have perused the rooms, the lights, the conveniences,
and they find them not answerable to that report which was made of
them, nor to that opinion which upon report they had conceived : so
as now the discipline, which at first triumphed over all, being unmasked,
beginneth to droop, and hang down her head.

The cause of change in opinion concerning the discipline is proper
to the learned, or to such as by them have been instructed. Another
cause there is, more open, and more apparent to the view of all,
namely, the course of practice, which the Reformers have had with us
from the beginning. The first degree was only some small difference
about the cap and surplice ; but not such as either bred division in the
Church, or tended to the ruin of the government established. This
was peaceable ; the next degree more stirring. Admonitions were
1 John Whitgift, the Archbishop.

1 86 THE LIFE OF

directed to the Parliament in peremptory sort against our whole form
cf regiment. In defence of them, volumes were published in English
and in Latin : yet this was no more than writing. Devices were set
on foot to erect the practice of the discipline without authority ; yet
herein some regard of modesty, some moderation was used. Behold
at length it brake forth into open outrage, first in writing by Martin ;
in whose kind of dealing these things may be observed : I. That
whereas Thomas Cartwright and others his great masters, had always
before set out the discipline as a queen, and the daughter of God; he
contrariwise, to make her more acceptable to the people, brought her
forth as a Vice upon the stage. 2. This conceit of his was grounded
— as may be supposed — upon this rare policy, that, seeing the discipline
was by writing refuted, in Parliament rejected, in secret corners hunted
out and decried, it was imagined that by open railing, — which to the
vulgar is commonly most plausible, — the State Ecclesiastical might
have been drawn into such contempt and hatred, as the overthrow
thereof should have been most grateful to all men, and in a manner
desired by all the common people. 3. It may be noted — and this I
know myself to be true — how some of them, although they could not
for shame approve so lewd an action, yet were content to lay hold on it
to the advancement of their cause, by acknowledging therein the secret
judgments of God against the bishops, and hoping that some good
might be wrought thereby for his Church ; as indeed there was, though
not according to their construction. For 4thly, contrary to their
expectation, that railing spirit did not only not further, but extremely
disgrace and prejudice their cause, when it was once perceived from
how low degrees of contradiction, at first, to what outrage of contumely
and slander they were at length proceeded ; and were also likely to
proceed further.

A further degree of outrage was also in fact : certain prophets J did
arise, who deeming it not possible that God should suffer that to be
undone, which they did so fiercely desire to have done, namely, that
his holy saints, the favourers and fathers of the discipline, should be
enlarged and delivered from persecution ; and seeing no means of
deliverance ordinary, were fain to persuade themselves that God must
needs raise some extraordinary means ; and being persuaded of none
so well as of themselves, they forthwith must needs be the instruments
of this great work. Hereupon they framed unto themselves an assured
1 Racket and Coppinger.

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 187

hope, that, upon their preaching out of a peas-cart in Cheapside, all
the multitude would have presently joined unto them, and in amaze-
ment of mind have asked them, Viri fratres, quid agimus? whereunto
it is likely they would have returned an answer far unlike to that of
St. Peter : " Such and such are men unworthy to govern ; pluck them
down : such and such are the dear children of God ; let them be
advanced."

Of two of these men it is meet to speak with all commiseration ; yet
so, that others by their example may receive instruction, and withal
some light may appear, what stirring affections the discipline is like to
inspire, if it light upon apt and prepared minds.

Now if any man doubt of what society they were ; or if the Reformers
disclaim them, pretending that by them they were condemned ; let
these points be considered, i. Whose associates were they before
they entered into this frantic passion ? Whose sermons did they fre-
quent ? Whom did they admire ? 2. Even when they were entering
into it, whose advice did they require ? and when they were in, whose
approbation ? Whom advertised they of their purpose ? Whose assist-
ance by prayer did they request ? But we deal injuriously with them
to lay this to their charge ; for they reproved and condemned it.
How ! did they disclose it to the magistrate, that it might be sup-
pressed ? or were they not rather content to stand aloof off, and see the
end of it, as being loath to quench that spirit ? No doubt these mad
practitioners were of their society, with whom before, and in the
practice of their madness, they had most affinity. Hereof read Dr.
Bancroft's book.

A third inducement may be to dislike of the discipline, if we consider
not only how far the Reformers themselves have proceeded, but what
others upon their foundations have built. Here come the Brownists in
the first rank, their lineal descendants, who have seized upon a number
of strange opinions ; whereof, although their ancestors, the Reformers,
were never actually possessed, yet, by right and interest from them
derived, the Brownists and Barrowists have taken possession of them :
for if the positions of the Reformers be true, I cannot see how the
main and general conclusions of Brownism should be false ; for upon
these two points, as I conceive, they stand.

i. That, because \ve have no Church, they are to sever themselves
from us. 2. That without civil authority they are to erect a Church
of their own. And if the former of these be true, the latter, I

1 88 THE LIFE OF

suppose, will follow : for if above all things men be to regard their
salvation; and if out of the Church there be no salvation; it followeth,
that, if we have no Church, we have no means of salvation ; and there-
fore separation from us in that respect is both lawful and necessary; as
also, that men, so separated from the false and counterfeit Church, are
to associate themselves unto some Church ; not to ours ; to the Popish
much less ; therefore to one of their own making. Now the ground of
all these inferences being this, that in our Church there is no means of
salvation, is out of the Reformers' principles most clearly to be proved.
For wheresoever any matter of faith unto salvation necessary is denied,
there can be no means of salvation ; but in the Church of England, the
discipline, by them accounted a matter of faith, and necessary to
salvation, is not only denied, but impugned, and the professors thereof
oppressed. Ergo.

Again, — but this reason perhaps is weak, every true Church of
Christ acknowledgeth the whole gospel of Christ : the discipline, in
their opinion, is a part of the gospel, and yet by our Church resisted.
Ergo.

Again, the discipline is essentially united to the Church : by which
term essentially they must mean either an essential part or an essential
property. Both which ways it must needs be, that where that
essential discipline is not, neither is there any Church. If therefore
between them and the Brownists there should be appointed a solemn
disputation, whereof with us they have been oftentimes so earnest
challengers ; it doth not yet appear what other answer they could
possibly frame to these and the like arguments, wherewith they may be
pressed, but fairly to deny the conclusion, — for all the premises are
their own — or rather ingeniously to reverse their own principles before
laid, whereon so foul absurdities have been so firmly built. What
further proofs you can bring out of their high words, magnifying
the discipline, I leave to your better remembrance: but above all
points, I am desirous this one should be strongly enforced against them,
because it wringeth them most of all, and is of all others — for aught I
see — the most unanswerable. You may notwithstanding say, that you
would be heartily glad these their positions might be salved, as the
Brownists might not appear to have issued out of their loins: but until
that be done, they must give us leave to think that they have cast the
seed whereout these tares are grown.

Another sort of men there are, which have been content to run on

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 189

with the Reformers for a time, and to make them poor instruments of
their own designs. These are a sort of godless politics, who, perceiv-
ing the plot of discipline to consist of these two parts, the overthrow
of Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial authority — and that this
latter can take no place till the former be removed — are content to
join with them in the destructive part of discipline, bearing them in
hand, that in the other also they shall find them as ready. But when
time shall come, it may be they would be as loath to be yoked with
that kind of regiment, as now they are willing to be released from
this. These men's ends in all their actions is distraction ; their
pretence and colour, reformation. Those things which under this
colour they have effected to their own good, are, I. By maintaining
a contrary faction, they have kept the clergy always in awe, and thereby
made them more pliable, and willing to buy their peace. 2. By main-
taining an opinion of equality among ministers, they have made way to
their own purposes for devouring Cathedral Churches, and Bishops'
livings. 3. By exclaiming against abuses in the Church, they have carried
their own corrupt dealing in the Civil State more covertly. For such
is the nature of the multitude, that the,y are not able to apprehend
many things at once ; so as being possessed with a dislike or liking of
any one thing, many other in the meantime may escape them without
being perceived. 4. They have sought to disgrace the clergy, in enter-
taining a conceit in men's minds, and confirming it by continual
practice, that men of learning, and especially of the clergy, which are
employed in the chiefest kind of learning, are not to be admitted to
matters of State ; contrary to the practice of all well-governed common-
wealths, and of our own till these late years.

A third sort of men there are, though not descended from the
Reformers, yet in part raised and greatly strengthened by them ;
namely, the cursed crew of atheists. This also is one of those points
which I am desirous you should handle most effectually, and strain
yourself therein to all points of motion and affection ; as in that of
the Brownists, to all strength and sinews of reason. This is a sort
most damnable, and yet by the general suspicion of the world at this
day most common. The causes of it, which are in the parties them-
selves, although you handle in the beginning of the fifth book, yet
here again they may be touched : but the occasions of help and
furtherance, which by the Reformers have been yielded unto them,
are, as I conceive, two; namely, senseless preaching, and disgracing

1 90 THE LIFE OF

of the ministry : for how should not men dare to impugn that which
neither by force of reason, nor by authority of persons, is maintained?
But in the parties themselves these two causes I conceive of atheism :
I. More abundance of wit than judgment, and of witty than judicious
learning ; whereby they are more inclined to contradict anything, than
willing to be informed of the truth. They are not therefore men of
sound learning for the most part, but smatterers ; neither is their kind
of dispute so much by force of argument, as by scoffing ; which
humour of scoffing, and turning matters most serious into merriment,
is now become so common, as we are not to marvel what the prophet
means by the seat of scorners, nor what the apostles, by foretelling
of scorners to come ; for our own age hath verified their speech unto
us : which also may be an argument against these scoffers and atheists
themselves, seeing it hath been so many ages ago foretold, that such
men the latter days of the world should afford : which could not be
done by any other spirit, save that whereunto things future and present
are alike. And even for the main question of the resurrection, whereat
they stick so mightily, was it not plainly foretold that men should in
the latter times say, " Where is the promise of his coming?" Against
the creation, the ark, and divers other points, exceptions are said to be
taken, the ground whereof is superfluity of wit, without ground of
learning and judgment. A second cause of atheism is sensuality, which
maketh men desirous to remove all stops and impediments of their
wicked life ; among which because religion is the chiefest, so as
neither in this life without shame they can persist therein, nor — if that
be true — without torment in the life to come ; they therefore whet
their wits to annihilate the joys of heaven, wherein they see — if any
such be — they can have no part, and likewise the pains of hell,
wherein their portion must needs be very great. They labour there-
fore, not that they may not deserve those pains, but that, deserving
them, there may be no such pains to seize upon them. But what
conceit can be imagined more bases than that man should strive to
persuade himself even against the secret instinct, no doubt, of his own
mind, that his soul is as the soul of a beast, mortal, and corruptible
with the body ? Against which barbarous opinion their own atheism
is a very strong argument. For, were not the soul a nature separable
from the body, how could it enter into discourse of things merely
spiritual, and nothing at all pertaining to the body? Surely the soul
were not able to conceive anything of heaven, no not so much as to

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 191

dispute against heaven, and against God, if there were not in it some-
what heavenly, and derived from God.

The last which have received strength and encouragement from the
Reformers are Papists ; against whom, although they are most bitter
enemies, yet unwittingly they have given them great advantage. For
what can any enemy rather desire than the breach and dissension of
those which are confederates against him? Wherein they are to
remember that if our communion with Papists in some few ceremonies
do so much strengthen them, as is pretended, how much more doth
this division and rent among ourselves, especially seeing it is maintained
to be, not in light matters only, but even in matters of faith and
salvation ? Which over-reaching speech of theirs, because it is so open
an advantage for the Barrowist and the Papist, we are to wish and
hope for, that they will acknowledge it to have been spoken rather in
heat of affection than with soundness of judgment; and that through
their exceeding love to that creature of discipline which themselves
have bred, nourished, and maintained, their mouth in commendation of
her did so often overflow.

From hence you may proceed — but the means of connection I leave
to yourself — to another discourse, which I think very meet to be
handled either here or elsewhere at large ; the parts whereof may be
these : I. That in this cause between them and us, men are to sever
the proper and essential points and controversy from those which are
accidental. The most essential and proper are these two : overthrow
of the Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial authority. But in these
two points whosoever joineth with them is accounted of their number ;
whosoever in all other points agreeth with them, yet thinketh the
authority of bishops not unlawful, and of elders not necessary, may
justly be severed from their retinue. Those things therefore, which
either in the persons, or in the laws and orders themselves are faulty,
may be complained on, acknowledged, and amended, yet they no whit
the nearer their main purpose : for what if all errors by them supposed
in our Liturgy were amended, even according to their own heart's
desire ; if non-residence, pluralities, and the like were utterly taken
away; are their lay-elders therefore presently authorised; or their
sovereign ecclesiastical jurisdiction established?

But even in their complaining against the outward and accidental
matters in Church go%-ernment, they are many ways faulty, i. In
their end, which they propose to themselves. For in declaiming

i92 THE LIFE OF

against abuses, their meaning is not to have them redressed, but, by
disgracing the present state, to make way for their own discipline. As
therefore in Venice, if any senator should discourse against the power
of their senate, as being either too sovereign, or too weak in govern-
ment, with purpose to draw their authority to a moderation, it might
well be suffered ; but not so, if it should appear he spake with purpose
to induce another state by depriving the present. So in all causes
belonging either to Church or Commonwealth, we are to have regard
what mind the complaining part doth bear, Whether of amendment or
innovation ; and accordingly either to suffer or suppress it. Their
objection therefore is frivolous, "Why, may not men speak against
abuses?" Yes ; but with desire to cure the part affected, not to destroy
the whole. 2. A second fault is in their manner of complaining, not
only because it is for the most part in bitter and reproachful terms, but
also it is to the common people, who are judges incompetent and
insufficient, both to determine anything amiss, and for want of skill
and authority to amend it. Which also discovereth their intent and
purpose to be rather destructive than corrective. 3. Those very
exceptions which they take are frivolous and impertinent. Some things
indeed they accuse as impious ; which if they may appear to be such,
God forbid they should be maintained.

Against the rest it is only alleged, that they are idle ceremonies
without use, and that better and more profitable might be devised.
Wherein they are doubly deceived; for neither is it a sufficient plea
to say, this must give place, because a better may be devised; because
in our judgments of better and worse we oftentimes conceive amiss
when we compare those things which are in devise with those which
are in practice : for the imperfections of the one are hid, till by time
and trial they be discovered : the others are already manifest and
open to all. But last of all, — which is a point in my opinion of great
regard, and which I am desirous to have enlarged, — they do not see
that for the most part when they strike at the State Ecclesiastical,
they secretly wound the Civil State, for personal faults: "What can
be said against the Church, which may not also agree to the Common-
wealth?" In both, statesmen have always been, and will be always,
men ; sometimes blinded with error, most commonly perverted by
passions; many unworthy have been and are advanced in both; many
worthy not regarded. And as for abuses, which they pretend to be
in tha law themselves; when they inveigh against non-residence, do

MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 193

they take it a matter lawful or expedient in the Civil State, for a man
to have a great and gainful office in the North, himself continually
remaining in the South? " He that hath an office let him attend his
office." When they condemn plurality of livings spiritual to the pit
of hell, what think they of the infinity of temporal promotions ? By
the great Philosopher, Pol., lib. ii. cap. 9, it is forbidden as a thing
most dangerous to commonwealths, that by the same man many
great offices should be exercised. When they deride our ceremonies
as vain and frivolous, were it hard to apply their exceptions even to
those civil ceremonies, which at the coronation, in Parliament, and
all courts of justice, are used? Were it hard to argue even against
circumcision, the ordinance of God, as being a cruel ceremony ? against
the Passover, as being ridiculous — shod, girt, a staff in their hand, to
eat a lamb ?

To conclude: you may exhort the clergy, — or what if you direct your
conclusion not to the clergy in general, but only to the learned in or of
both universities ? — you may exhort them to a due consideration of all
things, and to a right esteem and valuing of each thing in that degree
wherein it ought to stand. For it oftentimes falleth out, that what
men have either devised themselves, or greatly delighted in, the price
and the excellency thereof they do admire above desert. The chiefest
labour of a Christian should be to know, of a minister to preach, Christ
crucified: in regard whereof, not only worldly things, but things other-
wise precious, even the discipline itself, is vile and base. Whereas
now, by the heat of contention, and violence of affection, the zeal of
men towards the one hath greatly decayed their love to the other.
Hereunto therefore they are to be exhorted to preach Christ crucified,
the mortification of the flesh, the renewing of the spirit; not those
things which in time of strife seem precious, but — passions being allayed
— are vain and childish. G. C.

THE LIFE OF

MR. GEORGE HERBERT,

PREBENDARY OF SALISBURY CATHEDRAL.

INTRODUCTION.

IN a late retreat from the business of this world, and those
many little cares with which I have too often cumbered myself,
I fell into a contemplation of some of those historical passages
that are recorded in sacred story: and more particularly of
what had passed betwixt our blessed Saviour and that wonder
of women, and sinners, and mourners, St. Mary Magdalen.
I call her saint, because I did not then, nor do now consider
her, as when she was possessed with seven devils; not as
when her wanton eyes and dishevelled hair were designed
and managed to charm and ensnare amorous beholders. But
I did then, and do now consider her, as after she had expressed
a visible and sacred sorrow for her sensualities; as after those
eyes had wept such a flood of penitential tears as did wash,
and that hair had wiped, and she most passionately kissed the
feet of hers and our blessed Jesus. And I do now consider,
that because she loved much, not only much was forgiven her;
but that beside that blessed blessing of having her sins par-
doned, and the joy of knowing her happy condition, she also
had from him a testimony that her alabaster box of precious
ointment poured on his head and feet, and that spikenard,
and those spices that were by her dedicated to embalm and pre-
serve his sacred body from putrefaction, should so far preserve
her own memory, that these demonstrations of her sanctified
love, and of her officious and generous gratitude, should be
recorded and mentioned wheresoever his gospel should be read;
intending thereby, that as his, so her name, should also live to
succeeding generations, even till time itself shall be no more.
Upon occasion of which fair example, I did lately look back,

198 INTRODUCTION.

and not without some content, — at least to myself, — that I have
endeavoured to deserve the love, and preserve the memory, of
my two deceased friends, Dr. Donne and Sir Henry Wotton,
by declaring the several employments and various accidents
of their lives. And though Mr. George Herbert — whose life I
now intend to write — were to me a stranger as to his person,
for I have only seen him; yet since he was, and was worthy
to be, their friend, and very many of his have been mine, I
judge it may not be unacceptable to those that knew any of them
in their lives, or do now know them by mine, or their own
writings, to see this conjunction of them after their deaths ;
without which, many things that concerned them, and some
things that concerned the age in which they lived, would be
less perfect, and lost to posterity.

For these reasons I have undertaken it; and if I have
prevented any abler person, I beg pardon of him and my
reader.

THE LIFE OF
MR. GEORGE HERBERT.

GEORGE HERBERT was botn the third day of April, in the year
of our redemption icor The place of his birth was near to
the town of Montgomery, and in that castle that did then bear
the name of that town and county ; that castle was then a
place of state and strength, and had been successively happy
in the family of the Herberts, who had long possessed it; and
with it, a plentiful estate, and hearts as liberal to their poor
neighbours. A family that hath been blessed with men of
remarkable wisdom, and a willingness to serve their country,
and, indeed, to do good to all mankind ; for which they are
eminent : But alas ! this family did in the late rebellion suffer
extremely in their estates ; and the heirs of that castle saw it
laid level with that earth that was too good to bury those
wretches that were the cause of it.

The father of our George was Richard Herbert, the son of
Edward Herbert, Knight, the son of Richard Herbert, Knight,
the son of the famous Sir Richard Herbert of Colebrook, in the
county of Monmouth, Banneret, who was the youngest brother
of that memorable William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, that
lived in the reign of our King Edward the Fourth.

His mother was Magdalen Newport, the youngest daughter
of Sir Richard, and sister to Sir Francis Newport of High
Arkall, in the county of Salop, Knight, and grandfather of
Francis Lord Newport, now Controller of his Majesty's House-
hold. A family that for their loyalty have suffered much in
their estates, and seen the ruin of that excellent structure where

206 THE LIFE OF

their ancestors have long lived, and been memorable for their
hospitality.

This mother of George Herbert — of whose person, and
wisdom, and virtue, I intend to give a true account in a season-
able place — was the happy mother of seven sons and three
daughters, which she would often say was Job's number, and
Job's distribution ; and as often bless God, that they were
neither defective in their shapes nor in their reason ; and very
often reprove them that did not praise God for so great a bless-
ing. I shall give the reader a short account of their names, and
not say much of their fortunes.

Edward, the eldest, was first made Knight of the Bath, at
that glorious time of our late Prince Henry's being installed
Knight of the Garter; and after many years' useful travel, and
the attainment of many languages, he was by King James sent
ambassador resident to the then French king, Lewis the Thir-
teenth. There he continued about two years ; but he could not
subject himself to a compliance with the humours of the Duke
de Luisnes, who was then the great and powerful favourite at
court : so that upon a complaint to our King, he was called
back into England in some displeasure ; but at his return he
gave such an honourable account of his employment, and so
justified his comportment to the Duke and all the court, that he
was suddenly sent back upon the same embassy, from which
he returned in the beginning of the reign of our good King
Charles the First, who made him first Baron of Castleisland,
and not long after of Cherbury in the county of Salop. He was
a man of great learning and reason, as appears by his printed
book De Veritate, and by his History of the Reign of King
Henry the Eighth, and by several other tracts.

The second and third brothers were Richard and William,
who ventured their lives to purchase honour in the wars of the
Low Countries, and died officers in that employment. Charles
was the fourth, and died fellow of New College in Oxford.
Henry was the sixth, who became a menial servant to the crown
in the days of King James, and hath continued to be so for
fifty years ; during all which time he hath been Master of the

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 201

Revels, a place that requires a diligent wisdom, with which
God hath blessed him. The seventh son was Thomas, who,
being made captain of a ship in that fleet wij:h which Sir Robert
Mansell was sent against Algiers, did there show a fortunate
and true English valour. Of the three sisters I need not say
more than that they were all married to persons of worth and
plentiful fortunes ; and lived to be examples of virtue, and to do
good in their generations.

I now come to give my intended account of George, who was
the fifth of those seven brothers.

George Herbert spent much of his childhood in a sweet con-
tent under the eye and care of his p_rudent .mollier, and the
tuition of a chaplain, or tutor to him and two of his brothers, in
her own family, — for she was then a widow, — where he con-
tinued till about the age of twelve years ; and being at that time
well instructed in the rules of grammar, he was not long after
commended to the care of Dr. Neale, who was then Dean of
Westminster; and by him to the care of Mr. Ireland, who was
then chief master of that school; where the beauties of his
pretty behaviour and wit shined, and became so eminent and
lonely in this his innocent age, that he seemed to.be marked
out for piety, and to become the care of heaven, and of a par-
ticular good angel to guard and guide him. And thus he con-
tinued in that school, till he came to be perfect in the learned X,
languages, and especially in the Greek tongue, in which he after
proved an excellent critic.

About the age of fifteen — he being then a King's scholar —
he was elected out of that school for Trinity College in
Cambridge, to which place he was transplanted about the year
1608; and his prudent mother, well knowing that he might
easily lose or lessen that virtue and innocence which her
advice and example had planted in his mind, did therefore
procure the generous and liberal Dr. Nevil, who was then Dean
of Canterbury, and master of that College, to take him into his
particular care, and provide him a tutor ; which he did most
gladly undertake, for he knew the excellencies of his mother,
and how to value such a friendship.

202 THE LIFE OF

This was the method of his education, till he was settled in
Cambridge; where we will leave him in his study, till I have
paid my promised Account of his excellent mother ; and I will
endeavour to make it short.

I have told her birth, her marriage, and the number of her
children, and have given some short account of them. I shall
next tell the reader that her husband died when our George
was about the age of four years : I am next to tell, that she
continued twelve years a widow; that she then married happily
to a noble gentleman, the brother and heir of the Lord Danvers,
Earl of Danby, who did highly value both her person and the
most excellent endowments of her mind.

In this time of her widowhood, she being desirous to give
Edward, her eldest son, such advantages of learning, and other
education, as might suit his birth and fortune, and thereby
make him the more fit for the service of his country, did, at his
being of a fit age, remove from Montgomery Castle with him,
and some of her younger sons, to Oxford; and having entered
Edward into Queen's College, and provided him a fit tutor, she
commended him to his care, yet she continued there with him,
and still kept him in a moderate awe of herself, and so much
under her own eye, as to see and converse with him daily: but
she managed this power over him without any such rigid
sourness as might make her company a torment to her child;
but with such a sweetness and compliance with the recreations
and pleasures of youth, as did incline him willingly to spend
much of his time in the company of his dear and careful mother;
which was to her great content: for she would often say, " That
as our bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which
we feed ; so our souls do as insensibly take in vice by the
example or conversation with wicked company : " and would
therefore as often say, " That ignorance of vice was the best
preservation of virtue; and that the very knowledge of wicked-
ness was as tinder to inflame and kindle sin and keep it
burning." For these reasons she endeared him to her own
company, and continued with him in Oxford four years; in
which time her great and harmless wit, her cheerful gravity,

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 203

and her obliging behaviour, gained her an acquaintance and
friendship with most of any eminent worth or learning that
were at that time in or near that university; and particularly
with Mr. John Donne, who then came accidentally to that
place, in this time of her being there. It was that John Donne,
who was after Dr. Donne, and Dean of St. Paul's, London: and
he, at his leaving Oxford, writ and left there, in verse, a
character of the beauties of her body and mind : of the first
he says,

No spring nor summer-beauty has such grace,
As I have seen in an autumnal face.

Of the latter he says,

In all her words to every hearer fit,
You may at revels, or at council sit. -

The rest of her character may be read in his printed poems,
in that elegy which bears the name of " The Autumnal Beauty."
For both he and she were then past the meridian of man's life.

This amity, begun at this time and place, was not an amity
that polluted their souls; but an amity made up of a chain of
suitable inclinations and virtues ; an amity like that of St.
Chrysostom's to his dear and virtuous Olympias; whom, in his
letters, he calls his saint: or an amity, indeed, more like that
of St. Hierome to his Paula; whose affection to her was such,
that he turned poet in his old age, and then made her epitaph;
wishing all his body were turned into tongues that he might
declare her just praises to posterity. And this amity betwixt
her and Mr. Donne was begun in a happy time for him, he
being then near to the fortieth year of his age, — which was
some years before he entered into sacred orders; — a time when
his necessities needed a daily supply for the support of his wife,
seven children, and a family. And in this time she proved
one of his most bountiful benefactors; and he as grateful an
acknowledger of it. You may take one testimony for what I
have said of these two worthy persons, from this following
letter and sonnet : —

204 THE LIFE OF

" MADAM,

"Your favours to me are everywhere: I use them and have
them. I enjoy them at London, and leave them there; and
yet find them at Mitcham. Such riddles as these become
things inexpressible; and such is your goodness. I was almost
sorry to find your servant here this day, because I was loth
to have any witness of my not coming home last night, and
indeed of my coming this morning. But my not coming was
excusable, because earnest business detained me; and my com-
ing this day is by the example of your St. Mary Magdalen,
who rose early upon Sunday to seek that which she loved
most; and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return such
thanks as are due to one to whom we owe all the good opinion
that they, whom we need most, have of us. By this messenger,
and on this good day, I commit the enclosed holy hymns and
sonnets — which for the matter, not the workmanship, have yet
escaped the fire — to your judgment, and to your protection too,
if you think them worthy of it; and I have appointed this
inclosed sonnet to usher them to your happy hand.

Your tinvvorthiest servant,

Unless your accepting him to be so

have ntended him,

MITCHAM, Jo. DONNE."

July II, 1607.

To the Lady Magdalen Herbert: Of St. Mary
Magdalen.

Her of your name, whose fair inheritance

Belhina was, and jointure Magdalo,
An active faith so highly did advance,

That she once knew more than the Church did know,
The Resurrection ! so much good there is

Delivered of her, that some Fathers be
Loth to believe one woman could do this,

But think these Magdalens were two or three.
Increase their number, Lady, and their fame:

To their devotion add your innocence:

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 205

Take so much of th' example, as of the name;

The latter half; and in some recompense
That they did harbour Christ himself, a guest,

Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest.

J. D.

These hymns are now lost to us; but doubtless they were
such as they two now sing in heaven.

There might be more demonstrations of the friendship, and
the many sacred endearments betwixt these two excellent
persons, — for I have many of their letters in my hand, — and
much more might be said of her great prudence and piety; but
my design was not to write hers, but the life of her son; and
therefore 1 shall only tell my reader, that about that very day
twenty years that this letter was dated, and sent her, I saw
and heard this Mr. John Donne — who was then Dean of St.
Paul's — weep, and preach her funeral sermon, in the Parish
Church of Chelsea, near London, where she now rests in her
quiet grave: and where we must now leave her, and return to
her son George, whom we left in his study in Cambridge.

And in Cambridge we may find our George Herbert's
behaviour to be such, that we may conclude he consecrated the
first-fruits of his early age to virtue, and a serious study of
learning. And that he did so, this following letter and sonnet,
which were, in the first year of his going to Cambridge, sent
his dear mother for a New Year's gift, may appear to be some
testimony: —

"... But I fear the heat of my late ague hath dried up those
springs by which scholars say the Muses use to take up their
habitations. However, I need not their help to reprove the
vanity of those many love-poems that are daily writ and
consecrated to Venus; nor to bewail that so few are writ that
look towards God and heaven. For my own part, my meaning
— dear mother — is, in these sonnets, to declare my resolution
to be, that my poor abilities in poetry shall be all and ever
consecrated to God's glory: and I beg you to receive this as
one testimony."

206 THE LIFE OF

f

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,
Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn,
Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry

Wear Venus' livery ? only serve her turn ?

Why are not Sonnets made of thee ? and lays
Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love
Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise

As well as any she ? Cannot thy Dove

Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight ?
Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same,
Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name ?

Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might
Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose
Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse ?

Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry
Oceans of ink ; for as the Deluge did
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty';

Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid

Poets to turn it to another use.

Roses and lilies speak Thee ; and to make
A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse.

Why should I women's eyes for crystal take?

Such poor invention burns in their low mind
Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go
To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow.

Open the bones, and you shall nothing find
In the best face but filth ; when Lord, in Thee
The beauty lies in the discovery.

G. H.

This was his resolution at the sending this letter to his dear
mother, about which time he was in the seventeenth year of
his age; and as he grew older, so he grew in learning, and more
and more in favour both with God and man: insomuch that, in
this morning of that short day of his life, he seemed to be
marked out for virtue, and to become the care of Heaven; for
God still kept his soul in so holy a frame, that he iriay, and
ought to be a pattern of virtue to all posterity, and especially to
his brethren of the clergy, of which the reader may expect a
more exact account in what will follow.

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 207

I need not declare that he was a strict student, because, that
he was so, there will be many testimonies in the future part of
his life. I shall therefore only tell, that he was made Minor
Fellow in the year 1609, Bachelor of Arts in the year 1611;
Major Fellow of the College, March I5th, 1615: and that in
that year he was also made Master of Arts, he being then in
the twenty-second year of his age; during all which time, all,
or the greatest diversion from his study, was the practice of
music, in which he became a great master; and of which he
would say, "That it did relieve his drooping spirits, compose
his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul so far above
earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of heaven, before
he possessed them." And it may be noted, that from his first
entrance into the college, the generous Dr. Nevil was a
cherisher of his studies, and such a lover of his person,
his behaviour, and the excellent endowments of his mind,
that he took him often into his own company; by which he
confirmed his native gentleness : and if during his time he
expressed any error, it was that he kept himself too much
retired, and at too great a distance with all his inferiors; and
his clothes seemed to prove that he put too great a value on his
parts and parentage.

This may be some account of his disposition, and of the
employment of his time till he was Master of Arts, which was
anno 1615, and in the year 1619 he was chosen Orator for
the University. His two precedent Orators were Sir Robert
Naunton and Sir Francis Nethersole. The first was not long
after made Secretary of State, and Sir Francis, not very long
after his being Orator, was made secretary to the Lady
Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia. In this place of Orator our
George Herbert continued eight years ; and managed it with
as becoming and grave a gaiety as any had ever before or
since his time. For "he had acquired great learning, and
was blessed with a high fancy, a civil and sharp wit ; and
with a natural elegance, both in his behaviour, his tongue, and
his pen." Of all which there might be very many particular
evidences; but I will limit myself to the mention of but three.

208 THE LIFE OF

And the first notable occasion of showing his fitness for this
employment of Orator was manifested in a letter to King James,
upon the occasion of his sending that university his book called
Basilicon Doron; and their Orator was to acknowledge this
great honour, and return their gratitude to his Majesty for such
a condescension; at the close of which letter he writ,

Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque objicis, hospes !
Unicus est nobis Bibliotheca Liber.

This letter was writ in such excellent Latin, was so full of
conceits, and all the expressions so suited to the genius of the
King, that he inquired the Orator's name, and then asked
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 loved him more for his learning and virtue
than for that he was of his name and family." At which
answer the King smiled, and asked the Earl leave that he
might love him too, for he took him to be the jewel of that
university.

The next occasion he had and took to show his great abilities
was, with them, to show also his great affection to that Church
in which he received his baptism, and of which he professed
himself a member; and the occasion was this: There was one
Andrew Melvin, a minister of the Scotch Church, and Rector
of St. Andrew's; who, by a long and constant converse with a
discontented part of that clergy which opposed episcopacy,
became at last to be a chief leader of that faction ; and had
proudly appeared to be so to King James, when he was but
King of that nation, who, the second year after his coronation
in England, convened a part of the bishops, and other learned
divines of his Church, to attend him at Hampton Court, in order
to a friendly conference with some dissenting brethren, both of
this and the Church of Scotland: of which Scotch party Andrew
Melvin was one; and he being a man of learning, and inclined
to satirical poetry, had scattered many malicious, bitter verses
against our Liturgy, our ceremonies, and our Church govern-

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 209

merit; which were by some of that party so magnified for the
wit, that they were therefore brought into Westminster School,
where Mr. George Herbert, then, and often after, made such
answers to them, and such reflections on him and his Kirk, as
might unbeguile any man that was not too deeply pre-engaged
in such a quarrel. But to return to Mr. Melvin at Hampton
Court conference: he there appeared to be a man of an unruly
wit, of a strange confidence, of so furious a zeal, and of so
ungoverned passions, that his insolence to the King, and others
at this conference, lost him both his Rectorship of St. Andrew's
and his liberty too; for his former verses, and his present
reproaches there used against the Church and State, caused
him to be committed prisoner to the Tower of London; where
he remained very angry for three years. At which time of his
commitment he found the Lady Arabella an innocent prisoner
there; and he pleased himself much in sending, the next day
after his commitment, these two verses to the good lady;
which I will underwrite, because they may give the reader a
taste of his others, which were like these:

Causa tibi me cum est communis, careens, Ara-
Belia, tibi causa est> Araqne sacra mihi.

I shall not trouble my reader with an account of his enlarge-
ment from that prison, or his death; but tell him Mr. Herbert's
verses were thought so worthy to be preserved, that Dr. Duport,
the learned Dean of Peterborough, hath lately collected and
caused many of them to be printed, as an honourable memorial
of his friend Mr. George Herbert, and the cause he undertook.

And in order to my third and last observation of his great
abilities, it will be needful to declare, that about this time
King James came very often to hunt at Newmarket and
Royston, and was almost as often invited to Cambridge, where
his entertainment was comedies, suited to his pleasant humour;
and where Mr. George Herbert was to welcome him with
gratulations, and the applauses of an Orator; which he always
performed so well, that he still grew more into the King's

2io THE LIFE OF

favour, insomuch that he had a particular appointment to
attend his Majesty at Royston; where, after a discourse with
him, his Majesty declared to his kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke,
that he found the Orator's learning and wisdom much above
his age or wit. The year following, the King appointed to end
his progress at Cambridge, and to stay there certain days; at
which time he was attended by the great secretary of nature
and all learning, Sir Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, and by the
ever-memorable and learned Dr. Andrews, Bishop of Win-
chester, both which did at that time begin a desired friendship
with our Orator. Upon whom, the first put such a value on his
judgment, that he usually desired his approbation before he
would expose any of his books to be printed; and thought him
so worthy of his friendship, that having translated many of the
Prophet David's Psalms into English verse, he made George
Herbert his patron, by a public dedication of them to him, as
the best judge of divine poetry. And for the learned Bishop,
it is observable, that at that time there fell to be a modest
debate betwixt them two about predestination, and sanctity of
life; of both of which the Orator did, not long after, send the
Bishop some safe and useful aphorisms, in a long letter, written
in Greek; which letter was so remarkable for the language
and reason of it, that, after the reading of it, the Bishop put it
into his bosom, and did often show it to many scholars, both of
this and foreign nations; but did always return it back to the
place where he first lodged it, and continued it so near his
heart till the last day of his life.

To this I might add the long and entire friendship betwixt
him and Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Donne ; but I have
promised to contract myself, and shall therefore only add one
testimony to what is also mentioned in the Life of Dr. Donne;
namely, that a little before his death he caused many seals to
be made, and in them to be engraven the figure of Christ,
crucified on an anchor, — the emblem of hope, — and of which
Dr. Donne would often say, "Crux mihi anchora." — These
seals he gave or sent to most of those friends on which
he put a value ; and, at Mr. Herbert's death, these verses

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 211

were found wrapt up with that seal, which was by the Doctor
given to him:

When my dear friend could write no more,
He gave this Seal and so gave o'er.

When winds and waves rise highest I am sure,
This Anchor keeps my faith, that me, secure.

At this time of being Orator, he had learned to understand
the Italian, Spanish, and French tongues very perfectly: hoping
that as his predecessors, so he might in time attain the place of
a Secretary of State, he being at that time very high in the
King's favour, and not meanly valued and loved by the most
eminent and most powerful of the court nobility. This, and
the love of a court conversation, mixed with a laudable ambi-
tion to be something more than he then was, drew him often
from Cambridge, to attend the King wheresoever the court was,
who then gave him a sinecure, which fell into his Majesty's
disposal, I think, by the death of the Bishop of St. Asaph. It
was the same that Queen Elizabeth had formerly given to hei
favourite Sir Philip Sidney, and valued to be worth an hundred
and twenty pounds per annum. With this, and his annuity,
and the advantage of his college, and of his Oratorship, he
enjoyed his genteel humour for clothes, and court-like company,
and seldom looked towards Cambridge, unless the King were
there, but then he never failed; and, at other times, left the
manage of his Orator's place to his learned friend, Mr. Herbert
Thorndike, who is now Prebend of Westminster.

I may not omit to tell, that he had often designed to leave
the university, and decline all study, which he thought did
impair his health; for he had a body apt to a consumption, and
to fevers, and other infirmities, which he judged were increased
by his studies; for he would often say, "He had too thoughtful
a wit; a wit like a penknife in too narrow a sheath, too sharp
for his body." But his mother would by no means allow him
to leave the university, or to travel; and though he inclined
very much to both, yet he would by no means satisfy his own

212 THE LIFE OF

desires at so dear a rate, as to prove an undutiful son to so
affectionate a mother; but did always submit to her wisdom.
And what I have now said may partly appear in a copy of
verses in his printed poems; 'tis one of those that bear the
title of Affliction; and it appears to be a pious reflection on
God's providence, and some passages of his life, in which he
says,—

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took

The way that takes the town :
Thou didst betray me to a lingering book,

And wrapt me in a gown :
I was entangled in a world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.

Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise,

Not simpering all mine age;
Thou often didst with academic praise

Melt and dissolve my rage :
I took the sweeten'd pill, till I came where
I could not go away, nor persevere.

Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be

In my unhappiness,
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me

Into more sicknesses.

Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making
Thine own gifts good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me

None of my books will show.
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree,

For then sure I should grow
To fruit or shade, at least some bird would trust
Her household with me, and I would be just.

Yet, though thou troubles! me, I must be meek,

In weakness must be stout,
Well, I will change my service, and go seek

Some other master out;

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 213

Ah, my dear God ! though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.

G. H.

In this time of Mr. Herbert's attendance and expectation of
some good occasion to remove from Cambridge to court, God,
in whom there is an unseen chain of causes, did in a short time
put an end to the lives of two of his most obliging and most
powerful friends, Lodowick Duke of Richmond, and James
Marquis of Hamilton ; and not long after him King James
died also, and with them all Mr. Herbert's court hopes : so
that he presently betook himself to a retreat from London, to
a friend in Kent, where he lived very privately, and was such a
lover of solitariness, as was judged to impair his health more
than his study had done. In this time of retirement he had
many conflicts with himself, whether he should return to the
painted pleasures of a court life, or betake himself to a study of
divinity, and enter into sacred orders, to which his mother had
often persuaded him. These were such conflicts as they only
can know that have endured them; for ambitious desires, and
the outward glory of this world, are not easily laid aside; but
at last God inclined him to put on a resolution to serve at
his altar.

He did, at his return to London, acquaint a court-friend with
his resolution to enter into sacred orders, who persuaded him to
alter it, as too mean an employment, and too much below his
birth, and the excellent abilities and endowments of his mind.
To whom he replied, "It hath been formerly judged that the
domestic servants of the King of Heaven should be of the
noblest families on earth. And though the iniquity of the late
times have made clergymen meanly valued, and the sacred
name of priest contemptible; yet I will labour to make it
honourable, by consecrating all my learning, and all my poor
abilities to advance the glory of that God that gave them;
knowing that I can never do too much for him, that hath clone
so much for me as to make me a Christian. And I will labour
to be like my Saviour, by making humility lovely in the eyes of

2i4 THE LIFE OF

all men, and by following the merciful and meek example of my
dear Jesus."

This was then his resolution; and the God of constancy, who
intended him for a great example of virtue, continued him in it,
for within that year he was made deacon, but the day when, or
by whom, I cannot learn; but that he was about that time made
deacon is most certain ; for I find by the records of Lincoln,
that he was made Prebend of Layton Ecclesia, in the diocese
of Lincoln, July 1 5th, 1626, and that this Prebend was given
him by John, then Lord Bishop of that see. And now he had
a fit occasion to show that piety and bounty that was derived
from his generous mother, and his other memorable ancestors,
and the occasion was this.

This Layton Ecclesia is a village near to Spalden, in the
county of Huntingdon, and the greatest part of the parish
church was fallen down, and that of it which stood was so
decayed, so little, and so useless, that the parishioners could
not meet to perform their duty to God in public prayer and
praises ; and thus it had been for almost twenty years, in
which time there had been some faint endeavours for a public
collection to enable the parishioners to rebuild it ; but with no
success, till Mr. Herbert undertook it; and he, by his own, and
the contribution of many of his kindred, and other noble friends,
undertook the re-edification of it; and made it so much his whole
business, that he became restless till he saw it finished as it now
stands ; being for the workmanship, a costly mosaic ; for the
form, an exact cross ; and for the decency and beauty, I am
assured, it is the most remarkable parish church that this
nation affords. He lived to see it so wainscotted as to be
exceeded by none, and, by his order, the reading pew and
pulpit were a little distance 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 useful, might agree like brethren,
and have an equal honour and estimation."

Before I proceed further, I must look back to the time of Mr.
Herbert's being made Prebend, and tell the reader, that no

AIR. GEORGE HERBERT. 5 15

long after, his mother being informed of his intentions to re-
build that church, and apprehending the great trouble and
charge that he was like to draw upon himself, his relations
and friends, before it could be finished, sent for him from
London to Chelsea, — where she then dwelt, — and at his
coming, said, " George, I sent for you, to persuade you to
commit simony, by giving your patron as good a gift as he
has given to you; namely, that you give him back his pre-
bend; for, George, it is not for your weak body, and empty
purse, to undertake to build churches." Of which, he desired
he might have a day's time to consider, and then make her
an answer. And at his return to her the next day, when he
had first desired her blessing, and she given it him, his next
request was, " That she would, at the age of thirty-three years,
allow him to become an undutiful son; for he had made a vow
to God, that, if he were able, he would rebuild that church."
And then showed her such reasons for his resolution, that she
presently subscribed to be one of his benefactors; and under-
took to solicit William Earl of Pembroke to become another,
who subscribed for fifty pounds; and not long after, by a witty
and persuasive letter from Mr. Herbert, made it fifty pounds
more. And in this nomination of some of his benefactors,
James Duke of Lenox, and his brother, Sir Henry Herbert,
ought to be remembered; as also the bounty of Mr. Nicholas
Farrer, and Mr. Arthur Woodnot: the one a gentleman in
the neighbourhood of Layton, and the other a goldsmith in
Foster Lane, London, ought not to be forgotten: for the
memory of such men ought to outlive their lives. Of Mr.
Farrer I shall hereafter give an account in a more seasonable
place; but before I proceed further, I will give this short
account of Mr. Arthur Woodnot.

He was a man that had considered overgrown estates do
often require more care and watchfulness to preserve than
get them, and considered that there be many discontents
that riches cure not; and did therefore set limits to himself,
as to desire of wealth. And having attained so much as to
be able to show some mercy to the poor, and preserve a com-

216 THE LIFE OF

petence for himself, he dedicated the remaining part of his
life to the service of God, and to be useful to his friends; and
he proved to be so to Mr. Herbert; for besides his own bounty,
he collected and returned most of the money that was paid
for the rebuilding of that church; he kept all the account of
the charges, and would often go down to state them, and
see all the workmen paid. When I have said that this
good man was a useful friend to Mr. Herbert's father, and
to his mother, and continued to be so to him, till he closed
his eyes on his death-bed, I will forbear to say more, till
I have the next fair occasion to mention the holy friendship
that was betwixt him and Mr. Herbert. From whom
Mr. Woodnot carried to his mother this following letter,
and delivered it to her in a sickness, which was not long before
that which proved to be her last: —

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 myself carry all sickness out
of your family: but since I 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, it 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 meantime, I
beseech you to be cheerful, and comfort yourself in the God
of all comfort, who is not willing to behold any sorrow but
for sin. — What hath affliction grievous in it more than 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 joys; therefore,

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 217

if either age or sickness lead you to those joys, consider what
advantage you have over youth and health, who are now so
near those true comforts. Your last letter gave me earthly
preferment, and I hope kept heavenly for yourself: but would
you divide and choose too? Our college customs allow not
that : and I should account myself most happy, if I might
change with you; for I have always observed the thread of
life to be like other threads or skeins of silk, full of snarles
and incumbrances. Happy is he whose bottom is wound up,
and laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem. For myself,
dear mother, I always feared sickness more than 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 attained to the years
of discretion, and competent maintenance. So that now, if
they do not well, the fault cannot be charged on you, whose
example and care of them will justify you both to the world
and your own conscience; insomuch that, whether you turn
your thoughts on the life past, or on the joys that are to
come, you have strong preservatives against all disquiet. 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 had 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,
O 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, O God ! most carry themselves so as if they not only
not desired, but even feared to be blessed. And for afflictions
of the body, dear madam, remember the holy martyrs of God,

218 THE LIFE OF

how they have been burned by thousands, and have endured
such other tortures, as the very mention of them might beget
amazement: but their fiery trials have had an end; and yours —
which, praised be God, are less — are not like to continue long.
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 hath delivered me out of the paws of the lion and bear,
will also deliver me out of the hands of this uncircumcised
Philistine.' Lastly, for those afflictions 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
inmate as grief; or allow that any sadness shall be his com-
petitor. And, above all, if any care of future things molest
you, remember those admirable words of the Psalmist: 'Cast
thy care on the Lord, and he shall nourish thee.'1 To which
join that of St. Peter, ' Casting all your care on the Lord, for
he careth for you.'2 What an admirable thing is this, that God
puts his shoulder to our burden, 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: Philipp. iv. 4.
St. Paul saith there, ' Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I
say, Rejoice.' He doubles it, to take away the scruple of those
that might say, What, shall we rejoice in afflictions? Yes, I
say again, rejoice; so that it is not left to us to rejoice, or not
rejoice; but, whatsoever befalls us, we must always, at all times,
rejoice in the Lord, who taketh care for us. And it follows in
the next verses: 'Let your moderation appear to all men: The
Lord is at hand: Be careful for nothing.' What can be said
more comfortably ? Trouble not yourselves ; 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,

TRIN. Coi.r, , GEORGE HERBERT."

May 25^, 1622.

i Psalm Iv. 22. 2 1 Peter v. 7.

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 219

About the year 1629, and the thirty-fourth of his age, Mr.
Herbert was seized with a sharp quotidian ague, and thought
to remove it by the change of air; to which end he went to
Woodford in Essex, but thither more chiefly to enjoy the
company of his beloved brother, Sir Henry Herbert, and other
friends then of that family. In his house he remained about
twelve months, and there became his own physician, and cured
himself of his ague, by forbearing to drink, and not eating any
meat, no not mutton, nor a hen, or pigeon, unless they were
salted; and by such a constant diet he removed his ague, but
with inconveniences that were worse; for he brought upon
himself a disposition to rheums, and other weaknesses, and a
supposed consumption. And it is to be noted that in the
sharpest of his extreme fits he would often say, " Lord, abate
my great affliction, or increase my patience: but Lord, I repine
not; I am dumb, Lord, before thee, because thou doest it." By
which, and a sanctified submission to the will of God, he showed
he was inclinable to bear the sweet yoke of Christian discipline,
both then and in the latter part of his life, of which there will
be many true testimonies.

And now his care was to recover from his consumption, by a
change from Woodford into such an air as was most proper to
that end. And his remove was to Dauntsey in Wiltshire, a
noble house, which stands in a choice air; the owner of it
then was the Lord Danvers, Earl of Danby, who loved Mr.
Herbert so very much, that he allowed him such an apartment
in it as might best suit with his accommodation and liking.
And in this place, by a spare diet, declining all perplexing
studies, moderate exercise, and a cheerful conversation, his
health was apparently improved to a good degree of strength
and cheerfulness. And then he declared his resolution both to
many and to enter into the sacred orders of priesthood. These
had long been the desires of his mother and his other relations;
but she lived not to see either, for she died in the year 1627.
And though he was disobedient to her about Layton Church,
yet, in conformity to her will, he kept his Orator's place till
after her death, and then presently declined it; and the more

220 THE LIFE OF

willingly that he might be succeeded by his friend Robert
Creighton, who now is Dr. Creighton, and the worthy Bishop
of Wells.

I shall now proceed to his marriage ; in order to which, it
will be convenient that I first give the reader a short view
of his person, and then an account of his wife, and of some
circumstances concerning both. He was for his person of a
stature inclining towards tallness ; his body was very straight,
and so far from being cumbered with too much flesh, that
he was lean to an extremity. His aspect was cheerful, and
his speech and motion did both declare him a gentleman; for
they were all so meek and obliging, that they purchased love
and respect from all that knew him.

These, and his other visible virtues, begot him much love
from a gentleman of a noble fortune, and a near kinsman to his
friend the Earl of Danby; namely, from Mr. Charles Danvers of
Bainton, in the county of Wilts, Esq. This Mr. Danvers, having
known him long, and familiarly, did so much affect him, that
he often and publicly declared a desire that Mr. Herbert would
marry any of his nine daughters, — for he had so many, — but
rather his daughter Jane than any other, because Jane was his
beloved daughter. And he had often said the same to Mr.
Herbert himself; and that if he could like her for a wife, and
she him for a husband, Jane should have a double blessing:
and Mr. Danvers had so often said the like to Jane, and so
much commended Mr. Herbert to her, that Jane became so
much a platonic as to fall in love with Mr. Herbert unseen.

This was a fair preparation for a marriage ; but, alas ! her
father died before Mr. Herbert's retirement to Dauntsey: yet
some friends to both parties procured their meeting ; at which
time a mutual affection entered into both their hearts, as a
conqueror enters into a surprised city ; and love having got
such possession, governed, and made there such laws and
resolutions as neither party was able to resist ; insomuch, that
she changed her name into Herbert the third day after this
first interview.

This haste might in others be thought a love-frenzy, or

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 221

worse; but it was not, for they had wooed so like princes, as
to have select proxies ; such as were true friends to both
parties, such as well understood Mr. Herbert's and her temper
of mind, and also their estates, so well before this interview,
that the suddenness was justifiable by the strictest rules of
prudence ; and the more, because it proved so happy to both
parties; for the eternal lover of mankind made them happy
in each other's mutual and equal affections, and compliance;
indeed, so happy, that there never was any opposition betwixt
them, unless it were a contest which should most incline to a
compliance with the other's desires. And though this begot,
and continued in them, such a mutual love, and joy, and
content, as was no way defective; yet this mutual content,
and love, and joy, did receive a daily augmentation, by such
daily obligingness to each other, as still added such new
affluences to the former fulness of these divine souls, as was
only improvable in heaven, where they now enjoy it.

About three months after this marriage, Dr. Curie, who was
then Rector of Bemerton, in Wiltshire, was made Bishop of
Bath and Wells, and not long after translated to Winchester,
and by that means the presentation of a clerk to Bemerton
did not fall to the Earl of Pembroke, — who was the undoubted
patron of it, — but to the King, by reason of Dr. Curie's ad-
vancement : but Philip, then Earl of Pembroke, — for William
was lately dead — requested the King to bestow it upon his
kinsman George Herbert; and the King said, "Most willingly
to Mr. Herbert, if it be worth his acceptance ;" and the Earl
as willingly and suddenly sent it him, without seeking. But
though Mr. Herbert had formerly put on a resolution for the
clergy; yet, at receiving this presentation, the apprehension of
the last great account, that he was to make for the cure of so
many souls, made him fast and pray often, and consider for not
less than a month: in which time he had some resolutions to
decline both the priesthood and that living. And in this time
of considering, "he endured," as he would often say, "such
spiritual conflicts as none can think, but only those that have
endured them."

222 THE LIFE OF

In the midst of these conflicts, his old and dear friend, Mr.
Arthur Woodnot, took a journey to salute him at Bainton, —
where he then was with his wife's friends and relations — and
was joyful to be an eye-witness of his health and happy marriage.
And after they had rejoiced together some few days, they took
a journey to Wilton, the famous seat of the Earls of Pembroke;
at which time the King, the Earl, and the whole court were
there, or at Salisbury, which is near to it. And at this time
Mr. Herbert presented his thanks to the Earl for his presenta-
tion to Bemerton, but had not yet resolved to accept it, and
told him the reason why : but that night, the Earl acquainted
Dr. Laud, then Bishop of London, and after Archbishop of
Canterbury, with his kinsman's irresolution. And the Bishop
did the next day so convince Mr. Herbert that the refusal of it
was sin, that a tailor was sent for to come speedily from Salis-
bury to Wilton, to take measure, and make him canonical
clothes against next day; which the tailor did: and Mr. Herbert
being so habited, went with his presentation to the learned
Dr. Davenant, who was then Bishop of Salisbury, and he gave
him institution immediately, — for Mr. Herbert had been made
deacon some years before, — and he was also the same day —
which was April 26th, 1630 — inducted into the good, and more
pleasant than healthful, parsonage of Bemerton, which is a
mile from Salisbury.

I have now brought him to the parsonage of Bemerton, and
to the thirty-sixth year of his age, and must stop here, and
bespeak the reader to prepare for an almost incredible story, of
the great sanctity of the short remainder of his holy life; a life
so full of charity, humility, and all Christian virtues, that it
deserves the eloquence of St. Chrysostom to commend and
declare it: a life, that if it were related by a pen like his, there
would then be no need for this age to look back into times past
for the examples of primitive piety ; for they might be all found
in the life of George Herbert. But now, alas 1 who is fit to
undertake it ? I confess I am not ; and am not pleased with
myself that I must; and profess myself amazed when I con-
sider how few of the clergy lived like him then, and how many

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 223

live so unlike him now. But it becomes not me to censure: my
design is rather to assure the reader that I have used very
great diligence to inform myself, that I might inform him of
the truth of what follows ; and though I cannot adorn it with
eloquence, yet I will do it with sincerity.

When at his induction he was shut into Bemerton Church,
being left there alone to toll the bell, — as the law requires him,
— he stayed so much longer than an ordinary time, before he
returned to those friends that stayed expecting him at the
church door, that his friend Mr. Woodnot looked in at the
church window, and saw him lie prostrate on the ground before
the altar ; at which time and place — as he after told Mr.
Woodnot — he set some rules to himself, for the future manage
of his life; and then and there made a vow to labour to keep them.

And the same night that he had his induction, he said to Mr.
Woodnot/^ I now look back upon my aspiring thoughts, and
think myself more happy than if I had attained what then I so
ambitiously thirsted for. And I now can behold the court with
an impartial eye, and see plainly that it is made up of fraud and
titles, and flattery, and many other such empty, imaginary,
painted pleasures; pleasures that are so empty as not to satisfy
when they are enjoyed. But in God, and his service, is a
fulness of all joy and pleasure, and no satiety. And I will now
use all my endeavours to bring my relations and dependants to
a love and reliance on him, who never fails those that trust
him. But above all, I will be sure to live well, because the
virtuous life of a clergyman is the most powerful eloquence to
persuade all that see it to reverence and love, and at least to
desire to live like him. And this I will do, because I know we
live in an age that hath more need of good examples than
precepts. And I beseech that God, who hath honoured me so
much as to call me to serve him at his altar, that as by his
special grace he hath put into my heart these good desires and
resolutions; so he will, by his assisting grace, give me ghostly
strength to bring the same to good effect. And I beseech him,
that my humble and charitable life may so win upon others, as
to bring glory to my Jesus, whom I have this day taken to be

224 THE LIFE OF

my master and governor ; and I am so proud of his service,
that I will always observe, and obey, and do his will; and
always call him, Jesus my Master; and I will always contemn
my birth, or any title or dignity that can be conferred upon me,
when I shall compare them with my title of being a priest, and
serving at the altar of Jesus my Master."^

And that he did so may appear in many parts of his book of
Sacred Poems: especially in that which he calls "The Odour."
In which he seems to rejoice in the thoughts of that word Jesus,
and say, that the adding these words, my master, to it, and
the often repetition of them, seemed to perfume his mind, and
leave an oriental fragrancy in his very breath. And for his
unforced choice to serve at God's altar, he seems in another
place of his poems, "The Pearl" (Matt. xiii. 45, 46)j to rejoice
and say : " He knew the ways of learning ; knew what nature
does willingly, and what, when it is forced by fire; knew the
ways of honour, and when glory inclines the soul to noble
expressions : knew the court : knew the ways of pleasure, of
love, of wit, of music, and upon what terms he declined all
these for the service of his master Jesus : " and then concludes,
saying :

That, through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,

But thy silk twist, let down from Heaven to me,
Did both conduct, and teach me, how by it

To climb to thee.

The third day after he was made Rector of Bemerton, and
had changed his sword and silk clothes into a canonical coat,
he returned so habited with his friend Mr. Woodnot to Bainton;
and immediately after he had seen and saluted his wife, he said
to her — " You are now a minister's wife, and must now so far
forget your father's house as not to claim a precedence of any
of your parishioners; for you are to know, that a priest's wife can
challenge no precedence or place, but that which she purchases
by her obliging humility; and I am sure, places so purchased
do best become them. And let me tell you, that I am so good
a herald, as to assure you that this is truth." And she was so

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 225

meek a wife, as to assure him, "it was no vexing news to her,
and that he should see her observe it with a cheerful willing-
ness." And, indeed, her unforced humility, that humility that
was in her so original, as to be born with her, made her so
happy as to do so ; and her doing so begot her an unfeigned
love, and a serviceable respect from all that conversed with her;
and this love followed her in all places, as inseparably as
shadows follow substances in sunshine.

It was not many days before he returned back to Bemerton,
to view the church and repair the chancel : and indeed to
rebuild almost three parts of his house, which was fallen down,
or decayed by reason of his predecessor's living at a better
parsonage-house ; namely, at Minal, sixteen or twenty miles
from this place. At which time of Mr. Herbert's coming alone
to Bemerton, there came to him a poor old woman, with an
intent to acquaint him with her necessitous condition, as also
with some troubles of her mind : but after she had spoke some
few words to him, she was surprised with a fear, and that begot
a shortness of breath, so that her spirits and speech failed her;
which he perceiving, did so compassionate her, and was so
humble, that he took her by the hand, and said, " Speak, good
mother ; be not afraid to speak to me ; for I am a man that will
hear you with patience ; and will relieve your necessities too, if
I be able : and this I will do willingly; and therefore, mother,
be not afraid to acquaint me with what you desire." After
which comfortable speech, he again took her by the hand, made
her sit down by him, and understanding she was of his parish,
he told her " He would be acquainted with her, and take her
into his care." And having with patience heard and under-
stood her wants, — and it is some relief for a poor body to be
but heard with patience, — he, like a Christian clergyman, com-
forted her by his meek behaviour and counsel ; but because
that cost him nothing, he relieved her with money too, and so
sent her home with a cheerful heart, praising God, and praying
for him. Thus worthy, and — like David's blessed man — thus
lowly, was Mr. George Herbert in his own eyes, and thus lovely
in the eyes of others.

226 THE LIFE OF

At his return that night to his wife at Bainton, he gave her
an account of the passages betwixt him and the poor woman ;
with which she was so affected, that she went next day to
Salisbury, and there bought a pair of blankets, and sent them
as a token of her love to the poor woman ; and with them a
message, "that she would see and be acquainted with her,
when her house was built at Bemerton."

There be many such passages both of him and his wife, of
which some few will be related: but I shall first tell, that he
hasted to get the parish church repaired ; then to beautify the
chapel, — which stands near his house, — and that at his own
great charge. He then proceeded to rebuild the greatest part
of the parsonage-house, which he did also very completely, and
at his own charge ; and having done this good work, he caused
these verses to be writ upon, or engraven in, the mantel of the
chimney in his hall.

TO MY SUCCESSOR.

If thou chance for to find

A new house to thy mind,
And built without thy cost;

Be good to the poor,

As God gives thee store,
And then my labour's not lost.

We will now, by the reader's favour, suppose him fixed at
Bemerton, and grant him to have seen the church repaired, and
the chapel belonging to it very decently adorned at his own
great charge, — which is a real truth ; — and having- now fixed
him there, I shall proceed to give an account of the rest of his
behaviour, both to his parishioners, and those many others that
knew and conversed with him.

Doubtless Mr. Herbert had considered, and given rules to
himself for his Christian carriage both to God and man, before
he entered into holy orders. And 'tis not unlike, but that he
renewed those resolutions at his prostration before the holy
altar, at his induction into the church of Bemerton : but as yet

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 227

he was but a deacon, and therefore longed for the next ember-
week, that he might be ordained priest, and made capable of
administering both the sacraments. At which time the Rever-
end Dr. Humphrey Henchman, now Lord Bishop of London, —
who does not mention him but with some veneration for his life
and excellent learning, — tells me, "He laid his hand on Mr.
Herbert's head, and, alas! within less than three years lent his
shoulder to carry his dear friend to his grave."

And 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 varia-
tions from this year's resolutions; he therefore did set down his
rules, then resolved upon, in that order as the world now sees
hem printed in a little book, called The Country Parson; in
which some of his rules are :

The Parson's knowledge. The Parson arguing.

The Parson on Sundays. The Parson condescending.

The Parson praying. The Parson in his journey.

The Parson preaching. Trie Parson in his mirth.

The Parson's charity. The Parson with his Church-

The Parson comforting the wardens.

sick. The Parson blessing the people.

And his behaviour towards God and man may be said to be a
practical comment on these, and the other holy rules set down
in that useful book : a book so full of plain, prudent, and useful
rules, that that country parson that can spare twelve pence, and
yet wants it, is scarce excusable ; because it will both direct
him what he ought to do, and convince him for not having
done it.

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. Barnabas Oley, who pufris!i3d it with a most
conscientious and excellent preface ; from which I have had
some of those truths, that are related in this life of Mr.
Herbert. The text of his first sermon was taken out cf

228 THE LIFE OF

Solomon's Proverbs, chap. iv. 23, and the words were, " Keep
thy heart with all diligence." In which first sermon he gave
his parishioners many necessary, holy, safe rules for the dis-
charge of a good conscience, both to God and man ; and
delivered his sermon after a most florid manner, both with
great learning and eloquence; but, at the close of this sermon,
told them, "That should not be his constant way of preaching;
for since Almighty God does not intend to lead men to heaven
by hard questions, he would not therefore fill their heads with
unnecessary notions ; but that, for their sakes, his language
and his expressions should be more plain and practical in his
future sermons." And he then made it his humble request,
" That they would be constant to the afternoon's service, and
catechising ; " and showed them convincing reasons why he
desired it ; and his obliging example and persuasions brought
them to a willing conformity to his desires.

The texts for all his future sermons — which God knows, were
not many — were constantly taken out of the gospel for the day;
and he did as constantly declare why the Church did appoint
that portion of scripture to be that day read; and in what
manner the collect for every Sunday does refer to the gospel, or
to the epistle then read to them; and, that they might pray with
understanding, he did usually take occasion to explain, not only
the collect for every particular Sunday, but the reasons of all
the other collects and responses in our Church service; and made
it appear to them that the whole service of the Church was a
reasonable, and therefore an acceptable sacrifice to God: as
namely, that we begin with " Confession of ourselves to be vile,
miserable sinners;" and that we begin so, because, till we have
confessed ourselves to be such, we are not capable of that mercy
which we acknowledge we need, and pray for: but having, in
the prayer of our Lord, begged pardon for those sins which we
have confessed ; and hoping, that as the priest hath declared
our absolution, so by our public confession, and real repentance,
we have obtained that pardon; then we dare and do proceed to
beg of the Lord, "to open our lips, that our mouth may show
forth his praise;" for till then we are neither able nor worthy

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 229

to praise him. But this being supposed, we are then fit to say,
"Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy
Ghost;" and fit to proceed to a further service of our God, in
the collects, and psalms, and lauds, that follow in the service.

And as to the psalms and lauds, he proceeded to inform them
why they were so often, and some of them daily, repeated in
our Church service; namely, the psalms every month, because
they be an historical and thankful repetition of mercies past,
and such a composition of prayers and praises, as ought to be
repeated often, and publicly; for with such sacrifice God is
honoured and well-pleased. This for the psalms.

And for the hymns and lauds appointed to be daily repeated
or sung after the first and second lessons are read to the
congregation; he proceeded to inform them, that it was most
reasonable, after they have heard the will and goodness of God
declared or preached by the priest in his reading the two
chapters, that it was then a seasonable duty to rise up, and
express their gratitude to Almighty God for those his mercies to
them, and to all mankind; and then to say with the Blessed Virgin,
"that their souls do magnify the Lord, and that their spirits do
also rejoice in God their Saviour:" and that it was their duty
also to rejoice with Simeon in his song, and say with him, "That
their eyes have" also "seen their salvation;" for they have seen
that salvation which was but prophesied till his time: and he
then broke out into these expressions of joy that he did see it;
but they live to see it daily in the history of it, and therefore
ought daily to rejoice, and daily to offer up their sacrifices of
praise to their God, for that particular mercy. A service, which
is now the constant employment of that Blessed Virgin and
Simeon, and all those blessed saints that are possessed of
heaven: and where they are at this time interchangeably and
constantly singing, " Holy, holy, holy, Lord God; glory be to God
on high, and on earth peace." And he taught them that to do
this was an acceptable service to God, because the Prophet David
says in his Psalms, " He that praiseth the Lord honoureth him."

He made them to understand how happy they be that are
freed from the encumbrances of that law which our forefathers

230 THE LIFE OF

groaned under: namely, from the legal sacrifices, and from the
many ceremonies of the Levitical law; freed from circumcision,
and from the strict observation of the Jewish Sabbath, and the
like. And he made them know, that having received so many
and so great blessings, by being born since the days of our
Saviour, it must be an acceptable sacrifice to Almighty God, for
them to acknowledge those blessings daily, and stand up and
worship, and say as Zacharias did, " Blessed be the Lord God of
Israel, for he hath — in our days — visited and redeemed his
people; and — he hath in our days — remembered, and showed
that mercy, which by the mouth of the prophets he promised
to our forefathers; and this he has done according to his holy
covenant made with them." And he made them to understand
that we live to see and enjoy the benefit of it, in his birth, in
his life, his passion, his resurrection, and ascension into heaven,
where he now sits sensible of all our temptations and infirmities;
and where he is at this present time making intercession for us,
to his and our Father: and therefore they ought daily to express
their public gratulations, and say daily with Zacharias, " Blessed
be the Lord God of Israel, that hath thus visited and thus
redeemed his people." These were some of the reasons by
which Mr. Herbert instructed his congregation for the use of
the psalms and hymns appointed to be daily sung or said in the
Church service.

He informed them also when the priest did pray only for
the congregation, and not for himself; and when they did only
pray for him; as namely, after the repetition of the creed before
he proceeds to pray the Lord's Prayer, or any of the appointed
collects, the priest is directed to kneel down and pray for them,
saying, "The Lord be with you ;" and when they pray for him,
saying, " And with thy spirit;" and then they join together in
the following collects : and he assured them, that when there
is such mutual love, and such joint prayers offered for each
other, then the holy angels look down from heaven, and are
ready to carry such charitable desires to God Almighty, and he
as ready to receive them; and that a Christian congregation
calling thus upon God with one heart, and one voice, and

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 231

in one reverent and humble posture, looks as beautifully as
Jerusalem, that is at peace with itself.

He instructed them also why the prayer of Our Lord was
prayed often in every full service of the Church; namely^ at
the conclusion of the several parts of that service; and prayed
then, not only because it was composed and commanded by our
Jesus that made it, but as a perfect pattern for our less perfect
forms of prayer, and therefore fittest to sum up and conclude
all our imperfect petitions.

He instructed them also, that as by the second commandment
we are required not to bow down, or worship an idol, or false
God ; so, by the contrary rule, we are to bow down and kneel,
or stand up and worship the true God. And he instructed
them why the Church required the congregation to stand up at
the repetition of the creeds; namely, because they thereby
declare both their obedience to the Church, and an assent to
that faith into which they had been baptized. And he taught
them, that in that shorter creed or doxology, so often repeated
daily, they also stood up to testify their belief to be, that "the
God that they trusted in was one God, and three persons; the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; to whom they and the
priest gave glory." And because there had been heretics that
had denied some of those three persons to be God, therefore
the congregation stood up and honoured him, by confessing and
saying, " It was so in the beginning, is now so, and shall ever be
so, world without end." And all gave their assent to this belief,
by standing up and saying, Amen.

He instructed them also what benefit they had by the Church's
appointing the celebration of holy-days and the excellent use of
them, namely, that they were set apart for particular comrne*
morations of particular mercies received from Almighty God;
and — as Reverend Mr. Hooker says — to be the landmarks to
distinguish times; for by them we are taught to take notice how
time passes by us, and that we ought not to let the years pass
without a celebration of praise for those mercies which those
days give us occasion to remember, and therefore they wore to
note that the year is appointed to begin the 25th day of March;

232 THE LIFE OF

a day in which we commemorate the angel's appearing to the
Blessed Virgin, with the joyful tidings that " she should conceive
and bear a son, that should be the redeemer of mankind." And
she did so forty weeks after this joyful salutation; namely, at
our Christmas; a day in which we commemorate his birth with
joy and praise: and that eight days after this happy birth we
celebrate his circumcision; namely, in that which we call New
Year's day. And that, upon that day which we call Twelfth day,
we commemorate the manifestation of the unsearchable riches
of Jesus to the Gentiles: and that that day we also celebrate
the memory of his goodness in sending a star to guide the three
wise men from the east to Bethlehem, that they might there
worship, and present him with their oblations of gold, frankin-
cense, and myrrh. And he — Mr. Herbert — instructed them
that Jesus was forty days after his birth presented by his blessed
mother in the temple; namely, on that day which we call
"The Purification of the Blessed Virgin, Saint Mary." And he
instructed them that by the Lent-fast we imitate and comme-
morate our Saviour's humiliation in fasting forty days; and that
we ought to endeavour to be like him in purity: and that on
Good Friday we commemorate and condole his crucifixion; and
at Easter commemorate his glorious resurrection. And he
taught them that after Jesus had manifested himself to his
disciples to be "that Christ that was crucified, dead and buried;"
and by his appearing and conversing with his disciples for the
space of forty days after his resurrection, he then, and not till
then, ascended into heaven in the sight of those disciples;
namely, on that day which we call the ascension, or Holy
Thursday. And that we then celebrate the performance of the
promise which he made to his disciples at or before his ascen-
sion; namely, "that though he left them, yet he would send
them the Holy Ghost to be their comforter; " and that he did
so on that day which the Church calls Whitsunday. Thus the
Church keeps an historical and circular commemoration of times,
as they pass by us; of such times as ought to incline us to
occasional praises, for the particular blessings which we do, or
might receive, by those holy commemorations.

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 233

He made them know also why the Church hath appointed
ember-weeks; and to know the reason why the commandments,
and the epistles and gospels, were to be read at the altar or
communion table : why the priest was to pray the Litany
kneeling; and why to pray some collects standing: and he
gave them many other observations, fit for his plain congrega-
tion, but not fit for me now to mention; for I must set limits to
my pen, and not make that a treatise which I intended to be a
much shorter account than I have made it: but I have done,
when I have told the reader that he was constant in catechising
every Sunday in the afternoon, and that his catechising was
after his second lesson, and in the pulpit; and that he never
exceeded his half-hour, and was always so happy as to have an
obedient and full congregation.

And to this I must addv that if he were at any time too
zealous in his sermons, it was in reproving the indecencies of
the people's behaviour in the time of divine service; and of
those ministers that huddle up the Church prayers, without a
visible reverence and affection; namely, such as seemed to say
the Lord's Prayer or a collect in a breath. But for himself,
his custom was to stop betwixt every collect, and give the
people time to consider what they had prayed, and to force
their desires affectionately to God, before he engaged them
into new petitions.

And by this account of his diligence to make his parishioners
understand what they prayed, and why they praised and adored
their Creator, I hope I shall the more easily obtain the reader's
belief to the following account of Mr. Herbert's own practice;
which was to appear constantly with his wife and three nieces
— the daughters of a deceased sister — and his whole family,
twice every day at the Church prayers in the chapel, which
does almost join to his parsonage-house. And for the time of
his appearing, it was strictly at the canonical hours of ten and
four: and then and there he lifted up pure and charitable
hands to God in the midst of the congregation. And he would
joy to have spent that time in that place, where the honour of
his master Jesus dwelleth; and there, by that inward devotion

234 THE LIFE OF

which he testified constantly by an humble behaviour and
visible adoration, he, like Joshua, brought not only "his own
household thus to serve the Lord ; " but brought most of his
parishioners, and many gentlemen in the neighbourhood, con-
stantly to make a part of his congregation twice a day: and some
of the meaner sort of his parish did so love and reverence Mr.
Herbert, that they would let their plough rest when Mr.
Herbert's saint's-bell rung to prayers, that they might also
offer their devotions to God with him; and would then return
back to their plough. And his most holy life was such, that it
begot such reverence to God, and to him, that they thought
themselves the happier when they carried Mr. Herbert's
blessing back with them to their labour. Thus powerful was
his reason and example to persuade others to a practical piety
and devotion.

And his constant public prayers did never make him to
neglect his own private devotions, nor those prayers that he
thought himself bound to perform with his family, which
always were a set form, and not long; and he did always
conclude them with a collect which the Church hath appointed
for the day or week. Thus he made every day's sanctity a step
towards that kingdom, where impurity cannot enter.

His chiefest recreation was music, in which heavenly art he
was a most excellent master, and did himself compose many
divine hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his lute
or viol: and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love
to music was such, that he went usually twice every week, on
certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury;
and at his return would say, "That his time spent in prayer, and
cathedral-music, elevated his soul, and was his heaven upon
earth." But before his return thence to Bemerton, he would
usually sing and play his part at an appointed private music-
meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often say,
" Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates and sets
rules to it."

And as his desire to enjoy his heaven upon earth drew him
twice every week to Salisbury, so his walks thither were the

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 235

occasion of many happy accidents to others; of which I will
mention some few.

In one of his walks to Salisbury, he overtook a gentleman,
that is still living in that city; and in their walk together, Mr.
Herbert took a fair occasion to talk with him, and humbly
begged to be excused, if he asked him some account of his
faith; and said, "I do this the rather because though you are
not of my parish, yet I receive tithe from you by the hand of
your tenant; and, sir, I am the bolder to do it, because I know
there be some sermon-hearers that be like those fishes that
always live in salt water, and yet are always fresh."

After which expression, Mr. Herbert asked him some needful
questions, and having received his answer, gave him such rules
for the trial of his sincerity, and for a practical piety, and in so
loving and meek a manner, that the gentleman did so fall in
love with him, and his discourse, that he would often contrive
to meet him in his walk to Salisbury, or to attend him back to
Bemerton; and still mentions the name of Mr. George Herbert
with veneration, and still praiseth God for the occasion of
knowing him.

In another of his Salisbury walks he met with a neighbour
minister; and after some friendly discourse betwixt them, and
some condolement for the decay of piety, and too general
contempt of the clergy, Mr. Herbert took occasion to say:

" One cure for these distempers would be for the clergy
themselves to keep the ember-weeks strictly, and beg of their
parishioners to join with them in fasting and prayers for a more
religious clergy.

"And another cure would be for themselves to restore the
great and neglected duty of catechising, on which the salvation
of so many of the poor and ignorant lay-people does depend;
but principally, that the clergy themselves would be sure to
live unblamably ; and that the dignified clergy especially
which preach temperance would avoid surfeiting and take all
occasions to express a visible humility and charity in their
lives; for this would force a love and an imitation, and an
unfeigned reverence from all that knew them to be such."

236 THE LIFE OF

(And for proof of this, we need no other testimony than the
life and death of Dr. Lake, late Lord Bishop of Bath and
Wells.) "This," said Mr. Herbert, "would be a cure for the
wickedness and growing atheism of our age. And, my dear
brother, till this be done by us, and done in earnest, let no
man expect a reformation of the manners of the laity; for 'tis
not learning, but this, this only that must do it; and, till then,
the fault must lie at our doors."

In another walk to Salisbury he saw a poor man with a
poorer horse, that was fallen under his load: they were both
in distress, and needed present help; which Mr. Herbert
perceiving, put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor man
to unload, and after to load, his horse. The poor man blessed
him for it, and he blessed the poor man; and was so like the
good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both
himself and his horse; and told him, "That if he loved himself
he should be merciful to his beast." Thus he left the poor
man: and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury,
they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to
be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and
discomposed: but he told them the occasion. And when one
of the company told him " He had disparaged himself by so
dirty an employment," his answer was, "That the thought of
what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and
that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord
in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place:
for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure
that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practise what I
pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion
every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one
day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy;
and I praise God for this occasion. And now let's tune our
instruments."

Thus, as our blessed Saviour, after his resurrection, did take
occasion to interpret the scripture to Cleopas, and that other
disciple, which he met with and accompanied in their journey
to Emmaus; so Mr. Herbert, in his path toward heaven, did

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 237

daily take any fair occasion to instruct the ignorant, or comfort
any that were in affliction; and did always confirm his precepts
by showing humility and mercy, and ministering grace to the
hearers.

And he was most happy in his wife's unforced compliance
with his acts of charity, whom he made his almoner, and paid
constantly into her hand a tenth penny of what money he
received for tithe, and gave her power to dispose that to the
poor of his parish, and with it 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 stewardship, and as often beg an enlargement
of his bounty; for she rejoiced in the employment: and this
was usually laid out by her in blankets and shoes for some such
poor people as she knew to stand in most need of them. This
as to her charity. — And for his own, he set no limits to it: nor
did ever turn his face from any that he saw in want, but would
relieve them ; especially his poor neighbours ; to the meanest
of whose houses he would go, and inform himself of their
wants, and relieve them cheerfully, if they were in distress ;
and would always praise God, as much for being willing, as for
being able to do it. And when he was advised by a friend to
be more frugal, because he might have children, his answer
was, " He would not see the danger of want so far off: but
being the scripture does so commend charity, as to tell us that
charity is the top of Christian virtues, the covering of sins, the
fulfilling of the law, the life of faith; and that charity hath a
promise of the blessings of this life, and of a reward in that
life which is to come: being these, and more excellent things
are in scripture spoken of thee, O charity ! and that, being all
my tithes and Church dues are a deodate from thee, O my
God ! make me, O my God ! so far to trust thy promise, as to
return them back to thee; and by thy grace I will do so, in
distributing them to any of thy poor members that are in
distress, or do but bear the image of Jesus my master." "Sir,"
said he to his friend, "my wife hath a competent main-
tenance secured her after my death; and therefore, as this

238 THE LIFE OF

is my prayer, so this my resolution shall, by God's grace, be
unalterable."

This may be some account of the excellencies of the active
part of his life; and thus he continued, till a consumption so
weakened him as to confine him to his house, or to the chapel,
which does almost join to it ; in which he continued to read
prayers constantly twice every day, though he were very weak:
in one of which times of his reading his wife observed him to
read in pain, and told him so, and that it wasted his spirits,
and weakened him; and he confessed it did, but said, his "life
could not be better spent than in the service of his master
Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for him. But," said
he, <l I will not be wilful ; for though my spirit be willing,
yet I find my flesh is weak; and therefore Mr. Bostock shall
be appointed to read prayers for me to-morrow; and I will
now be only a hearer of them, till this mortal shall put on
immortality." And Mr. Bostock did the next day undertake
and continue this happy employment till Mr. Herbert's death.
This Mr. Bostock was a learned and virtuous man, an old
friend of Mr. Herbert's, and then his curate to the church
of Fulston, which is a mile from Bemerton, to which church
Bemerton is but a chapel of ease. And this Mr. Bostock did
also constantly supply the Church service for Mr. Herbert in
that chapel, when the music-meeting at Salisbury caused his
absence from it.

About one month before his death, his friend Mr. Farrer,
— for an account of whom I am by promise indebted to the
reader, and intend to make him sudden payment, — hearing
of Mr. Herbert's sickness, sent Mr. Edmund Duncon — who is
now rector of Friar Barnet in the county of Middlesex — from
his house of Gidden Hall, which is near to Huntingdon, to
see Mr. Herbert, and to assure him he wanted not his daily
prayers for his recovery; and Mr. Duncon was to return back
to Gidden, with an account of Mr. Herbert's condition. Mr.
Duncon found him weak, and at that time lying on his bed, or
on a pallet; but at his seeing Mr. Duncon he raised himself
vigorously, saluted him, and with some earnestness inquired

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 239

the health of his brother Fairer; of which Mr. Duncon satisfied
him, and after some discourse of Mr. Farrer's holy life, and the
manner of his constant serving God, he said to Mr. Duncon, —
" Sir, I see by your habit that you are a priest, and I desire you
to pray with me: " which being granted, Mr. Duncon asked him,
"What prayers?" To which Mr. Herbert's answer was, "O
sir ! the prayers of my mother, the Church of England: no
other prayers are equal to them ! But at this time I beg of
you to pray only the Litany, for I am weak and faint : " and
Mr. Duncon did so. After which, and some other discourse of
Mr. Farrer, Mrs. Herbert provided Mr. Duncon a plain supper,
and a clean lodging, and he betook himself to rest. This Mr.
Duncon tells me ; and tells me that, at his first view of Mr.
Herbert, he saw majesty and humility so reconciled in his
looks and behaviour, as begot in him an awful reverence for
his person; and says, "his discourse was so pious, and his
motion so genteel and meek, that after almost forty years, yet
they remain still fresh in his memory."

The next morning Mr. Duncon left him, and betook himself
to a journey to Bath, but with a promise to return back to him
within five days; and he did so: but before I shall say anything
of what discourse then fell betwixt them two, «I will pay my
promised account of Mr. Farrer.

Mr. Nicholas Farrer — who got the reputation of being called
St. Nicholas at the age of six years — was born in London, and
doubtless had good education in his youth; but certainly was,
at an early age, made Fellow of Clare Hall in Cambridge; where
he continued to be eminent for his piety, temperance, and learn-
ing. About the twenty-sixth year of his age he betook himself
to travel: in which he added to his Latin and Greek a perfect
knowledge of all the languages spoken in the western parts of
our Christian world; and understood well the principles of their
religion, and of their manner, and the reasons of their worship.
In this his travel he met with many persuasions to come into a
communion with that Church which calls itself Catholic: but he
returned from his travels as he went, eminent for his obedience
to his mother, the Church of England. In his absence from

24o THE LIFE OF

England, Mr. Farrer's father — who was a merchant — allowed
him a liberal maintenance; and, not long after his return into
England, Mr. Farrer had, by the death of his father, or an elder
brother, or both, an estate left him that enabled him to purchase
land to the value of four or five hundred pounds a year; the
greatest part of which land was at Little Gidden, four or six
miles from Huntingdon, and about eighteen from Cambridge;
which place he chose for the privacy of it, and for the hall,
which had the parish church or chapel belonging and adjoining
near to it; for Mr. Farrer, having seen the manners and vanities
of the world, and found them to be, as Mr. Herbert says, "a
nothing between two dishes," did so contemn it, that he resolved
to spend the remainder of his life in mortifications, and in
devotion, and charity, and to be always prepared for death.
And his life was spent thus:

He and his family, which were like a little college, and about
thirty in number, did most of them keep Lent and all ember-
weeks strictly, both in fasting and using all those mortifications
and prayers that the Church hath appointed to be then used:
and he and they did the like constantly on Fridays, and on the
vigils or eves appointed to be fasted before the saints' days:
and this frugality and abstinence turned to the relief of the
poor: but this was but a part of his charity; none but God and
he knew the rest.

This family, which I have said to be in number about thirty,
were a part of them his kindred, and the rest chosen to be of a
temper fit to be moulded into a devout life; and all of them
were for their dispositions serviceable, and quiet, and humble,
and free from scandal. Having thus fitted himself for his
family, he did, about the year 1630, betake himself to a
constant and methodical service of God; and it was in this
manner: — He, being accompanied with most of his family,
did himself use to read the common prayers — for he was a
deacon — every day, at the appointed hours of ten and four, in
the parish church, which was very near his house, and which
he had both repaired and adorned; for it was fallen into a great
ruin, by reason of a depopulation of the village before Mr.

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 241

Fairer bought the manor. And he did also constantly read
the matins every morning at the hour of six, either in the
church, or in an oratory, which was within his own house.
And many of the family did there continue with him after the
prayers were ended, and there they spent some hours in singing
hymns, or anthems, sometimes in the church, and often to an
organ in the oratory. And there they sometimes betook them-
selves to meditate, or to pray privately, or to read a part of the
New Testament to themselves, or to continue their praying or
reading the psalms; and in case the psalms were not always
read in the day, then Mr. Farrer and others of the congregation
did at night, at the ringing of a watch-bell, repair to the church
or oratory, and there betake themselves to prayer and lauding
God, and reading the psalms that had not been read in the day:
and when these, or any part of the congregation, grew weary or
faint, the watch-bell was rung, sometimes before, and sometimes
after midnight; and then another part of the family rose, and
maintained the watch, sometimes by praying, or singing lauds
to God, or reading the psalms; and when, after some hours,
they also grew weary or faint, then they rung the watch-bell
and were also relieved by some of the former, or by a new part
of the society, which continued their devotions — as hath been
mentioned — until morning. And it is to be noted, that in this
continued serving of God, the psalter or the whole book of
psalms, was in every four-and-twenty hours sung or read over,
from the first to the last verse: and this was done as constantly
as the sun runs his circle every day about the world, and then
begins again the same instant that it ended.

Thus did Mr. Farrer and his happy family serve God day
and night; thus did they always behave themselves as in his
presence. And they did always eat and drink by the strictest
rules of temperance ; eat and drink so as to be ready to rise at
midnight, or at the call of a watch-bell, and perform their de-
votions to God. And it is fit to tell the reader, that many of
the clergy, that were more inclined to practical piety and
devotion than to doubtful and needless disputations, did often
come to Gidden Hall, and make themselves a part of that

242 THE LIFE OF

happy society, and stay a week or more, and then join with
Mr. Farrer and the family in these devotions, and assist and
ease him or them in their watch by night. And these various
devotions had never less than two of the domestic family in
the night; and the watch was always kept in the church or
oratory, unless in extreme cold winter nights, and then it was
maintained in a parlour, which had a fire in it ; and the parlour
was fitted for that purpose. And this course of piety, and
great liberality to his poor neighbours, Mr. Farrer maintained
till his death, which was in the year 1639.

Mr. Farrer's and Mr. Herbert's devout lives were both so
noted, that the general report of their sanctity gave them
occasion to renew that slight acquaintance which was begun
at their being contemporaries in Cambridge; and this new holy
friendship was long maintained without any interview, but only
by loving and endearing letters. And one testimony of their
friendship and pious designs may appear by Mr. Farrer's com-
mending the Considerations of John Valdesso— z. book which
he had met with in his travels, and translated out of Spanish
into English — to be examined and censured by Mr. Herbert
before it was made public: which excellent book Mr. Herbert
did read, and return back with many marginal notes, as they be
now printed with it ; and with them, Mr. Herbert's affectionate
letter to Mr. Farrer.

This John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was for his learning
and virtue much valued and loved by the great Emperor
Charles the Fifth, whom Valdesso had followed as a cavalier
all the time of his long and dangerous wars : and when Val-
desso grew old, and grew weary both of war and the world, he
took his fair opportunity to declare to the Emperor that his
resolution was to decline his Majesty's service, and betake
himself to a quiet and contemplative life, "because there ought
to be a vacancy of time betwixt fighting and dying." The
Emperor had himself, for the same, or other like reasons, put
on the same resolution: but God and himself did, till then,
only know them ; and he did therefore desire Valdesso to
consider well of what he had said, and to keep his purpose

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 243

within his own breast, till they two might have a second
opportunity of a friendly discourse; which Valdesso promised
to do.

In the meantime the Emperor appoints privately a day for
him and Valdesso to meet again; and after a pious and free
discourse, they both agreed on a certain day to receive the
blessed sacrament publicly; and appointed an eloquent and
devout friar to preach a sermon of contempt of the world, and
of the happiness and benefit of a quiet and contemplative life;
which the friar did most affectionately. After which sermon,
the Emperor took occasion to declare openly, "That the
preacher had begot in him a resolution to lay down his dignities,
and to forsake the world, and betake himself to a monastical
life." And he pretended he had persuaded John Valdesso to
do the like: but this is most certain, that after the Emperor had
called his son Philip out of England, and resigned to him all
his kingdoms, that then the Emperor and John Valdesso did
perform their resolutions.

This account of John Valdesso I received from a friend, that
had it from the mouth of Mr. Farrer. And the reader may
note that in this retirement John Valdesso writ his Hundred
and Ten Considerations, and many other treatises of worth,
which want a second Mr. Farrer to procure and translate
them.

After this account of Mr. Farrer and John Valdesso, I
proceed to my account of Mr. Herbert and Mr. Duncon, who
according to his promise returned from Bath the fifth day, and
then found Mr. Herbert much weaker than he left him; and
therefore their discourse could not be long: but at Mr. Duncon's
parting with him, Mr. Herbert spoke to this purpose: "Sir, I
pray you give my brother Farrer an account of the decaying
condition of my body, and tell him I beg him to continue his
daily prayers for me; and let him know that I have considered,
that God only is what he would be; and that I am, by his
grace, become now so like him, as to be pleased with what
pleaseth him; and tell him, that I do not repine but am pleased
with my want of health: and tell him, my heart is fixed on that

244 THE LIFE OF

place where true joy is only to be found; and that I long to be
there, and do wait for my appointed change with hope and
patience." Having said this, he did, with so sweet a humility
as seemed to exalt him, bow down to Mr. Duncon, and with a
thoughtful and contented look, say to him, " Sir, I pray deliver
this little book to my dear brother Farrer, and tell him he shall
find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have
passed betwixt God and my soul, before I could subject mine to
the will of Jesus my master: in whose service I have now found
perfect freedom. 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 public; if not, let him burn it; for 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 j or, Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations; of which
Mr. Farrer would say, "There was in it the picture of a divine
soul in every page : and that the whole book was such a
harmony of holy passions, as 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.

And this ought to be noted, that when Mr. Farrer sent
this book to Cambridge to be licensed for the press, the Vice-
Chancellor would by no means allow the two so much noted
verses,

Religion stands a tiptoe in our land,
Ready to pass to the American strand,

to be printed; and Mr. Farrer would by no means allow the
book to be printed and want them. But after some time, and
some arguments for and against their being made public, the
Vice-Chancellor said, " I knew Mr. Herbert well, and know that
he had many heavenly speculations, and was a divine poet: but
I hope the world will not take him to be an inspired prophet,
and therefore I license the whole book." So that it came to be
printed without the diminution or addition of a syllable, since
it was delivered into the hands of Mr. Duncon, save only that

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 245

Mr. Farrer hath added that excellent preface that is printed
before it.

At the time of Mr. Duncon's leaving Mr. Herbert, — which
was about three weeks before his death, — his old and dear
friend Mr. Woodnot came from London to Bemerton, and
never left him till he had seen him draw his last breath, and
closed his eyes on his death-bed. In this time of his decay, he
was often visited and prayed for by all the clergy that lived near
to him, especially by his friends the Bishop and Prebends of
the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; but by none more devoutly
than his wife, his three nieces, — then a part of his family, — and
Mr. Woodnot, who were the sad witnesses of his daily decay;
to whom he would often speak to this purpose : " I now look
back upon the pleasures of my life past, and see the content I
have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and pleasant conversa-
tion, are now all past by me like, a dream, or as a shadow that
returns not, and are now all become dead to me, or I to them ;
and I see, that as my father and generation hath done before
me, so I also shall now suddenly (with Job) make my bed also
in the dark ; and I praise God I am prepared for it ; and I
praise him that I am not to learn patience now I stand in such
need of it; and that I have practised mortification, and endea-
voured to die daily, that I might not die eternally; and my hope
is, that I shall shortly leave this valley of tears, and be free
from all fevers and pain ; and, which will be a more happy
condition, I shall be free from sin, and all the temptations and
anxieties that attend it: and this being past, I shall dwell in the
New Jerusalem; dwell there with men made perfect; dwell
where these eyes shall see my master and Saviour Jesus ; and
with him see my dear mother, and all my relations and friends.
But I must die, or not come to that happy place. And this is
my content, that I am going daily towards it : and that every
day which I have lived, hath taken a part of my appointed time
from me; and that I shall live the less time, for having lived
this and the day past." These, and the like expressions, which
he uttered often, may be said to be his enjoyment of heaven
before he enjoyed it. The Sunday before his death, he rose

246 THE LIFE OF

suddenly from his bed or couch, called for one of his instru-
ments, took it into his hand, and said, —

My God, my God,

My music shall find thee,

And every string
Shall have his attribute to sing.

And having tuned it, he played and sung —

The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal glorious King :
On Sundays Heaven's door stands ope ;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,

More plentiful than hope.

Thus he sung on earth such hymns and anthems as the
angels, and he, and Mr. Farrer now sing in heaven.

Thus he continued meditating, and praying, and rejoicing,
till the day of his death ; and on that day said to Mr. Woodnot,
" My dear friend, I am sorry I have nothing to present to mv
merciful God but sin and misery; but the first is pardoned, and
a few hours will now put a period to the latter; for I shall
suddenly go hence, and be no more seen." Upon which expres-
sion Mr. Woodnot took occasion to remember him of the re-
edifying Layton Church, and his many acts of mercy. To which
he made answer, saying, "They be good works, if they be
sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and not otherwise." After
this discourse he became more restless, and his soul seemed to
be weary of her earthly tabernacle; and this uneasiness became
so visible, that his wife, his three nieces, and Mr. Woodnot
stood constantly about his bed, beholding him with sorrow, and
an unwillingness to lose the sight of him, whom they could not
hope to see much longer. As they stood thus beholding him,
his wife observed him to breathe faintly, and with much trouble,
and observed him to fall into a sudden agony ; which so sur-
prised her, that she fell into a sudden passion, and required of

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 247

him to know how he did. To which his answer was, " that he
had passed a conflict with his last enemy, and had overcome
him by the merits of his master Jesus." After which answer
he looked up, and saw his wife and nieces weeping to an
extremity, and charged them, if they loved him, to withdraw
into the next room, and there pray every one alone for him ;
for nothing but their lamentations could make his death uncom-
fortable. To which request their sighs and tears would not
suffer them to make any reply ; but they yielded him a sad
obedience, leaving only with him Mr. Woodnot and Mr.
Bostock. Immediately after they had left him, he said to Mr.
Bostock, " Pray, sir, open that door, then look into that cabinet,
in which you may easily find my last will, and give it into my
hand:" which being done, Mr. Herbert delivered it into the
hand of Mr. Woodnot, and said, " My old friend, I here deliver
you my last will, in which you will find that I have made you my
sole executor for the good of my wife and nieces ; and I desire you
to show kindness to them, as they shall need it : I do not desire
you to be just ; for I know you will be so for your own sake ;
but I charge you, by the religion of our friendship, to be careful
of them." And having obtained Mr. Woodnot's promise to be
so, he said, " I am now ready to die." After which words he
said, " Lord, forsake me not now my strength faileth me : but
grant me mercy for the merits of my Jesus. And now, Lord —
Lord, now receive my soul." And with those words he breathed
forth his divine soul, without any apparent disturbance, Mr.
Woodnot and Mr. Bostock attending his last breath, and closing
his eyes.

Thus he lived, and thus he died, like a saint, unspotted of the
world, full of alms-deeds, full of humility, and all the examples
of a virtuous life ; which I cannot conclude better, than with
this borrowed observation :

— All must to their cold graves :

But the religious actions of the just

Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust.

Mr. George Herbert's have done so to this, and will doubtless

24S THE LIFE OF

do so to succeeding generations. I have but this to say more
of him: that if Andrew Melvin died before him, then George
Herbert died without an enemy. I wish — if God shall be so
pleased — that I may be so happy as to die like him.

Iz. WA.

There is a debt justly due to the memory of Mr. Herbert's
virtuous wife ; a part of which I will endeavour to pay, by a
very short account of the remainder of her life, which shall
follow.

She continued his disconsolate widow about six years, be-
moaning herself, and complaining, that she had lost the delight
of her eyes ; but more that she had lost the spiritual guide for
her poor soul ; and would often say, " O that I had, like holy
Mary, the mother of Jesus, treasured up all his sayings in my
heart ! But since I have not been able to do that, I will labour
to live like him, that where he now is I may be also." And she
would often say, — as the prophet David for his son Absalom, —
" O that I had died for him ! " Thus she continued mourning
till time and conversation had so moderated her sorrows, that
she became the happy wife of Sir Robert Cook, of Highnam, in
the county of Gloucester, Knight. And though he put a high
value on the excellent accomplishments of her mind and body,
and was so like Mr. Herbert, as not to govern like a master,
but as an affectionate husband ; yet she would even to him
often take occasion to mention the name of Mr. George Her-
bert, and say, that name must live in her memory till she put
off mortality. By Sir Robert she had only one child, a daughter,
whose parts and plentiful estate make her happy in this world,
and her well using of them gives a fair testimony that she will
be so in that which is to come.

Mrs. Herbert was the wife of Sir Robert eight years, and
lived his widow about fifteen ; all which time she took a
pleasure in mentioning and commending the excellencies of
Mr. George Herbert. She died in the year 1663, and lies
buried at Highnam : Mr. Herbert in his own church, under the
altar, and covered with a gravestone without any inscription.

MR. GEORGE HERBERT. 249

This Lady Cook had preserved many of Mr. Herbert's private
writings, which she intended to make public; but they and
Highnam House were burnt together by the late rebels, and so
lost to posterity. I. W.

LETTER FROM MR. GEORGE HERBERT TO

NICHOLAS FARRER
(The Translator of Valdesso).

" My dear and deserving brother, your Valdesso I now return
with many thanks, and some notes, in which perhaps you will
discover some care which I forbear not in the midst of my
griefs; first for your sake, because I would do nothing negli-
gently that you commit unto me: 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 conse-
crate it. You owe the Church a debt, and God hath put this
into your hands — as he sent the fish with money to St. Peter
— to discharge it; happily also with this — as his thoughts are
fruitful — intending the honour of his servant the author, who,
being obscured in his own country, he would have to flourish in
this land of light, and region of the gospel among his chosen.
It is true there are some things which I like not in him, as my
fragments will express, when you read them: nevertheless, I
wish you by all means to publish it, for these three eminent
things observable therein: First, that God in the midst of
Popery should open the eyes of one to understand and express
so clearly and excellently the intent of the gospel in the
acceptation of Christ's righteousness, — as he showeth through
all his considerations, — a thing strangely buried and darkened
by the adversaries, and their great stumbling-block. Secondly,
the great honour and reverence which he everywhere bears
towards our dear master and Lord; concluding every considera-

250 THE LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT..

tion almost with his holy name, and setting his merit forth so
piously; for which I do 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 kingdom
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 defects — as I conceive — towards the
publishing thereof."

From his Parsonage of Bemerton^ near Salisbury ',
Se£t. 29/7*, 1632.

THE LIFE OF

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON,

LATE BISHOP OF LINCOLN.

DEDICATION.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND AND HONOURABLE

GEORGE, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER,

PRELATE OF THE GARTER AND ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S
PRIVY COUNCIL.

My Lord,

If I should undertake to enumerate the many favours and
advantages I have had by my very long acquaintance with your
Lordship, I should enter upon an employment that might prove
as tedious as the collecting of the materials for this poor monu-
ment, which I have erected, and do dedicate to the memory of your
beloved friend, Dr. Sanderson : but though I will not venture to
do that; yet I do remember with pleasure, and remonstrate with
gratitude, that your Lordship made me known to him, Air.
Chillingworth, and Dr. Hammond; men, whose merits ought
never to be forgotten.

My friendship with the first was begun almost forty years past,
when I was as far from a thought as a desire to outlive him; and
further from an intention to write his life. But the wise
Disposer of all men's lives and actions hath prolonged the first,
and now permitted the last: which is here dedicated to your Lord-
ship,— and, as it ought to be — with all humility, and a desire
that it may remain as a public testimony of my gratitude.

My Lord,

Your most affectionate old friend, and most humble servant,

IZAAK WALTON.

PREFACE.

I DARE neither think, nor assure the reader, that I have com-
mitted no mistakes in this relation of the life of Dr. Sanderson;
but I am sure there is none that are either wilful, or very
material. I confess it was worthy the employment of some
person of more learning and greater abilities than I can pretend
to; and I have not a little wondered that none have yet been
so grateful to him and to posterity as to undertake it. For it
may be noted, that our Saviour hath had such care, that, for
Mary Magdalen's kindness to him, her name should never be
forgotten: and doubtless Dr. Sanderson's meek and innocent
life, his great and useful learning, might therefore challenge
the like endeavours to preserve his memory: and 'tis to me a
wonder that it has been already fifteen years neglected. But,
in saying this, my meaning is not to upbraid others, — I am far
from that, — but excuse myself, or beg pardon for daring to
attempt it. This being premised, I desire to tell the reader
that in this relation I have been so bold as to paraphrase and
say what I think he — whom I had the happiness to know well
— would have said upon the same occasions: and if I have
erred in this kind, and cannot now beg pardon of him that
loved me; yet I do of my reader, from whom I desire the
same favour.

And, though my age might have procured me a writ of ease,
and that secured me from all further trouble in this kind; yet
I met with such persuasions to begin, and so many willing
informers since, and from them, and others, such helps and
encouragements to proceed, that when I found myself faint,
and weary of the burthen with which I had loaden myself, and
ready to lay it down; yet time and new strength hath at last
brought it to be what it now is, and presented to the reader,
and with it this desire : that he will take notice that Dr.

256 PREFACE.

Sanderson did in his will, or last sickness, advertise that
after his death nothing of his might be printed; because that
might be said to be his which indeed was not; and also for that
he might have changed his opinion since he first writ it. And
though these reasons ought to be regarded, yet regarded so, as
he resolves in that case of conscience concerning rash vows;
that there may appear very good second reasons why we may
forbear to perform them. However, for his said reasons, they
ought to be read as we do Apocryphal Scripture; to explain,
but not oblige us to so firm a belief of what is here presented
as his.

And I have this to say more: That as in my queries for
writing Dr. Sanderson's life, I met with these little tracts
annexed; so, in my former queries for my information to write
the life of venerable Mr. Hooker, I met with a sermon, which I
also believe was really his, and here presented as his to the
reader. It is affirmed, — and I have met with reason to believe
it, — that there be some artists that do certainly know an
original picture from a copy; and in what age of the world,
and by whom drawn. And if so, then I hope it may be as
safely affirmed that what is here presented for theirs is so
like their temper of mind, their other writings, the times
when, and the occasions upon which they were writ, that
all readers may safely conclude they could be writ by none
but venerable Mr. Hooker, and the humble and learned Dr.
Sanderson.

And lastly, I am now glad that I have collected these
memoirs, which lay scattered, and contracted them into a
narrower compass; and if I have, by the pleasant toil of doing
so, either pleased or profited any man, I have attained what I
designed when I first undertook it. But I seriously wish, both
for the reader's and Dr. Sanderson's sake, that posterity had
known his great learning and virtue by a better pen ; by such
a pen as could have made his life as immortal as his learning
and merits ought to be.

I. W.

THE LIFE OF
DR. ROBERT SANDERSON.

DOCTOR ROBERT SANDERSON, the late learned Bishop of
Lincoln, whose life I intend to write with all truth and equal
plainness, was born the nineteenth day of September in the
year of our redemption 1587. The place of his birth was
Rotherham in the county of York; a town of good note, and
the more for that Thomas Rotherham, sometime archbishop of
that see, was born in it; a man whose great wisdom, and
bounty, and sanctity of life have made it the more memorable:
as indeed it ought also to be, for being the birthplace of our
Robert Sanderson. And the reader will be of my belief, if
this humble relation of his life can hold any proportion with his
great piety, his useful learning, and his many other extra-
ordinary endowments.

He was the second and youngest son of Robert Sanderson,
of Gilthwaite Hall, in the said Parish and County, Esq., by
Elizabeth, one of the daughters of Richard Carr, of Butter-
thwaite Hall, in the Parish of Ecclesfield, in the said County of
York, Gentleman.

This Robert Sanderson, the father, was descended from a
numerous, ancient, and honourable family of his own name: for
the search of which truth, I refer my reader, that inclines to it,
to Dr. Thoroton's History of the Antiquities of Nottinghamshire,
and other records ; not thinking it necessary here to engage
him into a search for bare titles, which are noted to have in
them nothing of reality: for titles not acquired, but derived only,
do but shosv us who of our ancestors have, and how they
have achieved that honour which their descendants claim, and

18

258 THE LIFE OF

may not be worthy to enjoy. For, if those titles descend to
persons that degenerate into vice, and break off the continued
line of learning, or valour, or that virtue that acquired them,
they destroy the very foundation upon which that honour was
built; and all the rubbish of their vices ought to fall heavy on
such dishonourable heads; ought to fall so heavy as to degrade
them of their titles, and blast their memories with reproach and
shame.

But our Robert Sanderson lived worthy of his name and
family: of which one testimony may be, that Gilbert, called the
great Earl of Shrewsbury, thought him not unworthy to be
joined with him as a godfather to Gilbert Sheldon, the late
Lord Archbishop of Canterbury; to whose merits and memory
posterity — the clergy especially — ought to pay a reverence.

But I return to my intended relation of Robert the son, who
began in his youth to make the laws of God, and obedience to
his parents, the rules of his life; seeming even then to dedicate
himself, and all his studies, to piety and virtue.

And as he was inclined to this by that native goodness with
which the wise Disposer of all hearts had endowed his, so this
calm, this quiet and happy temper of mind— his being mild, and
averse to oppositions — made the whole course of his life easy
and grateful both to himself and others: and this blessed
temper was maintained and improved by his prudent father's
good example; and by frequent conversing with him, and
scattering short apophthegms and little pleasant stories, and
making useful applications of them, his son was in his infancy
taught to abhor vanity and vice as monsters, and to discern the
loveliness of wisdom and virtue; and by these means, and
God's concurring grace, his knowledge was so augmented, and
his native goodness so confirmed, that all became so habitual,
as it was not easy to determine whether nature or education
were his teachers.

And here let me tell the reader, that these early beginnings
of virtue were, by God's assisting grace, blessed with what
St. Paul seemed to beg for his Philippians;1 namely, "That
i Phil. i. 0.

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 259

he that had begun a good work in them would finish "it." And
Almighty God did: for his whole life was so regular and
innocent, that he might have said at his death — and with
truth and comfort — what the same St. Paul said after to the
same Philippians, when he advised them to walk as they had
him for an example.1

And this goodness, of which I have spoken, seemed to
increase as his years did; and with his goodness his learning,
the foundation of which was laid in the grammar school of
Rotherham — that being one of those three that were founded
and liberally endowed by the said great and good Bishop of
that name. And in this time of his being a scholar there he
was observed to use an unwearied diligence to attain learning,
and to have a seriousness beyond his age, and with it a more
than common modesty; and to be of so calm and obliging a
behaviour, that the master and whole number of scholars loved
him as one man.

And in this love and amity he continued at that school till
about the thirteenth year of his age; at which time his father
designed to improve his grammar learning by removing him
from Rotherham to one of the more noted schools of Eton or
Westminster; and after a year's stay there, then to remove him
thence to Oxford. But as he went with him, he called on an
old friend, a minister of noted learning, and told him his
intentions; and he, after many questions with his son, received
such answers from him, that he assured his father, his son was
so perfect a grammarian, that he had laid a good foundation to
build any or all the arts upon; and therefore advised him to
shorten his journey, and leave him at Oxford. And his father
did so.

His father left him there to the sole care and manage of
Dr. Kilbie, who was then Rector of Lincoln College. And he,
after some time and trial of his manners and learning, thought
fit to enter him of that college, and after to matriculate him
in the university, which he did the first of July, 1603; but he
was not chosen Fellow till the third of May, 1606; at which
i Phil. iii. 17.

260 THE LIFE OF

time he had taken his degree of Bachelor of Arts :. at the
taking of which degree, his tutor told the rector, "That his
pupil Sanderson had a metaphysical brain and a matchless
memory; and that he thought he had improved or made the
last so by an art of his own invention." And all the future
employments of his life proved that his tutor was not mistaken.
I must here stop my reader, and tell him that this Dr. Kilbie
was a man of so great learning and wisdom, and was so ex-
cellent a critic in the Hebrew tongue, that he was made
Professor of it in this university ; and was also so perfect a
Grecian, that he was by King James appointed to be one of
the translators of the Bible; and that this Doctor and Mr.
Sanderson had frequent discourses, and loved as father and
son. The Doctor was to ride a journey into Derbyshire, and
took Mr. Sanderson to bear him company: and they going
together on a Sunday with the Doctor's friend to that parish
church where they then were, found the young preacher to
have no more discretion than to waste a great part of the
hour allotted for his sermon in exceptions against the late
translation of several words, — not expecting such a hearer as
Dr. Kilbie, — and showed three reasons why a particular word
should have been otherwise translated. When evening prayer
was ended, the preacher was invited to the Doctor's friend's
house ; where after some other conference the Doctor told
him, " He might have preached more useful doctrine, and not
have filled his auditors' ears with needless exceptions against
the late translation: and for that word for which he offered to
that poor congregation three reasons why it ought to have
been translated as he said, he and others had considered all
them, and found thirteen more considerable reasons why it
was translated as now printed;" and told him, "If his friend,
then attending him, should prove guilty of such indiscretion,
he should forfeit his favour." To which Mr. Sanderson said,
" He hoped he should not." And the preacher was so in-
genuous as to say, " He would not justify himself." And so I
return to Oxford. In the year 1608, — July the nth, — Mr.
Sanderson was completed Master of Arts. I am not ignorant,

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 261

that for the attaining these dignities the time was shorter
than was then or is now required; but either his birth or
the well performance of some extraordinary exercise, or some
other merit, made him so: and the reader is requested to
believe, that 'twas the last: and requested to believe also,
that if I be mistaken in the time, the college records have
misinformed me: but I hope they have not.

In that year of 1608, he was — November the 7th — by his
college chosen Reader of Logic in the house; which he per-
formed so well, that he was chosen again the sixth of November,
1609. In the year 1613, he was chosen Sub-Rector of the
college, and the like for the year 1614, and chosen again to
the same dignity and trust for the year 1616.

In all which time and employments, his abilities and be-
haviour were such as procured him both love and reverence
from the whole society; there being no exception against him
for any faults, but a sorrow for the infirmities of his being
too timorous and bashful ; both which were, God knows, so
connatural as they never left him. And I know not whether
his lovers ought to wish they had; for they proved so like
the radical moisture in man's body, that they preserved
the life of virtue in his soul, which by God's assisting grace
never left him till this life put on immortality. Of which
happy infirmities — if they may be so called — more hereafter.

In the year 1614 he stood to be elected one of the Proctors
for the university. And 'twas not to satisfy any ambition of
his own, but to comply with the desire of the rector and whole
society, of which he was a member; who had not had a Proctor
chosen out of their college for the space of sixty years ; —
namely, not from the year 1554, unto his standing; — and they
persuaded him, that if he would but stand for Proctor, his
merits were so generally known, and he so well beloved, that
'twas but appearing, and he would infallibly carry it against
any opposers; and told him, "That he would by that means
recover a right or reputation that was seemingly dead to his
college." By these, and other like persuasions, he yielded up
his own reason to theirs, and appeared to stand for Proctor.

262 THE LIFE OF

But that election was carried on by so sudden and secret, and
by so powerful a faction, that he missed it. Which, when he
understood, he professed seriously to his friends, " That if he
were troubled at the disappointment, it was for theirs, and not
for his own sake : for he was far from any desire of such an
employment, as must be managed with charge and trouble,
and was too usually rewarded with hard censures, or hatred,
or both."

In the year following he was earnestly persuaded by Dr.
Kilbie and others to review the logic lectures which he had read
some years past in his college; and, that done, to methodise
and print them, for the ease and public good of posterity. But
though he had an averseness to appear publicly in print ; yet
after many serious solicitations, and some second thoughts of
his own, he laid aside his modesty, and promised he would :
and he did so in that year of 1615. And the book proved as
his friends seemed to prophesy, that is, of great and general
use, whether we respect the art or the author. For logic may
be said to be an art of right reasoning ; an art that undeceives
men who take falsehood for truth ; enables men to pass a true
judgment, and detect those fallacies, which in some men's
understandings usurp the place of right reason. And how
great a master our author was in this art will quickly appear
from that clearness of method, argument, and demonstration
which is so conspicuous in all his other writings. He, who had
attained to so great a dexterity in the use of reason himself,
was best qualified to prescribe rules and directions for the
instruction of others. And I am the more satisfied of the
excellency and usefulness of this, his first public undertaking,
by hearing that most tutors in both universities teach Dr.
Sanderson's logic to their pupils, as a foundation upon which
they are to build their future studies in philosophy. And, for
a further confirmation of my belief, the reader may note, that
since his book of logic was first printed there has not been
less than ten thousand sold: and that 'tis like to continue both
to discover truth and to clear and confirm the reason of the
unborn world.

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 263

It will easily be believed that his former standing for a
Proctor's place, and being disappointed, must prove much
displeasing to a man of his great wisdom and modesty, and
create in him an averseness to run a second hazard of his credit
and content: and yet he was assured by Dr. Kilbie, and the
Fellows of his own college, and most of those that had opposed
him in the former election, that his book of logic had purchased
for him such a belief of his learning and prudence, and his
behaviour at the former election had got for him so great and
so general a love, that all his former opposers repented what
they had done; and therefore persuaded him to venture to stand
a second time. And, upon these, and other like encouragements,
he did again, but not without an inward unwillingness, yield up
his own reason to theirs, and promised to stand. And he did so;
and was, the tenth of April, 1616, chosen Senior Proctor for the
year following; Mr. Charles Crooke of Christ Church being
then chosen the Junior.

In this year of his being Proctor, there happened many
memorable accidents; namely, Dr. Robert Abbot, Master of
Balliol College, and Regius Professor of Divinity, — who being
elected or consecrated Bishop of Sarum some months before, —
was solemnly conducted out of Oxford towards his diocese by
the heads of all houses, and the chief of all the university. And
Dr. Prideaux succeeded him in the Professorship, in which he
continued till the year 1642, — being then elected Bishop of
Worcester, — and then our now Proctor, Mr. Sanderson, suc-
ceeded him in the Regius Professorship.

And in this year Dr. Arthur Lake — then Warden of New
College — was advanced to the Bishopric of Bath and Wells: a
man of whom I take myself bound in justice to say, that he has
made the great trust committed to him the chief care and whole
business of his life. And one testimony of this proof may be,
that he sate usually with his chancellor in his consistory, and at
least advised, if not assisted, in most sentences for the punish-
ing of such offenders as deserved Church censures. And it may
be noted that, after a sentence for penance was pronounced, he
did very rarely, or never, allow of any commutation for the

264 THE LIFE OF

offence, but did usually see the sentence for penance executed;
and then as usually preached a sermon on mortification and
repentance, and did so apply them 'to the offenders that then
stood before him, as begot in them a devout contrition, and at
least resolutions to amend their lives: and having done that, he
would take — though never so poor — to dinner with him, and
use them friendly, and dismiss them with his blessing and
persuasions to a virtuous life, and beg them to believe him.
And his humility and charity, and other Christian excellencies,
were all like this. Of all which the reader may inform himself
in his life, truly writ, and printed before his sermons.

And in this year also, the very prudent and very wise Lord
Ellesmere, who was so very long Lord Chancellor of England,
and then of Oxford, resigning up the last, the Right Honourable,
and as magnificent, William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, was
chosen to succeed him.

And in this year our late King Charles the First — then
Prince of Wales — came honourably attended to Oxford; and
having deliberately visited the university, the schools, colleges,
and libraries, he and his attendants were entertained with cere-
monies and feasting suitable to their dignity and merits.

And this year King James sent letters to the university for
the regulating their studies ; especially of the young divines :
advising they should not rely on modern sums and systems, but
study the fathers and councils, and the more primitive learning.
And this advice was occasioned by the indiscreet inferences
made by very many preachers out of Mr. Calvin's doctrine
concerning predestination, universal redemption, the irresisti-
bility of God's grace, and of some other knotty points depend-
ing upon these ; points which many think were not, but by
interpreters forced to be, Mr. Calvin's meaning; of the truth or
falsehood of which I pretend not to have an ability to judge ;
my meaning in this relation being only to acquaint the reader
with the occasion of the King's letter.

It may be observed that the various accidents of this year
did afford our Proctor large and laudable matter to dilate and
discourse upon : and that though his office seemed, according

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 265

to statute and custom, to require him to do so at his leaving
it; yet he chose rather to pass them over with some very short
observations, and present the governors, and his other hearers,
with rules to keep up discipline and order in the university;
which at that time was, either by defective statutes, or want of
the due execution of those that were good, grown to be ex-
tremely irregular. And in this year also, the magisterial part
of the Proctor required more diligence, and was more difficult
to be managed than formerly, by reason of a multiplicity of
new statutes, which begot much confusion ; some of which
statutes were then, and others suddenly after, put into an useful
execution. And though these statutes were not then made so
perfectly useful as they were designed, till Archbishop Laud's
time — who assisted in the forming and promoting them ; — yet
our present Proctor made them as effectual as discretion and
diligence could do : of which one example may seem worthy
the noting; namely, that if in his night walk he met with
irregular scholars absent from their colleges at university hours,
or disordered by drink, or in scandalous company, he did not
use his power of punishing to an extremity ; but did usually
take their names, and a promise to appear before him unsent
for next morning : and when they did, convinced them, with
such obligingness, and reason added to it, that they parted
from him with such resolutions as the man after God's own
heart was possessed with, when he said, "There is mercy with
thee, and therefore thou shalt be feared" — Psa. cxxx. 4. And
by this and a like behaviour to all men, he was so happy as to
lay down this dangerous employment, as but very few, if any,
have done, even without an enemy.

After his speech was ended, and he retired with a friend into
a convenient privacy, he looked upon his friend with a more
than common cheerfulness, and spake to him to this purpose:
" I look back upon my late employment with some content to
myself, and a great thankfulness to Almighty God that he hath
made me of a temper not apt to provoke .the meanest of man-
kind, but rather to pass by infirmities, if noted ; and in this
employment I have had — God knows— many occasions to do

266 THE LIFE OF

both. And when I consider how many of a contrary temper
are by sudden and small occasions transported and hurried by
anger to commit such errors as they in that passion could not
foresee, and will in their more calm and deliberate thoughts
upbraid, and require repentance : and consider, that though
repentance secures us from the punishment of any sin, yet how
much more comfortable it is to be innocent than need pardon:
and consider, that errors against men, though pardoned both
by God and them, do yet leave such anxious and upbraiding
impressions in the memory, as abates of the offender's content:
— when I consider all this, and that God hath of his goodness
given me a temper that hath prevented me from running into
such enormities, I remember my temper with joy and thankful-
ness. And though I cannot say with David — I wish I could,
— that therefore "his praise shall always be in my mouth"
(Psa. xxxiv. i); yet I hope, that by his grace, and that grace
seconded by my endeavours, it shall never be blotted out of
my memory; and I now beseech Almighty God that it never
may."

And here I must look back, and mention one passage more
in his Proctorship, which is, that Gilbert Sheldon, the late Lord
Archbishop of Canterbury, was this year sent to Trinity College
in that university; and not long after his entrance there, a
letter was sent after him from his godfather — the father of our
Proctor — to let his son know it, and commend his godson to
his acquaintance, and to more than a common care of his be-
haviour ; which proved a pleasing injunction to our Proctor,
who was so gladly obedient to his father's desire, that he some
few days after sent his servitor to entreat Mr. Sheldon to his
chamber next morning. But it seems Mr. Sheldon having —
like a young man as he was — run into some such irregularity as
made him conscious he had trangressed his statutes, did there-
fore apprehend the Proctor's invitation as an introduction to
punishment ; the fear of which made his bed restless that
night : but, at their meeting the next morning, that fear
vanished immediately by the Proctor's cheerful countenance,
and the freedom of their discourse of friends. And let me tell

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 267

my reader, that this first meeting proved the beginning of as
spiritual a friendship as human nature is capable of; of a
friendship free from all self ends : and it continued to be
so, till death forced a separation of it on earth ; but it is now
reunited in heaven.

And now, having given this account of his behaviour, and the
considerable accidents, in his Proctorship, I proceed to tell my
reader, that, this busy employment being ended, he preached
his sermon for his degree of Bachelor in Divinity in as elegant
Latin, and as remarkable for the matter, as hath been preached
in that university since that day. And having well performed
his other exercises for that degree, he took it the nine-and-
twentieth of May following, having been ordained deacon and
priest in the year 1611, by John King, then Bishop of London,
who had not long before been Dean of Christ Church, and then
knew him so well, that he became his most affectionate friend.
And in this year, being then about the twenty-ninth of his age,
he took from the university a licence to preach.

In the year 1618, he was by Sir Nicholas Sanderson, Lord
Viscount Castleton, presented to the rectory of Wibberton, not
far from Boston, in the county of Lincoln, a living of very good
value; but it lay in so low and wet a part of that country as was
inconsistent with his health. And health being — next to a good
conscience — the greatest of God's blessings in this life, and
requiring therefore of every man a care and diligence to
preserve it, he, apprehending a danger of losing it, if he
continued at Wibberton a second winter, did therefore resign
it back into the hands of his worthy kinsman and patron, about
one year after his donation of it to him.

And about this time of his resignation he was presented
to the rectory of Boothby Pannell, in the same county of
Lincoln ; a town which has been made famous, and must
continue to be famous, because Dr. Sanderson, the humble and
learned Dr. Sanderson, was more than forty years parson of
Boothby Pannell, and from thence dated all or most of his
matchless writings.

To this living — which was of no less value, but a purer air

268 THE LIFE OF

than Wibberton — he was presented by Thomas Harrington,
of the same county and parish, Esq., who was a gentleman
of a very ancient family, and of great use and esteem in his
country during his whole life. And in this Boothby Pannell
the meek and charitable Dr. Sanderson and his patron lived
with an endearing, mutual, and comfortable friendship, till the
death of the last put a period to it.

About the time that he was made parson of Boothby Pannell,
he resigned his Fellowship of Lincoln College unto the then
Rector and Fellows; and his resignation is recorded in these
words:

Ego Robertus Sanderson perpetuus, etc.

I, Robert Sanderson, Fellow of the College of St. Mary's
and All-Saints, commonly called Lincoln College, in the
University of Oxford, do freely and willingly resign into the
hands of the Rector and Fellows, all the right and title that
I have in the said college, wishing to them and their successors
all peace, and piety, and happiness, in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

May 6, 1619. ROBERT SANDERSON.

And not long after this resignation, he was by the then
Bishop of York, or the King sede vacantc, made Prebend of the
Collegiate Church of Southwell in that diocese; and shortly
after of Lincoln by the bishop of that see.

And being now resolved to set down his rest in a quiet
privacy at Boothby Pannell, and looking back with some
sadness upon his removal from his general acquaintance left
in Oxford, and the peculiar pleasures of a university life; he
could not but think the want of society would render this of a
country parson the more uncomfortable, by reason of that want
of conversation ; and therefore he did put on some faint
purposes to marry. For he had considered, that though
marriage be cumbered with more worldly care than a single
life; yet a complying and a prudent wife changes those very
cares into so mutual a content, as makes them become like

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 269

the sufferings of St. Paul (Colos. i. 24), which he would not
have wanted, because they occasioned his rejoicing in them.
And he, having well considered this, and observed the secret
unutterable joys that children beget in parents, and the mutual
pleasures and contented trouble of their daily care and constant
endeavours to bring up those little images of themselves, so
as to make them as happy as all those cares and endeavours
can make them: he, having considered all this, the hopes of such
happiness turned his faint purposes into a positive resolution
to marry. And he was so happy as to obtain Anne, the
daughter of Henry Nelson, Bachelor in Divinity, then Rector
of Haugham, in the county of Lincoln, a man of noted worth
and learning. And the Giver of all good things was so good
to him, as to give him such a wife as was suitable to his own
desires; a wife that made his life happy by being always
content when he was cheerful; that divided her joys with him,
and abated of his sorrow, by bearing a part of that burden;
a wife that demonstrated her affection by a cheerful obedience
to all his desires, during the whole course of his life; and at his
death too, for she outlived him.

And in this Boothby Pannell, he either found or made his
parishioners peaceable, and complying with him in the decent
and regular service of God. And thus his parish, his patron,
and he lived together in a religious love and a contented
quietness ; he not troubling their thoughts by preaching high
and useless notions, but such plain truths as were necessary
to be known, believed and practised, in order to their salva-
tion. And their assent to what he taught was testified by
such a conformity to his doctrine, as declared they believed
and loved him. For he would often say, "That, without the
last, the most evident truths — heard as from an enemy, or
an evil liver — either are not, or are at least the less effectual ;
and do usually rather harden than convince the hearer."

And this excellent man did not think his duty discharged
by only reading the Church prayers, catechising, preaching,
and administering the sacraments seasonably; but thought —
if the law or the canons may seem to enjoin no more, — yet

270 THE LIFE OF

that God would require more, than the defective laws of man's
making can or do enjoin; the performance of that inward law
which Almighty God hath imprinted in the conscience of all
good Christians, and inclines those whom he loves to perform.
He, considering this, did therefore become a law to himself,
practising what his conscience told him was his duty, in recon-
ciling differences, and preventing law-suits, both in his parish
and in the neighbourhood. To which may be added his often
visiting sick and disconsolate families, persuading them to
patience, and raising them from dejection by his advice and
cheerful discourse, and by adding his own alms, if there were
any so poor as to need it : considering how acceptable it is
to Almighty God, when we do as we are advised by St. Paul
(Gal. vi. 2), " Help to bear one another's burden," either of
sorrow or want : and what a comfort it will be, when the
Searcher of all hearts shall call us to a strict account for that
evil we have done, and the good we have omitted, to remember
we have comforted and been helpful to a dejected or distressed
family.

And that his practice was to do good, one example may
be, that he met with a poor dejected neighbour, that com-
plained he had taken a meadow, the rent of which was £g
a year ; and when the hay was made ready to be carried into
his barn, several days' constant rain had so raised the water,
that a sudden flood carried all away, and his rich landlord
would bate him no rent ; and that unless he had half abated,
he and seven children were utterly undone. It may be noted,
that in this age, there are a sort of people so unlike the God
of Mercy, so void of the bowels of pity, that they love only
themselves and children : love them so, as not to be con-
cerned whether the rest of mankind waste their days in
sorrow or shame ; people that are cursed with riches, and
a mistake that nothing but riches can make them and theirs
happy. But it was not so with Dr. Sanderson ; for he was
concerned, and spoke comfortably to the poor dejected man;
bade him go home and pray, and not load himself with sorrow,
for he would go to his landlord next morning ; and if his

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 271

landlord would not abate what he desired, he and a friend
would pay it for him.

To the landlord he went the next day, and, in a conference,
the Doctor presented to him the sad condition of his poor
dejected tenant; telling him how much God is pleased when
men compassionate the poor: and told him, that though God
loves sacrifice, yet he loves mercy so much better, that he is
pleased when called the God of Mercy. And told him, the
riches he was possessed of were given him by that God of
Mercy, who would not be pleased if he, that had so much
given, yea, and forgiven him too, should prove like the rich
steward in the gospel, "that took his fellow-servant by the
throat to make him pay the utmost farthing." This he told
him : and told him, that the law of this nation — by which law
he claims his rent — does not undertake to make men honest
or merciful; but does what it can to restrain men from being
dishonest or unmerciful, and yet was defective in both : and
that taking any rent from his poor tenant, for what God
suffered him not to enjoy, though the law allowed him to do
so, yet if he did so, he was too like that rich steward which
he had mentioned to him; and told him that riches so gotten,
and added to his great estate, would, as Job says, " prove like
gravel in his teeth : " would in time so corrode his conscience,
or become so nauseous when he lay upon his death-bed, that
he would then labour to vomit it up, and not be able: and
therefore advised him, being very rich, to make friends of his
unrighteous mammon, before that evil day come upon him :
but however, neither for his own sake, nor for God's sake, to
take any rent of his poor, dejected, sad tenant ; for that were
to gain a temporal, and lose his eternal happiness. These,
and other such reasons were urged with so grave and com-
passionate an earnestness, that the landlord forgave his tenant
the whole rent.

The reader will easily believe that Dr. Sanderson, who was
so meek and merciful, did suddenly and gladly carry this com-
fortable news to the dejected tenant; and we believe, that at
the telling of it there was mutual rejoicing. It was one of Job's

272 THE LIFE OF

boasts, that " he had seen none perish for want of clothing: and
that he had often made the heart of the widow to rejoice"
(Job xxxi. 19). And doubtless Dr. Sanderson might have made
the same religious boast of this and very many like occasions.
But, since he did not, I rejoice that I have this just occasion
to do it for him; and that I can tell the reader, I might tire
myself and him, in telling how like the whole course of Dr.
Sanderson's life was to this which I have now related.

Thus he went on in an obscure and quiet privacy, doing good
daily both by word and by deed, as often as any occasion offered
itself; yet not so obscurely, but that his very great learning,
prudence, and piety, were much noted and valued by the bishop
of his diocese, and by most of the nobility and gentry of that
county. By the first of which he was often summoned to
preach many visitation sermons, and by the latter at many
assizes. Which sermons, though they were much esteemed by
them that procured, and were fit to judge them; yet they were the
less valued, because he read them, which he was forced to do; for
though he had an extraordinary memory, — even the art of it, —
yet he had such an innate invincible fear and bashfulness, that
his memory was wholly useless, as to the repetition of his sermons
as he had writ them; which gave occasion to say, when they were
first printed and exposed to censure, which was in the year 1632, —
"that the best sermons that were ever read were never preached."

In this contented obscurity he continued, till the learned and
good Archbishop Laud, who knew him well in Oxford, — for he
was his contemporary there, — told the King — 'twas the knowing
and conscientious King Charles the First — that there was
one Mr. Sanderson, an obscure country minister, that was of
such sincerity, and so excellent in all casuistical learning, that
he desired his Majesty would make him his chaplain. The
King granted it most willingly, and gave the Bishop charge to
hasten it, for he longed to discourse with a man that had dedi-
cated his studies to that useful part of learning. The Bishop
forgot not the King's desire, and Mr. Sanderson was made his
Chaplain in Ordinary in November following, 1631, And when
they became known to each other, the King did put many cases

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 273

of conscience to him, and received from him such deliberate,
safe, and clear solutions, as gave him great content in conversing
with him; so that, at the end of his month's attendance, the
King told him, " he should long for the next November; for he
resolved to have a more inward acquaintance with him, when
that month and he returned." And when the month and he did
return, the good King was never absent from his sermons, and
would usually say, "I carry my ears to hear other preachers;
but I carry my conscience to hear Mr. Sanderson, and to act
accordingly." And this ought not to be concealed from poster-
ity, that the King thought what he spake; for he took him to
be his adviser in that quiet part of his life, and he proved to be
his comforter in those days of his affliction, when he appre-
hended himself to be in danger of death or deposing. Of which
more hereafter.

In the first Parliament of this good King, — which was 1625,
— he was chosen to be a clerk of the convocation for the diocese
of Lincoln; which I here mention, because about that time did
arise many disputes about predestination, and the many critical
points that depend upon, or are interwoven in it; occasioned as
was said, by a disquisition of new principles of Mr. Calvin's,
though others say they were before his time. But of these Dr.
Sanderson then drew up, for his own satisfaction, such a scheme
— he called it Pax Ecclesicz — as then gave himself, and hath
since given others, such satisfaction, that it still remains to be
of great estimation among the most learned. He was also
chosen clerk of all the convocations during that good King's
reign. Which I here tell my reader, because I shall hereafter
have occasion to mention that convocation in 1640, the unhappy
Long Parliament, and some debates of the predestination points
as they have been since charitably handled betwixt him, the
learned Dr. Hammond, and Dr. Pierce, the now Reverend Dean
of Salisbury.

In the year 1636, his Majesty, then in his progress, took a
fair occasion to visit Oxford, and to take an entertainment for
two days for himself and honourable attendants; which the
reader ought to believe was suitable to their dignities. But this

19

274 THE LIFE OF

is mentioned, because at the King's coming thither, Dr. Sander-
son did attend him, and was then— the 3ist of August — created
Doctor of Divinity; which honour had an addition to it, by
having many of the nobility of this nation then made Doctors
and Masters of Arts with him; some of whose names shall be re-
corded and live with his, and none shall outlive it. First, Dr.
Curie and Dr. Wren, who were then Bishops of Winton and of
Norwich, — and had formerly taken their degrees in Cambridge,
were with him created Doctors of Divinity in his University. So
was Meric, the son of the learned Isaac Casaubon; and Prince
Rupert, who still lives, the then Duke of Lenox, Earl of Hereford,
Earl of Essex, of Berkshire, and very many others of noble
birth — too many to be named — were then created Masters of Arts.
Some years before the unhappy Long Parliament, this nation
being then happy and in peace, — though inwardly sick of being
well, — namely, in the year 1639, a discontented party of the
Scots Church were zealously restless for another reformation of
their Kirk government; and to that end created a new covenant,
for the general taking of which they pretended to petition the
King for his assent, and that he would enjoin the taking of
it by all of that nation. But this petition was not to be pre-
sented to him by a committee of eight or ten men of their fra-
ternity; but by so many thousands, and they so armed as seemed
to force an assent to what they seemed to request; so that
though forbidden by the King, yet they entered England, and
in the heat of zeal took and plundered Newcastle, where the
King was forced to meet them with an army: but upon a treaty
and some concessions, he sent them back, — though not so rich
as they intended, yet, — for that time, without bloodshed. But,
oh! this peace, and this covenant, were but the forerunners
of war, and the many miseries that followed: for in the year
following there were so many chosen into the Long Parliament,
that were of a conjunct council with these very zealous and as
factious reformers, as begot such a confusion by the several
desires and designs in many of the members of that Parliament,
and at last in the very common people of this nation, that they
were so lost by contrary designs, fears, and confusions, as to

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 275

believe the Scots and their covenant would restore them to their
former tranquillity. And to that end the Presbyterian party of
this nation did again, in the year 1643, invite the Scotch cove-
nanters back into England: and hither they came marching with
it gloriously upon their pikes and in their hats, with this motto:
" For the Crown and Covenant of both Kingdoms." This I saw,
and suffered by it. But when I look back upon the ruin of families,
the bloodshed, the decay of common honesty, and how the former
piety and plain dealing of this now sinful nation is turned into
cruelty and cunning, I praise God that he prevented me from
being of that party which helped to bring in this covenant, and
those sad confusions that have followed it. And I have been the
bolder to say this to myself, because in a sad discourse with Dr.
Sanderson, I heard him make the like grateful acknowledgment.
This digression is intended for the better information of the
reader in what will follow concerning Dr. Sanderson. And
first, that the covenanters of this nation, and their party in
Parliament, made many exceptions against the common prayer
and ceremonies of the Church and seemed restless for a refor-
mation: and though their desires seemed not reasonable to the
King, and the learned Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canter-
bury; yet, to quiet their consciences, and prevent future con-
fusion, they did, in the year 1641, desire Dr. Sanderson to call
two more of the convocation to advise with him, and that he
would then draw up some such safe alterations as he thought
fit in the service-book, and abate some of the ceremonies that
were least material for satisfying their consciences: — and to this
end they did meet together privately twice a week at the Dean
of Westminster's house, for the space of three months or more.
But not long after that time, when Dr. Sanderson had made the
reformation ready for a view, the Church and State were both
fallen into such a confusion, that Dr. Sanderson's model for
reformation became then useless. Nevertheless, his reputation
was such, that he was, in the year 1642, proposed by both
Houses of Parliament to the King, then in Oxford, to be one of
their trustees for the settling of Church affairs, and was allowed
of by the King to be so: but that treaty came to nothing.

276 THE LIFE OF

In the year 1643, the two Houses of Parliament took upon
them to make an ordinance, and call an assembly of divines,
to debate and settle some Church controversies, of which many
were very unfit to judge; in which Dr. Sanderson was also
named, but did not appear; I suppose for the same reason that
many other worthy and learned men did forbear, the summons
wanting the King's authority. And here I must look back, and
tell the reader, that in the year 1642, he was, July 2ist, named
by a more undoubted authority to a more noble employment,
which was to be Professor Regius of Divinity in Oxford: but,
though knowledge be said to puff up, yet his modesty and too
mean an opinion of his great abilities, and some other real or
pretended reasons, — expressed in his speech, when he first
appeared in the Chair, and since printed, — kept him from enter-
ing into it till October, 1646.

He did, for about a year's time, continue to read his match-
less lectures, which were first de Juramento, a point very difficult,
and at that time very dangerous to be handled as it ought to be.
But this learned man, as he was eminently furnished with
abilities to satisfy the consciences of men upon that important
subject; so he wanted not courage to assert the true obligation
of oaths in a degenerate age, when men had made perjury a
main part of their religion. How much the learned world
stands obliged to him for these, and his following lectures de
Consczentid, I shall not attempt to declare, as being very sensible
that the best pens must needs fall short in the commendation
of them: so that I shall only add, that they continued to this
day, and will do for ever, as a complete standard for the resolu-
tion of the most material doubts in casuistical divinity. And
therefore I proceed to tell the reader, that about the time of
his reading those lectures, — the King being then prisoner in the
Isle of Wight, — the Parliament had sent the covenant, the
negative oath, and I know not what more, to be taken by the
Doctor of the Chair, and all heads of houses ; and all other
inferior scholars, of what degree soever, were all to take these
oaths by a fixed day; and those that did not, to abandon their
college, and the university too, within twenty-four hours after

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 277

the beating of a drum; for if they remained longer, they were
to be proceeded against as spies.

Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of
Strafford, and many others, had been formerly murdered by
this wicked Parliament ; but the King yet was not : and
the university had yet some faint hopes that in a treaty then
in being, or pretended to be suddenly, there might be such
an agreement made between King and Parliament, that the
dissenters in the university might both preserve their consciences
and subsistence which they then enjoyed by their colleges.

And being possessed of this mistaken hope, that the Parliament
were not yet grown so merciless as not to allow manifest reason
for their not submitting to the enjoined oaths, the university
appointed twenty delegates to meet, consider, and draw up a
manifesto to the Parliament, why they could not take those oaths
but by violation of their consciences: and of these delegates Dr.
Sheldon, — late Archbishop of Canterbury, — Dr. Hammond, Dr.
Sanderson, Dr. Morley,— now Bishop of Winchester, — and that
most honest and as judicious civil lawyer, Dr. Zouch, were a
part; the rest I cannot now name: but the whole number of the
delegates requested Dr. Zouch to draw up the law part, and give
it to Dr. Sanderson: and he was requested to methodise and
add what referred to reason and conscience, and put into form.
He yielded to their desires and did so. And then, after they
had been read in a full convocation, and allowed of, they were
printed in Latin, that the Parliament's proceedings and the
university's sufferings might be manifested to all nations: and
the imposers of these oaths might repent, or answer them: but
they were past the first; and for the latter, I might swear they
neither can, nor ever will. And these reasons were also
suddenly turned into English by Dr. Sanderson, that those of
these three kingdoms might the better judge of the loyal
party's sufferings.

About this time the Independents — who were then grown
to be the most powerful part of the army — had taken the King
from a close to a more large imprisonment; and, by their own
pretences to liberty of conscience, were obliged to allow some-

2 78 THE LIFE OF

what of that to the King, who had, in the year 1642, sent for
Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sheldon,— the late Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, — and Dr. Morle'y, the now Bishop of
Winchester, to attend him, in order to advise with them, how
far he might with a good conscience comply with the proposals
of the Parliament for a peace in Church and State: but these,
having been then denied him by the Presbyterian Parliament,
were now allowed him by those in present power. And as
those other divines, so Dr. Sanderson gave his attendance on
his Majesty also in the Isle of Wight, preached there before
him, and had in that attendance many, both public and private,
conferences with him, to his Majesty's great satisfaction. At
which time he desired Dr. Sanderson, that, being the
Parliament had proposed to him the abolishing of episcopal
government in the Church, as inconsistent with monarchy,
that he would consider of it; and declare his judgment. He
undertook to do so, and did it; but it might not be printed
till our King's happy restoration, and then it was. And at
Dr. Sanderson's taking his leave of his Majesty in his last
attendance on him, the King requested him to betake himself
to the writing cases of conscience for the good of posterity.
To which his answer was, " That he was now grown old, and
unfit to write cases of conscience." But the King was so bold
with him as to say, " It was the simplest answer he ever heard
from Dr. Sanderson; for no young man was fit to be a judge,
or write cases of conscience." And let me here take occasion
to tell the reader this truth, not commonly known ; that in
one of these conferences this conscientious King told Dr.
Sanderson, or one of them that then waited with him,
" that the remembrance of two errors did much afflict him;
which were, his assent to the Earl of Strafford's death, and
the abolishing episcopacy in Scotland; and that if God ever
restored him to be in a peaceable possession of his crown, he
would demonstrate his repentance by a public confession, and
a voluntary penance," — I think barefoot — from the Tower of
London, or Whitehall, to St. Paul's Church, and desire the
people to intercede with God for his pardon. I am sure one

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 279

of them that told it me lives still, and will witness it. And
it ought to be observed, that Dr. Sanderson's lectures de
Juramento were so approved and valued by the King, that in
this time of his imprisonment and solitude he translated them
into exact English; desiring Dr. Juxon, — then Bishop of
London, — Dr. Hammond, and Sir Thomas Herbert, who then
attended him, to compare them with the original. The last
still lives, and has declared it, with some other of that King's
excellencies, in a letter under his own hand, which was lately
showed me by Sir William Dugdale, King at Arms. The book
was designed to be put into the King's library at St. James's;
but, I doubt, not now to be found there. I thought the honour
of the author and the translator to be both so much concerned
in this relation, that it ought not to be concealed from the
reader, and 'tis therefore here inserted.

I now return to Dr. Sanderson in the Chair in Oxford; where
they that complied not in taking the covenant, negative oath,
and Parliament ordinance for Church discipline and worship,
were under a sad and daily apprehension of expulsion: for the
visitors were daily expected, and both city and university
full of soldiers, and a party of Presbyterian divines, that were
as greedy and ready to possess, as the ignorant and ill-natured
visitors were to eject the dissenters out of their colleges and
livelihoods: but, notwithstanding, Dr. Sanderson did still
continue to read his lecture, and did, to the very faces of those
Presbyterian divines and soldiers, read with so much reason,
and with a calm fortitude make such applications, as, if they
were not. they ought to have been ashamed, and begged
pardon of God and him, and forborne to do what followed.
But these thriving sinners were hardened; and as the visitors
expelled the orthodox, they, without scruple or shame, pos-
sessed themselves of their colleges; so that, with the rest, Dr.
Sanderson was in June, 1648, forced to pack up and be gone,
and thank God he was not imprisoned, as Dr. Sheldon, and
Dr. Hammond, and others then were.

I must now again look back to Oxford, and tell my reader,
that the year before this expulsion, when the university had

2$o THE LIFE OF

denied this subscription, and apprehended the danger of that
visitation which followed, they sent Dr. Morley, then Canon of
Christ Church, now Lord Bishop of Winchester, and others, to
petition the Parliament for recalling the injunction, or a
mitigation of it, or accept of their reasons why they could not
take the oaths enjoined them; and the petition was by Parlia-
ment referred to a committee to hear and report the reasons
to the House, and a day set for hearing them. This done,
Dr. Morley and the rest went to inform and see counsel, to
plead their cause on the day appointed; but there had been
so many committed for pleading, that none durst undertake it;
for at this time the privileges of that Parliament were become
a Noli me tangere, as sacred and useful to them, as traditions
ever were, or are now, to the Church of Rome; their number
must never be known, and therefore not without danger to be
meddled with. For which reason Dr. Morley was forced, for
want of counsel, to plead the university's reasons for non-
compliance with the Parliament's injunctions: and though this
was done with great reason, and a boldness equal to the justice
of his cause; yet the effect of it was, but that he and the rest
appearing with him were so fortunate as to return to Oxford
without commitment. This was some few days before the
visitors and more soldiers were sent down to drive the dissenters
out of the university. And one that was, at this time of Dr.
Morley's pleading, a powerful man in the Parliament, and of
that committee, observing Dr. Morley's behaviour and reason,
and inquiring of him and hearing a good report of his morals,
was therefore willing to afford him a peculiar favour; and, that
he might express it, sent for me that relate this story, and
knew Dr. Morley well, and told me, "he had such a love for
Dr. Morley, that knowing he would not take the oaths, and
must therefore be ejected his college, and leave Oxford ; he
desired I would therefore write to him to ride out of Oxford,
when the visitors came into it, and not return till they left it,
and he should be sure then to return in safety; and that he
should, without taking any oath or other molestation, enjoy
his canon's place in his college." I did receive this intended

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 281

kindness with a sudden gladness, because I was sure the party
had a power, and as sure he meant to perform it, and did
therefore write the Doctor word: and' his answer was, that I
must not fail to return my friend — who still lives — his humble
and undissembled thanks, though he could not accept of his
intended kindness; for when the Dean, Dr. Gardner, Dr. Paine,
Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sanderson and all the rest of the college
were turned out, except Dr. Wall, he should take it to be,
if not a sin, yet a shame, to be left behind with him only.
Dr. Wall I knew, and will speak nothing of him, for he is
dead.

It may easily be imagined with what a joyful willingness
these self-loving reformers took possession of all vacant pre-
ferments, and with what reluctance others parted with their
beloved colleges and subsistence: but their consciences were
dearer than their subsistence, and out they went; the reformers
possessing them without shame or scruple: where I leave these
scruple-mongers, and make an account of the then present
affairs of London, to be the next employment of my reader's
patience.

And in London all the bishop's houses were turned to be
prisons, and they filled with divines, that would not take the
covenant, or forbear reading common prayer, or that were
accused for some faults like these. For it may be noted, that
about this time the Parliament set out a proclamation, to
encourage all laymen that had occasion to complain of their
ministers for being troublesome or scandalous, or that con-
formed not to orders of Parliament, to make their complaint
to a committee for that purpose; and the minister, though a
hundred miles from London, should appear there, and give
satisfaction, or be sequestered; — and you may be sure no
parish could want a covetous, or malicious, or cross-grained
complaint; — by which means all prisons in London, and in
some other places, became the sad habitations of conforming
divines.

And about this time the Bishop of Canterbury having been
by an unknown law condemned to die, and the execution

282 THE LIFE OF

suspended for some days, many of the malicious citizens,
fearing his pardon, shut up their shops, professing not to open
them till justice was executed. This malice and madness is
scarce credible; but I saw it.

The bishops had been voted out of the House of Parliament,
and some upon that occasion sent to the Tower: which made
many covenanters rejoice, and believe Mr. Brightman — who
probably was a good and well-meaning man — to be inspired in
his Comment on the Apocalypse, an abridgment of which
was now printed, and called Mr. Brightman's Revelation of
the Revelation. And though he was grossly mistaken in
other things, yet, because he had made the Churches of
Geneva and Scotland, which had no bishops, to be Philadelphia
in the Apocalypse, the angel that God loved (Rev. iii. 7-13),
and the power of prelacy to be antichrist, the evil angel,
which the House of Commons had now so spewed up, as never
to recover their dignity; therefore did those covenanters
approve and applaud Mr. Brightman for discovering and fore-
telling the bishops' downfall; so that they both railed at them,
and rejoiced to buy good pennyworths of their land, which
their friends of the House of Commons did afford them, as a
reward of their diligent assistance to pull them down.

And the bishops' power being now vacated, the common
people were made so happy, as every parish might choose
their own minister, and tell him when he did, and when he
did not, preach true doctrine: and by this and like means,
several churches had several teachers, that prayed and
preached for and against one another: and engaged their
hearers to contend furiously for truths which they under-
stood not; some of which I shall mention in the discourse
that follows.

I have heard of two men, that in their discourse undertook
to give a character of a third person: and one concluded he
was a very honest man, "for he was beholden to him;" and
the other that he was not, "for he was not beholden to him."
And something like this was in the designs both of the Cove-
nanters and Independents, the last of which were now grown

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 283

both as numerous and as powerful as the former: for though
they differed much in many principles, and preached against
each other, one making it a sign of being in the state of grace,
if we were but zealous for the covenant; and the other, that
we ought to buy and sell by a measure, and to allow the same
liberty of conscience to others, which we by scripture claim
to ourselves; and therefore not to force any to swear the
covenant contrary to their consciences, and lose both their
livings and liberties too. Though these differed thus in their
conclusions, yet they both agreed in their practice to preach
down common prayer, and get into the best sequestered
livings; and whatever became of the true owners, their wives
and children, yet to continue in them without the least scruple
of conscience.

They also made other strange observations of election,
reprobation, and free will, and the other points dependent
upon these ; such as the wisest of the common people were
not fit to judge of; I am sure I am not: though I must
mention some of them historically in a more proper place,
when I have brought my reader with me to Dr. Sanderson at
Boothby Pannell.

And in the way thither I must tell him, that a very cove-
nanter, and a Scot too, that came into England with this
unhappy covenant, was got into a good sequestered living
by the help of a Presbyterian parish, which had got the true
owner out. And this Scotch Presbyterian, being well settled
in this good living, began to reform the churchyard, by cutting
down a large yew-tree, and some other trees that were an orna-
ment to the place, and very often a shelter to the parishioners;
who, excepting against him for so doing, were answered, "That
the trees were his, and 'twas lawful for every man to use his
own, as he, and not as they thought fit." I have heard, but do
not affirm it, that no action lies against him that is so wicked as
to steal the winding-sheet of a dead body after it is buried ; and
have heard the reason to be, because none were supposed to be
so void of humanity; and that such a law would vilify that
nation that would but suppose so vile a man to be born in it :

284 THE LIFE OF

nor would one suppose any man to do what this covenanter did.
And whether there were any law against him, I know not ; but
pity the parish the less for turning out their legal minister.

We have now overtaken Dr. Sanderson at Boothby Parish,
where he hoped to enjoy himself, though in a poor, yet in a
quiet and desired privacy; but it proved otherwise: for all
corners of the nation were filled with covenanters, confusion,
committee-men, and soldiers, serving each other to their
several ends, of revenge, or power, or profit: and these com-
mittee-men and soldiers were most of them so possessed with
this covenant, that they became like those that were infected
with that dreadful plague of Athens ; the plague of which plague
was, that they by it became maliciously restless to get into com-
pany, and to joy, — so the historian saith, — when they had
infected others, even those of their most beloved or nearest
friends or relations : and though there might be some of these
covenanters that were beguiled and meant well; yet such were
the generality of them, and temper of the times, that you may
be sure Dr. Sanderson, who though quiet and harmless, yet an
eminent dissenter from them, could not live peaceably; nor did
he; for the soldiers would appear, and visibly disturb him in
the church when he read prayers, pretending to advise him how
God was to be served most acceptably : which he not approving,
but continuing to observe order and decent behaviour in reading
the Church service, they forced his book from him, and tore it,
expecting extemporary prayers.

At this time he was advised by a Parliament man of power
and note, that valued and loved him much, not to be strict
in reading all the common prayer, but make some little
variation, especially if the soldiers came to watch him ; for
then it might not be in the power of him and his other friends
to secure him from taking the covenant, or sequestration:
for which reasons he did vary somewhat from the strict rules of
the rubric. I will set down the very words of confession which
he used, as I have it under his own hand; and tell the reader,
that all his other variations were as little, and much like to
this.

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 285

HIS CONFESSION.

u O Almighty God and merciful Father, we, thy unworthy
servants, do with shame and sorrow confess, that we have
all our life long gone astray out of thy ways like lost sheep;
and that, by following too much the vain devices and desires
of our own hearts, we have grievously offended against thy
holy laws, both in thought, word, and deed; we have many
times left undone those good duties which we might and ought
to have done ; and we have many times done those evils, when
we might have avoided them, which we ought not to have done.
We confess, O Lord ! that there is no health at all, nor help in
any creature to relieve us ; but all our hope is in thy mercy,
whose justice we have by our sins so far provoked. Have
mercy therefore upon us, O Lord ! have mercy upon us, miser-
able offenders : spare us, good God, who confess our faults, that
we perish not; but, according to thy gracious promises declared
unto mankind in Christ Jesus our Lord, restore us upon our
true repentance into thy grace and favour. And grant, O most
merciful Father ! for his sake, that we henceforth study to serve
and please thee by leading a godly, righteous, and a sobej life,
to the glory of thy holy name, and the eternal comfort of our
own souls, through Jesus Christ our Lord." Amen.

In these disturbances of tearing his service-book, a neighbour
came on a Sunday, after the evening service was ended, to
visit and condole with him for the affront offered by the
soldiers. To whom he spake with a composed patience, and
said: "God hath restored me to my desired privacy, with my
wife and children; where I hoped to have met with quietness,
and it proves not so: but I will labour to be pleased, be
cause God, on whom I depend, sees it is not fit for me to
be quiet. I praise him, that he hath by his grace prevented
me from making shipwreck of a good conscience to maintain
me in a place of great reputation and profit: and though my
condition be such, that I need the last, yet I submit; for God
did not send me into this world to do my own, but suffer his

286 THE LIFE OF

will, and I will obey it." Thus by a sublime depending on his
wise, and powerful, and pitiful Creator, he did cheerfully sub-
mit to what God hath appointed, justifying the truth of that
doctrine which he had preached.

About this time that excellent book of The King's Medi-
tation in his Solitude was printed and made public; and Dr.
Sanderson was such a lover of the author, and so desirous
that the whole world should see the character of him in
that book, and something of the cause for which they suffered,
that he designed to turn it into Latin: but when he had done
half of it most excellently, his friend Dr. Earle prevented him,
by appearing to have done the whole very well before him.

About this time his dear and most intimate friend, the
learned Dr. Hammond, came to enjoy a conversation and rest
with him for some days; and did so. And having formerly
persuaded him to trust his excellent memory, and not read,
but try to speak a sermon as he had writ it, Dr. Sanderson
became so compliant as to promise he would. And to that
end they two went early the Sunday following to a neighbour
minister, and requested to exchange a sermon ; and they did
so. And at Dr. Sanderson's going into the pulpit, he gave
his sermon — which was a very short one — into the hand of
Dr. Hammond, intending to preach it as it was writ: but
before he had preached a third part, Dr. Hammond — looking
on his sermon as written — observed him to be out, and so
lost as to the matter, that he also became afraid for him;
for 'twas discernible to many of the plain auditory. But
when he had ended this short sermon, as they two walked
homeward, Dr. Sanderson said with much earnestness, " Good
Doctor, give me my sermon ; and know that neither you
nor any man living shall ever persuade me to preach again
without my books." To which the reply was, " Good Doctor,
be not angry: for if I ever persuade you to preach again with-
out book, I will give you leave to burn all those that I am
master of."

Part of the occasion of Dr. Hammond's visit was at this
time to discourse with Dr. Sanderson about some opinions,

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 287

in which, if they did not then, they had doubtless differed
formerly: it was about those knotty points, which are by
the learned called the Quinquarticular Controversy; of which
I shall proceed, not to give any judgment, — I pretend not
to that, — but some short historical account which shall follow.

There had been, since the unhappy covenant was brought
and so generally taken in England, a liberty given or taken by
many preachers — those of London especially — to preach and
be too positive in the points of universal redemption, pre-
destination, and those others depending upon these. Some
of which preached, " That all men were, before they came into
this world, so predestinated to salvation or damnation, that it
was not in their power to sin so, as to lose the first, nor by
their most diligent endeavour to avoid the latter. Others,
that it was not so: because then God could not be said to
grieve for the death of a sinner, when he himself had made
him so by an inevitable decree, before he had so much as
a being in this world;" affirming therefore, "that man had
some power left him to do the will of God, because he was
advised to work out his salvation with fear and trembling;"
maintaining, "that it is most certain every man can do what he
can to be saved;" and that "he that does what he can to be
saved, shall never be damned." And yet many that affirmed
this would confess, " That that grace, which is but a persuasive
offer, and left to us to receive, or refuse, is not that grace which
shall bring men to heaven." Which truths, or untruths, or
both, be they which they will, did upon these, or the like
occasions, come to be searched into, and charitably debated
betwixt Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Hammond, and Dr. Pierce, the
now Reverend Dean of Salisbury, — of which I shall proceed to
give some account, but briefly.

In the year 1648, the fifty-two London ministers — then
a fraternity of Sion College in that city — had in a printed
declaration aspersed Dr. Hammond most heinously, for that
he had in his practical catechism affirmed, that our Saviour
died for the sins of all mankind. To justify which truth, he
presently makes a charitable reply — as 'tis now printed in

288 THE LIFE OF

his works. After which there were many letters passed be-
twixt the said Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sanderson, and Dr. Pierce,
concerning God's grace and decrees. Dr. Sanderson was
with much unwillingness drawn into this debate; for he declared
it would prove uneasy to him, who in his judgment of God's
decrees differed with Dr. Hammond, — whom he reverenced
and loved dearly, — and would not therefore engage him
into a controversy of which he could never hope to see an
end: but they did all enter into a charitable disquisition of
these said points in several letters, to the full satisfaction of the
learned; those betwixt Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Hammond being
printed in his works; and for what passed betwixt him and the
learned Dr. Pierce, I refer my reader to a letter annexed to the
end of this relation.

I think the judgment of Dr. Sanderson was, by these debates,
altered from what it was at his entrance into them; for in the
year 1632, when his excellent sermons were first printed in
quarto, the reader may on the margin find some accusation
of Arminius for false doctrine; and find that, upon a review
and reprinting those sermons in folio, in the year 1657, that
accusation of Arminius is omitted. And the change of his
judgment seems more fully to appear in his said letter to
Dr. Pierce. And let me now tell the reader, which may seem
to be perplexed with these several affirmations of God's decrees
before mentioned, that Dr. Hammond, in a postscript to the
last letter of Dr. Sanderson's, says, "God can reconcile his
own contradictions, and therefore advises all men, as the
apostle does, to study mortification, and be wise to sobriety."
And let me add further, that if these fifty-two ministers of
Sion College were the occasion of the debates in these letters,
they have, I think, been the occasion of giving an end to the
Quinquarticular Controversy: for none have since undertaken
to say more; but seem to be so wise, as to be content to be
ignorant of the rest, till they come to that place where the
secrets of all hearts shall be laid open. And let me here tell
the reader also, that if the rest of mankind would, as Dr.
Sanderson, not conceal their alteration of judgment, but con-

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 289

fess it to the honour of God, and themselves, then our nation
would become freer from pertinacious disputes, and fuller of
recantations.

I cannot lead my reader to Dr. Hammond and Dr. Sander-
son, where we left them at Boothby Pannell, till I have looked
back to the Long Parliament, the society of covenanters in
Sion College, and those others scattered up and down in
London, and given some account of their proceedings and
usage of the late learned Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canter-
bury. And though I will forbear to mention the injustice of
his death, and the barbarous usage of him, both then and
before it ; yet my desire is that what follows may be noted,
because it does now, or may hereafter, concern us ; namely,
that in his last sad sermon on the scaffold at his death, he
having freely pardoned all his enemies, and humbly begged
of God to pardon them, and besought those present to pardon
and pray for him; yet he seemed to accuse the magistrates
of the city for suffering a sort of wretched people, that could
not know why he was condemned, to go visibly up and down
to gather hands to a petition, that the Parliament would hasten
his execution. And having declared how unjustly he thought
himself to be condemned, and accused for endeavouring to
bring in Popery, — for that was one of the accusations for
which he died, — he declared with sadness, "That the several
sects and divisions then in England — which he had laboured
to prevent — were like to bring the Pope a far greater harvest
than he could ever have expected without them." And said,
"These sects and divisions introduce profaneness under the
cloak of an imaginary religion; and that we have lost the
substance of religion by changing it into opinion : and that
by these means this Church, which all the Jesuits' machina-
tions could not ruin, was fallen into apparent danger by those
which were his accusers." To this purpose he spoke at his
death : for this, and more of which, the reader may view his
last sad sermon on the scaffold. And it is here mentioned,
because his dear friend, Dr. Sanderson, seems to demonstrate
the same in his two large and remarkable prefaces before his

20

29o THE LIFE OF

two volumes of sermons; and he seems also with much sorrow
to say the same again in his last will, made when he
apprehended himself to be very near his death. And these
covenanters ought to take notice of it, and to remember that
by the late wicked war begun by them, Dr. Sanderson was
ejected out of the Professor's Chair in Oxford ; and that if he
had continued in it — for he lived fourteen years after — both
the learned of this and other nations had been made happy
by many remarkable cases of conscience, so rationally stated,
and so briefly, so clearly, and so convincingly determined, that
posterity might have joyed and boasted that Dr. Sanderson
was born in this nation, for the ease and benefit of all the
learned that shall be born after him: but this benefit is so like
time past, that they are both irrevocably lost.

I should now return to Boothby Pannell, where we left Dr.
Hammond and Dr. Sanderson together ; but neither can be
found there : for the first was in his journey to London, and
the second seized upon the day after his friend's departure, and
carried prisoner to Lincoln, then a garrison of the Parliament's.
For the pretended reason of which commitment I shall give
this following account.

There was one Mr. Clarke, the minister of Alington, a town
not many miles from Boothby Pannell, who was an active man
for the Parliament and covenant ; one that, when Belvoir
Castle — then a garrison for the Parliament — was taken by a
party of the King's soldiers, was taken in it, and made a
prisoner of war in Newark, then a garrison of the King's ;
a man so active and useful for his party, that they became so
much concerned for his enlargement, that the committee of
Lincoln sent a troop of horse to seize and bring Dr. Sanderson
a prisoner to that garrison : and they did so. And there he
had the happiness to meet with many that knew him so well as
to treat him kindly ; but told him, " He must continue their
prisoner, till he should purchase his own enlargement by pro-
curing an exchange for Mr. Clarke, then prisoner in the King's
garrison of Newark." There were many reasons given by the
Doctor of the injustice of his imprisonment, and the inequality

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 291

of the exchange : but all were ineffectual ; for done it must be,
or he continue a prisoner. And in time done it was, upon the
following conditions.

First, that Dr. Sanderson and Mr. Clarke, being exchanged,
should live undisturbed at their own parishes ; and if either
were injured by the soldiers of the contrary party, the other,
having notice of it, should procure him a redress, by having
satisfaction made for his loss, or for any other injury; or if not,
he to be used in the same kind by the other party. Neverthe-
less, Dr. Sanderson could neither live safe nor quietly, being
several times plundered, and once wounded in three places :
but he, apprehending the remedy might turn to a more intoler-
able burden by impatience or complaining, forbore both ; and
possessed his soul in a contented quietness, without the least
repining. But though he could not enjoy the safety he ex-
pected by this exchange, yet, by His providence that can bring
good out of evil, it turned so much to his advantage, that
whereas as his living had been sequestered from the year 1644,
and continued to be so till this time of his imprisonment, he, by
the Articles of War in this exchange for Mr. Clarke, procured
his sequestration to be recalled, and by that means enjoyed a
poor but contented subsistence for himself, wife, and children,
till the happy restoration of our King and Church.

In this time of his poor but contented privacy of life, his
casuistical learning, peaceful moderation, and sincerity became
so remarkable, that there were many that applied themselves to
him for resolution in cases of conscience ; some known to him,
many not ; some requiring satisfaction by conference, others by
letters; so many, that his life became almost as restless as their
minds ; yet he denied no man : and if it be a truth which holy
Mr. Herbert says, "That all worldly joys seem less, when
compared with showing mercy or doing kindnesses," then
doubtless Dr. Sanderson might have boasted for relieving so
many restless and wounded consciences which, as Solomon
says, "are a burden that none can bear, though their fortitude
may sustain their other infirmities ; " and if words cannot
express the joy of a conscience relieved from such restless

2y2 THE LIFE OF

agonies ; then Dr. Sanderson might rejoice that so many were
by him so clearly and conscientiously satisfied, for he denied
none, and would often praise God for that ability, and as often
for the occasion, and that God had inclined his heart to do it to
the meanest of any of those poor but precious souls, for which
his Saviour vouchsafed to be crucified.

Some of these very many cases that were resolved by letters
have been preserved and printed for the benefit of posterity, as
namely —

1. Of the Sabbath.

2. Marrying with a Recusant.

3. Of Unlawful Love.

4. Of a Military Life.

5. Of Scandal.

6. Of a Bond taken in the King's Name.

7. Of the Engagement.

8. Of a Rash Vow.

But many more remain in private hands, of which one is of
simony ; and I wish the world might see it, that it might un-
deceive some patrons, who think they have discharged that
great and dangerous trust, both to God and man, if they take
no money for a living, though it may be parted with for other
ends less justifiable.

And in this time of his retirement, when the common people
were amazed and grown giddy by the many falsehoods and
misapplications of truths frequently vented in sermons : when
they wrested the scripture by challenging God to be of their
party, and called upon him in their prayers to patronise their
sacrilege and zealous frenzies ; in this time he did so com-
passionate the generality of this misled nation, that though the
times threatened danger, yet he then hazarded his safety by
writing the large and bold preface, now extant, before his last
twenty sermons — first printed in the year 1655 — in which
there was such strength of reason, with so powerful and clear
convincing applications made to the Nonconformists, as being
read by one of those dissenting brethren, who was possessed

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 293

with such a spirit of contradiction, as being neither able to
defend his error, nor yield to truth manifest, — his conscience
having slept long and quietly in a good sequestered living, —
was yet at the reading of it so awakened, that after a conflict
with the reason he had met, and the damage he was to sustain
if he consented to it, — and being still unwilling to be so con-
vinced, as to lose by being over-reasoned, — he went in haste to
the bookseller of whom it was bought, threatened him, and told
him in anger, "he had sold a book in which there was false
divinity ; and that the preface had upbraided the Parliament,
and many godly ministers of that party, for unjust dealing."
To which his reply was, — 'twas Tim. Garthwaite, — " That 'twas
not his trade to judge of true or false divinity, but to print and
sell books : and yet if he, or any friend of his, would write an
answer to it, and own it by setting his name to it, he would
print the answer, and promote the selling of it."

About the time of his printing this excellent preface, I met
him accidentally in London, in sad-coloured clothes, and, God
knows, far from being costly. The place of our meeting was
near to Little Britain, where he had been to buy a book, which
he then had in his hand. We had no inclination to part presently,
and therefore turned to stand in a corner under a pent-house, —
for it began to rain, — and immediately the wind rose, and the
rain increased so much, that both became so inconvenient, as to
force us into a cleanly house, where we had bread, cheese, ale,
and a fire for our money. This rain and wind were so obliging
to me, as to force our stay there for at least an hour, to my
great content and advantage, for in that time he made to me
many useful observations, with much clearness and conscientious
freedom. I shall relate a part of them, in hope they may also
turn to the advantage of my reader. He seemed to lament that
the Parliament had taken upon them to abolish our Liturgy, to
the scandal of so many devout and learned men, and the disgrace
of those many martyrs who had sealed the truth and use of it
with their blood: and that no minister was now thought godly
that did not decry it, and at least pretend to make better
prayers ex tern f. ore: and that they, and only they, that could

294 THE LIFE OF

do so prayed by the Spirit, and were godly; though in their
sermons they disputed, and evidently contradicted each other
in their prayers. And as he did dislike this, so he did most
highly commend the common prayer of the Church, saying,
"the collects were the most passionate, proper, and most
elegant expressions that any language ever afforded; and that
there was in them such piety, and so interwoven with instruc-
tions, that they taught us to know the power, the wisdom, the
majesty, and mercy of God, and much of our duty both to him
and our neighbour: and that a congregation, behaving them-
selves reverently, and putting up to God these joint and known
desires for pardon of sins, and praises for mercies received,
could not but be more pleasing to God than those raw,
unpremeditated expressions to which many of the hearers
could not say, Amen."

And he then commended to me the frequent use of the
Psalter, or Psalms of David; speaking to this purpose: "That
they were the treasury of Christian comfort, fitted for all
persons and necessities; able to raise the soul from dejection
by the frequent mention of God's mercies to repentant sinners;
to stir up holy desires: to increase joy; to moderate sorrow; to
nourish hope, and teach us patience, by waiting God's leisure:
to beget a trust in the mercy, power, and providence of our
Creator; and to cause a resignation of ourselves to his will; and
then, and not till then, to believe ourselves happy." This, he
said, the Liturgy and psalms taught us; and that by the frequent
use of the last, they would not only prove to be our soul's
comfort, but would become so habitual as to transform them
into the image of his soul that composed them. After this
manner he expressed himself concerning the Liturgy and
psalms; and seemed to lament that this, which was the devotion
of the more primitive times, should in common pulpits be turned
into needless debates about freewill, election, and reprobation,
of which, and many like questions, we may be safely ignorant,
because Almighty God intends not to lead us to heaven by hard
questions, but by meekness and charity, and a frequent practice
of devotion.

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 295

And he seemed to lament very much that, by the means of
irregular and indiscreet preaching, the generality of the nation
were possessed with such dangerous mistakes, as to think " they
might be religious first, and then just and merciful; that they
might sell their consciences, and yet have something left that
was worth keeping; that they might be sure they were elected,
though their lives were visibly scandalous; that to be cunning
was to be wise; that to be rich was to be happy, though their
wealth was got without justice or mercy; that to be busy in
things they understood not was no sin." These and the like
mistakes he lamented much, and besought God to remove
them, and restore us to that humility, sincerity, and single-
heartedness with which this nation was blessed before the
unhappy covenant was brought into the nation, and every
man preached and prayed what seemed best in his own eyes.
And he then said to me, "That the way to restore this nation
to a more meek and Christian temper, was to have the body of
divinity — or so much of it as was needful to be known — to be
put into fifty-two homilies or sermons, of such a length as not
to exceed a third or fourth part of an hour's reading: and
these needful points to be made so clear and plain, that those
of a mean capacity might know what was necessary to be
believed, and what God requires to be done ; and then some
applications of trial and conviction: and these to be read every
Sunday of the year, as infallibly as the blood circulates the
body; and then as certainly begun again, and continued the
year following: and that this being done, it might probably
abate the inordinate desires of knowing what we need not, and
practising what we know and ought to do." This was the
earnest desire of this prudent man. And oh that Dr. Sander-
son had undertaken it ! for then in all probability it would have
proved effectual.

At this happy time of enjoying his company and his discourse,
he expressed a sorrow by saying to me, " Oh that I had gone
chaplain to that excellently accomplished gentleman, your
friend, Sir Henry Woiton ! which was once intended, when he
first went ambassador to the State of Venice: for by that

296 THE LIFE OF

employment I had been forced into a necessity of conversing,
not with him only, but with several men of several nations; and
might thereby have kept myself from my unmanly bashfulness,
which has proved very troublesome, and not less inconvenient
to me; and which I now fear is become so habitual as never to
leave me: and by that means I might also have known, or at
least have had the satisfaction of seeing, one of the late miracles
of general learning, prudence, and modesty, Sir Henry Wotton's
dear friend, Padre Paulo, who, the author of his life says, was
born with a bashfulness as invincible as I have found my own
to be: a man whose fame must never die, till virtue and learning
shall become so useless as not to be regarded."

This was a part of the benefit I then had by that hour's
conversation : and I gladly remember and mention it as an
argument of my happiness, and his great humility and con-
descension. I had also a like advantage by another happy
conference with him, which I am desirous to impart in this
place to the reader. He lamented much that in many parishes,
where the maintenance was not great, there was no minister to
officiate; and that many of the best sequestered livings were
possessed with such rigid covenanters as denied the sacrament
to their parishioners, unless upon such conditions and in such
a manner as they could not take it. This he mentioned with
much sorrow, saying, "The blessed sacrament did, by way of
preparation for it, give occasion to all conscientious receivers to
examine the performance of their vows, since they received
their last seal for the pardon of their sins past; and to examine
and research their hearts, and make penitent reflections on
their failings; and, that done, to bewail them, and then make
new vows or resolutions to obey all God's commands, and beg
his grace to perform them. And this done, the sacrament
repairs the decays of grace, helps us to conquer infirmities,
gives us grace to beg God's grace, and then gives us what we
beg; makes us still hunger and thirst after his righteousness,
which we then receive, and being assisted with our endeavours,
will still so dwell in us, as to become our satisfaction in this
life and our comfort on our last sick-beds." The want of this

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 297

blessed benefit he lamented much, and pitied their condition
that desired, but could not obtain it.

I hope I shall not disoblige my reader, if I here enlarge into
a further character of his person and temper. As first, that
he was moderately tall : his behaviour had in it much of a
plain comeliness, and very little, yet enough, of ceremony or
courtship; his looks and motion manifested affability and mild-
ness, and yet he had with these a calm, but so matchless a
fortitude, as secured him from complying with any of those
many Parliament injunctions that interfered with a doubtful
conscience. His learning was methodical and exact, his
wisdom useful, his integrity visible, and his whole life so un-
spotted, that all ought to be preserved as copies for posterity
to write after ; the clergy especially, who with impure hands
ought not to offer sacrifice to that God, whose pure eyes abhor
iniquity.

There was in his sermons no improper rhetoric, nor such
perplexed divisions, as may be said to be like too much light,
that so dazzles the eyes that the sight becomes less perfect:
but there was therein no want of useful matter, nor waste of
words; and yet such clear distinctions as dispelled all confused
notions, and made his hearers depart both wiser, and more
confirmed in virtuous resolutions.

His memory was so matchless and firm, as 'twas only over-
come by his bashfulness; for he alone, or to a friend, could
repeat all the Odes of Horace, all Tully's Offices, and much of
Juvenal and Persius, without book: and would say, "the repe-
tition of one of the Odes of Horace to himself was to him such
music, as a lesson on the viol was to others, when they played
it to themselves or friends." And though he was blessed with a
clearer judgment than other men, yet he was so distrustful of
it, that he did over-consider of consequences, and would so
delay and reconsider what to determine, that though none ever
determined better, yet, when the bell tolled for him to appear
and read his divinity lectures in Oxford, and all the scholars
attended to hear him, he had not then, or not till then, resolved
and writ what he meant to determine; so that that appeared

298 THE LIFE OF

to be a truth, which his old dear friend Dr. Sheldon would
often say, namely, "That his judgment was so much superior to
his fancy, that whatsoever this suggested, that disliked and
controlled ; still considering, and re-considering, till his time
was so wasted, that he was forced to write, not, probably, what
was best, but what he thought last." And yet what he did
then read appeared to all hearers to be so useful, clear, and
satisfactory, as none ever determined with greater applause.
These tiring and perplexing thoughts begot in him an averse-
ness to enter into the toil of considering and determining all
casuistical points; because during that time, they neither gave
rest to his body or mind. But though he would not be always
loaden with these knotty points and distinctions ; yet the
study of old records, genealogies, and heraldry were a recrea-
tion, and so pleasing, that he would say they gave rest to
his mind. Of the last of which I have seen two remarkable
volumes ; and the reader needs neither to doubt their truth or
exactness.

And this humble man had so conquered all repining and
ambitious thoughts, and with them all other unruly passions,
that if the accidents of the day proved to his danger or
damage, yet he both began and ended it with an even and
undisturbed quietness ; always praising God that he had not
withdrawn food and raiment from him and his poor family;
nor suffered him to violate his conscience for his safety, or to
support himself or them in a more splendid or plentiful con-
dition ; and that he therefore resolved with David, " That his
praise should be always in his mouth."

I have taken a content in giving my reader this character of
his person, his temper, and some of the accidents of his life past;
and more might be added of all ; but I will with great sorrow
look forward to the sad days, in which so many good men
suffered, about the year 1658, at which time Dr. Sanderson was
in a very low condition as to his estate ; and in that time Mr.
Robert Boyle— a gentleman of a very noble birth, and more
eminent for his liberality, learning, and virtue, and of whom I
would say much more, but that he still lives — having casually

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 299

met with and read his lectures de Juramento, to his great satis-
faction, and being informed of Dr. Sanderson's great innocence
and sincerity, and that he and his family were brought into a
low condition by his not complying with the Parliament's in-
junctions, sent him by his dear friend Dr. Barlow — the now
learned Bishop of Lincoln — ,£50, and with it a request and
promise. The request was, that he would review the lectures
de Consczenftd, which he had read when he was Doctor of the
Chair in Oxford, and print them for the good of posterity: —
and this Dr. Sanderson did in the year 1659. And the promise
was, that he would pay him that, or a greater sum if desired,
during his life, to enable him to pay an amanuensis, to ease him
from the trouble of writing what he should conceive or dictate.
For the more particular account of which I refer my reader to
a letter writ by the said Dr. Barlow, which I have annexed to
the end of this relation.

Towards the end of this year, 1659, when the many mixed
sects, and their creators and merciless protectors, had led or
driven each other into a whirlpool of confusion: when amaze-
ment and fear had seized them, and their accusing consciences
gave them an inward and fearful intelligence, that the god
which they had long served was now ready to pay them such
wages, as he does always reward witches with for their obeying
him: when these wretches were come to foresee an end of their
cruel reign, by our King's return; and such sufferers as Dr.
Sanderson — and with him many of the oppressed clergy and
others— could foresee the cloud of their, afflictions would be dis-
persed by it; then, in the beginning of the year following, the
King was by God restored to us, and we to our known laws and
liberties, and a general joy and peace seemed to breathe
through the three nations. Then were the suffering clergy
freed from their sequestration, restored to their revenues, and
to a liberty to adore, praise, and pray to God in such order as
their consciences and oaths had formerly obliged them. And
the reader will easily believe, that Dr. Sanderson and his
dejected family rejoiced to see this day, and be of this number.

It ou°;ht to be considered — which I have often heard or read

300 THE LIFE OF

— that in the primitive times men of learning and virtue were
usually sought for, and solicited to accept of episcopal govern-
ment, and often refused it. For they conscientiously considered
that the office of a bishop was made up of labour and care;
that they were trusted to be God's almoners of the Church's
revenue, and double their care for the poor; to live strictly
themselves, and use all diligence to see that their family,
officers, and clergy did so ; and that the account of that
stewardship must, at the last dreadful day, be made to the
Searcher of all hearts: and that in the primitive times they
were therefore timorous to undertake it. It may not be said
that Dr. Sanderson was accomplished with these, and all the
other requisites required in a bishop, so as to be able to answer
them exactly; but it may be affirmed, as a good preparation,
that he had at the age of seventy-three years — for he was so
old at the King's return — fewer faults to be pardoned by God
or man, than are apparent in others in these days, in which God
knows, we fall so short of that visible sanctity and zeal to God's
glory, which was apparent in the days of primitive Christianity.
This is mentioned by way of preparation to what I shall say
more of Dr. Sanderson; and namely, that, at the King's return,
Dr. Sheldon, the late prudent Bishop of Canterbury, — than
whom none knew, valued, or loved Dr. Sanderson, more 01
better, — was by his Majesty made a chief trustee to commend
to him fit men to supply the then vacant bishoprics. And Dr.
Sheldon knew none fitter than Dr. Sanderson, and therefore
humbly desired the King that he would nominate him: and,
that done, he did as humbly desire Dr. Sanderson that he
would, for God's and the Church's sake, take that charge and
care upon him. Dr. Sanderson had, if not an unwillingness,
certainly no forwardness to undertake it; and would often say,
he had not led himself, but his friend would now lead him into
a temptation, which he had daily prayed against; and besought
God, if he did undertake it, so to assist him with his grace,
that the example of his life, his cares and endeavours, might
promote his glory, and help forward the salvation of others.
This I have mentioned as a happy preparation to his

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 301

bishopric ; and am next to tell, that he was consecrated Bishop
of Lincoln at Westminster, the 28th of October, 1660.

There was about this time a Christian care taken, that those
whose consciences were, as they said, tender, and could not
comply with the service and ceremonies of the Church, might
have satisfaction given by a friendly debate betwixt a select
number of them, and some like number of those that had been
sufferers for the Church service and ceremonies, and now restored
to liberty; of which last some were then preferred to power and
dignity in the Church. And of these Bishop Sanderson was
one, and then chose to be a moderator in that debate: and he
performed his trust with much mildness, patience, and reason;
but all proved ineffectual ; for there be some prepossessions
like jealousies, which, though causeless, yet cannot be removed
by reasons as apparent as demonstration can make any truth.
The place appointed for this debate was the Savoy in the
Strand: and the points debated were, I think, many; some
affirmed to be truth and reason, some denied to be either; and
these debates being then in words, proved to be so loose and
perplexed as satisfied neither party. For some time that which
had been affirmed was immediately forgot or denied, and so
no satisfaction given to either party. But that the debate
might become more useful, it was therefore resolved that the
day following the desires and reasons of the Nonconformists
should be given in writing, and they in writing receive answers
from the conforming party. And though I neither now can
nor need to mention all the points debated, nor the names of
the dissenting brethren; yet I am sure Mr. Baxter was one, and
am sure what shall now follow was one of the points debated.

Concerning a command of lawful superiors, what was sufficient
to its being a lawful command; this proposition was brought
by the conforming party.

" That command which commands an act in itself lawful, and
no other act or circumstance unlawful, is not sinful."

Mr. Baxter denied it for two reasons, which he gave in with
his own hand in writing, thus:

One, was " Because that may be a sin per accidens, which is

302 THE LIFE OF

not so in itself, and may be unlawfully commanded, though that
accident be not in the command." Another was, "That it may
be commanded under an unjust penalty."

Again, this proposition being brought by the Conformists,
"That command which commandeth an act in itself lawful,
and no other act whereby any unjust penalty is enjoined, nor
any circumstance whence, per accidens, any sin is consequent
which the commander ought to provide against, is not sinful."

Mr. Baxter denied it for this reason, then given in with his
own hand in writing thus: " Because the first act commanded
may be per accidens unlawful, and be commanded by an unjust
penalty, though no other act or circumstance commanded be
such."

Again, this proposition being brought by the Conformists,
" That command which commandeth an act in itself lawful, and
no other act whereby any unjust penalty is enjoined, nor any
circumstance, whence directly, or per accidens, any sin is con-
sequent, which the commander ought to provide against, hath
in it all things requisite to the lawfulness of a command, and
particularly cannot be guilty of commanding an act per accidens
unlawful, nor of commanding an act under an unjust penalty."

Mr. Baxter denied it upon the same reasons.

PETER GUNNING.
JOHN PEARSON.

These were then two of the disputants, still alive, and will
attest this; one being now Lord Bishop of Ely, and the other
of Chester. And the last of them told me very lately, that
one of the dissenters — which I could but forbear to name —
appeared to Dr. Sanderson to be so bold, so troublesome, and so
illogical in the dispute, as forced patient Dr. Sanderson— who
was then Bishop of Lincoln, and a moderator with other
bishops — to say, with an unusual earnestness, "That he had
never met with a man of more pertinacious confidence, and
less abilities, in all his conversation."

But though this debate at the Savoy was ended without any
great satisfaction to either party, yet both parties knew the

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 303

desires, and understood the abilities, of the other, much better
than before it: and the late distressed clergy, that were now
restored to their former rights and power, did, at the next
meeting in convocation, contrive to give the dissenting party
satisfaction by alteration, explanation, and addition to some
part both of the rubric and common prayer, as also by adding
some necessary collects, and a particular collect of thanks-
giving. How many of those new collects were worded by Dr.
Sanderson, I cannot say; but am sure the whole convocation
valued him so much that he never undertook to speak to any
point in question, but he was heard with great willingness and
attention ; and when any point in question was determined,
the convocation did usually desire him to word their intentions,
and as usually approve and thank him.

At this convocation the common prayer was made more
complete, by adding three new necessary offices; which were,
"A form of humiliation for the murder of King Charles the
Martyr; A thanksgiving for the restoration of his son our
King; and for the baptising of persons of riper age." I cannot
say Dr. Sanderson did form, or word them all, but doubtless
more than any single man of the convocation; and he did also,
by desire of the convocation, alter and add to the forms of
prayers to be used at sea — now taken into the service-book.
And it may be noted, that William, the now Right Reverend
Bishop of Canterbury, was in these employments diligently
useful; especially in helping to rectify the calendar and rubric.
And lastly, it may be noted, that, for the satisfying all the dis-
senting brethren and others, the convocation's reasons for the
alterations and additions to the Liturgy were by them desired
to be drawn up by Dr. Sanderson; which being done by him,
and approved by them, was appointed to be printed before the
Liturgy, and may be known by this title, "The Preface;" and
begins thus — " It hath been the wisdom of the Church."

I shall now follow him to his bishopric, and declare a part
of his behaviour in that busy and weighty employment. And
first, that it was with such condescension and obligingness to
the meanest of his clergy, as to know and be known to them.

304 THE LIFE OF

And indeed he practised the like to all men of what degree
soever, especially to his old neighbours or parishioners of
Boothby Pannell; for there was all joy at his table, when they
came to visit him: then they prayed for him, and he for them,
with an unfeigned affection.

I think it will not be denied but that the care and toil
required of a bishop may justly challenge the riches and
revenue with which their predecessors had lawfully endowed
them: and yet he sought not that so much, as doing good both
to the present age and posterity; and he made this appear by
what follows.

The Bishop's chief house at Buckden, in the county of
Huntingdon, the usual residence of his predecessors, — for it
stands about the midst of his diocese, — having been at his
consecration a great part of it demolished, and what was left
standing under a visible decay, was by him undertaken to be
erected and repaired: and it was performed with great speed,
care, and charge. And to this may be added, that the King
having by an injunction commended to the care of the bishops,
deans, and prebends of all Cathedral Churches, "the repair
of them, their houses, and augmentation of small vicarages;"
he, when he was repairing Buckden, did also augment the last,
as fast as fines were paid for renewing leases: so fast, that a
friend, taking notice of his bounty, was so bold as to advise
him to remember "he was under his first-fruits, and that he
was old, and had a wife and children yet but meanly provided
for, especially if his dignity were considered." To whom he
made a mild and thankful answer, saying, "It would not
become a Christian bishop to suffer those houses built by his
predecesscrs to be ruined for want of repair; and less justifiable
to suffer any of those, that were called to so high a calling as to
sacrifice at God's altar, to eat the bread of sorrow constantly,
when he had a power by a small augmentation, to turn it into
the bread of cheerfulness: and wished, that as this was, so it
were also in his power to make all mankind happy, for he
desired nothing more. And for his wife and children, he hoped
to leave them a competence, and in the hands of a God that

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 305

would provide for all that kept innocence, and trusted His
providence and protection, which he had always found enough
to make and keep him happy."

There was in his diocese a minister of almost his age, that
had been of Lincoln College when he left it, who visited him
often, and always welcome, because he was a man of innocence
and open-heartedness. This minister asked the Bishop what
books he studied most, when he laid the foundation of his
great and clear learning. To which his answer was, "that he
declined reading many; but what he did read were well
chosen, and read so often, that he became very familiar with
them ; " and said, " they were chiefly three, Aristotle's Rhetoric,
Aquinas's Secunda Secundiz, and Tully, but chiefly his Offices,
which he had not read over less than twenty times, and could
at this age say without book." And told him also, " the learned
civilian Doctor Zouch — who died lately — had writ Elementa
Jurisprudences, which was a book that he could also say without
book; and that no wise man could read it too often, or love
or commend too much;" and told him "these had been his
toil ; but for himself he always had a natural love to genealogies
and heraldry; and that when his thoughts were harassed with
any perplexed studies, he left off, and turned to them as a
recreation ; and that his very recreation had made him so
perfect in them, that he could, in a very short time, give an
account of the descent, arms, and antiquity of any family of the
nobility or gentry of this nation."

Before I give an account of Dr. Sanderson's last sickness, I
desire to tell the reader that he was of a healthful constitution,
cheerful and mild, of an even temper, very moderate in his
diet, and had had little sickness, till some few years before" his
death; but was then every winter punished with a diarrhoea,
which left not till warm weather returned and removed it: and
this distemper did, as he grew older, seize him oftener, and
continue longer with him. But though it weakened him, yet
it made him rather indisposed than sick, and did no way
disable him from studying — indeed too much. In this decay
of his strength, but not of his memory or reason, — for this dis-

21

306 THE LIFE OF

temper works not upon the understanding, — he made his last
will, of which I shall give some account for confirmation of
what hath been said, and what I think convenient to be known,
before I declare his death and burial.

He did in his last will give an account of his faith and
persuasion in point of religion, and Church government, in these
very words:

" I, Robert Sanderson, Doctor of Divinity, an unworthy
minister of Jesus Christ, and, by the providence of God, Bishop
of Lincoln, being by the long continuance of an habitual dis-
temper brought to a great bodily weakness and faintness of
spirits, but — by the great mercy of God — without any bodily
pain otherwise, or decay of understanding, do make this my
will and testament, — written all with my own hand, — re-
voking all former wills by me heretofore made, if any such
shall be found. First, I commend my soul into the hands of
Almighty God, as of a faithful Creator, which I humbly beseech
him mercifully to accept, looking upon it, not as it is in itself
— infinitely polluted with sin, — but as it is redeemed and
purged with the precious blood of his only beloved Son, and
my most sweet Saviour Jesus Christ ; in confidence of whose
merits and meditation alone it is, that I cast myself upon the
mercy of God for the pardon of my sins, and the hopes of
eternal life. And here I do profess, that as I have lived, so I
desire, and — by the grace of God — resolve, to die in the com-
munion of the Catholic Church of Christ, and a true son of
the Church of England : which, as it stands by law established,
to be both in doctrine and worship agreeable to the word of
God, and in the most, and most material points of both con-
formable to the faith and practice of the godly Churches of
Christ in the primitive and purer times, I do firmly believe:
led so to do, not so much from the force of custom and
education, — to which the greatest part of mankind owe their
particular different persuasions in point of religion, — as upon
the clear evidence of truth and reason, after a serious and
impartial examination of the grounds, as well of Popery as
Puritanism, according to that measure of understanding, and

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 307

those opportunities which God hath afforded me : and herein
I am abundantly satisfied, that the schism which the Papists
on the one hand, and the superstition which the Puritan on
the other hand, lay to our charge, are very justly chargeable
upon themselves respectively. Wherefore I humbly beseech
Almighty God, the Father of mercies, to preserve the Church
by his power and providence, in peace, truth, and godliness,
evermore to the world's end: which doubtless he will do, if
the wickedness and security of a sinful people — and particularly
those sins that are so rife, and seem daily to increase among
us, of unthankfulness, riot, and sacrilege — do not tempt his
patience to the contrary. And I also further humbly beseech
him, that it would please him to give unto our gracious
Sovereign, the reverend bishops, and the Parliament, timely
to consider the great danger that visibly threatens this Church
in point of religion by the late great increase of Popery, and
in point of revenue by sacrilegious inclosures; and to provide
such wholesome and effectual remedies, as may prevent the
same before it be too late."

And for a further manifestation of his humble thoughts and
desires, they may appear to the reader by another part of his
will which follows.

" As for my corruptible body, I bequeath it to the earth
whence it was taken, to be decently buried in the Parish
Church of Buckden, towards the upper end of the chancel,
upon the second, or — at the furthest — the third day after my
decease; and that with as little noise, pomp, and charge as
may be, without the invitation of any person how near soever
related unto me, other than the inhabitants of Buckden; with-
out the unnecessary expense of escutcheons, gloves, ribbons,
etc., and without any blacks to be hung anywhere in or about
the house or Church, other than a pulpit cloth, a hearse cloth,
and a mourning gown for the preacher; whereof the former —
after my body shall be interred — to be given to the preacher
of the funeral sermon, and the latter to the curate of the parish
for the time being. And my will further is that the funeral
sermon be preached by my own household chaplain, con-

3o8 THE LIFE OF

taining some wholesome discourse concerning mortality, the
resurrection of the dead and the last judgment; and that he
shall have for his pains £$, upon condition that he speak
nothing at all concerning my person, either good or ill, other
than I myself shall direct ; only signifying to the auditory that
it was my express will to have it so. And it is my will, that
no costly monument be erected for my memory, but only a
fair flat marble stone to be laid over me, with this inscription
in legible Roman characters, DEPOSITUM ROBERTI SANDERSON

NUPER LINCOLNIENSIS EPISCOPI, QUI OBIIT ANNO DOMINI
MDCLXII. ET JETATIS SUM SEPTUAGESIMO SEXTO, HIC
REQUIESCIT IN SPE BEATE RESURRECTIONIS. This manner

of burial, although I cannot but foresee it will prove un-
satisfactory to sundry my nearest friends and relations, and
be apt to be censured by others, as an evidence of my too
much parsimony and narrowness of mind, as being altogether
unusual, and not according to the mode of these times : yet
it is agreeable to the sense of my heart, and I do very much
desire my will may be carefully observed herein, hoping it
may become exemplary to some or other: at least however
testifying at my death — what I have so often and earnestly
professed in my lifetime — my utter dislike of the flatteries
commonly used in funeral sermons, and of the vast expenses
otherwise laid out in funeral solemnities and entertain-
ments, with very little benefit to any; which if bestowed
in pious and charitable works, might redound to the public
or private benefit of many persons."

I am next to tell, that he died the 29th of January, 1662 ;
and that his body was buried in Buckden, the third day after
his death ; and for the manner, that it was as far from ostenta-
tion as he desired it ; and all the rest of his will was as
punctually performed. And when I have — to his just praise —
told this truth, " that he died far from being rich," I shall return
back to visit, and give a further account of him on his last
sick-bed.

His last will — of which I have mentioned a part — was made
about three weeks before his death, about which time, finding

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 309

his strength to decay, by reason of his constant infirmity, and
a consumptive cough added to it, he retired to his chamber,
expressing a desire to enjoy his last thoughts to himself in
private, without disturbance or care, especially of what might
concern this world. And that none of his clergy — which are
more numerous than any other bishop's — might suffer by his
retirement, he did by commission empower his chaplain, Mr.
Pullin, with episcopal power to give institutions to all livings or
Church preferments, during this his disability to do it himself.
In this time of his retirement he longed for his dissolution; and
when some that loved him prayed for his recovery, if he at any
time found any amendment, he seemed to be displeased, by
saying, "His friends said their prayers backward for him: and
that it was not his desire to live a useless life, and by filling up
a place keep another out of it, that might do God and his
Church service." He would often with much joy and thankful-
ness mention, "That during his being a housekeeper — which
was more than forty years — there had not been one buried out
of his family, and that he was now like to be the first." He
would also often mention with thankfulness, " That till he was
threescore years of age, he had never spent five shillings in law,
nor — upon himself — so much in wine : and rejoiced much that
he had so lived as never to cause an hour's sorrow to his good
father; and hoped he should die without an enemy."

He, in this retirement, had the Church prayers read in his
chamber twice every day; and at nine at night, some prayers
read to him and a part of his family out of The Whole Duty of
Man. As he was remarkably punctual and regular in all his
studies and actions, so he used himself to be for his meals.
And his dinner being appointed to be constantly ready at the
ending of prayers, and he expecting and calling for it, was
answered, " It would be ready in a quarter of an hour." To
which his reply was, "A quarter of an hour ! Is a quarter of
an hour nothing to a man that probably has not many hours to
live?" And though he did live many hours after this, yet he
lived not many days; for the day after — which was three days
before his death — he was become so weak and weary of either

3io THE LIFE OF

motion or sitting, that he was content, or forced, to keep his
bed: in which I desire he may rest, till I have given some
account of his behaviour there, and immediately before it.

The day before he took his bed, — which was three days
before his death, — he, that he might receive a new assurance
for the pardon of his sins past, and be strengthened in his way
to the New Jerusalem, took the blessed sacrament of the body
and blood of his and our blessed Jesus, from the hands of his
chaplain, Mr. Pullin, accompanied with his wife, children, and a
friend, in as awful, humble, and ardent a manner as outward
reverence could express. After the praise and thanksgiving
for it was ended, he spake to this purpose: "Thou, O God!
tookest me out of my mother's womb, and hast been the
powerful protector of me to this present moment of my life:
Thou hast neither forsaken me now I am become grey-headed,
nor suffered me to forsake thee in the late days of temptation,
and sacrifice my conscience for the preservation of my liberty
or estate. It was by grace that I have stood, when others have
fallen under my trials: and these mercies I now remember with
joy and thankfulness; and my hope and desire is, that I may
die praising thee.

The frequent repetition of the Psalms of David hath been
noted to a great part of the devotion of the primitive Christians;
the psalms having in them not only prayers and holy instructions,
but such commemorations of God's mercies as may pre-
serve, comfort, and confirm our dependence on the power, and
providence, and mercy of our Creator. And this is mentioned
in order to telling, that as the holy Psalmist said, that his eyes
should prevent both the dawning of the day and night watches,
by meditating on God's word (Psal. cxix. 147), so it was Dr.
Sanderson's constant practice every morning to entertain his
first waking thoughts with a repetition of those very psalms
that the Church hath appointed to be constantly read in the
daily morning service: and having at night laid him in his bed,
he as constantly closed his eyes with a repetition of those
appointed for the service of the evening, remembering and
repeating the very psalms appointed for every day; and as the

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 311

month had formerly ended and began again, so did this
exercise of his devotion. And if his first waking thoughts were
of the world, or what concerned it, he would arraign and
condemn himself for it. Thus he began that work on earth,
which is now his employment in heaven.

After his taking his bed, and about a day before his death,
he desired his chaplain, Mr. Pullin, to give him absolution:
and at his performing that office, he pulled off his cap, that Mr.
Pullin might lay his hand upon his bare head. After this
desire of his was satisfied, his body seemed to be at more ease,
and his mind more cheerful; and he said, "Lord, forsake me
not now my strength faileth me; but continue thy mercy, and,
let my mouth be filled with thy praise." He continued the
remaining night and day very patient, and thankful for any of
the little offices that were performed for his ease and refresh-
ment: and during that time did often say the iO3rd Psalm to
himself, and very often these words, " My heart is fixed, O God!
my heart is fixed where true joy is to be found." His thoughts
seemed now to be wholly of death, for which he was so
prepared, that the King of Terrors could not surprise him as a
thief in the night: for he had often said, he was prepared, and
longed for it. And as this desire seemed to come from heaven,
so it left him not till his soul ascended to that region of blessed
spirits, whose employments are to join in concert with him, and
sing praise and glory to that God, who hath brought them to
that place, into which sin and sorrow cannot enter.

Thus this pattern of meekness and primitive innocence
changed this for a better life. 'Tis now too late to wish that
my life may be like his; for I am in the eighty-fifth year of
my age: but I humbly beseech Almighty God, that my death
may: and do as earnestly beg of every reader, to say — Amen.

Blessed is the man in whose spirit there is no guile, Psal,
xxxii. 2.

THE LIFE OF

DR. PIERCE'S LETTER.

GOOD MR. WALTON, —

At my return to this place, I made a yet stricter search after the letters
long ago sent me from our most excellent Dr. Sanderson, before the
happy restoration of the King and Church of England to their several
rights: in one of which letters more especially, he was pleased to give
me a narrative both of the rise and the progress, and reasons also, as
well of his younger, as of his last and riper judgment, touching the
famous points controverted between the Calvinians and the Arminians,
as they are commonly (though unjustly and unskilfully) miscalled on
either side.

The whole letter I allude to does consist of several sheets, whereof
a gopd part had been made public long ago, by the most learned, most
judicious, most pious Dr. Hammond (to whom I sent it both for his
private, and for the public satisfaction, if he thought fit), in his
excellent book, entitled, A Pacific Discourse of God's Grace and Decrees,
tit full accordance with Dr. Sanderson: to which discourse I refer you
for an account of Dr. Sanderson and the history of his thoughts in
his own handwriting, wherein I sent it to Westwood, as I received it
from Boothby Pannell. And although the whole book (printed in
the year 1 660, and reprinted since with his other tracts in folio) is
very worthy of your perusal; yet, for the work you are about, you
shall not have need to read more at present than from the 8th to the
23rd page, and as far as the end of section 33. There you will find in
what year the excellent man, whose life you write, became a Master
of Arts: how his first reading of learned Hooker had been occasioned
by certain puritanical pamphlets; and how good a preparative he found
it for his reading of Calvin's Institutions, the honour of whose name
(at that time especially) gave such credit to his errors: how he erred
with Mr. Calvin, whilst' he took things upon trust in the sublapsarian
way: how, being chosen to be a clerk of the convocation for the
diocese of Lincoln, 1617, he reduced the Quinquarticular Controversy
into five schemes or tables; and thereupon discerned a necessity of
quitting the sublapsarian way, of which he had before a better liking,
as well as the supralapsarian, which he could never fancy. There you
will meet with his two weighty reasons against them both, and find
his happy change of judgment to have been ever since the year 1625,

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 313

even thirty-four years before the world either knew, or, at least, took
notice of it; and more particularly his reasons for rejecting Dr. Twiss
(or the way he walks in), although his acute and very learned and
ancient friend.

I now proceed to let you know from Dr. Sanderson's own hand,
which was never printed (and which you can hardly know from any,
unless from his son, or from myself), that, when that Parliament was
broken up, and the convocation therewith dissolved, a gentleman of
his acquaintance by occasion of some discourse about these points, told
him of a book not long before published at Paris (A.D. 1623), by a
Spanish bishop, who had undertaken to clear the differences, in the
great controversy, De Concordia Gratia et Liberi Arbitrii, And because
his friend perceived he was greedily desirous to see the book, he sent
him one of them, containing the four first books of twelve which he
intended then to publish. "When I had read, " says Dr. Sanderson,
in the following words of the same letter, "his Epistle Dedicatory to
the Pope (Gregory XV.), he spake so highly of his own invention,
that I then began rather to suspect him for a mountebank, than to hope
I should find satisfaction from his performances. I found much
confidence and great pomp of words, but little matter as to the main
knot of the business, other than had been said an hundred times
before, to wit, of the co existence of all things past, present, and
future in mente divina realiter ab czterno, which is the subject of his
whole third book: only he interpreteth the word realiter so as to
import not only prasentialitatem objectivam (as others held before
him), but propriam et actualem exislentiam: yet confesseth it is hard
to make this intelligible. In his fourth book he endeavours to
declare a twofold manner of God's working ad extra; the one sub
ordine prcedestinationis , of which eternity is the proper measure: and
the other sub ordine grades, whereof time is the measure; and that
God worketh fortiter in the one (though not irresistibiliter} as well
suaviter in the other, wherein the free-will hath his proper working
also. From the result of his whole performance I was confirmed in
this opinion; that we must acknowledge the work of both grace and
free-will in the conversion of a sinner; and so likewise in all other
events, the consistency of the infallibility of God's foreknowledge at
least (though not with any absolute, but conditional predestination)
with the liberty of man's will, and the contingency of inferior causes
and effects. These, I say, we must acknowledge for the on : but for

3H THE LIFE OF

the rb TTMS, I thought it bootless for me to think of comprehending it.
And so came the two Ada Synodalia Dordrechtana to stand in my
study, only to fill up a room to this day.

"And yet see the restless curiosity of man. Not many years after,
to wit, A.D. 1632, out cometh Dr. Twiss's Vindicia Gratia, a large
volume, purposely writ against Arminius : and then, notwithstanding
my former resolution, I must need be meddling again. The respect I
bore to his person and great learning, and the acquaintance I had had
with him in Oxford, drew me to the reading of that whole book. But
from the reading of it (for I read it through to a syllable) I went away
with many and great dissatisfactions. Sundry things in that book I
took notice of, which brought me into a greater dislike of his opinion
than I had before: but especially these three: First, that he bottometh
very much of his discourse upon a very erroneous principle, which
yet he seemeth to be so deeply in love with, that he hath repeated it,
I verily believe, some hundreds of times in that work: to wit this;
That whatsoever is first in the intention is last in execution, and
e converse. Which is an error of that magnitude, that I cannot but
wonder how a person of such acuteness and subtility of wit could
possibly be deceived with it. All logicians know there is no such
universal maxim as he buildeth upon. The true maxim is but this:
Finis qui primus est in intentione, est ultimns in executions. In the
order of final causes, and the means used for that end, the rule
holdeth perpetually: but in other things it holdeth not at all, or but
by chance; or not as a rule, and necessarily. Secondly, that, fore-
seeing such consequences would naturally and necessarily follow
from his opinion, as would offend the ear of a sober Christian at
the very first sound, he would yet rather choose not only to admit
the said harsh consequences, but professedly endeavour also to
maintain them, and plead hard for them in large digressions, than
to recede in the least from that opinion which he had undertaken to
defend. Thirdly, that seeing (out of the sharpness of his wit) a
necessity of forsaking the ordinary sublapsarian way, and the supra-
lapsarian too, as it had diversely been declared by all that had gone
before him (for the shunning of those rocks, which either of those
ways must unavoidably cast him upon), he was forced to seek out an
untrodden path, and to frame out of his own brain a new way (like
a spider's web wrought out of her own bowels), hoping by that devise
to salve all absurdities, that could be objected; to wit, by making the

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 315

glory of God (as it is indeed the chiefest, so) the only end of all other
his decrees, and then making all those other decrees to be but one
entire co-ordinate medium conducing to that one end, and so the
whole subordinate to it, but not any one part thereof subordinate to
any other of the same. Dr. Twiss should have done well to have
been more sparing in imputing the studium partium to others, where-
with his own eyes, though of eminent perspicacity, were so strangely
blindfolded, that he could not discern how this his new devise, and
his old dearly beloved principle (like the Cadmean Sparti), do mutually
destroy the one the other.

"This relation of my past thoughts having spun out to a far
greater length than I intended, I shall give a shorter account of what
they now are concerning these points."

For which account I refer you to the following parts of Dr. Ham-
mond's book aforesaid, where you may find them already printed: and
for another account at large of Bishop Sanderson's last judgment con-
cerning God's concurrence or non-concurrence with the actions of men,
and the positive entity of sins of commission, I refer you to his letters
already printed by his consent, in my large Appendix to my Impartial
Enquiry into the Nature of Sin, § 63, p. 193, as far as p. 200.

Sir, I have rather made it my choice to transcribe all above out of
the letters of Dr. Sanderson, which lie before me, than venture the
loss of my originals by post or carrier, which, though not often, yet
sometimes fail. Make use of as much or as little as you please of
what I send you from himself (because from his own letters to me),
in the penning of his life, as your own prudence shall direct you :
using my name for your warranty in the account given of him, as
much or as little as you please to. You have a performance of my
promise, and an obedience to your desires from

Your affectionate humble servant,

NORTH TIDWORTH, THO. PIERCE.

March 5, 1677-8.

THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN'S LETTER.

MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. WALTON, —

I am heartily glad that you have undertaken to write the life of that
excellent person, and, both for learning and piety, eminent prelate,

316 THE LIFE OF

Dr. Sanderson, late Bishop of Lincoln; because I know your ability
to know, and integrity to write truth: and sure I am, that the
life and actions of that pious and learned prelate will afford you
matter enough for his commendation, and the imitation of posterity.
In order to the carrying on your intended good work, you desire my
assistance, that I would communicate to you such particular passages
of his life as were certainly known to me. I confess I had the happi-
ness to be particularly known to him for about the space of twenty
years; and, in Oxon, to enjoy his conversation, and his learned and
pious instructions while he was Regius Professor of Divinity there.
Afterwards, when (in the time of our late unhappy confusions) he left
Oxon, and was retired into the country, I had the benefit of his
letters; wherein, with great candour and kindness, he answered those
doubts I proposed, and gave me that satisfaction, which I neither had
nor expected from some others of greater confidence, but less judg-
ment and humility. Having, in a letter, named two or three books
writ (ex professo) against the being of any original sin : and that
Adam, by his fall, transmitted some calamity only, but no crime to
his posterity ; the good old man was exceedingly troubled, and be-
wailed the misery of those licentious times, and seemed to wonder
(save that the times were such) that any should write, or be permitted
to publish any error so contradictory to truth, and the doctrine of the
Church of England, established (as he truly said) by clear evidence
of scripture, and the just and supreme power of this nation, both
sacred and civil. I name not the books, nor the authors, which are
not unknown to learned men (and I wish they had never been known)
because both the doctrine and the unadvised abettors of it are, and
shall be, to me apocryphal.

Another little story I must not pass in silence, being an argument
of Dr. Sanderson's piety, great ability, and judgment as a casuist.
Discoursing with an honourable person (whose piety I value more
than his nobility and learning, though both be great) about a case of
conscience concerning oaths and vows, their nature and obligation —
in which, for some particular reasons, he then desired more fully
to be informed — I commended to him Dr. Sanderson's book De
Juratnento ; which having read, with great satisfaction, he asked
me, — " If I thought the Doctor could be induced to write cases of
conscience, if he might have an honorary pension allowed him to
furnish him with books for that purpose?" I told him I believed he

DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 317

would: and, in a letter to the Doctor, told him what great satisfaction
that honourable person, and many more, had reaped by reading his
book De Jurame nto; and asked him, " whether he would be pleased,
for the benefit of the Church, to write some tract of cases of con-
science? " He replied, "That he was glad that any had received any
benefit by his books " : and added further, " That if any future tract of
his could bring such benefit to any, as we seemed to say his former
had done, he would willingly, though without any pension, set about
that work." Having received this answer, that honourable person,
before mentioned, did, by my hands, return ^50 to the good Doctor,
whose condition then (as most good men's at that time were) was but
low; and he presently revised, finished, and published that excellent
book, De Constientid: a book little in bulk, but not so if we consider
the benefit an intelligent reader may receive by it. For there are
so many general propositions concerning conscience, the nature and
obligation of it, explained and proved, with such firm consequence and
evidence of reason, that he who reads, remembers, and can with
prudence pertinently apply them Me et nunc to particular cases, may,
by their light and help, rationally resolve a thousand particular doubts
and scruples of conscience. Here you may see the charity of that
honourable person promoting, and the piety and industry of the good
Doctor, in performing that excellent work.

And here I shall add the judgment of that learned and pious prelate
concerning a passage very pertinent to our present purpose. When
he was in Oxon, and read his public lectures in the school as Regius
Professor of Divinity, and by the truth of his positions, and evidences
of his proofs, gave great content and satisfaction to all his hearers,
especially in his clear resolutions of all difficult cases which occurred
in the explication of the subject-matter of his lectures; a person of
quality (yet alive) privately asked him, "What course a young divine
should take in his studies to enable him to be a good casuist ?" His
answer was, "That a convenient understanding of the learned lan-
guages, at least of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, and a sufficient know-
ledge of arts and sciences presupposed; there were two things in human
literature, a comprehension of which would be of very great use, to
enable a man to be a rational and able casuist, which otherwise was
very difficult, if not impossible : I. A convenient knowledge of moral
philosophy; especially that part of it which treats of the nature of
human actions: To know, ' ' quid sit actus humanus (sponfcmtus, invitus-

3i8 THE LIFE OF DR. SANDERSON.

mixtus), unde habet bonitatem et maliliam moralem ? an ex genere et
objeclo, vel ex circumstanlits ? " How the variety of circumstances
varies the goodness or evil of human actions ? How far knowledge
and ignorance may aggravate or excuse, increase or diminish the
goodness or evil of our actions? For every case of conscience being
only this — " Is this action good or bad ? May I do it, or may I not ?" —
He who, in these, knows not how and whence human actions become
morally good and evil, never can (in hypolhesi) rationally and certainly
determine, whether this or that particular action be so. 2. "The
second thing, which," he said, "would be a great help and advantage
to a casuist, was a convenient knowledge of the nature and obligation
of laws in general; to know what a law is; what a natural and a
positive law; what's required to the ' latio, dispematio, derogatio, vel
abrogatio legis ;' what promulgation is antecedently required to the
obligation of any positive law; what ignorance takes off the obligation
of a law, or does excuse, diminish, or aggravate the transgression :
For every case of conscience being only this — ' Is this lawful for me,
or is it not ? ' and the law the only rule and measure by which I must
judge of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of any action; it evidently
follows, that he, who, in these, knows not the nature and obligation
of laws, never can be a good casuist, or rationally assure himself or
others, of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of actions in particular."

This was the judgment and good counsel of that learned and pious
prelate: and having, by long experience, found the truth and benefit
of it, I conceive, I could not without ingratitude to him, and want of
charity to others, conceal it. Pray pardon this rude, and, I fear im-
pertinent scribble, which if nothing else, may signify thus much, that
I am willing to obey your desires, and am indeed,

Your affectionate friend,

LONDON, THOMAS LINCOLN.

May 10, 1678.

APPENDIX ON THE CHARACTER OF
MR. HOOKER.

SINCE writing the Introduction to this volume I have read Mr.
Keble's Preface to his elaborate edition of Hooker's works. (It
was surely a singularly happy concurrence of events which led
the author of The Christian Year to render so valuable a
service to the author of The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity,
which, as Dr. Wace remarks in his Bampton Lecture^ is the
most characteristic expression of the mind of the Established
Church on the great ecclesiastical controversies.) Mr. Keble
gives there a further illustration of Walton's pleasant imperfec-
tions as a biographer; and, as that extraordinary insight which
he turned to such admirable uses in his correspondence gives
it value, I subjoin it.

"The general result [of the biographer's work], in the Editor's
opinion, is favourable to Walton's veracity, industry, and judg-
ment. ... At the same time the Editor has no wish to deny,
that which is apparent of itself to every reader — the peculiar
fascination, if one may call it so, by which Walton was led
unconsciously to communicate more or less of his own tone and
character to all whom he undertook to represent. But this is
like his custom of putting long speeches into their mouths: we
see at once that it is his way, and it deceives no one. Perhaps
the case of Hooker is that in which the biographer has on the
whole produced the most incorrect impression of his subject.
He seems to have judged rather from anecdotes which had
come to his knowledge, than from the indications of tempera-
ment which Hooker's own writings afford. Otherwise he
might perhaps have seen reason to add to his commendation of
him for meekness and patience, that those qualities were by no

320 APPENDIX.

means constitutional in him. Like Moses, to whom Walton
compares him, he was by nature extremely sensitive, quick in
feeling any sort of unfairness, and thoroughly aware of his own
power to chastise it: so that his forbearance (which those only
can judge of, who have acquainted themselves with the writings
of his opponents) must have been the result of strong principle,
and unwearied self-control. Again, Walton or his informants
appear to have considered him as almost childishly ignorant of
human nature and of the ordinary business of life : whereas his
writings throughout betray uncommon shrewdness and quickness
of observation, and a vein of the keenest humour runs through
them ; the last quality we should look for, if we judged only by
reading the Life." — The Works of that learned and judicious
divine, Mr. Richard Hooker: with an Account of his Life
and Death by Isaac Wallon. A new edition, -with additions:
arranged by the Rev. John Keble, M.A. Oxford, at the Uni-
versity Press, 1836. Vol. i., pp. 2-3.

THE WALTER SCOTT Fit ESS, NEWCASTLE-ON-TVXE.

THE WORLD'S LITERARY MASTERPIECES.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY.

Maroon Cloth, Gilt. Price Is. net pet Volume.

VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED—

1 MALORY'S ROMANCE OF KING ARTHUR AND THE

Quest of the Holy Grail. Edited by Ernest Rhys.

2 THOREAU'S WALDEN. WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTE

by Will H. Dircks.

3 THOREAU'S "WEEK." WITH PREFATORY NOTE BY

Will H. Dircks.

4 THOREAU'S ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH AN INTRO-

duction, by Will H. Dircks.

5 CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, ETC

By Thomas De Quincey. With Introductory Note by William Sharp.

6 LANDOR'S IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. SELECTED,

with Introduction, by Harelock Ellis.

7 PLUTARCH'S LIVES (LANGHORNE). WITH INTRO-

ductory Note by B. J. Snell, M.A.

8 BROWNE'S RELIGIO MEDICI, ETC. WITH INTRO-

duction by J. Addington Symonds.

9 SHELLEY'S ESSAYS AND LETTERS. EDITED, WITH

Introductory Note, by Ernest Rhys.

10 SWIFT'S PROSE WRITINGS. CHOSEN AND ARRANGED,

with Introduction, by Walter Lewin.

11 MY STUDY WINDOWS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

With Introduction by R. Garnett, LL.D.

12 LOWELL'S ESSAYS ON THE ENGLISH POETS. WITH

a new Introduction by Mr. Low«lL

13 THE BIGLOW PAPERS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

With a Prefatory Note by Ernest Rhys.

14 GREAT ENGLISH PAINTERS. SELECTED FROM

Cunningham's Lives. Edited by William Sharp.

THE WAI.TER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING ON-TYNE.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY-continued.

15 BYRON'S LETTERS AND JOURNALS. SELECTED,

with Introduction, by Mathiide Blind.

16 LEIGH HUNT'S ESSAYS. WITH INTRODUCTION AND

Notes by Arthur Symons.

17 LONGFELLOW'S "HYPERION," "KAVANAGH," AND

"The Trouveres." With Introduction by W. Tirebuck.

18 GREAT , MUSICAL COMPOSERS. BY G. F. FERRIS.

Edited, with Introduction, by Mrs. William Sharp.

19 THE MEDITATIONS OF MARCUS AURELIUS. EDITED

by Alice Zimmern.

20 THE TEACHING OF EPICTETUS. TRANSLATED FROM

the Greek, with Introduction and Notes, by T. W. Rolleston.

21 SELECTIONS FROM SENECA. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Walter Clode.

22 SPECIMEN DAYS IN AMERICA. BY WALT WHITMAN.

Revised by the Author, with fresh Preface.

23 DEMOCRATIC VISTAS, AND OTHER PAPERS. BY

Walt Whitman. (Published by arrangement with the Author.)

24 WHITE'S NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. WITH

a Preface by Richard Jefferies.

25 DEFOE'S CAPTAIN SINGLETON. EDITED, WITH

Introduction, by H. Halliday Sparling.

26 MAZZINI'S ESSAYS : LITERARY, POLITICAL, AND

Religious. With Introduction by William Clarke.

27 PROSE WRITINGS OF HEINE. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Havelock Ellis.

28 REYNOLDS'S DISCOURSES. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Helen Zimmern.

29 PAPERS OF STEELE AND ADDISON. EDITED BY

Walter Lewin.

30 BURNS'S LETTERS. SELECTED AND ARRANGED,

with Introduction, by J. Logie Robertson, M.A.

31 VOLSUNGA SAGA. WILLIAM MORRIS. WITH INTRO-

duction by H. H. Sparling.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FKLLING-ON-TYNB.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY— continued.

32 SARTOR RESARTUS. BY THOMAS CARLYLE. WITH

Introduction by Ernest Rhys.

33 SELECT WRITINGS OF EMERSON. WITH INTRO-

duction by Percival Chubb.

34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF LORD HERBERT. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Will H. Dircks.

35 ENGLISH PROSE, FROM MAUNDEVILLE TO

Thackeray. Chosen and Edited by Arthur Gallon.

36 THE PILLARS OF SpCIETY, AND OTHER PLAYS. BY *

Henrik Ibsen. Edited, with an Introduction, by Havelock Ellis.

37 IRISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED AND

Selected by W. B. Teats.

38 ESSAYS OF DR. JOHNSON, WITH BIOGRAPHICAL

Introduction and Notes by Stuart J. Reid.

39 ESSAYS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT. SELECTED AND

Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Frank Carr.

40 LANDOR'S PENTAMERON, AND OTHER IMAGINARY

Conversations. Edited, with a Preface, by H. Ellis.

li POE'S TALES AND ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH INTRO-
duction, by Ernest Rhys.

\2 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
Edited, with Preface, by Ernest Rhys.

13 POLITICAL ORATIONS, FROM WENTWORTH TO

Macaulay. Edited, with Introduction, by William Clarke.

14 THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

45 THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY OLIVER

Wendell Holmes.

46 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

47 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS SON.

Selected, with Introduction, by Charles Sayle.

48 STORIES FROM CARLETON. SELECTED, WITH INTRO-

duction, by W. Yeats.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING ON-TY.NE.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY— continued.

49 JANE EYRE. BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE. EDITED BY

Clement K. Shorter.

50 ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND. EDITED BY LOTHROP

Withington, with a Preface by Dr. Furnivall.

51 THE PROSE WRITINGS OF THOMAS DAVIS. EDITED

by T. W. Rolleston.

52 SPENCE'S ANECDOTES. A SELECTION. EDITED,

with an Introduction and Notes, by John Underbill.

53 MORE'S UTOPIA, AND LIFE OF EDWARD V. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Maurice Adams.

54 SADI'S GULISTAN, OR FLOWER GARDEN. TRANS-

lated, with an Essay, by James Boss.

55 ENGLISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED BY

E. Sidney Hartland.

56 NORTHERN STUDIES. BY EDMUND GOSSE. WITH

a Note by Ernest Rhys.

57 EARLY REVIEWS OF GREAT WRITERS. EDITED BY

E. Sterenson.

58 ARISTOTLE'S ETHICS. WITH GEORGE HENRY

Lewes's Essay on Aristotle prefixed.

59 LANDOR'S PERICLES AND ASPASIA. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Havelock Ellis.

60 ANNALS OF TACITUS. THOMAS GORDON'S TRANS-

lation. Edited, with an Introduction, by Arthur Galton.

61 ESSAYS OF ELIA. BY CHARLES LAMB. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.

62 BALZAC'S SHORTER STORIES. TRANSLATED BY

William Wilson and the Count Stenbock.

63 COMEDIES OF DE MUSSET. EDITED, WITH AN

Introductory Note, by 8. L. Gwynn.

64 CORAL REEFS. BY CHARLES DARWIN. EDITED,

with aj> Introduction, by Dr. J. W. Williams.

65 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. EDITED, WITH AN INTRO-

duction, by Rudolf Dircks.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AN.D FELL1NG-ON-TYNE.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY— continued.

66 OUR VILLAGE. BY MISS MITFORD. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.

67 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, AND OTHER STORIES.

By Charles Dickens. With Introduction by Frank T. Marzials.

68 OXFORD MOVEMENT, THE. BEING A SELECTION

from " Tracts for the Times." Edited, with an Introduction, by William
G. Hutchison.

69 ESSAYS AND PAPERS BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. EDITED

by Walter Jerrold.

70 VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. BY

Mary WoUstonecraft. Introduction by Mrs. E. Robins Pennell.

71 "THE ATHENIAN ORACLE." A SELECTION. EDITED

by John Underbill, with Prefatory Note by Walter Besant

72 ESSAYS OF SAINTE-BEUVE. TRANSLATED AND

Edited, with an Introduction, by Elizabeth Lee.

73 SELECTIONS FROM PLATO. FROM THE TRANS-

latton of Sydenham and Taylor. Edited by T. W. Rolleston.

74 HEINE'S ITALIAN TRAVEL SKETCHES, ETC. TRANS-

lated by Elizabeth A. Sharp. With an Introduction from the French of
Theophile Gautier.

75 SCHILLER'S MAID OF ORLEANS. TRANSLATED,

with an Introduction, by Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

76 SELECTIONS FROM SYDNEY SMITH. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Ernest Rhys.

77 THE NEW SPIRIT. BY HAVELOCK ELLIS.

78 THE BOOK OF MARVELLOUS ADVENTURES. FROM

the " Morte d' Arthur." Edited by Ernest Rhys. [This, together with
No. 1, forms the complete "Morte d' Arthur."]

79 ESSAYS AND APHORISMS. BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS.

With an Introduction by E. A. Helps.

80 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. SELECTED, WITH A

Prefatory Note, by PerciTal Chubb.

81 THE LUCK OF BARRY LYNDON. BY W. M.

Thackeray. Edited by F. T. Marzials.

82 SCHILLER'S WILLIAM TELL. TRANSLATED, WITH

an Introduction, by Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITRD,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNK.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY— continued.

83 CARLYLE'S ESSAYS ON GERMAN LITERATURE.

With an Introduction by Ernest Rhys.

84 PLAYS AND DRAMATIC ESSAYS OF CHARLES LAMB.

Edited, with an Introduction, by Rudolf Dircks.

85 THE PROSE OF WORDSWORTH. SELECTED AND

Edited, with an Introduction, by Professor William Knight.

86 ESSAYS, DIALOGUES, AND THOUGHTS OF COUNT

Giacomo Leopardi. Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by
Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

87 THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL. A RUSSIAN COMEDY.

By Nikolai V. Gogol. Translated from the original, with an Introduction
and Notes, by Arthur A. Sykes.

88 ESSAYS AND APOTHEGMS OF FRANCIS, LORD BACON.

Edited, with an Introduction, by John Buchan.

89 PROSE OF MILTON. SELECTED AND EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Richard Garnett, LL.D.

90 THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO. TRANSLATED BY

Thomas Taylor, with an Introduction by Theodore Wratislaw.

91 PASSAGES FROM FROISSART. WITH AN INTRO-

duction by Frank T. Marzials.

92 THE PROSE AND TABLE TALK OF COLERIDGE.

Edited by Will H. Dircks.

93 HEINE IN ART AND LETTERS. TRANSLATED BY

Elizabeth A. Sharp.

94 SELECTED ESSAYS OF DE QUINCEY. WITH AN

Introduction by Sir George Douglas, Bart.

95 VASARI'S LIVES OF ITALIAN PAINTERS. SELECTED

and Prefaced by Havelock Ellis.

96 LAOCOON, AND OTHER PROSE WRITINGS OF

LESSING. A new Translation by W. B. Ronnfeldt.

97 PELLEAS AND MELISANDA, AND THE SIGHTLESS.

Two Plays by Maurice Maeterlinck. Translated from the French by
Laurence Alma Tadema.

98 THE COMPLETE ANGLER OF WALTON AND COTTON.

Edited, with an Introduction, by Charles Hill Dick.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBI.ISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FKLLING-ON-TYNE.

THE SCOTT LIBBARY— continued.

99 LESSING'S NATHAN THE WISE. TRANSLATED BY
Major-General Patrick Maxwell.

ioo THE POETRY OF THE CELTIC RACES, AND OTHER
Essays of Ernest Kenan. Translated by W. G. Hutchison.

lot CRITICISMS, REFLECTIONS, AND MAXIMS OFGOETHE.
Translated, with an Introduction, by W. B. Ronnfeldt.

102 ESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER. TRANSLATED BY

Mrs. Rudolf Dircks. With an Introduction.

103 RENAN'S LIFE OF JESUS. TRANSLATED, WITH AN

Introduction, by William G. Hutchison.

104 THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Arthur Symona.

105 THE PRINCIPLES OF SUCCESS IN LITERATURE.

By George Henry Lewes. Edited by T. Sharper Knowlson.

106 THE LIVES OF DR. JOHN DONNE, SIR HENRY WOTTON,

Mr. Richard Hooker, Mr. George Herbert, and Dr. Robert Sanderson.
By Izaac Walton. Edited, with an Introduction, by Charles Hill Dick.

107 POLITICAL ECONOMY: EXPOSITIONS OF ITS

Fundamental Doctrines. Selected, with an Introduction, by W. B.
Robertson, M.A.

108 RENAN'S ANTICHRIST. TRANSLATED, WITH AN

Introduction, by W. G. Hutchison.

109 ORATIONS OF CICERO. SELECTED AND EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Fred. W. Norris

no REFLECTIONS ON THE REVOLUTION IN FRANCE.
By Edmund Burke. With an Introduction by George Sampson.

ill THE LETTERS OF THE YOUNGER PLINY. SERIES I.
Translated, with an Introductory Essay, by John B. Firth, B.A., Lat«
Scholar of Queen's College, Oxford.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNR.

THE SCOTT LIBRARY— continued.

112 THE LETTERS OF THE YOUNGER PLINY. SERIES II.

Translated by John B. Firth, B.A.

113 SELECTED THOUGHTS OF BLAISE PASCAL. TRANS-

Uted, with an Introduction and Notes, by Gertrude Bnrford Rawlings.

114 SCOTS ESSAYISTS: FROM STIRLING TO STEVENSON.

Edited, with an Introduction, by Oliphant Smeaton.

115 ON LIBERTY. BY JOHN STUART MILL. WITH AN

Introduction by W. L. Courtney.

116 THE DISCOURSE ON METHOD AND METAPHYSICAL

Meditations of Rend Descartes. Translated, with Introduction, by
Gertrude B. Rawlings.

117 KALIDASA'S SAKUNTALA, ETC. EDITED, WITH AN

Introduction, by T. Holme.

118 NEWMAN'S UNIVERSITY SKETCHES. EDITED, WITH

Introduction, by George Sampson.

119 NEWMAN'S SELECT ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH AN

Introduction, by George Sampson.

120 RENAN'S MARCUS AURELIUS. TRANSLATED, WITH

an Introduction, by William G. Hutchison.

121 FROUDE'S NEMESIS OF FAITH. WITH AN INTRO-

dnction by William G. Hutchison.

122 WHAT IS ART? BY LEO TOLSTOY. TRANSLATED

from the Original Russian MS., with Introduction, by Alymer Maude.

123 HUME'S POLITICAL ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH AN

Introduction, by W. B. Robertson.

OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNE.

IN ONE VOLUME.

Crown 8vo, Cloth, Richly Gilt. Price 3$. 62%

Musicians Wit, Humour, and
Anecdote :

BEING

ON DITS OF COMPOSERS, SINGERS, AND
INSTRUMENTALISTS OF ALL TIMES.

BY FREDERICK J. CROWEST,

Author of "The Great Tone Poets," "The Story of British Music";
Editor of "The Master Musicians" Series, etc., etc.

Profusely Illustrated with Quaint Drawings by J. P. DONNE.

WHAT THE REVIEWERS SAY:—

" It is one of those delightful medleys of anecdote of all times,
seasons, and persons, in every page of which there is a new speci-
men of humour, strange adventure, and quaint saying." — T. P.
O'CONNOR in T. P.'s Weekly.

"A remarkable collection of good stories which must have
taken years of perseverance to get together." — Morning Leader.

"A book which should prove acceptable to two large sections of
the public — those who are interested in musicians and those who
have an adequate sense of the comic." — Globe.

THB WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNE.

The Makers of British Art.

A NEW SERIES OF MONOGRAPHS OF
BRITISH PAINTERS.

Each volume illustrated with Twenty Full-page Reproductions
and a Photogravure Portrait.

Square Crown 8vo, Cloth, Gilt Top, Deckled Edges, y. 6d. net.
VOLUMES READY.

LANDSEER, SIR EDWIN. By JAMES A. MANSON.

" This little volume may rank as the most complete account of
Landseer that the world is likely to possess." — Times.

REYNOLDS, SIR JOSHUA. By ELSA D'ESTERRE-KEELING.

"To the series entitled 'The Makers of British Art' Miss Elsa
d'Esterre-Keeling contributes an admirable little volume on Sir
Joshua Reynolds. Miss Keeling's style is sprightly and epigrammatic,
and her judgments are well considered." — Daily Telegraph.

TURNER, J. M. W. By ROBERT CHIGNELL, Author of
" The Life and Paintings of Vicat Cole, R. A."

ROMNEY, GEORGE. By SIR HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart.,
F.R.S., M.P.
" Likely to remain the best account of the painter's life. " — Athenxum.

WILKIE, SIR DAVID. By Professor BAYNE.
CONSTABLE, JOHN. By the Right Hon. LORD WINDSOR.
RAEBURN, SIR HENRY. By EDWARD PINNINGTON.
GAINSBOROUGH, THOMAS. By A. E. FLETCHER.
HOGARTH, WILLIAM. By Prof. G. BALDWIN BROWN.
MOORE, HENRY. By FRANK J. MACLEAN.
LEIGHTON, LORD. By EDGCUMBE STALEY.
MORLAND, GEORGE. By D. H. WILSON, M.A., LL.M.

IN PREPARATION.

MILLAIS — WATTS - Etc.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TVNE.

Crown 8vo, about 350 pp. each, Cloth Cover, 2/6 per Vol.;
Half-Polished Morocco, Gilt Top, 55.

Count Tolstoy's Works.

The following Volumes are already issued —

A RUSSIAN PROPRIETOR.

THE COSSACKS.

IVAN ILYITCH, AND OTHER

STORIES.
MY RELIGION.
LIFE.

MY CONFESSION.
CHILDHOOD, BOYHOOD,

YOUTH.

THE PHYSIOLOGY OF WAR.
ANNA KARENINA. 3/6.

WHAT TO DO?

WAR AND PEACE. (4 vols.,

THE LONG EXILE, ETC.

SEVASTOPOL.

THE KREUTZER SONATA, AND*

FAMILY HAPPINESS.
THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS

WITHIN YOU.
WORK WHILE YE HAVE THE

LIGHT.
THE GOSPEL IN BRIEF.

Uniform with the above —
IMPRESSIONS OF RUSSIA. By Dr. GEORG BRANDES.

Post 4to, Cloth, Price is.

PATRIOTISM AND CHRISTIANITY.

To which is appended a Reply to Criticisms of the Work.

By COUNT TOLSTOY.

i/- Booklets by Count Tolstoy.

Bound in White Grained Boards, with Gilt Lettering.

WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD

IS ALSO.

THE TWO PILGRIMS.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.

THE GODSON.

IF YOU NEGLECT THE FIRE,
YOU DON'T PUT IT OUT.
WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN ?

2/- Booklets by Count Tolstoy.

NEW EDITIONS, REVISED.

Small I2mo, Cloth, with Embossed Design on Cover, each containing

Two Stories by Count Tolstoy, and Two Drawings by

H. R. Millar. In Box, Price 2s. each.

Volume I. contains —
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD

IS ALSO.
THE GODSON.

Volume II. contains —

WHAT MEN- LIVE BY.
WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A
MAN?

Volume III. contains —
THE TWO PILGRIMS.
IF YOU NEGLECT THE FIRE,

YOU DON'T PUT IT OUT.

Volume IV. contains —

MASTER AND MAN.

Volume V. contains —
TOLSTOY'S PARABLES.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYJsE.

Crown Svo, Cloth, 3*. 6d. each; same vols., 6s.

The

Contemporary Science Series.

EDITED BY HAVELOCK ELLIS.

Illustrated Vols. between 300 and 400 pp. each. .

EVOLUTION OF SEX. By Professors GEDDKS and THOMSON. 6s.
ELECTRICITY IN MODERN LIFE. By G. W. DE TUNZELMANN.
THE ORIGIN OF THE ARYANS. By Dr. TAYLOR.
PHYSIOGNOMY AND EXPRESSION. By P. MANTEGAZZA.
EVOLUTION AND DISEASE. By J. B. SUTTON.
THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY. By G. L. GOMME.
THE CRIMINAL. By HAVBLOCK ELLIS. New Edition. 6s.
SANITY AND INSANITY. By Dr. C. MERCIER.
HYPNOTISM. By Dr. ALBERT MOLL (Berlin).
MANUAL TRAINING. By Dr. WOODWARD (St Louis).
SCIENCE OF FAIRY TALES. By E. S. HARTLAND.
PRIMITIVE FOLK. By ELIE RECLOS.
EVOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. By CH. LBTOURNBAU.
BACTERIA AND THEIR PRODUCTS. By Dr. WOODHEAD.
EDUCATION AND HEREDITY. By J. M. GOVAU.
THE MAN OF GENIUS. By Prof. LOMBROSO.
PROPERTY : ITS ORIGIN. By CH. LITOURNEAO.
VOLCANOES PAST AND PRESENT. By Prof. HULL.
PUBLIC HEALTH PROBLEMS. By Dr. J. F. SYKES.
MODERN METEOROLOGY. By FRANK WALDO, Ph.D.
THE GERM-PLASM. By Professor WEISMANN. 6s.
THE INDUSTRIES OF ANIMALS. By F. HOUSSAY.
MAN AND WOMAN. By HAVBLOCK ELLIS. 6s.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNE.

OONTHMPORARY SCIENCE SERIES-<w*/m«**.

MODERN CAPITALISM. By JOHN A. HOBSON, M. A. 6s.
THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE. By F. PODMORE, M.A.
COMPARATIVE PSYCHOLOGY. By Prof. C. L. MORGAN, F.R.S. 6s.
THE ORIGINS OF INVENTION. By O. T. MASON.
THE GROWTH OF THE BRAIN. By H. H. DONALDSON.
EVOLUTION IN ART. By Prof. A. C. HADDON, F.R.S.
HALLUCINATIONS AND ILLUSIONS. By E. PARISH. 6s.
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE EMOTIONS. By Prof. RIBOT. 6s.
THE NBW PSYCHOLOGY. By Dr. E. W. SCRIPTURE. 6s.

SLEEP: ITS PHYSIOLOGY, PATHOLOGY, HYGIENE, AND PSYCHOLOGY.
By MAJLIB DB MANACEINE.

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF DIGESTION. By A. LOCKHART
GILLKSPIB, M.D., F.R.C.P. ED., F.R.S. ED. 6s.

DEGENERACY: ITS CAUSES, SIGNS, AND RESULTS. By Prof.
EUGENB S. TALBOT, M.D., Chicago. 6s.

THE HISTORY OF THE EUROPEAN FAUNA. By R. F.
SCHARFP, B.Sc., PH.D., F.Z.S. 6s.

THE RACES OF MAN : A SKETCH OF ETHNOGRAPHY AND ANTHRO-
POLOGY. ByJ. DBNIKER. 6s.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION. By Prof. STARBUCK. 6s.
THECHILD. By ALEXANDER FRANCIS CHAMBERLAIN, M. A., Ph. D. 6s.
THE MEDITERRANEAN RACE. By Prof. SBRGI. 6s.
THE STUDY OF RELIGION. By MORRIS J ASTRO w, Jim., Ph. D. 6s.

HISTORY OF GEOLOGY AND PALAEONTOLOGY. By Prof.
KAJRL ALFRED VON ZITTBL, Munich. 6s.

THE MAKING OF CITIZENS : A STUDY IN COMPARATIVE EDUCA-
TION. By R. E. HUGHES, M:A. 6s.

MORALS: A TREATISB ON THE PSYCHO-SOCIOLOGICAL BASES OK

ETHICS. By Prof. G. L. DUPRAT.
EARTHQUAKES, A STUDY OF RECENT. By Prof. CHARLES

DAVISON, D.Sc., F.G.S. 6s.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNE.

SPECIAL EDITION OF THE

CANTERBURY POETS.

Square &z>0, Cloth, Gilt Top Elegant, Price 2s.
Each Volume with a Frontispiece in Photogravure.

CHRISTIAN YEAR. With Portrait of John Keble.

LONGFELLOW. With Portrait of Longfellow.

SHELLEY. With Portrait of Shelley.

WORDSWORTH. With Portrait of Wordsworth,

WHITTIER. With Portrait of Whittier.

BURNS. Songs \With Portrait of Burns, and View of "The

BURNS. Poems / Auld Brig o' Doon."

KEATS. With Portrait of Keats.

EMERSON. With Portrait of Emerson.

SONNETS OF THIS CENTURY. Portrait of P.'B. Marston.

WHITMAN. With Portrait of Whitman.

LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST. Portrait of Eric Mackay.

SCOTT. Lady of the Lake, 1 With Portrait of Sir Walter Scott,

etc. }• and View of " The Silver

SCOTT. Marmion, et*. Strand, Loch Katrine."

CHILDREN OF THE POETS. With an Engraving of "The

Orphans," by Gainsborough.

SONNETS OF EUROPE. With Portrait of J. A. Symonds.
SYDNEY DOBELL. With Portrait of Sydney Dobell.
HERRICK. With Portrait of Herrick.
BALLADS AND RONDEAUS. Portrait of W. E. Henley.
IRISH MINSTRELSY. With Portrait of Thomas Davis.
PARADISE LOST. With Portrait of Milton.
FAIRY MUSIC. Engraving from Drawing by C. E. Brock.
GOLDEN TREASURY. With Engraving of Virgin Mother.
AMERICAN SONNETS. With Portrait of J. R. Lowell.
IMITATION OF CHRIST. With Engraving, "Ecce Homo."
PAINTER POETS. With Portrait of Walter Crane.
WOMEN POETS. With Portrait of Mrs. Browning.
POEMS OF HON. RODEN NOEL. Portrait of Hon. R. NoeL
AMERICAN HUMOROUS VERSE. Portrait of Mark Twain.
SONGS OF FREEDOM. With Portrait of William Morris.
SCOTTISH MINOR POETS. With Portrait of R. Tannahill.
CONTEMPORARY SCOTTISH VERSE. With Portrait of

Robert Louis Stevenson.

PARADISE REGAINED. With Portrait of Milton,
CAVALIER POETS. With Portrait of Suckling.
HUMOROUS POEMS. With Portrait of Hood.
HERBERT. With Portrait of Herbert
POE. With Portrait of Poe.

OWEN MEREDITH. With Portrait of late Lord Lytton.
LOVE LYRICS. With Portrait ef Raleigh.
GERMAN BALLADS. With Portrait of Schiller.
CAMPBELL. With Portrait of Campbell.
CANADIAN POEMS. With View of Mount Stephen.
EARLY ENGLISH POETRY. With Portrait of Earl of Surrey.
ALLAN RAMSAY. With Portrait of Ramsay.
SPENSER. With Portrait of Speuser.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY. LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNE.

CHATTERTON. With Engraving, " The Death of Chatterton."

COWPER. With Portrait of Cowper.

CHAUCER. With Portrait of Chaucer.

COLEEIDOE. With Portrait of Coleridge.

POPE. With Portrait of Pope.

BYRON. Miscellaneous \ wif h »„_*,„ ,-(.«. nt R™_

BYRON. Don Juan j With Portraits of Byron.

JACOBITE SONGS. With Portrait of Prince Charlie.

BORDER BALLADS. With View of Neidpath Castle.

AUSTRALIAN BALLADS. With Portrait of A. L. Gordon.

HOGG. With Portrait of Hog*.

GOLDSMITH. With Portrait of Goldsmith.

MOORE. With Portrait of Moore.

DORA GREENWELL. With Portrait of Dora GreenwelL

BLAKE. With Portrait of Blake.

POEMS OF NATURE. With Portrait of Andrew Lang.

PRAED. With Portrait.

SOUTHEY. With Portrait.

HUGO. With Portrait.

GOETHE. With Portrait.

BERANGER. With Portrait

HEINE. With Portrait

SEA MUSIC. With View of Corbiere Rocks, Jersey.

SONG-TIDE. With Portrait of Philip Bourke Marston.

LADY OF LYONS. With Portrait of Bulwer Lytton.

SHAKESPEARE : Songs and Sonnets. With Portrait

BEN JONSON. With Portrait

HORACE. With Portrait

CRABBE. With Portrait.

CRADLE SONGS. With Engraving from Drawing by T. E. Macklln.

BALLADS OF SPORT. Do. do.

MATTHEW ARNOLD. With Portrait.

AUSTIN'S DAYS OF THE YEAR. With Portrait.

CLOUGH'S BOTHIE, and other Poems. With View.

BROWNING'S Pippa Passes, etc. "\

BROWNING'S Blot in the 'Scutcheon, etc. V With Portrait

BROWNING'S Dramatic Lyrics.

MACKAY'S LOVER'S MISSAL. With Portrait

KIRKE WHITE'S POEMS. With Portrait

LYRA NICOTIANA. With Portrait.

AURORA LEIGH. With Portrait of E. B. Browning.

NAVAL SONGS. With Portrait of Lord Nelson.

TENNYSON : In Memoriam, Maud, etc. With Portrait.

TENNYSON : English Idyls, The Princess, etc. With View of

Farringford House.

WAR SONGS. With Portrait of Lord Roberts.
JAMES THOMSON. With Portrait.
ALEXANDER SMITH. With Portrait.
PAUL VERLAINE. With Portrait.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. With Portrait

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNE.

Music Story Series.

A SERIES OF LITERARY-MUSICAL MONOGRAPHS.

Edited by FREDERICK J. CROWEST,

Author of "The Great Tone Poets," etc., etc.

Illustrated with Photogravure and Collotype Portraits, Half-tone and Line
Pictures, Facsimiles, etc!

Square Crown Svo, Cloth, js. 6d. net.

VOLUMES NOW READY.

THE STORY OF ORATORIO. By ANNIE W. PATTER-
SON, B.A., Mu£ Doc.

THE STORY OF NOTATION. By C. F. ABDY WILLIAMS,
M.A., Mus. Eac.

THE STORY OF THE ORGAN. By C. F. ABDY
WILLIAMS, M.A., Author of "Bach" and "Handel" ("Master
Musicians' Series ").

THE STORY OF CHAMBER MUSIC. By N. KILBURN,
Mus. BAC. (Cantab.).

THE STORY OF THE VIOLIN. By PAUL STOEVING,

Professor of the Violin, Guildhall School of Music, London.

THE STORY OF THE HARP. By WILLIAM H. GRATTAN
FLOOD, Author of " History of Irish Music."

THE STORY OF ORGAN MUSIC. By C. F. ABDY
WILLIAMS, M.A., Mus. Bac.

THE STORY OF ENGLISH MUSIC (1604-1904): being the
Worshipful Company of Musicians' Lectures.

THE STORY OF MINSTRELSY. By EDMONDSTOUNE

DUNCAN.

IN PREPARATION.

THE STORY OF THE PIANOFORTE. By ALGERNON S.
ROSE, Author of "Talks with Bandsmen."

THE STORY OF MUSICAL SOUND. By CHURCHILL
SIBLEY, Mus. Doc.

THE STORY OF CHURCH MUSIC. By THE EDITOR.
ETC., ETC., ETC.

THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED,
LONDON AND FELLING-ON-TYNK.

University of California

SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY

405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388

Return this material to the library

from which it was borrowed.

A 000 630 983 5