University of Virginia Library DA377 .w2 ae ALD The lives of Dr. John Donne, AA U OO eWALTON’S LIVES. A >;Ss i i \ Senin enntan reel iLOOKER; MR. GEORGE 28% pL p ‘ HERBERT; AND DR ROBERT SANDERSON BY IZAAK WALTON ? & : » ; «: CAL Fre ie.) “SS Mah VE fi Qs - DI<(3 Se a) ty ~) ~ 6, Jj? a F eS . a hf ae uy : 3 ‘ _ ~~ , y ay a BOSTON: rICKNOR AND FIELDS. L866. WOTTONAND PRELATE OF TH] , 1 )\ZA Hoo , —r HO? tf r } nation ha pa i 7 iT! > An ] , ilso the Life « GEORGE LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTE ~ 44 omen ~ MOST NOBLI some years past, present you with a 7 2 ‘ er, ( tC hump : : y pt ncees and thn y . S ng ishe { I gs | yas st Chu h, and was ins ited l i I Ass g S from h Se ye ied f Hy sius, 5 I I ‘ Vol yy x v I n into sx L I r 3 r years h Mr. Hi life of Mr. Richard man to whose me- > most le arned oft this } ’ , ® at the mention of lis oker’s, | present you primitive piety, Mr. | by his unshaken loyalty it the Restoration, first hen Bishop of Worces- he See of Winchester nbly of Divines, he never he in t 5 Lm bf S native ¢ untry, he eu- reigners, particularly to sius, and Bochart. He d King; but not being , he retired to Antwerp, he read the service of theDEDICATION. Vill 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 chal- lenge 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 ad- vantage 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 cap- tious 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 perform- ance, that I beg pardon for 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 addition of honour—but ra- ther as an humble, and more public acknowledge- ment, of your long-continued, and your now daily favours to My Lord, Your most affectionate, and most humble servant IZAAK WALTON. Church of England twice every day, catechized once a week, and administered the Communion once a month, to all the English in the town who could come to it; regularly and strictly observing all the parochial duties of a clergyman, as he did afterwards at Breda for four years together. He died in 1684.| HOUGH the several Introductions to ¢] READER. LINCSe | Lives ] ave partly declared the rea- how, and why I undertook them, vet t] ey are come to be ri viewed, and reprinted, and the four are ‘now »* I desire leave to inform you that y reader, that when I sometimes look lucation and mi an abilities, it is not ] if 1 onder at myself that l am come to } —_ I | have in those eclared some of the accidental rea- ‘casioned me to be 50, Vet let me add that by my undertaking iotes for Sir Henry Wotton’s w riting Donne, and by Sir Henry Wotton’s performed it, | became like those easily into a lawsuit or a quarrel, fair retreat and be ‘ANnNOt Make a lesire it.—And really, after such by Came engaged into a necessity ot e of Dr. Donne, contrary to mv first ; and that begot a like necessity of writingx EPISTLE TO THE READER. 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 unfitness. 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 now is Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, he enjoined me to exa- mine some circumstances, and then rectify the Bi- shop’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 de- clined my own, and trusted his judgment, and sub- mitted to his commands; concluding, that if I did not, I could not forbear accusing myself of disobe- * Dr. John Gauden, born at Mayland in Essex, educated at St. John’s College, Cambridge, was Dean of Bocking, and Master of the Temple, in the beginning of the reign of Charles I. In 1660 he was made Bishop of Exeter, and from thence promoted to Worcester in 1662, in which year he died, aged fifty-seven years. It must be owned that he was one of the Assembly of Di- vines in 1643, and that he took the covenant; to w hich, how- ever, he made some scruples and objections, so that hisname was soon struck out of the list. He abandoned the cause of the Parliament as soon as they relinquished their first avowed ger sa of reforming only, instead of extirpating episcopacy and monarchy.EPISTLE TO THE READER. x1 dience, 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 for- get, 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 sueceed us: For 1 humbly conceive writing to be both a safer and truer preserver of men’s vir- tuous actions than tradition; especially as it ‘es managed in this age. And I am also to tell t reader, that though this life of Mr. Herbert was not by me writ in haste, yet I intended it a review be- fore 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 mistak« Ss, 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 | hope none so great, as may not, by this confession, pur- chase pardon from a go d-natured reader. And now I wish, that as that learned Jew, Jo- sephus, and others, so these men had also wnit their own lives; but since it is not the fashion of these imé s; I wish their relations or friends would do it for them, before delays make it too difficult. And ] te sire this the more, because it is an honour due to the dead, and a generous debt due to those that shall live and Succes ed us, and would to them prove both a content and satisfaction. For when the se nr nl ei NOOR atinXi EPISTLE TO THE READER. next age shall (as this does) admire the learning and clear reason which that excellent easuist Dr. Sanderson (the late Bishop of Lincoln) hath demon- strated 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 doc- trine 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 ac- count 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. 1..W: * Dr. Richard Field, Chaplain to James I. and Dean of Gloucester, died Noy. 21, 1616,—the friend of Mr. Richard Hooker, and one of the most learned men of his age. He was the author of a work entitled “ Of the Church: fol. 1610.”—James I. when he first heard him preach, said, ‘This is a Field for God to dwell in.”—With the same allu- sion Fuller calls him, that learned divine, “ whose memory smelleth like a Field that the Lord hath blessed.””—Anthony Wood mentions a manuscript, written by Nath: aniel Field, Rector of Stourton, in Wiltshire, containing “ Some short Memorials concerning the Life of that Rey. Divine, Dr. Richard Field, Prebendary of Windsor,’ &c. The feature which peculi arly marked his dis spositir on, was an aversion to those disputes on the Arminian points, which then began to disturb the peace of the Church, and from which he dreaded the most unhappy consequences. It was his ambition to conciliate, not to irritate,THE LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE.4 { A a a EE CN se2 INTRODUCTION. most gladly undertake the employment, and conti- nued it with great content, till I had made my col- lection ready to be augmented and completed by his matchless pen: but then death prevented his inten- tions. 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 remark- able ; 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 Pom- pey’s poor bondman was,* (the grateful wretch had been left alone-on the sea-shore with the for- saken dead body of his once glorious lord and ‘athering the scattered oat to make a funeral master; and was then pieces of an old broken 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 au- a9 oO ] i thor’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 pro- fess myself artless, s 1ould 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 t | ae ; — advantage of the beholder, who shall at eae ; ; author’s picture in a natural dress, which ought to 1 1 nere see tne lutarehat wants rit, which now 1S $ } } ] re to |looK down all his ee er eee[DEDICATION TO THE SECOND EDITION. 1658.] TO MY NOBLE AND HONOURED FRIEND, SIR ROBER' HOLT, OF ASTON, IN THE COUNTY OF WARWICK, BART. Seaee~|| HEN this relation of the life of Dr. Donn | was first made public, it had, besides the } approbation of our late learned and elo- quent King, a conjunction with the au- thor’s most excellent sermons to support it; and thus it lay some time fortified against prejudice, and those . 1 “ye . passions that are, by busy and malicious men, too freely vented against the dead. And yet, now, after — e almost twenty years, when though the memory of Dr. Donne himself, must not, cannot die, so lone as men speak English; yet when I thought time had made this relation of him so like myself, as to become useless to the world, and content to be forgotten, | find that a retreat into a desired privacy will not be afforded; for the printers will again expose it and me to public exceptions, and without those supports, which we first had and needed, and in an age too in which truth and innocence have not been able to{ Jof,; i 4] . C1 nd LOeMst This | foresa 7 7 ’ LLiiii Stal + } ] ‘ ; ,1Y With hil } } ( ved une ] ] } ‘ +} ‘ nN Ory) Y iT him was | 11ith \ 5 Uv { 1 TT? g \\ Ws» rection and our parents i ‘ Bell, even 1n 7 ' Cari’ Té | nem con } } rid) Immortality tail PLetiitys » ¥Q fF Ohi. 1 + . LO Dé | I} To + tha 7 S SOL cannot in your6 DEDICATION. drawn by the pencil of a Titian or a Tintoret, by a pen equal and more lasting than their art; for his life ought to be the example of more than that age in which he died. And yet this copy, though very much, indeed too much, short of the original, will present you with some features not unlike your dead friend, and with fewer blemishes and more ornaments than when ’twas first made public; which creates a con- tentment to myself, because it is the more worthy of him, and because I may with more civility entitle you to it. Andin this design of doing so I have not a thought of what is pretended in most dedications, a commutation for courtesies; no indeed, Sir, I put no such yalue upon this trifle; for your owning it will rather increase my obligations. But my desire is, that into whose hands soever this shall fall, it may to them be a testimony of my gratitude to yourself and family, who descended to such a degree of humility as to admit me into their friendship in the days of my youth; and notwithstanding my many infirmities, have continued me in it till I am become gerey-headed; and as time has added to my years, havestill increased and multiplied their favours. This, Sir, is the intent of this Dedication; and having made the declaration of it thus public, I shall con- clude it with commending them and you to God's dear love. I remain, Sir, What your many merits have made me to be, the humblest of your servants, | SAAC W ALT N.~ house, im, until the8 Lae LIFE OF tenth year of his age; and, in his eleventh year, was sent to the University of Oxford, having at that time a good command both of the French and Latin tongue. This, and some other of his remark- able abilities, made one then give this censure of him: That this age had brought forth another Picus Mirandula;: of whom story says, that he was rather born than made wise by study. There he remained for some years in Hart Hall, having, for the advancement of his studies, tutors 1 instruct him, till CL Lagan: : nroad ] 1e@arninge Expressea of several sciences to attend an time made him capable, and his in public exercises, declared him worthy, to receive his first degree in the schools, which he forbore by adyice from his friends, who, being for their reli- gion of the 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 ye 4 LOY studies. About the fourteenth year of his age ] wil = transplanted from Oxford to Cambridge, where, that he might receive nourishment from both soils, he staid till his seventeenth year; all which time he was a most 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 Lin- coln’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.10 PHe bleh OF vinity, as it was then controverted betwixt the Re- formed 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 (in his preface to “ Pseudo-Martyr ”’) —so he calls the same Holy Spirit to witness this protestation; that in that disquisition and search he proceeded with hemility and diffidence in him- self; 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 foliowing he resolved to travel : and the Earl of 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 hadid then in Spain rvaty . 37 rvations ot thoseVe Pa LTP OF 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 remoye 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 friends of both parties used much diligence, and many arguments, 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 fore- sight 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 whirl- winds move feathers, and begets in us an unwearied industry to the attainment of what we desire. And such an industry did, notwithstanding much watch- fulness against it, brine’ 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-appre- hensions might make it the less enormous when it was known, it was purposely whispered into the earsJOHN DONNE.LIFE OF 14 THE 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 com- 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 gaye 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 his 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 foreed to make good his title, and to get possession of her by along 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 viour,—which, when it would entice, had a strange kind of elegant irresistible art; beha- -these, and time,2 aTHE LIFE OF 16 sad thoughts, and some apparent apprehensions of want. But his sorrows were lessened and his wants pre- vented by the seasonable courtesy of their noble kinsman, Sir Francis Wolly, of Pirford in Surrey, who intreated them to a cohabitation with him; where they remained with much freedom to them- selves, and equal content to him, for some years ; and as 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 neces- sary and daily expenses were hardly reconcileable 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 declaration 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; adisposition that is so like to God Him- self, that it owes itself only to Him, who takes a pleasure to behold it in His creatures. These times (1648) He did bless with many such ; some of which still live to be patterns of apostolical charity, and of18 Die LAP E OF bili- “ Mr. Donne, I know your education and ab “ties; I know your expectation of a state-employ- “ment; and I know your fitness for it; and I know “too the many delays and contingencies that attend 66 ] 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 | know to be suchas your ‘‘ venerous spirit could not bear, if it were not sup- ‘“‘ ported with a pious patience. You know I have formerly persuaded you to wave 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 pos- “‘ sessed of a benefice, the profits of which are equal ** to those of my deanery; I will think my deanery ‘enough for my maintenance—who am, and re- and will quit my “‘ solved to die, a single man ‘“‘ benefice, and estate you in it,—which the patron “is willing I shall do—if God shall incline your ‘‘ heart to embrace this motion. Remembe r. Mr. ‘¢ Donne, no man’s education or parts make him too ‘* good for this employment, which is to be an am- ‘* bassador 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.” At the hearing of this, Mr. Donne’s faint breath and perplexed countenance gave a visible testi- mony of an inward conflict; but he performed his ie } } . : , ° promise, and departed without returning an answerDONNE., hy} ‘ : IS answe my promist os ] KING t reat20 wae ee eR Oo Te ‘ 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 th ing which he does.’ < lo these I might add other reasons that dissuade “me; but I crave your favour ae [ may forbear “to express them, and thankfully decline your «© offer.” 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 oive the reader an account before | shall give a rest to my pen. Mr. Donne and his wife continued with Sir Mrancis Wolly till his death: a little before which \. time Sir Francis was so happy as to make a perfect reconciliation betwixt Sir Georee and his forsaken son and daughter; Sir George conditioning, by bond, to pay to Mr. Donne or at a certain day, as a portion with his wife, or 20/. quarterly for their maintenance, as the oe 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 vequir dl such a perfection, as was judged to hold vho had made that study the 7 | i 1 many, t] proport ion wit employment of their whole life. Sir Francis being dead, and that happy family dissolved, Mr. Donne took for himself a house in a place noted ote . \ “> rT echam—near to Croydon in Surrey Mit for good air and choice company: there his and children remained: and for himself he took ehall, whither his ] Fe ee T / pao ‘iy 1. Lloaging’s in London, near to Whiterie eoritnh en i A paar ita22 PAE LIFE OF “am dying too; for I cannot waste faster than by “such oriefs. As for, “ From my Hospital at Mitcham, "Aug. 10; “ Joun Donne.”’ Thus he did bemoan himself; and thus in other letters :— 6é —— 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 | “< know it is not merely a weariness of this, because ** T had the same desire when I went with the tide, ee ce and enjoyed fairer hopes than I now do: yet | * doubt worldly troubles have increased it : ’tis now “‘ Spring, and all the pleasures of it displease me; ‘* every other tree blossoms, and I wither: I grow * 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, ‘ig no wonder in this time of my sadness; for to “ choose is to do; but to be no part of any body is as ** to be nothing: and so I am, and shall so judge “‘ myself, unless I could be so incorporated into a ‘part of the world, as by 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 ‘‘ hydroptiec 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 ‘“T entered well into, when I subjected myself toeee ee RTT =24 Ue LiF OF By this you have seen a part of the picture of his narrow fortune and the perplexities of his generous mind; and thus it continued with him for about two years, all which time his family remained con- stantly at Mitcham; and to which place he often retired himself, and destined some days to a con- stant 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, assioned him and his wife an useful apartment in his own laree house in Drury Lane, and not only rent free, but was also a cherisher of his studies; and such a friend as sympathized with him and his, in all their joy and SOrrows. At this time of Mr. Donne’s and his wife’s lying 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 t : put on a sudden resolution to accompany him te 1 the French Court, and to be present at his audience to solicit Mr. Donne to be his companion in that journey. And this desire was sudden y 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 unwillineness to allow him any absence from her; saying, “ Her divining soul boded ** her some ill in his absence :”’ there. And Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution ] ' and therefore desired 4 eu ery rd ye E3 Fy.Te eelve dl SO and told his wife so; who did ti ; “35 - ; ( unwilling willingness, @ive a fa : ee ec journey, Which was proposed to | ] ft ‘ } yy? ¢ ¢ = ; ] months ; tor apout t time the cl ; ee are. 4 2 : r } as return. Wi : . «lh : 2) ‘ t = ‘ ‘ : ] ] ow Ral ‘ ; As. | Ambassad cr, tOEk EM I il i don: and were the twelfth day ¢ m ’ ‘ 8 “et I'wo days aiter Tl r arrival i . ie a | Sra de ae we minwhieh Sir left alone in ‘ { 1 ik 1 ° ] ’ } Le | } some otner tr1iendas acl led Sir Robert returned within halt an | s : } 7 ' left, so he found, Mr. Donne alon 7 7 ecstasy, nad so crered { tO S i 1> 7 1 1 ie . mir th I » | l m 3 1 } if \ ; ; estly ul | i Vil ton! TY ci } 1X ! ’ 1 him in the short time of his abs Mr Donn was not abi tO make j i | but, aiter a long ind perp. ed ] ? ’ , , say, “I have s Ld | vision } “ | have sec 1n cear \ = iss TW] 1 ] | 7 this room VW l hel I] | I | ; , , } “ shoulders, and a dead ehild in | “ Mave § 1 SID | SAA io replied, or aye re 1 Dave ept 66 1 4} ‘ ] and tnis 18 the result of son I ‘ : } ‘““which I desire ou to forget, ¢ wide: he 93 rT 3 8 ae . “ awake, l'o which Mr. Donne’s ‘‘ cannot be surer ( ; ’ iT — , I } ; i Ul ‘ } , Y) i = Tie } by y " ’ ’ ’ ’ 1} i \ V7) iT \ “Oy rel id il “ir | \ ne i ‘26 Pee LEE OF ‘“‘ not slept since I saw you: and am as sure that at ‘‘ her second appearing she stopped and looked me ‘¢ in the face, and v: ae d,”’ R est and sleep had not altered Mr. Donne’s opinion the next « ae for he then affirmed this vision with a more de liberate, and so confirmed a confidence, that he inclined Sir Robert to a faint belief th s the vision was true. It is truly said that desire and doubt have no rest ; and it proved so with Sir Robert; for he imme- diately 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 con- dition 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 labour, she had been delivered of a dead child. And, upon examination, the abortion proved to be the same day, and about the very hour, that Mr. Donne af- firmed 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 pre- sent possessed with an opinion that visions and miracles are ceased. And, though it 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 be lieve 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 ISapient ear eme ae =28 2oe LIFE OF 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 ene what was related to me; and yet I think myself bound to declare that, though it i eae “ge ca was not told me by Mr. Donne hims ile 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 a asseyeration, pha “tb say nothing of my own thoughts—I ye rily | elie he that told it me did himself believe it to be ini, I forbear the reader’s further trouble as to the relation and what concerns it, oi will conclude mine with commending to his view a copy of verses given by Mr. Donne to his wife at the ti parted from her. And |] bee leave to tell that } have heard some critics, learned both in lancuagwes and poetry, say that none of t poets did ever equal them :— cy one ed = ‘A VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING TO MOURN, ‘* As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to Whilst some of their sad friends do say ‘ The breath goes now, and somesay, No: ‘** So let us melt, and make no noise. No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; T' were profanation of our joys, l'o tell the laity our love.Oo THE TIPE OF 3 Ww Mr. Donne attended him, 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 pub- lisher of the learned and 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 him- self by his public writings now extant: and his Majesty discoursing with Mr. Donne, concerning 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 hand- 1 } } 4 writing, as they be now printed; the book bearing the name of ‘‘ Pseudo-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 such was his mistaken unwilling, apprehending it Ls modesty—to be too weighty for his abilities: and though his Majesty had promised him a fayour, and vLIFE OF 32 THE 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 under- take it. This I have mentioned, because forward- ness and inconsideration, could not, in Mr. Donne, as in many others, be an argument of insufficiency or unfitness; for he had considered long, and had many strifes within himself concerning the strict- ness 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 “amt?” 1 rs ] ‘ . ] a ‘ Paul’s: and. when I have dined, then do you take } ] } i } ] ,>* Beau elnen . heloved dish home to your stuay, say orTrace there to \ self, and much good may it do you.” Immediately after he came to his Deanery, he mployed workmen to repair and beat tify the Cha- pel; suffering as holy David once vowed, “‘ his eyes an i mM} l $s to take no rest till he ad hrst beau- € t} ad ti Lhonse of God The next quarter following when his father-in-law, sir ( re \I re.) h m tine h id mM ide a lover and .dmirer of him—came to pay to him the conditioned um of twenty pounds, he refused to receive it; and -aid—as wood Jacob did, when he heard | is beloved son J ph Was alive—‘*‘ ‘ It 1s enough 3’ vou have been kind to me and min | know your present ‘‘ eondition is such as not to abound, and I hope mine is, or will be such as not to need it: I will therefore receiye no more from you upon that con- tract.” and in testimony of it freely gave him up Immediately after his admission into his Deanery the Vicarage of St. Dunstan in the West, London, I ll to m by the cli ath of Dr. W hite, the alvow- son of it having been riven to him long before by his hono irable frie nd Richard Karl of Dorset, then the patron, and econfirm« deceased Edward, both of t honour, d by his brother the late hem men of much ; ti} | bi t} : | 1 | | } } jLE LIFE OF By these, and another ecclesiastical endowment which fell to him about the same time. civen 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 pre- sent year, he was chosen Prolocutor to the Convoca- tion, 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 per- formed 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 displeasure, 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 humour of the pulpits, and was be- come busy in insinuating a fear of the Kine’s in- clining to popery, and a dislike of his government; and particularly for the Kine’s then turning the evening lectures into eatechisino, and expounding the Prayer of our Lord, and of the Belief, and-Com- mandments. 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 friendship, was at this very time dis- carded 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 wiseba hoa als unless they be busy a not, and especi y oe ~ : : o } o rT) : The King received : ; } : +} } cl not r content and rest =] I i ’ | ! | | ler this cdo byt | t sun to set ana leave him Ubaet t | Dt lr | his ver to th for Dr. Donne, and required ! ver t : - : wel ond or 50 nd sation; which was SO Cical th Kino said. 78 he was ] ot) } ii¢ | i : a } der the suspicion.””’ When the k | ** ywnaer tie pl l this, Dr. Donne eel : : 1] ete fal. Majesty, and ed | , t* i , , ; ; ty : free Irom ull l , an i Tea ti 1] . “he might not rise tit, I : : a had from God, so mig na ; r} \] ‘ some assurance that ! stood ¢ i } ; a? } ; ‘ rw) ry “= opinion. At Wi il tn I i il : ] nth } wn hat dd 6 my ; his kn¢ swith bh own I : ' a 1 Ls : en « beli yea | l nc | | Li ] | ] . ‘ | ‘ 4 , ‘man, and doubted not r I i nim, “ truly. And, having 1 : = called some Lords of his ) ; it] ‘ “of : and said with much ear} 33, | } } Zs I n: and. my Lords, | ; ri honest ma i? BG. THY 2 = satisfied with an an @1 } | : ] ] ; : **me; and | always rejoice when | : ] r\ ‘’ my means he be mea WVivi He was mace Dy in in tin meth \ Ly OF: . 7 ee j { sal oo ; : and in his ! -fou ; a Se 4 j seized nim, which in ad | LO a ¢ | | | ‘ ea j ae } ; but God, as Job thank! i i 4 his spirit, and kept his 1 | when tT i ~ | ness rst cl ss } fect as but ; nad ; ¥s the ii) | | Cll-= : } j the | il r i j i : nis } L ? | ; | | It} : | | i | Lhith | ; La ‘ 1} j | _— i I iit t by DY : : : ;44 CAE 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 reco- very 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 an 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: ** | 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 condition 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 oO ”~ ” . ”~ " © “~ " “ ¢ cDR. JOHN DONNE. open defiance of the power an | prov idence of A mighty God, and a sad presage of a declining ”~ . sé ‘ vas ? : , } Race : ! } } “yeligion. But instead of such Christians, who had <‘ selected times set apart to fast and pray to God, of . } . ] 4] } ] 1 . ‘‘ for a pious clergy, which thev then did obey, Oul : . wei ae | ce } ** Times abou cd with men tha c a ora } } 1 about trifles and church \ bx : ue line sacrilege - . - from scrup - = Zt ~~. ¢ —_— much as a qua have: and dare not now upon my sick-bed, W ”~ «“ Almighty God hath made me us less to the ser- ‘‘ vice of the church, make a Ly vdvan out of it ‘ But if He shall again restore me to such a Geg “© of health as again to serve at His altar, “then gladly take the reward which the bountiful : Ls Wee ‘ } j 7 benefactors of this church have designed ‘‘ God knows my children and relations will need 1 ¥ In which number, my mother- whose credulity «and charity has contracted a very plentiful to a ‘ very narrow estate—must not be forgotten. But ¢ i q+ . a os amt ] ; ls eel vy Dr. King, ul | recover not, that littie \% 6 4 ] 7 1] 1 } , * : *F ostate that 1 shall leave behind me—tnat vel ‘1 | : } little. when divided into eight parts—t [ I és ; ‘ aeny me no y cl LDI 1 favo tail oO r él . 35) “Cae. i ] « hands, as my most faithtul Iriend and ext itor; on whose eare and }USTLCe | make no more a ibt “ than of God’s blessing on that ech I have con- sé ; . ] 1] ] . sclentiousiv collected for them , Dut 10 Shai not Fe ee . teas « augmented on my sick-bed; and this I declare to ‘ he mv unalterable resolution.” ee eeply to thi iy : le reply to this Was Onl) a promise to ovbst rye his request. Within a few days his distempers abated; and as his strength incre ised so did his thankfuln ss to arrears —— SS : :46 LHe LIPE OF 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 Hestasies, occa- sioned and applicable to the emergencies of that sickness; which book, being a composition of medita- tions, 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 deyourhim, that he would often say his recovery was super- natural: 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 lnfirmity—vapours from the spleen—hastened him into so visible a consumption that his beholders might say, as St. Paul of him- self, “ He dies daily; and he might say with Job, “* My welfare passeth away as a cloud, the days of es my aftliction have taken hold of me, and weary nights are appointed for me.” 6 Reader, this sickness continued long, not only weakening, but wearying him so much, that my de- sire is he may now take somerest; and that before ] 1 speak of his death thou wilt not think it an imper- tinent digression to look back with me upon some observations of his life, which, whilst a gentlesonnets, posures.He EI OF 48 this heavenly hymn, expressing the great joy that then possessed his soul, in the assurance of God’s favour to him when he composed it :— AN HY VEN “Tro 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 done, Thou hast not done, ‘* For I have more. - . - a Wilt Thou forgive that sin, which I have won ** Others to sin, and made my sin their door? Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun ** A year or two;—but wallow’d in ascore? 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: gut swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son « Shall shine as He shines now, and heretofore ; And having done that, Thou hast done, ‘* T fear no more.” © I haye 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; ty especially at the Evening Service ; and at his return from his customary devotions in that place, did 4 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 com- * nosed it. And, O the power 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.: i ] 1, a aiter tThiS manner have many dadevouct souls I lL up their hands and offered acceptable sacrifices unto i | . 7 1 Y ] 2 11% Almighty God, where Dr. Donne offered his, and H| . aba 48 j . 9 iy now lies buried. i} ? [Are . 7 ce 4 . ae ii] But now [1656], Oh Lord! how is that place be- i = ! ] ic. ’ il} eome desoiate . i > ] Py Lee. as I i} B ror | prot L irtn : | LUA LO Intorm 'S, Wiad 1 : : Hii reader, that not lone before his death he caused to i! , TY ’ V4 0H be drawn a figure of the Body of Christ extended it upon an anchor, like those which painters draw, : at 33 : oi edie cad oa abies Hi when they would present us with the pieture of . rat ae kt 7 4] , ~ is as Bs Unrist crucined on the CrosS: his Varving nO Oovner-= | wise than to athx Him not to a cross, but to an ] i 7 = 4] ancnor—the em a ee be drawn in little, an i the n many of those heures ] + } | . } _ thus drawn to be engraven very small in Heliotro- pium stones, and set in gold; and of these he sent to many of his dearest friends, to be used as seals, ° . 7 . : , al or rings, and kept as memorials of him, and of Mil his affection to them. His friends and benefactors, Sir Henry dear50 PAE LIL OF Goodier and Sir Robert Drewry, could not be of that number; nor could the Lady Magdalen Her- bert, 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. ‘Tall, the then—late deceased—Bishop of Norwich, were ; and so were Dr. Duppa, Bishop of Salisbury, and Dr. Henry King, Bishop of Chichester-—lately de- ceased—men, in whom there was such a commix- ture of general learning, of natural eloquence, and Christian humility, that they deserve a commemo- ration by a pen equal to their own, which none have exceeded. And in this enumeration of his friends, though many must be omitted, yet that man of primitive piety, Mr. George Herbert, may not; I mean that sea ne yert, who was the author of ‘’ ple, « Sacred Poems and Ejaculations.” A book, in ane by declaring his own spiritual conflicts, he ath comforted and raised many a dejected and dis- composed soul, and charmed them into sweet and quiet thoughts; a book, by on frequent reading WY rT ELE l‘em- whereof, and the assistance of that Spirit that seemed to inspire the author, the adie 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 a of inclinations that they coveted and joyed to be in each other’s company; and this happy friendship was still maintained by many sacredPoe Laer OF “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 ours stand sure, “ This holy cable’s from all storms secure. “ GEORGE HERBERT - - © a? T 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 :— “« AN HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS. “ March 23, 1630. = Since I am coming to that holy room, o | «“ Where, with Thy Choir of Saints, for evermore ‘TI 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 lie i} 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 mayraise; therefore the Lord throws down.’ ” « «Un. CBN DONNE. < 3 If these too much mixture with earth makes it unfit to judge fall under the censure of a soul, whose ot th SA hieh ‘aptures and ilh mnatinn le hh} Hest Meh ray Le ant LiiumMinations, tet him kn Vs hat man } | ‘ ld 1) + | l\+ yes : : ] ) . > - : ‘ struments all the days of my lite wins my God. The latter continued study; for as he usually pre ached once a part of his life may be said to bea ; wer k, if not oftener, so aiter his sermon he never tillehe hed night cast» his‘;sehmon into a he next day betook gaye his eyes rest, thosen out a new text, and that and his text into divisions; and t Ll so commit his ] excellent. : re l¢ | y ] . . himself to consult the Fathers, a1 Tt meditations to his memory, which was But upon Saturday he usua ly cave himself and his mind a rest trom the weary burth n ot his veek 5 meditations, and us ial ys ent th ul day in visitation ier diversions ot his thoughts; would ss. that he rave both his body and id that refreshment, that he might be enabled work of the day following, not faintly, and cheerfulness.” only SO industrious, but in the ‘* but with courage Nor was his ave y unsettled davs of his youth, his bed was not most | him bevond the hour of four in a i able LO cdetalnLAF ES OF 54 THE morning ; 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 resultance of 1400 authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own hand: he left also six score of his sermons, all written with his own hand, also an exact and laborious Treatise concerning self-murder, called Biathanatos ; wherein all the laws violated by that act are diligently sur- veyed, 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‘ orfly found in his study, but all businesses that passe] of cany public consequence, either in this or ahy of our neighbour-nations, he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the language of that nation, and kept them by him for useful me- morials. So he did the copies of divers Letters and Cases of Conscience that had concerned his friends, with his observations and solutions of them; and divers other businesses of importance, 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’s55 ids, whom he di screetly chosen nomination of persons that lace: as Grimes, worn56 THE LIFE OF 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 per- “ fect understanding—praised be God therefore— “do hereby make my last Will and Testament in “ manner and form followin ng :— “‘ First, I give my gracious God an entire sacrifice ‘ of body and soul, with my most humble thanks “for that assurance which His Bl essed Spirit im- ‘“‘ prints in me now of the Salvation of the ce and “the Resurrection of the other: and for that con- ‘* stant and cheerful resolution, which the same § Spirit “hath established in me, to live and die in the re- “ligion now professed in the Church of England. * In expectation of that Resurrection, I desire my ““ body may be buried—in the most private manner “that m: vy be—in that place of St. Paul’s Church, «* London, that the now Residentiaries have at my *‘ request designed for that purpose, &c.—And this “my last Will and Testament, made in the fear of “‘ God,—whose mercy I humbly beg, and constant ly “ yely upon in Jesus Christ—and in perfect love and + ao with all the world—whose pardon I ask, “< from the lowest of my servants, to the highest of “my superlors—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 char ity expressed only at his death, but in his life also, by a cheerfulDE. JGHN DUNNE i 5 and frequent visitation of any friend whose mind was ‘ dejected, or his fortune necessitous; he was inquisi- tive aiter the wants ot prison¢ rs and rede¢ med many from prison, that lay for their fees or small d bts : he was a continual giver to poor scholars, both of this and foreion nations. besides what he gave with his own hand, he usua discreet and trusty friend, to distri his charity to all the prisons in London, at all the festival times of the year, especl LL at the Birth an cesurrection of our Saviour. He gave an hundred pounds at one time to an old friend, whom he had known live pl ntifully, and by a too liberal heart and careless- ] the 1 ] : } - : ness became decayed in bis estate; and when rece iving ot it was denit d, by tne centleman’s savine, ‘ 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 ex- pose themselves to those blushes that attend the confession of it: so there be others, to whom nature and grace have afforded such sweet and compassion- ate souls, as to pity and prevent the distresses of mankind :—which | have mentioned because of Dr. Donne’s reply, whose answer was; *‘ 1 know you 7 *¥ } . > . : . ‘ want not what will sustain nature; for a little will *6 do that : | ut my desire is, that you, who in the days : er ‘* of your pl ntv have cheered and raised the hearts of . ? ° ~ , . ‘6 sg many OI vour deject d irl nas, would how recelve ** this Irom me, and use 1tas a cordial for the cheering « of your own: andupon these terms it was received. Sika any cditterences 1n — He was an happy recone the families of his friends and kindred,—which he } i = ’ . never undertook faintly 5 ff ch undertakings have 1 sucl isually faint effects—and they had such a faith in ¥ .58 THE LIFE OF 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,—com- puted first his reyenue, then what was given to the poor, and other pious uses; and lastly, what rested for him and his; and haying done that, he then blessed each year’s poor remainder with a thankful prayer; which, for that they discover a more than common deyotion, 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 heec a me reservantur, gloria et gratia ‘in eternum. Amen.” TRANSLATED THUS, To God all Good, all Great, the benevolent Be- stower, by me and by them, for whom, by me, these sums are laid up, be elory and grace ascribed for ever. Amen. So that this year, [1626,] God hath blessed me and mine with—DR - Multiplicate sunt super nos mist ricordiz tu ‘‘ Domine.” «“ Da. Domine, ut que ex immens& bonitate t “ nobis elargiri dign CLUS & S,] Laue Ti) Ligue i ‘¢‘ devenerint, in tuam semper ce nt vionam. Am Ti ' \ » ‘I ~™ 7 ; ry?) . ; : Grant, Oh Lord! that what out o Chine pounty Thou hast vouchsated to layish upon us, whosoever hands 1t may deyoive, May aiwa improved to t] 5 clory ° Amen. ‘ oitur etiam ut que largitus est sua iterum ha! ‘hono eorum usu; ut quemadmodum nec on : 4: . + . - Lil \ Ing, and His now dvi o picture were a 5 -] ] } ee . 9 me set together, every beholder might say, ] ] 7 T\ \ 7 : ; how much is Dr. Donne already changed, Is Ci red ! And the view of them micht 4 7 we 27 read ( nH TO . bimsell With some 7 t ** ; , y + | ord { nu I vi also. that am | ] ] } hié Li} I { ved | ) | am (¢ ianged : ‘ + Ly ] ] 1 } f S \ LHS ¢ ) | i LY shall ] iT ot ! , ae { ‘ :> ty ! id therefore to prepare for it But ; It SOT r my re I Ss memento, as s, and often publicly in his sermons, men- , . . y changes both of his body and mind: Ot His Mm! d i Tn @ YY rtiginous oiddine 5S > l as often say, “ His t and most blessed . on f po! 1 70-2 pir ual empl V- in Wi | iS SO ippy, that he ac= iO part of his life to be lost: and oO ( ] o | i n his orst ente ring into 7, 4 r the drawing this picture, he | of his beloved study; and, being hourly deeay, retired himself to his ber; and that week sent at several times of his most considerable friends, with whom solemn and deliberate farewell, commendin: = onsiderations some sentences useful for the68 CHE LIFE OF regulation of their lives; and then dismissed them, as good Jacob did his sons, with a spiritual benediction. The Sunday 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 any thing 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 haye 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 witness (in his “ Book of Devotions,” written then), “ 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 now had a modest assurance that his prayers were then heard, and his petition granted. He lay fifteen days earn- estly expecting his hourly change; and in the last hour of his last day, as his body melted away, and vapoured into spirit, his soul 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 bim,—DR. JOHN DONNE. 69 : but died before him; for that it was then become | useless to him, that now conversed with God on te 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 stedfastly 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. Thus yariable, 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 He pay his publie devotions to Almighty God—who was Hh then served twice a day by a public form of prayer Wa and praises in that place ;—but he was not buried | privately, though he desired it; for, beside an un- numbered number of others, many persons of nobi- Ni | lity, and of eminence for learning, who did love and Hh honour him in his life, did show it at his death, by Wi a yoluntary and sad attendance of his body to the it 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 graye of the famous Achilles, so they strewed his with an abundance of curious and costly flowers; which course they—who were never yet known—70 PoE Ari OF 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 yiew. 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 graye : ‘“* Reader! I am to let thee know, ** Donne’s body only lies below ; ** For, could the grave his soul comprise, ‘ Harth 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 hun- dred marks sent to his faithful friends and execu- tors (Dr. King and Dr. Montford), towards the making of his 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 kind ‘‘ of artificial miracle.’art, UO bi ive a soul to offer ] to paraon of the soul, and tl i say in a kind ot God that He is God, , issionate, bu t more"2 THE LIFE OF body which once was a temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust :— Sut I shall see it re-animated. AN ELEGY ON DR. DONNE, BY IZAAK WALTON. Our Donne is dead! and we may sighing say, We had that man, where language chose 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 Jur 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 f Freely and boldly, for the cause is just. ne | Dull age! Oh, I would spare thee, but thov’rt worse: ii Thou art not only dull, but hast a curse Of black ingratitude: if not, could’st thou Part with this matchless man, and make no vow For thee and thine successively to pay 4 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 haye fear’d sin’s shapes, and kept their soulDR. JOHN DONNE. did he give days, Past marble monuments, to those whose praise { Did he ay fear Envy will d ubt—these at his twentieth year? But, more ur’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 | sad of Mary Magdalen, After she wip’d Christ’s feet, but not till then; Which all devout men love, and donbtless 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 iil language sé Knew he all laws? The grounds and use of physic; but, because went to see ice of Christ’s nativity? and preat h Him preach Him si ; 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 ambitions all To be close mourners of his funeral. If not, in common pity they forbear By repetitions to renew our care: nceiv’d and hid, consumes ison’s fumes rrupt the brain,—take Silence for the way T’ enlarge the soul from these walls, mud and clay,— ‘ . “ a) ) promiscuous pain Lessens those joys we have; for with him all Aré S so d V1 ie ys essential Senta EeEire OF DR. JOAN DONNE. 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. April 7, 16381.KNIGHT, i | |WOTTON. IR HENRY WOTTON, whose life I now our Redemption 1568, in Bocton Hall, commonly called Boecton, or Boughton Place, or Palace, in the parish of Bocton Malherbe, in the fruitful country of Kent. an ancient and goodly structure, beautifying and being beautified by the parish Church of Bocton Malherbe adjoining unto it, and both se ated within Cis ] : ] \" ‘ . , . . a fair park of the Wottons, on the brow of such a hill as o1ves the advantage of a large prospect, and ot equal pleasure tO all by holders. But this house ar for anything so muc 1d Church are not remarkable h, 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 tl elr many monuments in that Church ; the W ot- “7 ‘ tons be Ine a taml1i' that hath brought forth divers persons eminent for wisdom and valour; whose heroic acts and noble em] lovments, both in England ] S ] +] - , £ and in foreion parts, have adorned themselves and - i intend to write, Was born in the year of Ll Bocton Hall, being itae LIFE OF QO / this nation; which they have served abroad faith- fully, in the discharge of their great trust, and pru- dently in their negociations with several princes ; and also served at home with much honour and jus- tice, in their wise managing a great part of the public affairs thereof, in the various times both of war and peace. Sut 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 re- corded, I shall offer to the consideration of every reader, out of the testimony of their pedigree and our chronicles, a part—and but a part—ot 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 com- mendations. 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 Kighth, who icellor of England: but, offered him to be Lord Chai ‘hronicle’’), out of a yir- saith Holinshed (in his * ¢ tuous modesty, he refused 2 a . os Sa ae Thomas Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Esquire,nN ana or our x born in tlen nh ¢ 7 liberal a unto a ! ‘ ’ SLUCS tl patato « CStale, a puss wanNyY £aecaai ¥ His coul OT] Ine 1 , LT 11S Boct 0} ome jl rit : ] } ‘ bit , gn gue!) aa VV otton ’ i ‘ } ; . no rT, and } } risheda ] ior OS] I 7 His ‘OUND ? Was a €! 17 Ceuen < Param Th 5 James Sir | ? and ‘ | ‘éé CAS n oO} } } 1} } Lilly s j Ll I} WI + t Li tb Wa 1 i) f l ry i | 3 i , ‘ { | 1 | I i | | Ji i . \" \ Vi? y } rE | I i i } j S ! 7. Nn, and 8) ae ' / ig tit) t 79 the said Sir Edward, and the father ry that occasions this relation. was ir of Christ 1521. He was a gen- tly educated, and studious in all the ’ ; i ‘ . ‘ ( ent ns irom ns in Soult Liviit nd til , ied eve where ot he attained had—be- } } “7 very née ble and plentiful nterest of his predecessors 1 . 3 ] ne hun Diy retused Dot | | } hi ai\ pra tised DY Hhim- oth ec mended and che- 7 7 7 mas was also remarkable Ss 7 ir sons, Sir Edward, Si H nry nted LJueel elizabeth, Majesty's Household Bb. "" & man remarkable lor : i an ae 5 heat ; In the State during80 LAE LIFE OF “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-ecighth year 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 yalour, 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 accom- plished, 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 W ottons was all in a direct line, and most of them and their actions in the memory of those with whom we have con- versed; 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, | 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.This Nicholas Wi Dean bot man whom God did but with great abilit to employ them in ft testified by his sev sent nine times An sometime (Camden in his “ Privy Councillor to | ward the Sixth, to ( bi th, between Eno who also, after land, several times, and n committees for setth Ly 1 vy tal ] +) . ’ wail those kingdoms, “died,” saith learned ( umden, “ full “of commendations was also, by the Wi made one of his ex state to his son, t SA) but this littl 3 abby More might be ad that Sir Henry Wi kindred as left a sto teritv : such rennty 1 | emu ition in strangers . ' ‘ in those of ’ Wi rthy of their ance And that Sir Hen | SIR HENR ] ay lied b ec ), and that he cied not t10nN as might his name ry W otton did So, mi Y FoOTTON. 81 tton was h of not only bless with a long life, ies of mind, and an inclination he service of his country, as is ral employments, havyine’ been eae ior Princes “ys and by his ] elns Kine Her ry the Ei ohth, ti * Jueen ME un'y he had Scotland and , unto foreion 4 IQ d- *, and Queen BI Za during ranee, three 4 ow oe . s it unsuecesstully. employed in ne i ft peace betwixt this and for wisdom and piety.” He LI of King Henry the cutors, and chief Kiehth, hat pious Prince, which Nicholas Wotton I shall more: that he refused, Klizabeth, to be being ee rica, that time of th a lis sol LT ion ot ded: but by this it may appear yrranch of such a of reputation to their pos- s ] . "“\11g cindle a venerous , and preserve a noble ambition and family, to perform actions £ 7 vec SLOTS, rht appear i i more perfectly than my pen can express it, if of his G ] the wars Doctor of Law, and York and Canterbury: a a Secretary of Edward the LW: e Archbishop Or i anit niall82 THE LIFE OF many surviving friends, some one of higher parts and employments had been please 1 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 (Sir Ed- ward Bysshe, Clarencieux King of Arms, Mr. Charles Cotton, and Mr. Nic. Oudert, sometime Sir Henry Wotton’s servant), that still live soli- citous to see this duty pe formed ; these have had a power to pe rsuade me m4 undertake it; which truly I have not done but with distrust of mine ow? 1 abi- lities; and yet so far from despair, that T am. modestly confident my humble language s shall be ac- cepted, because | shall present all readers with commixture of truth, and Sir Henry Foti merits. This being premised, [ 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 prosecution 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 oiten answered, «“ That if he ever 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 inNRY WOTTON. 8 Westminster Hall with Mrs. Eleonora Morton, widow to Robert Mort nm, of Kent. Esq engaged in several suits in law: and he observing : ] ulre, Who was also 1 at a - re . = > her Comportment at the time of hearing one of her eauses before t] judges, could not but at the same time both compassionate her con lition, and affect : as her person ; r ! ar ot love is. OF beauty 7 7 } . dressed adnes bserved to have in them a charming eloquence, and to become very often too I strong to be resisted: which I m ntion, because it I Thomas Wotton: for, altho here re } ier a concurrence of al]THE LIFE OF 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 Win- chester. 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 persuasively 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 pro- posed to represent, so performed, that the gravest of that society declared he had, in a slight employ- ment, 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 Oculo; wherein he having de- scribed the form, the motion, the curious composure of the eye, and demonstrated how of those very many, every humour and nerve performs its distinct office, so as the God cf Order hath appointed, with- out mixture or confusion ; and all this to the advan- tage of man, to whom the eye is given, not only asSJR HENRY WOTTON. 8 wn 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 obser- vations, he fell to dispute this optic question, ‘“Whe- ‘< ther 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 disqui- sitions, he, in the conclusion of his lectures, took a fair occasion to beautify his discourse with a com- mendation 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 ot seeingo—behold the oreat 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 com- mon mother, embroidered and adorned with num- ‘‘ berless 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—d ‘ays, withers, and quickly returns ‘again to that earth, from which both had their ‘“‘ first being.”’ These were so exactly debated, and so rhetori- cally height ned, as, among other admirers, caused that learned Italian, Albericus Gentilis, then Pro- fessor of the Ciyil Law in Oxford, to call him ss Henrice ml Ocelle ;”’ 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. which dear expression ofLIFE OF 86 LHE 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 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 pro- mise 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 Ambassador 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. Youbtless the good Dean did well know that com- mon 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 supersti- tions, 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 consideris Gream aside than inte ne LOTALILY TO lose i; ¢ ~ ‘ lreams are not to be neglected or cast awav without all consideration: and did therefore rath« r > id dreaming the same again the night following, when 1t became a double dream, like that of Pha- ra h, O wh h d bl Cu Ss th li l ned have made many obseryations ind consid rings that it had no depend ce on his waking thoughts, much less on the desires of his heart, then he did more seriously consider it: and remembered that Al- mighty God was pleased in. a dream to reveal and to assure Monica, the mother of St. Austin, “ That . he he yr Son. yor whom she WeDt SO bitterly and i } 1 : TT ived So mucn, Ss ould at | iST become a ( hristian. Lustin s ** Confessions.) his, I believe, the 7 ‘ . . ] Dean ci nsidered: and considering’ also that | Re Ree 4+] | 4] r hty God, though the causes of dreams be a ee often unknown, hath even in these latter times also by a certain illumination of the soul in sleep, dis- , a y * 7 covered Many thbinge’s that human yj isdom could not st so pruden } medvy | way Of prevention, as I i micht itrod no vereat convenience either to ; 4 | nims O} » his n h \ ind to that end he » the Queen,—’twas Queen Mary,—and be- iat she would Cause his neph¢ W, on W ot nm, to he s nt tor out of nent; and hat the Lords of her Council might int rrogvate an him in some ucn feigned questions, as might o1lve ‘a eolour for his commitment into a favourable prison: d laring that he w yuld acquaint her ‘ Majesty with the true reason of his request, when to see andLHe LIFE OF 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 concluded with the advice, if not by the persuasion, of her Privy Council, as haying many probabilities 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: be- lieving, 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 haying per- suaded 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 concealing it,” yet he durst confess to his uncle, when he returned to England, and then came to visit him in prison, «* That he had more than an intimation of Wyat’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 placeSTR HENRY WOTTON. 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, be- cause that God, who in the days of old did use to eit to His people In Visions, did seem to speak to many of this family in dreams; of which | will also vive 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 bya postscript im his letter to make a shioht inquiry of 14: 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 robb« ry was committed; and when the City and University were both in a per- plexed inquest of the thieves, then did Sir Henry W otton 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 appre- hended, without putting the University to so much troubl And it may yet be more consideralk le that this icholas and Thomas Wotton should both, being men of holy lives, of eyen tempers, and much given , as the easting ol a hneure.Ree IEE OF to fasting and prayer, foresee and foretel 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-fitth 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 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 gaye directions concerning himself, to be buried privately, and especially without any pomp at his funeral. This is some account of this 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 Optie Lecture, he was taken into such a bosom friendship with the learned Albericus Gen- tilis, whom |] formerly named, that, if it had been possible, Gentilis would have breathed all his excel- lent knowledge, both of the mathematics and law, into the breast of his dear Harry, for so Gentilis used to call him; and thouch 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 between them did daily increase, and proved daily advantageous to Sir Henry, for the im- provement of him in several sciences during his stay in the University. Irom 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— ee WOTTON. 91 i. By ag OE ho to Sir Henry Wott ns yet must not omit the mention of a love th it Was there beoun be LWIXT him nd Dr. Donne, sometime Dean of St. Paul’s: a man of whose abilities I shall forbear to sav anv- thing, because he who is of this nation, and pre- inevenuity, and is ienorant of Dr. Donne, deserves not to know him. The friend- ship of these two 1 must not omit to mention, beine such a friendship as was generously ele- } . ; . } . : . ; and as 1t was beoun 1n thelr youth, and in an f nIVersity,. and there maintains d by correspon- : 1° . } : 1° ‘9 *) dent inclinations and studies, so it lasted till ave and ] +] ; ] 9roti leatn torced a separation. In Oxford he stayed till about two vears after his father’s death : al which time he was about the twenty-Sect vd year Ol his ave 5 and having to his sreat wit added the ballast of learning, and know- or, ledge of the arts, he then laid aside his books, and betook himself to the useful library of travel, and a more general conversation with mankind; em- ploying the remaining part of his youth, his indus- try, and fortune, to adorn his mind, and to purchase ] The rich treasure ot forelon knowledge: oft which, } ith for the secrets of nature, the dispositions of I many nations, their several laws and languages, he was the possessor in a yery large measure; as | shall faithfully make to appear, before | take my pen [ narration of his life. In his tray ls, w! ich was almost nine Vi ars before his return into England, he stayed but one year in France, and most of that in Gene Va, where he be- came acquainted with Theodore Beza, then very 1 and with Isaac Casaubon, in whose house, if I aati erent 7 eta tice inomQ2 THE LIFE OF 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 ma- nual 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 conyersation, was so polished, and made so useful, that his company seemed to be one of the delights of mankind; insomuch as Robert Earl of Esse then one of the darlings of Fortune, and in pee 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 Merton Col- lege in Oxford, and there also the acquaintance of Sir Henry Wotton in his youth, Mr. Cuffe being then a man of no common note in the University for his learning; nor, after his remoyal from thatSIR HENRY WOTTON. 93 place, for the great abilities of his mind, nor indeed for the fatalness of his end. Sir Henry Wotton, being now taken into a ser- viceable friendship with the Earl of Essex, did per- sonally 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 voy- age, wherein he did then so much provoke the Queen to anger, and worse at his return into England; upon whose immovyeable favour the Earl had built such sandy hopes as encouraged him to those under- takings, 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 en- couraged the Earl to those undertakines 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 much such pi sitive 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. There- fore 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 b: loved Boct: ri and was, by the help of favourable winds, and liberal payment of the ma- riners, within sixteen hours after his departure from London, set upon the French shore; where he heard shortly after, that the Earl was arraigned, con- demned, and beheaded; and that his friend Mr.04 THE LIFE OF Cuffe was hanged, and divers other persons of emi- nent quality executed. The times did not look so favourably upon Sir Henry Wotton as to invite his return into England; having therefore procured of Sir Edward Wotton, his elder brother, an assurance that his annuity should be paid him in Italy, thither he went, hap- pily renewing his intermitted friendship and interest, and indeed his great content in a new conyersation 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 dis- senter 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 befel him ; an accident that did not only find new employment for his choice abilities, but did imtroduce 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 Elizabeth, or she and her Council, were never willing to declare her successor; yet James, then King of the Scots, was confidently believed by mostS41 HENRY WOTTON. l ie sweet trouble ot k ngly government would be imposed ; and the A 4 9$ to be the man upon whom th } : “ j ay Queen declining yery fast, both by age and visible infirmities, those that were of the Romish persua- sion in point of religion,—even Rome itself. and those of this 1 ation,—knowing that thie death ot the Wueen and the establishing ot her successor, were take n to be Cr tical days for destroying or ¢ the Protestant religion in this nation, ore improve all opportunities for pre- ve nting a rotestant Prince to succeed | er. And as the Pope’s excommunication of Queen Elizabeth had, both by the judoment anc practice of the Jesuited Papist, exposed her to be warrantably destroy: ; 50, if we may bi lieve an angry adversary, lest | William Watson acall Sta Jesuit, you may believe that about that time there were many endeavours, first to excommunicate, and then to shorten the life of King James. : a is Paes Immediately after Sir Henry Wotton’s return from Rome to Floren e, which was about a year be fore the death ot (ueen Elizabeth, Ls rdinand t] Great Duk ol Florence, had intercepted e rtain l ers that disco red a cd sion to take away the life ot Jami , the then King ot seots. The Duke abhorring this fact, and resolvine to endeavour a 1 lyised wit! 1) his secret: _? Vietta, rht be best oly n to that { prev ntion Ot it, at by what means a caution Mm 7 Kins and atter consid ratio! it was ré solve d to | Cc done by Sir Henry Wotton, whom Vietta first com- mended 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 ViettaTHe GlRn Or to the Duke, who, after much profession of trust and friendship, acquainted him with the secret 5 and, being well instructed, dispatched him into Scotland with letters to the King, and with those letters such Italian antidotes against poison, as the Seots 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 Ber- nard 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 negociate was of such conse- « quence, 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 Kine, the King, after a little wonder, mixed with jealousy, to hear of an Italian Ambas- sador, 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-cham- ber door, he was requested to lay aside his long rapier, which, Italian-like, 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 secresy of all that wereSIR HENRY WOTTON. 97 *‘ present.” Then did Octayio Baldi deliver his letters and his message to the King in talian ; which, when the Kine 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, beseechine 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 fai and grateful account of his employment; and within some tew months after his return there came certain news to Florence that Queen Elizabeth was dead : and James, King of the Scots, proclaimed King’ ot England. The Duke knowing travel and busines 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 @ueen’s othcers, Sir Ed- vard, 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, then was, was answered at Venice i asking where heTHE LIFE OF - Florence; but by late letters from thence, he isattnde 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 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, saying he was the most honest, and therefore the best dissembler that ever he met with: and said, ‘See ing I know you ‘‘ neither want learning, travel, nor expe rience, and «“ that I have had so real a testimony of your faith- ‘¢ fulness and abilities to manage an ambassage, I «have sent for you to declare my purpose ; which “ig to make use of you in that kind hereafter. And indeed the Kang did so, most of those two and twenty years ol f his reion; but before he dismissed Octavio Baldi from his present attendance 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 friends ship 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 sever: al places, did propose the choice of these employments to Sir Henry Wotton; who, considering the small- ness of his own estate, which he never took care to augment, and knowing the courts of great PrincesSIR HENRY WOTTON. 99 to be sumptuous, and nec essarily expensive, inc lined most to that of Venice, as being a place of more retirement, and best sulting with his genius, who did eyer love to join with business, study, and a trial of natural « xperiments; for both which fruitful ltaly, that darlj ing of eat and cherisher of all arts, is so ju stly famed in all parts of the Christian worl l, Sir Henry haying, after some short time and con- sideration, resolved upon Venice, and a large allow- ance being appointed |} by the King for his voyage thither, and a settled maintenance during his stay there, he left Eneland, nob ly accompanied through France to Venice, by centlemen of the best families and breeding that this n:; tion 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 Secretary ; and W Hier Bedel, a man of choice le arning, and sanctified wisdom. who went his Ch: aplain. 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 He nry Wotton the morning hates he left Eng- land, 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 lov’d hand: and fear ‘dname, “ 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 beamHi 100 THE LIFE OF } . . « Of the same warm and dazzling sun, though i+ Wi ** 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-be la « Admit this honest paper, and allow “© Tt 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. Vy «“ To swear much love; nor to be chang’d before “ Honour alone will to your fortune fit ; « Nor shall I then honour your fortune more “‘ Than I have done your honour wanting wit. « 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 plac’d | «“ In their last furnace, in activity, 7 «“ Which fits them; schools, and courts, and wars o’erpast bi «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 bere «© And, to send you what I shall beg, His stairs ‘In length and ease are alike everywhere. “J. DONNE.”SIR HENRY WOTTON. 101 Sir Henry Wotton was received by the State of Venice with much honour and oladness, both for that he delivered his amb assage most elegantly in the Italian language, and e: ime also in such a june- ture of time as his master’s friends ship seemed useful for that Republic. The time of his coming thither was about the year 1604, Leonardo Donato being then Duke; a wise and resolved man, and to all purposes such—Sir Henry Wotton would often say i1t—as the State of Venice could not then have wanted ; there having a ‘en formerly, in the time of P ope Clement the Ei: ohth, some contests about the privileges of Chure hmen, and the power of the Civil at ‘s; of which, for the information of com- mon readers, I shall say a little, because it may give light to some Sage: res that pha About the year 1603, the Republic of Venice made seyeral injunctions against lay-persons giving lands or goods to the C hurch, without licence from the Civil Magistrate; and in that inhibition they ex- pressed their reasons to be, * For that when any 6 goods or land once came into the hands of the ecclesiastics it was not subject to alienation ; by “reason whereof, the lay-people being at their ** death charitable eyen to excess, the clergy grew ‘€ every day more numerous, and pretended an ex- “6 emption from all public service and taxes, and “from all secular judgment, so that the burden ‘‘ srew thereby too heavy to be borne by the laity.” Another occasion of dif fference was, that about this time complaints were justly made by the Vene- tians against two clergyme n. the Ab bot of Nervesa ind a Canon of Vicenza, for committing such sins as I think not fit to name: nor are these mentioned 66 nannies BE nance ec102 Ti LARE OF 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 haying 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 Kighth and that Republic: I say calm, for he did not excommunicate them; considering, as I con- ceive, that in the late Council of Trent it was at last, after many politic disturbances and delays, and endeavours to preserve the Pope’s present power, in order to a general reformation of those many errors, which were in time crept into the Church, declared by that Council, “That though discipline and espe- «cial 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 unadyisedly 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 thisSIR HENRY WOTTON. ran difference with the Venetians to a much higher con- tention: 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 excommunication of the Republic, w il to show both reason and ancient custom to warrant their actions. But this Pope, contrary to his pre- decessor’s moderation, required absolute 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 com- pliance ; till at last the Pope's zeal to the Apostolie See did make him LO excommunicat » the Duke, rne whole Senate. and all their dominions, and, tha don » to shut up all their Church whole Clergy to forbear ~ i : a ‘ netians, till their ovedience §s ; i capable of absolution. But this act of the Pope’s did but the more con- firm the Venetians in their resolution not to obey him: and to that end, upon the hearing of the Pope’s interdict, they presently published, 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 i 1) Tie YE. hie 12.3) ia ii 4 i al104 THE LIFE OF 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 ad- vice 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 they were not ‘‘ both used together, Power alone is not effectual ‘in an excommunication.” And thus these discontents and oppositions con- tinued till a report was blown abroad that the Vene- tians were all turned Protestants; which was believed by many, for that it was observed that the English Ambassador was so often in conference with the Se~ nate, 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 Justi- niano, 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; andSIR HENRY WOTTON. 10s ‘that he doubted not but that the French Kine, livers 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 do- as minions, 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 proceedings, which was done by the help ot Sir Henrv Wotton, Mr. Bedel., and Padre Paulo, whom the Ve netians 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 per- formed that the Po} e saw plainly he had veakened his power by exceeding it, and offered the Vene- tians absolution upon very easy terms; which the Venetians still slighting, did at last obtain by that which was searce so much as ashow of acknowledg- ing it: for they made an order that in that day in wl! ich the \ were absolve d the re s] ould be no publie rejoicing, nor any bonfires that nicht, lest the com- mon people might judge that they desired an abso- lution, or were absolved for committing a fault. These contests were the occasion of Padre Paulo’s knowledge and interest with King James; for whose sake principally, Padre Paulo compiled that eminent ‘the remarkable Council of Trent; which ‘istorv was, as fast as it was written, sent in several sheets in letters by Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. Bedel, und 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 tpt areca106 Lae LER OF 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 vir- uosi of that nation, with whom he passing an evening in merriments, was requested by Christo- pher 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, peregré missus ad men- * tiendum Reipublice causa.’ Which Sir Henry Wotton could have been content should have been thus Enelished: ‘““An Ambassador is an honest man, sent to le ‘‘ 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 against King James, prints this as a principle of that reli- gion professed by the King and his Ambassador SirSIR HENRY WOTTON. 107 Henry Wotton, then at Venice; and in Venice it was presently after written in several glass win- dows, and s pitefully declared to be Sir LHe nry \W ot- ton’s. This coming to the knowledge of King J apprehended it to be such an oversight, such a sll or worse, in Sir Henry Wotton, as caused ames, he the King to express mi ich wrath against him; and this caused Sir Henry Wales to write two apolo- a a. gies; one to Velserus, one of the chiefs of Augusta, in the universal language, which he caused to be printed, and given and seattered in the most re- markable places both of Germany and Italy, as an antidote : and another apology to King James, which were both so ingenious, so clear, and so choice quent, that his Majesty, who was a p could not forbear, at the receipt thereof, to declare publicly, “ That Sir Henry v otton had commuted ‘ sufficiently for a greater offence.” And now, as broken bones well set become stronger, so Sir Henry Wotton did not only recov: r; cainst the venomous books of Scioppius ; } at 1 | i ; a - 11 eo eee it, ] but was much more confirmed in his Majesty’s estimation and fayour 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 re- ceived 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 acquaint- ance that urged this as an advantage against him, caused him by this error to grow both more wise,108 THE LIFE OF 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 Donato, who had an undissembled affection for him, and the malicious accusation of Scioppius, yet his interest, as though it 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 negociates a continued business, and neglects the study of dispositions, usually fails in his pro- posed 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 yarious and pleasant discourse, with which, and his choice application of stories, and his elegant deli- very 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 himSIR HENRY cheerful entertainments, : and, by his interest, shelter or « those accidental storms <¢ attend upon travel. And because these tl reader to be but or nerals, two particular « xamples : sition, and one of the nobl shall follow. There had been many | commanders of their own netians for pay against t having, by irregularities t themselves into Henry Wotton became a for their lives and enlar was grant d: SO that thos , which were many nhul- dreds, and there made tl misery, by hard imprison in a strange nation, were by his means released, relieved, and in a comf thank God and him, for their own country. And this | have observe d as one f stimony of the compassionate nature of stay in those parts, as a tressed ot this and oth r And for that which | ott ras a ti stimony of the nobleness of his mind, reader's clearer understanding of it by. t that beside several other Henry Wotton was sent Republic of Venice. An } . | ment and unpitied p eri dl al his last roiIng thithe is he was employed Ambassa WOTTON. 1 ( | S| equal thnim VW } one of his merciful d . ieness of bis mind; wh | ‘nglish soldiers brought by country to serve the Ve- r ; ( lurk; and tl Sf 1 ly or impro lence, DI | | frile ~ and p! ) sift } petit oner to that tal ] creme t nel nis re ] l ie sad examples of human i “ I nations. | { [ shall make wa’ ) . shail make way to the ; * ’ Hq ling him 7 g ; . ‘Hinet ; ; foreign employments, >ir j pio, thrice Ambassador to tne lor to several of the Ger- i110 WHE LITLE ER Or man 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 patrimo- nial inheritance of the Palatinate. This was, by his eight months’ constant endea- vours 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; andas 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 that court; and, at his departure from the Emperor, was so bold as to remember him, «« That the events of every battle move on the un- * seen 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 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 behayiour had been such during *‘ the manage of the treaty, that he took him to bea ** person of much honour and merit; and did there-SJR HENR ** fore desire |] = mony ot his good opi jewel of diamonds of more yalue pounds. This jewel was receive stances and terms of honour by Sir I But the of his gratitude for her with the same that was o ~ which being suddenly d | =~ oe and this nation might be il Y WOTTON. 1m to accept of that jewel asa testi- 110n of him :” d with all outward circum- Henry Wotton. next morning, at his departing from Vienna, he, at his taking leave of the Countess of Sabrina,—an Italian lady in whose house the peror had appointed him to be lodged and honour- ably ent rtained,—acknowledged |] besought her to accept of 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 direc- tion of King James with the Venetian State, con- cerning the Bishop of Spalato’s return to the Church of Rome. But for the particulars of these, and many more that I meant to make known, I want a view of some papers that Majesty’s letter-oftice hay alienation; and indeed I might inform me, his late ing now suffered a strange want time too; for the Lik which was a than a thousand Kim- ler merits, and that jewel asa testimony civilities ; presenting her iven him by the Kmperor ; scovered, and told to the Emperor, was by him taken for a high affront, and ir Henry Wotton told so by a messenger. he replied, * That though he received it with than] ‘* fulness, 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 Bo- “ hemia,’”’ for so she was pleased he should always call her. Many other of his services to his Prince To which (~a 112 Dah LIFE: OF 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 he left at all those houses where he rested or lodged, when he returned from his last Embassy into England :— « Henricus Wottonius Anglo-Cantianus, Thome ‘‘ optimi viri filius natu minimus, 4 Serenissimo Jacobo I. Mag. Brit. Rege, in equestrem titulum ‘adscitus, ejusdemque ter ad Rempublicam Vene- tam Legatus Ordinarius, semel ad Confoederatarum Provinciarum Ordines in Juliacensi negotio. Bis ad Carolum Emanuel, Sabaudie Ducem ; semel ad Unitos Superioris Germanie Principes in Con- ventu Heilbrunensi, postremo ad Archiducem Leopoldum, Ducem Wittembergensem, Civitates Imperiales, Argentinam, Ulmamque, et ipsum ‘«“ Romanorum Imperatorem Ferdinandum Secun- ‘dum, Legatus Extraordinarius, tandem hoe di- “¢ dicit, « Animas fieri sapientiores quiescendo.” To London he came the year before King James died; who, having for the reward of his foreig: 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 neces- sities: and also granted him the reversion of the = n~ ~ n ” ” “ ‘ - nn ” “ “ n "~ é " * ¢ “ 1 Master of the Rolls place if he outlived charitable Gi Julius Cesar, who then possessed it, and then grown so old that he was said to be kept alive be- yond Nature’s course, by the prayers of those many poor which he daily relieved.SIR HENRY WOTTON. 113 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 Sidney’s wit, “That it was the very “ measure of congruity,” he being always so care- less of money, as though our Sayiour’s words, “ Care “not for to-morrow,” stood. But it pleased the God of Providence, that in this juncture of time, the Provostship of his Majesty’s f Eton became void | VV 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, were to be literally under- Collece O 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 aflord 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 rever- T s114 THE LIFE OF sionary 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 neces- saries which attend removes, and a settlement in such a place; and, to procure that, he wrote to his old friend Mr. Anoholak Pey for his assistance. Of which Nicholas Pey I shall here say a little, for the clearing of some passages that I shall mention here- after. 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 Kine’s Household, was made a great officer in his Majesty 3 house. This and other favours being conferred upon Mr. Pey, in whom there was a radical honesty, were always thankfully acknowledged by him, and his or atitude pared by a willing and unwearied ser- viceableness 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 eare;” ’twas his own expression; and, that money being procure d, he should the next day after find him in his College, and ‘ Inyidiz reme- dium” 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 procured him, and he as quickly in he College ; the place where, indeed, his happiness fa seemed to i its beginning; the College being to his mind as a quiet harbour to a seafaringSTR HENRY WOTTON. ric man after a tempestuous voyage; where, by the bounty of the pious founder, his ve ry food and rai- ment were ple ntifully 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 ot want could not probably shake where he might sit in a calm, and. looking down, behold the busy multitude turmoiled and tossed in a tem- pestuous 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, « Whi ch 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 concely d himself be A und to enter into Holy Orders, which he did, he ing madi : 1) all convenient speed. Shortly eacon with : tter which time, as he came in his surplice from ac Church-service, an old. friend, a person of quality, met him so attired, and mee him of his new habi To whom Sir Henry Wotton replied, «] dai God and the King, by whose goodness I am now in this condi- “tion ; a condition which that mperor Charles “the Fifth seemed to approve ; who, after so many ‘ remarkab! = the » victories, when his glory was great in » eves of all men, freely cave up his crown and igs the many cares that attel ded if, TO Philip his son, m: cing a holy retreat to a cloisteral life, where ‘he might, by devout meditations, consult with God ich the rich or busy men seldom do, and errors of his life “past, and prepare for that great day wherein all ‘6 t make an account of their actions : and } | i have { isure } oth to examine the « ] Hesh mus seal x a aca ce TN116 THE LIF OF “after a kind of tempestuous life, I now have the ‘like advantage from Him ‘that makes the out- “ ooings of the morning to praise Him ;’ even from my God, whom I daily magnify for this par- << ticular mercy of an exemption from business, a quiet mind, anda liberal maintenance, even inthis part of 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 publie 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 set to dinner, then nothing but cheerful thoughts possessed his mind, and those still in- creased 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 spent in philosophical conclusions. Nor did he forget his innate pleasure of angling, which he would usually call “his idle time not idly spent ;” saying often, “he would rather liye 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 whom he found either a constant diligence, or a genius that prompted them to learn- . ~ nn n nn n " ¢ nn € ”SIR HENRY WOTTON. 117 ing; for whose encouragement 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 ‘* Almighty God has left mankind “ affections to be wrought 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 crowing scholar. He was pleased constantly to breed up one or more hopeful 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 cathered observations for the better completing of his intended work of educa- tion: of which, by his still striving to make the whole better, he lived to leave but part to pos- terity. 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 otf 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 religion118 ne Lee Or “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 yesper, 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 excom- ** municated because the Pope and the Duke of Venice * could not agree about their temporal power? even *¢ those poor Christians that knew not why they quar- “ relled. Speak your conscience.’ To which he un- derwrit 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 know- ledge, 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 : ‘“‘ In my trayel towards Venice, as I passed through “‘ Germany, I rested almost a year at Leyden, where **T 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, ifSIR HENRY WOTTON. 119 «‘ T mistake not Arminius in his expressions—as so ‘“ weak a brain as mine is may easily do—then | «“ know I differ from him in some points; yet | pro- «‘ fess my judgment of him to be, that he was a man <‘ of most rare learning, and | 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 <‘gur Master Perkins of Cambridge, from whose “ hook. « 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, os said, to come privately to Mr. P. rkins’ own << hands, and to receive from him a like private and Bedel, I must prepare the reader by telling him, that when King James sent Sir Henry Wotton Am- bassador 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 (Mmmanuel College in Cambridge), all beneficed inSIR HENRY WOTTON. 123 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 attend- ; ance on the Ambassador, and betaking himsel f toa monasterial life, in which he lived very regularly and SO die dd. 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 shew the reason of hisapostacy. The letter seemed to have in it many sweet expressions of love; and yet there was in it some expre sion that was sO unpleasant TO Mr. Wadsworth, that he chose rather to acquaint his old friend Mr. Bi del with his motives; by which means there passed betwixt Mr. Bedel and Mr. Wadsworth, divers letters which | extant in print, and did well deserve it; for in them there seems to be a controversy, not of r ligion 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 ot Mr. Be cle ‘ for the greater part of which the reader is referred to this following letter of Sir Henry Wotton’s, writ- ten to our late King Charles the First :— «‘ May it please Your most Gracious Majesty, ‘¢ Having been informed that certain persons have, 2 by the cood wishes of the Archbishop of Armagh, ‘‘ been directed hither, with a most humble petitionHee | ‘6 nn 8K “~ “~ . nn A “~ n~ “ " ” “ “~ o “ “~ wn n “ ~ nn n wn” “ “ n- nw ° ” ”~ “~ © “ . “ *“ ” n ~ ‘6 nn “ . | ‘ 6é THE LAKE OF unto your Majesty that you will be pleased to make Mr. William Bedel—now resident upon a small benefice in Suffolk—Governor of your Col- lege at Dublin, for the good of that Society; and ‘myself being required 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 con- ‘science 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 is 1S -adre Paul le. day this is the man whom Padre Paulo took, I may ‘say, into his very soul, with whom he did com- municate the inwardest thoughts of his heart ; from ‘whom he professed to have received more know- ledge 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 this needless office; for the general fame of his learning, his life, and Christian temper, and those religious labours which himself hath dedi- cated to your Majesty, do better describe him than I am able. “ Your Majesty’s «* Most humble and faithful servant, « H. Worron.’”STIR HENRY shall add this: WOTTON. 12 wn To this ee that he was—to the ores ut joy ot of the said college es 1627): and that, after a fair Se haeve ot his ae and trust there, he was thence removed to be Bishop of Kilmore (S« pt. 9, 1629) In both places his life was so holy, as seemed to equal the primitive Christians: for as they, kept all the ; observ d Pp! rivate devotions—the canonic: al hours of prayer very Sti ‘ictly, and so he did all the feasts and fast-days of his mother, the Chureh of Englan To which and ae i] SU) he Em ber-wet ks, b sides his I may add, tl hat ce patience “ity were both ] : . 2 | such. as shewed 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 ad- vised his Timothy ‘““he have a good report ol those that be without’ (7m. ni. 7 without, even those that in point of religion were ‘the Roman persu 1; iocese—did yet—such is the power } in the election of a Bishop, “TI 1asion—of which there were very many in his ( of visible piety—ever look and reverence, and testified it by a concealing, and safe protecting him from death in the late upon him witl when the fury of the wild Irish and vet, there and rebellion in Ireland, knew no di then he was protected and cherish d by those of a stinction of persons ; contrary persuasion ; and there and then he died, not by violence or 9 rr f in a quiet misusage, but by o th him was lost many of his ; i] ‘+h were thought worthy of re ST Was lost the Rj prison (1642). And wi learned writings whic servation; and amongst the which by many years’ labour, and conference, and - Henry W ott ron— made (ysovernor126 THE LIFE OF study, he had translated 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 hos- pitable 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 there- fore I shall lead him back as gently and as orderly as I may to that place, for a further conference con- cerning Sir Henry Wotton. Sir Henry Wotton had proposed to himself, be- fore 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 Ger- many: for the doing of which he had many advyan- tages 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, bya 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 Kngland; in which he proceeded to write some short characters of a few Kings, as a foundationSIR BENE Y WOTTON. 127 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 Collewe, 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 employment of his time in the College, where he seemed to have his youth renewed by a continual conyersation with that learned s ciety, 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 vhich usually attends are. And yet his mirth was sometimes damped by the remembrance of divers old debts, part! v contracted in his foreign employments, for which his just arrears due from the King would have made satis- faction ; but bi ing still de lave ad wit ncourt promise ~ ‘ 1 find os 1a doareawve healt } }° Be an¢ mang Ome aecay ol realth. ie did, about two years before his ci ath, out of a Christian desire ] 7 . . That none should be a loser by him, make his last tT, . . = *“% . Will; concerning which a doubt still remains. namel whether it discovered more holy wit or conscionable policy. But there is no doubt but that his chief design was a Christian endeayour 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 :— “Inthe name of God Almighty and All-merciful.128 THe LIFE OF «1, Henry Wotton, Provost of his | Majesty’s Col- 6 a by Eton, being mindful of mine own mor- " tality, which the sin of our first parents did bring upon all flesh, do by this last W ill and Testament “ thus dispose of myself, and the poor things I shall leave in this world. My soul [ 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 i His elect; ‘in the number of whom I am one by His mere ‘«¢ orace, and thereof most unremoyeably assured by «‘ His Holy Spirit, the true etern: al Comforter. My “ body | bequeath to the earth, if I should end my ‘transitory days at or near Eton, to be buried in “‘ the (¢ ‘hapel of the said College, as the Fellows “‘ shall dispose the reof, with whom I have a my God knows, in all loving affection; or if I sha Il die near Bocton Malherbe, in the ge - Kent, then I wish to be laid in that parish Church, as near 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 sl hdhild lay over his erave a marble stone, plain, and not cos stly: and Snails ring that time moulders even mar ble to dust, for monuments themselves must die; therefore did he, waiving the common way, think fit rather to preserve his name, to which the son of Sirach ad- viseth all men, by a useful a pophthegm, than by ¢ large enumeration of his ai mt or merits, of both 6 “ ‘¢ ”~ ~ n ~ " - n ~ . n . . - nsLILS¢é which he mi content to sid ed j ry UCiC TIL, and preserve It was direc DISPI Whicl Hers ; pxed on T! 7 avove IMory. It ¢ il yas too prudent fret lic view and D i answer Sil nt Ptr130 THE LIFE OF tionless 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 ecstacy, his thoughts were then only of the Church Tri- umphant, into which he daily expected hisadmission; and that Almighty God was then pleased to make him a prophet, to tell the Church Militant, and particu- larly 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 cha- “rity, skill, and meekness.” It will be good to think that these sad changes have proved this epi- taph 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 epi- taph: the rest of his will follows in his own words: «“ Further, I, the said Henry Wotton, do consti- ‘tute and ordain to be joint executors of this my ‘“‘Jast will and testament, my two orand-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 withSIR HENRY WOTTON. ¥37 o “ my books and pictures, and other utensils, to be ‘supervisors of this my last will and testament. And I do pr ay the foresaid Dr, Bargrave and Mr. Nicholas p ey to be solicitors for such arrearages as shall appear due unto me from his Ma yesty’s Exchequer at the time of my death ; and to assist my cor amed executors in some reasonable and e . o “ “ * ‘ conscientious satisfaction of my creditors, and dis- charge of my legacies now specified; or that shall be hereafter added unto this my testament by any codicil or schedule, or left in the hands , or in any memorial with the aforesaid Mr. John H: arrison. And first, to my most dear Sove reign and master, of incomparab le eoodness, in whose gracious opi- ‘nion I have ever had some portion, as far as the ‘“‘interest of a plain honest man, I leave four pic- ‘* tures at large of those Dukes of Venice, in whose ‘time I was there emp sl ryed, with their names vritten on the back side, which hang in my great ordinary dining-room, done after the life by Edoardo Fialetto : likewise a table of the Vene- “tian College, where Ambassadors had their au- dience, hanging over the mantle 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 a time which “needed a wise and constant man. Item. The “ picture of a Duke of Venice, hanging over against the door, done either |} ry Titiano, or some other principal hand, long before my time. Most hum- “bly beseeching his Majesty that the said pieces “ may remain in some corner of any of his houses “fora poor memorial of his most humble vassal. “Item. I leave his said Majesty all the papers and* * * *" - o~ “ * . * « . © © 132 THE LIFE OF “ negociations of Sir Nich. Bene sais Knight, during his famous e mployment under Queen EKhi- ‘gabeth, in Scotland and in France; which cont in divers secrets of State that perchance his Majesty will think fit to be preserved in his paper-office, after they have been perus sed and sorted by Mr. Secretary Windebank, with whom I have hereto- ‘fore, as L 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. Jtem. I leave to our most gracious and virtuous Queen Mary, Dios- corides, with the plants naturally coloured, and the text translated by Matthiolo, in the best language of Tuscany, whence her said Majesty is lineally de- scended, for a poor token of my thankful devotion, for the honour she was once ple ased to do my private study with her presence. I leave to the most hopeft ul P rince, the picture of ‘the elected and crowned (Jueen ot f Bohe mia, his aunt, ol ‘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 Kine’s galleries, of my presentation to his Majesty ; beseechinge him to receive it as a pledge of my humble reverence to ‘his oreat wisdom. And to the most worthy Lord Bishop ot London, Lord High Treasurer of Eng- land, in true admiration of his Christian simp licity and contempt of earthly pomp, | leave a picture Heraclitus bewailing, and Democritus laughing at the world; most humbly beseeching the said « Lord Archbishop his Grace, and the Lord Bishopoi HENRY WOTTON. 138 “of London, of both whose favours I have tasted in ‘‘ my life-time, to intercede with our most eracious ‘* Sovereign after my death, in the bowels of Jesus Christ, that out of compassionate memory of My ts ‘long services,—wherein I more studied the publie honour than mine own utility—some order may ee “ be taken out of my arrears due in the Exchequer, “for such satisfaction of my creditors, as those tf x. ] whom I have ordained supervisors of this my ‘last will ‘‘ lordships, without their further trouble: hoping ‘* likewise in his Majesty's most indubitable cood- ness, that he will keep me from all prejudice, and testament shall present unto their “which ] may otherwise suffer by any defect of formality in the demand of my said arrears. ‘To ior a poor addition to his cabinet, I leave, as ‘emblems of his attractive virtues and obliging ** nobleness » My great loadstone, and a piece ot *‘ amber, of both kinds naturally united, and only os differing in decree of con oction, which iS thought “ somewhat rare. ltem, a piece of chrystal sex- “ angular—as they grow all—grasping divers several things within it, which I bought among the Rhae- tian Alps, in the very place where it grew; recom- mending 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 - ‘ €6 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 es necessitvy—the four measons of old Bassano, to *‘ hang near the eye in his parlour—being in little cr 5S roe tetcnenetLTPE OF 134 THE ‘«‘ 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 dis- ‘posed in this will. Ileave to him likewise my “‘ Viol de Gamba, which hath been twice with me “in Italy, in which country I first contracted with « him an unremoyeable affection. ‘To my other super- «‘ visor, Mr. Nicholas Pey, I leave my chest, or cabi- “ net of instruments and engines of all kinds of uses: «in the lower box whereof, are some fit to be be- ss queathed to none but so entire an honest man as « he is;”—(in it were Italian locks, pick-locks, serews to force open doors, and many things of worth and ririty, that he had gathered in his foreign trayel ; _— « T 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 Colle ‘oe, I leave all my manuscripts “ not before dis spose .d, 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 an- ‘‘ nexed, written on the first of October, in the “‘ present year of our tedemption, 1637, and sub- scribed by myself, with the testimony of these «* witnesses, ” ‘ . ” . 7 ” . “ “ © ‘ Henry Wotton. ‘ Nich. Oudert, Lash.” =* Geo.SIR HENRY WOTTON, 135 And now, because the mind of man is best satis- fied by the knowledge of events, Il think fit to de- clare, 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 than whom none was more willing—conscionable will: and by their joint endeavours to the king— sfaction was given for his just debts. y i sati The next thin wherewith L shall acquaint the reader is, that he went usually once a year, if not oftener, to the beloved Bocton Hall, where he would say, ‘ He found a cure for all cares, by the cheerful “ company, which he ealled 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 sum- mer 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 Colleg his companion in that journey; “ How useful was said to a friend, . , | ] } 1 ? ° “that advice of a holy monk, who persuaded his ‘friend to perform his customary devotions 1n a ** constant pla ee. 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 remember me those yery thoughts of my youth which then pos- ] ] I I ‘é in . att rint > ] ] +} ‘ . : | sessed me: sweet thoucnts indeed, that promise - Inv STrowing years numerous pleasures, without een ere ee136 THE LIFE OF ‘¢ 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 € succession 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, « ©. b “ ‘“‘ 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 cont pee in which time he was often visited is Mr. John Hales— learned Mr. John Hales—then a Hellew of that College, to whom upon an occasion he spake to this purpose: “TI have, in my passage to my grave, met «‘ with most of those joys of which a discoursive soul 66 49 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 cross winds and storms, and ‘with many troubles of mind and temptations to ‘ o . ‘eyil, And yet, though I have been, and am aman “ compassed about with human frailties, Almight; « 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 “T most humbly praise Him for it; ~ [ humbly ‘ acknowledge that it was not myself, but He that hath kept me to this great age, and let Him takewe ng ce Rt ea RR a ROE TNE EEN ‘eo made many pay 1s pen, both in the iF hisTHE OF 138 LIFE Sim He WOLTON. to foretell that the day of his death drew near; for which he seemed, to those many friends that ob- served him, to be well prepared, and to be both pa- tient 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 vi0- lently 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 cir- cumference thereof did first touch at Winchester School, then at Oxford, and after upon so many re- markable parts and passages in Christendom—that circle of his life was by death thus closed up and completed, 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 grave- stone 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 commended his merits to the imi- tation of posterity. Iz. Wa.st ar ARNED BOOKS OF THE LAWS E¢ ESIASTICAL POLITY. Jndicious Hooker, though this cost be spent in him. that hath a lasting monument > 1, + . in his own D ks: yet ougnatl we to express Lt t his rth, yet our respectiuiness Sin WIL. COWPER.—and ‘a suspension known unto him142 INTRODUCTION. some reasons, which I myself would now gladly be- lieve do make me in some measure fit for this under- taking: 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 pas st—for I am now past the seventieth of my age—I began a happy affinity with William Cranmer,—now with God,—grand- nephew unto the great Archl ishop of that name; a family of noted prudence and 1 -esolution ; with him and two of his sisters I had an entire and free friendship: one of them was 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 oc- casion to mention them in the following discourse, as also George Cranmer, their brother, of whose use- ful abilities my reader may have a more authentic testimony than my pen can purchase for him, by that of our learne d Camden and others. This William Cranmer and his two fore-named sisters had some affinity, and a most f familiar friend- ship, with Mr. Hooker, and had had some part of their education with him in his house, when he was parson of Bishop’s-Bourne, 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 hap PY cohabitation with them ; and hz aving some years before read part of Mr. Hooker’s works with great liking and satisfaction, my affection to them made me a dili gent inquisitor into many things that concerned him; as namely, of his person, his nature, the management of hisINTRODUCTION. 143 time, his wife, his family, and the fortune of him and his. Which inquiry hath given me much ad- vantage in the knowledge of what is now under mv consideration, 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 ; Hales, of Eton College; and with them also—who loved the very name of Mr. Ho ker —} have had as also with the learned John many discourses concerning him: and from t] a+ pond and manv others that have now put off 1 might have had more informations, if I could then * have admitted a thoucht of any fitness, for what by persuasion I have now undertaken. But tho iorh that full harvest be irrecoveral] ly lost, vet my me- mory hath preserved some gleanings, and my « u By ‘ i - : } L2e 9 ‘ 27 1 gence made such additions to them, as | hi pe ‘ ‘ prove useful tO the complet Sf ot what [ intend : ; » 5 oe ..7 ; es the discovery Ot which I snail pe aithtful, ar d Wito | il : 2 ] : this assurance put a period to my Introduction.Gyv¥7a0) 1 18 not to be doubted, but that Richard ; | 4. Hooker was born at Heavy-tree, near, or J very + i] > \* . + . . aes) Within the precincts, or in the citv of é ee 1,” 4 a S mxeter; a city which may justly boast, that 1t was the birth-place of him and Sir Thomas Y 1] . } 1 ’ x : ‘ . 7 . bodley; as indeed the county may, in which it stands, that it hath furnished this —e with 2 Se | ] et ce ie ny... . n't en r » push ‘Pp vewel, OIr Lraneis Drake, 11 Walter Ra- ‘oe 1 5 1 ‘ ] 3 leigh, and many others, memorable for their valour and learning. He was born about the year of our [> ee : TESA ] { - ss Bice 1 4 6 rs = medem iOn Le » ANG OF parents that were not so remarkabie tor their extraction or riches, as for the ir virtue and industry, and God’s blessing 1 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 testi- mony, and that nature is not so partial as always to olye the oTeal ssings of wisdom and learnit 12, greater blessings of virtue aa L — and with themTHE LIFE OF 146 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 at his being a school-boy he was an time,—that inquisitive “why this was, early questionist, quietly <¢ and that was not, to be remembered? why this was ‘© oranted, and that denied?” This being mixed with a remarkable modesty, and a sweet serene quietness of nature, and with them a quick appre- hension of many perplexed parts of learning, 1m- posed 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 preg- nant, less confident, and more malleable, than in this wiser, but not better, age. This meekness and conjuncture of knowledge, with modesty in his conversation, being observed by his school-master, caused him to persuade his parents— who intended him for an apprentice—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; assuring them that their son was so en- riched with the blessings of nature and grace, that God seemed to single him out as a special instrument of His-glory. And the eood man told them also, that he would double his diligence in instructing ©MR. t(\ICHARD HOOKER. 1A” 47 him, and would neither 7 nor receive any other reward, than the content of » hopeful and happy an employ ment. This was not unwelcome news. and especially to his mother, to whom he was a dutiful and dear chil i. and : ll] parties were so pleased with this pro- posal, is it was Ir solved SO it should be. And the meantime his parents and master laid a founda- tion 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 punish- eth our vices, and rewards our innocence: that we should be free from hypocrisy, and appear to man what we are to God, beeause first or last the crafty man is catched in his own snare. These seeds of piety were so seas watered wi ith the « es planted, and so continu: uly aily dew of God’s Blessed S pirit, that his infant virtues crew into such holy hae 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 sueceeding generations. This good school-master, whose name I am not able to recover,—and am sorry, for that I would have given him a better memorial in this humble monument, dedicated to the memory of his scholar, ——Wwas Vv ry solic itous W ith John Hooke ok. then Cham- berlain of Exeter, and uncle to our Richard, ‘to take his nephew into one year in the University, and in the mean time to use his endeayours to procure an admission for him his care, and to maintain him for into some college, though it were but in a mean de- 5 = Se re AAI148 THE LIFE OF gree; still urging and assuring him, that his charge would not continue long; for the we s learning and mannérs 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, pro- cured from his uncle a faithful promise, t that he would take him into his care and charge before the expiration of the year following, which was per- formed by him, and with the assistance of the learned Mr. John ae of whom this may be noted, that he left, or was about the first of Queen Mary’s reign expe ile q out of Corpus Ch iristi College in Oxford,— of which he was a fe awe: —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 siufety in an other 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 com- fortable; so that he, and with him many others of the same judgment, made a happy return into Eng- land 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 thisMR. RICHARD HOOKER. 149 kingdom, and especially of those in Devonshire, in which county he was born; and then and there he contracted a friendship with John Hooker, the uncle of our Richard. About the s« cond or third year of her reign, this John Jewel was made Bisl op 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 willinen ss; this John Hooker Lave him a visit in Salisbury, and besought him for charity’s sake to look tavourably upon a poor ne} hew 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 pre- vent 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 schor l-mastt shoul | alte nd him, about Easter next following, at that place: which was done ac- cordingly ; and then, after some questions and ob- servations of the boy’s learning and gravity, and behaviour, 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—accordine to a promise made to the bishop—provided for him Loth a tutor—which was150 THE LIFE OF and a said to be the learned Dr. John Reynolds, clerk’s place in that college: which place, though it were not a full maintenance, yet, with the contribu- tion of his uncle, and the continued pension of his patron, the good bishop, gave him a comfortable subsistence. And in this condition he continued unto 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 eyen like St. John Baptist, to be sanc- tified from his mother’s womb, who did often bless the day in which she bare him. About this time of his age, he fell into a danger- ous 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 « endeayour to be good, even as much for her’s as ‘«‘ for his own sake.” As soon as he was perfectly recovered from this sickness, he took a journey from Oxford to Exeter, to satisfy and see his good mother, being accom- panied with a countryman and companion 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 com-MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 151 panion 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 forgot 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 delivered into his hand a walking-staff, with which he pro- fessed he had travelled through many parts of Ger- many. 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 66 way to Oxford. And I do now give you ten ‘“« sroats, 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 “ vou, good Richard.” ‘And this, you may believe, was performed by both parties. But, alas! the next news that fol- lowed 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 ?”152 Tae LIFE OF 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 sub- sistence. 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 go 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 Archbishop 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 Sep- tember, 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 re- solution 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‘my Edwin.” And the bishop did so about twelvy ] ] i - months, or not much longer, after t ] And doubt could not be made; for Mr. Hooker nineteenth year of his age; had s university; and had, by a constant gence, attained unto a perfection in languages : by the help of j hit » aD and his unintermitted studies, | 3 | will commit from common searchers. So that by these. adds to his great reason, and his restless to both, he did not only know more effects : but what he ky W, he kn other men. And with this knowledge: 1 ; blessed and clear method of der 1 ; eae knew, to the OTeat ad ntace otf ; nis In time were many—but especially t This for Mr. Hooker’s learning, haviour, amongst other testimonies, t] ot him, that in for r vears he was br from the chapel prayers: and that there was such as snewt d an awful re God which he then worshipped an giving all outward testimonies that were set on he Ave ly Uf ines, ‘his was towards God: and tor that to man, extreme ’ “rt ! Citi j ‘if ; ‘ ’ i : 1 ’ i aay y ; vey 7 ww } whoa i : 7 : : ee , : Stl remaAyl + ¢ } ‘ LWic¢ if ] ] ] HUIS DenAVIO verence of tl FS wai Tio! his behavior it is observabl iat he was never known to be anory. or passionate ae eee154 Tae Live OF 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 strict- ness 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 bordered upon, or might beget a thought of looseness in his hearers. Thus mild, thus innocent and exemplary, was his be- haviour in his college: and thus this good man con- tinued till his death, still increasing in learning, in patience, and piety. In this nineteenth year of his age, he was, De- cember 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 menage of a public dispute with John Hart, of the Romish persuasion, aboutMR. R ICHARD HOOKER. ss 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 createst satisfac- tion to men of the greatest learning, Nor was Dr. Jackson more note-worthy 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-Cha neellor ~~ vear, and his dear friend, Henry Sayile of Merton Colle: being then one of the Proctors. Pes as tl ne nry Savile, that after was Sir Henry Savile, W a. n 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 He ry Savile that translated and enlightened the fisstons of Cornelius Tacitus, with a most excellent Comment; and enriched the world by his laborious and chargeable collecting the seat- tered pieces of St. Chrysostom, and the publication of them in one entire body in Greek: in which language he was a most judi clous critic. It was this Sir Henry Savile that had the hap] ness to be a contemporary and familiar friend to Mr, Hooker; and let posterity know it. And in this year of a he was so happy ras to be admitted Fellow of the College: happy also in being the conte mporary a frie 2 of that Dr. John Reynolds of whom I haye lately spoken, and of Dr. t _ *y156 THE LIFE OF Spencer ; both which were after, and successively made Presidents of Corpus Christi College: men of great learning and merit, and famous in their generations. Nor was Mr. Hooker more happy in his contem- poraries 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 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 testi- monies of our learned Mr. Camden, of Fynes Mory- «Speculum Kuropee,”’ as his brother son, and others. «‘ This Cranmer,” says Mr. Camden in his “Annals “of Queen Elizabeth,” —‘ whose Christian name ‘‘was George, was a gentleman 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 centle- ‘man Sir Edwin Sandys into I'rance, Germany, «and Italy, for the space of three years ; and after « their happy return, he betook himself to an em- ‘‘ ployment under Secretary Dayison, a Privy Coun- « cillor of note, who, for an unhappy undertaking, ‘ became clouded and pitied: after whose fall, he ‘went in place of Secretary with Sir Henry Kille-that when it ended in this we rr RD ‘* orew in his y ° 4 embassage into F death he was soucht after by se ‘‘ he remained, until in a batt “near Carlingford, an unfortu ea concelved ot him, he b LD t| < ‘ ** SIXTN Vear ol R . Mf I ] betwixt Mr. Hooker and th Liis vec lext, where it sh il] have no end A Ws 1 ” | And though this world cannot pieasure equal to su h a trig ndshi 1 . parents, and a desire to know tl > er ] ] laws, and iCarning® Of other na he reby becom Lue more servicesa made them put of their gowns, az - T LT 7 4 7 ind il mooker to his stu 1C8, 1 . * 7 “17 —— Galiy more assiduous, still enric] y , yf . _ * } } capacious soul with the preciou 7 a cs ] $ } } uuoOsOphers, easuists, and sche 4] tT} hem the foundation and reason Mountjoy, with whom he went rant its ; oe 1s : there was a sacred frien iship; a fri . ; ; Ages a of religious principles, which iner ?* 7 similitude of inciinations to the sam«e AS el ca studies; a irien lip eI me ea In ¥ aa n i } , unlversity, tree IFO Se@ll-ends, Ich < : 7 ? Or age usual ire not, And 1 I LT ] ] ; | VLICSS d, this Spll ual mM Y. tneyv we * _) and a = ] ] ) 1 ; years and as th ny Fropnet saith i : : = sweet couns Ll TOO. ner, dk ‘é , es r eal YT» of (God as irlerns ‘i DV Wh or Tith . ake a ] ss | } Proved thls iri 1aS|] Ip to ich a 0 { 7 } } j as bordered upon heaven: a friends olmi Int ; the mo HOOKER. two } Qf DmiAacé . ag sed da rea } | | nD, and C i 4 ‘ ri ivi ‘e4 In the ; - ’ rT) “() _ n 1 7 WwW ¢lé y ; : ’ ’ ; ’ | ec) LifS, Mal at they 1} ; Ito The ° 41 ive Th ¢ 7 vhich Je his quiet rn Ol iar nen flied tinier en nt J158 rye Lire OF sacred and civil; and indeed with such other learn- ing 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 Sacrec 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 in- making him to understand wisdom se- cretly. And the good man would often say, that «¢ God abhors confusion as contrary to His nature ;” «That the Scripture was not writ e, and opposition to ward parts, and as often say, ‘to beget disputations and prid «« covernment ; but charity and humility, moderation, ‘«‘ ohedience to authority, and peace to mankind ;”’ 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 ‘n all the actions of his life. future writings, and a stranger to the more Nor was this excellent man 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 rstand, that the public Hebrew lecture was not read according to the statutes, nor could be, by reason of a distemper 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. There- fore the Chancellor writ to his Vice-Chancellor, and the University, that he had heard such commenda- tions of the excellent knowledge of Mr. Richard was given to unde | )18 pr so till he left lk MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 159 at he desired he might be and he : ; ooker in that tongue, th cured to read it: did, and continued to do Oxford. Within three months after his undertaking this cture—namely, in PO or —he was, with Dr. Reynolds and others expelled his college ; and t] hi justice ; thoueg ' rather for hrist’s sake ; you with « Revel some account of it. is letter, transcribed from Dr. ind, may elve ; his own “To Sir Fy | am sorry, Richt tANCIS KNOLLES. Honourable. that | am en- fores d to make unto you such a sult, which | Ccan- not move, but I must complain of the unrighteous ine of one of our college, who hath taken upon ainst all law and reason, to expel out of ] and three ior doing that which by oath Hook is bound to do. Our matter must be heard nchester, with whom I do not doubt but we slrall hind equity. Howbeit, forasmuch as some of our adversaries have said that the and will not therefore | am humbly to beseech your honour, that you will desire the letters, to let so it be. that I am sure we shall pre- uest of Bis] Op is already forestalled, a : * , , five uS such audience aS we look tor: Bishop, by h it be . 7 our cause IS so good, vour us have with rigour, Thus much I am bold to re risti College VV om | he Si ech ase of His manifé the blessed craces ot Holy Spirit. Your Honour’s in Christ to comn and, vail by it. your honour for Corpus C] sake, or to bles Last ld gifts, and “iy inere Joun Reynouxps.’’160 THE ELIFE.OF This expulsion was by Dr. John Barfoote, then vice-president of the college, and chaplain to Am- brose 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; a bout 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 immediately to the Shunamite’s House; which is a house so ealled, for that, besides the stipend paid the preacher, there iS provision made also for * s lodgine and diet for two days before, and one ais after his sermon. This house was then kept by John C hure hman, sometime a draper of cood note in Watling Street, upon whom poverty had at last come like an armed man, and brought him into a necessi- tous 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 we ather-beaten, that he was never known to express more passion, than against a friend that dissuaded him from footing it to London, and for Gaines him no easier an horse —supposing the horse trotted when he did not;— and at this time also, such a faintness and fear pos- sessed 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 8S ser-MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 161 mon: 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 hee 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 ans ing le to that degree of grace which He * had offe tered ¢ ra tforde d ti em.” This seemed to cross a late opinion of Mr. Calvin’s, and then taken for granted by many that had not a capacity to exa- mine 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 ce s 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 audi- tors, 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 holien all that she said: so that the good man came to be persuaded by her, ‘« that he was a man M162 THE LIFE OF ‘‘ 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 marry.” And he, not considering that ‘the ‘¢ children of this world are wiser in their generation ‘than the children of light;”’ but, like a true Na- thaniel, 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 com- pared 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, « Wo is me, that I am constrained to have my habi- ‘¢ tation 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 toour as meek and patient Mr. was; and let the reader cease to won tion 18 a divine diet ; whi h though it | e not pleasing iy Pa ' to mankind, yet Almighty God hath often, very oiten, imposed it as good, though bitter physic, to } ] ; ] > those children whose souls are dearest to hu And by this marriage the good man was drawn a aarive ll. | 1] from the tranquill ty of his college; from that garden os ‘ | } ol piety, Ol pr asure, Oi pe ace, and a Sweet Conversa- ; ; s : tion, into the thorny wilderness of a busv wo : into those corroding cares that attend a married priest, and a country parsonage ; which was Drayton- B q 10] oY , a. Be aw a tore | c 7 4 j eau ich d id In DUCKI mnamsnire, not iar trom AViecs= bury. and in the dioe PT saanin « 4 Ba 7 ury, and In the diocese of Lincoln; to which he r*) } 1) ; he tah: ' . was pl sented by Joh 1 4 nency, H3q.— the pAtTTONn of it—the 7 , - , , er ‘ ‘ j ; os Jtn of December. L584 where he bpena ed himself sO aS TO vive no occasion ot ey , but as st. Paul adyiseth a min crs God— in l ** patience, in afflictions, in anguishes, in necessi- “ ties, In poverty, and no doubt u long- itt ring’; yet troubling no man with his dis OnNveEntS and wants. And in this condition he cor tl d al ut a ear: in which time his two pupils, Kdwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took a journey to see their tutor: where they found him with a book in his hand— Reese tha Odes of. Ho ice—he being then and innocent Abel, tending his small allot ment of sheep in a common field; which he told hj pupils he was forced to do then, for that his s rvant Was gone home tO dine, and assist his wife to do some necessary household business. But when his servant returned and released him, ar 2 the n his pupils a him unto his house, where their ct or c a ~ Ailes pees re ENO OL OIC LE retyrren teeemee164 THE LIFE OF Wid best entertainment was his quiet company, which was HT | presently denied them ; for Richard was called to rock | the cradle: and the rest of their welcome was so like | this, that they staid but till next morning, which was time enough to discover and pity their tutor’s con- | dition ; and they having in that time rejoiced in the ant remembrance, and then paraphrased on many of the eI innocent recreations of their younger days, and other Ht like diversions, and thereby given him as much pre- sent 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, | 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, ni “«“ 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.” i At their return to London, Edwin Sandys acquaints Ha his father, who was then Archbishop of York, with t | his tutor’s sad condition, and solicits for his removal | | to some benefice that might give him a more quiet Ath and a more comfortable subsistence ; which his i i} father did most willingly grant him, when it should i next fall into his power. And not long after this 1 time, which was in the year 1586, Mr. Alyvey—Mas- ter of the Temple—died, who was a man of a strict life, of great learning, and of so venerable behayiour, “ « a . e -MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 16¢ as to gain so high a degree of love and reverence from all men, that he was generally known by the name of lather 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 com- mendation of his saint-like life, and of his great merit both towards God and man; and as they be- wailed 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 free- dom 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, notwithstanding this averseness, he was at last persuaded to accept of the bishop's proposal ; and was by patent for lite—(this you may find in the Temple records)—made Master of the Temple, the 17th of March, 1586, he being then in the 34th year of his age, a i = BE ere ae EEO166 THE LIFE OF 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 him- self 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 Al- mighty God did not grant it; for his admission into this place was the very beginning of those opposi- tions 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 pre- sent posterity. And the apprehension of these dan- gers, 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,5 rT mT 2 a , : ME. RiCHaARD AY OS. £6 fh. 107 7 ) envy: opposition, and unt] ’ | kfulness for those very ] ;\ il 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 lon for those very people that had enjoyed the desires of i their Rome, became at last so li ] hearts in a Reformation from the Church of ce the erave, as never to . but were still thirsting for more and more; neglecting to pay that obedience, and per- se S I . 7 form those be satishec vows, which they made in their days ot adversities and fear: so that in short time there appeared three sey ral int rests, each of them fear- less and restless in the pros cution of their designs: they may for distinetion be ealled, t] © active Ro- manists, the restless Non-conformists—of which there were many sorts—and the passive p aceable Protestants. The counsels of the first considered and resolved on in Rome: the second, both in Scotland, in Geneva, and in dive rs § le { ted, secret, dana rous il 2 Pe 4} conventicles, both there third pleaded and defended | *} i 1 our own nation: th their cause by established laws, both ecc esiastical and civil: and if they were active, it was to prevent the oth r two irom cle stroving, what was by t known laws, ha V established to them and the ir posterity. [ 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 whos judgment and practice Mr. Hooker became at las i aca . nad within tre bosom oltee LIFE OF 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 un- like 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, 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 pre- judice 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 a 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 com-MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 169 pany, 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 Coppinger and Hacket 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 wicked- nesses. And in these times which tended thus to confu- sion, there were also many of these scruple-mongers, that pretended a tenderness of conscience, refusing to take an oath betore a lawful magistrate : and yet these very men in their secret conventicles did cove- nant and swear to each other, to be assiduous and faithful in using their best endeavours to set up the Presbyterian doctrine and discipline; and both in such a manner as they themselves had not yet agreed on; but up that government must. To which end there were many that wandered up and down, and were active in sowing discontents and sedition, by venomous and secret murmurings, anda 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 obstructers of God’s discipline ! and at last some 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 Anti- christ was to be overcome by the sword, Do that those yery men that began with tender and meek170 Tee LIFE. OF petitions, proceeded to admonitions: then to satiri- cal remonstrances: and at last—having, like Ab- salom, 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 correspondence and confederacy with that brotherhood in Scotland; so that here they became so bold, that one (Mr. Dering) 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 discipline.” And in Scotland they were more confident ; for there (vide Bishop Spotswood’s ‘* His- “ tory of the Church of Scotland”’) they declared her an atheist, and grew to such an height, as not to be accountable for any thing spoken against her, nor for treason against their own King, if it were but spoken in the-pulpit ; shewing 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; andat another time, when he feasting, the Church declared for a general fast, in } ae ; : Opposition TO His auth Ivy i ry . cs } } , +] e ; lo this height they were grown in both nat : } eek > +) ¥ i crda ll i swi4 +} and by tnese means there Was QIstinea INtYo minds ot the common people, Suc h ormer yenonious i i } 41 and turbulent principles, as were inconsistent with : ‘ : F } ‘] ] + } ‘1 the satetv of the Church an I state: and tnese a es ' 1. ae oOpin1ons ven it SO dafril i it. siae tiie 3 Of life and limbs, the governors of the Chureh al i state were tore cd to use such other sev rl ies as W ill not admit of an excuse, if it had not been to prevent the gangrene of confusion, and the perilous conse- quences of it; whicl ; would have been first confusion, and then ruin and nisery to this numerous n ition. 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 scoftingly to a friend in his own country, to this purpose ; That the com- . , ‘ "* mon peopl ol King land were wiser than the wisest i £E at hie ahs ~ en 7 : ] “ ; } of his na ion: tor here the very women and snop- ra keepers were ahle to j idee oft predestination, and ‘ ‘ee ae Ue determine What lay 3 were nt to he made COn-=< ** cerning cehurch- rovernment ; and the n. what were ee ht to be obeved or abolished, vt at they were ‘more able—or at least thought so—to raise and “ determine perpli xed cases of conscience, than the i ‘* wisest of the most learn d coll (res in Italy : hat : : and the most lgno- ‘ men of the slightest learnins ** rant of the common pt ople, were mad ior a new, “ or super, or re-reformation of religion; and that “jn this they appeared like that man, who would .172 THE LIFE OF “never cease to whet and whet his knife, till “there was no steel left to make it usefui.” 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 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 them- selves into a belief that there was no God! and so, finding nothing in themselves but what was worse than nothing, began to wish that 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. 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 irregu- larities; when her lands were in danger of aliena- tion, her power at least neglected, and her peace torn to pieces by several schisms, and such heresiesMR. RICHARD HOOKER. 173 as do usually attend that sin:—for heresies do usu- ally out-live their first authors ;—when the common people seemed ambitious of doing those very things that were forbidden and attended w ith most dar vers, that thereby they might be punished, and the n ap- plauded and pitied : when they called the spirit of opposition a tender conscience, al d com) laine d ot perst eution, because the \ wanted power to persecute others: when the giddy multitude raged, and be- came restless to find out n Isery for thems lves and others: and the rabble would herd themselves to- gether, 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 ne ded a man of prudence and piety, and of an high and fearless fortitude, they were blest in all by J »hn \\ | itertt, his he ing made Archbishop of Canterbury; of whom Sir He W otton—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 me- ‘mory, and of the primitive temper; such a temper, “as when the Church by lowliness of spint did « flourish in highest examples of virtue.’” And in- deed this man proved so And though I dare not undertake to add to this excellent and true character of Sir Henry Wotton ; yet I shall neither - right in were discourse, nor to my reader, if | forbear to give him a further and short account of the life and manners of this excel- lent 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,174 THE LIFE OF 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 re- moved 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 lier chaplain; and not long after Prebend of Ely, and then Dean of Lincoln; and having for many years past looked upon him with much reve- rence and fayour, 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 modera- tion in the menage 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 opposi- tions in the regulation of Church affairs, which were; 7 ‘Iy AT? r} ALL ay MR. RICHARD BRUCK “ik. l ’ much disorde red at his entrance by reason or the ; a ai f Bis] Grindal. his immediate age and remissness OF DIshop Urindal, DIS Immediate predecessor, the activity of the Non-conformists, and their chief assistant the Earl of Leicester; and indeed by too many ot! ers of the like Sacriieg@ious principles. With the se he was to encounter: and though he wanted neither courage, nor a good cause vet he foresaw, that without a creat measure of the . . ’ , , Queens favour, 1 was impossible to stand in the , } } ; } © ; breach, that had been lat VY made into tJ Li s and Immunities OF the Unurch, or lndeed to maintain +} "OT ny land ] ; ‘ . + . } the remaining iands and rielts of it. And 1 C= iore by justihable sacred insinuations, such as St. ie | ee <6 7 i than @ Paul to APTIppa, — Agrippa, Deueves thou | ‘ know thou believest,”’ he wrought himself SO } j ‘ } } preat a degree OF favour with her, as by his pl 8 z ys — Oat . 2 ; use of it, hath got both of them a great degree of . ° re ’ } } . ; Tame in this wi rid, ana Oi Giory in that into which | a : w |} 1 ‘ ’ they are now OTH entered, II: sa ] : ] : - His merits to the Wueen, and her favours to Him . : . 4 7 ) ‘ ’ Y were such, that 1} Cal i Dim ** De} { | LCR 6é ] } ? llad é ] ; husband,” and called “ his servants her servants id she caw ; na } ] an L Ou Savy S VISivDI md oD aa $l rit | Tit i} 3 bs ] | all his Cares and @nadeavoul ior the ( irch s ind { ri ‘ } +} ] ny ; Or Hel Od, THAT C Was SU] posed to tris Him ¥ a ‘ } ge E ey ' } } i the very secrets Oi her soul, and to ma him he confessor; of which she gaye many eet oo 1 .] : ana Ot which one was, that " she would never ¢ it ‘flesh in Lent, without obtaining a licence from "* ner little black h ishand ac" es d woul ‘* she pitied him because she trusted ] im, and has thereby ease i herself \ lay ing the UD irthe n of al “her clergy-cares upon hi shoulders, which he ‘managed with prudence and piety.”176 THE LIFE OF 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, intend- ing 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 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 Harl’s sacrile- cious 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. «« | beseech your Majesty to hear me with patience, “‘ and to believe that your’s 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 pro- tection; and therefore God forbid that you should be so much as passive in her ruin, when you may « prevent it; or that | should behold it without horror and detestation; or should forbear to tell your Majesty of the sin and danger of sacrilege. And ” . . *" . ” . ”~ « © " ©MR. PT Aba ‘oaARD HOOK] rs. 177 ‘ though you and myself are born in an age of “frailties, when the primitive piety and care of the ** Church’s lands and immunities are much decavec “ vet, madam, let me beg that you would first con- ‘* sider 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 con- sider, that though our Saviour said, ‘He judged **noman;’ and, to testify it, would not judee nor 6 “ divide the inheritance betwixt the two brethren, “nor would judge the woman taken in adult ry; “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 ; eeen ] 1 ; mr : “s Whip to arive the protaners out or the Ve mpte, ay i ae Pat } * overthrew the tables of the money-changers, and “drove them out of it. And I beseech you to con- a sider that it was st. Pa i] that said LO tho e Cf 0 cd, : ; .- ‘ ” - ] ] | ‘ Christians Ol his LIMe that were oOtends vi i “¢abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacrilege ?’ ** supposing, I think, sacrilege the greater sin. This ] +} ** may occasion your Majesty to consider, that there “is such a sin as sacrilege; and to incline vou to ¢ aun S 4] — . ee eee ae ** prevent the curse that will follow it, I beseech vou * also to consider, that C mnstantine, the first Chris- “ tian emperor, and Helena his mother; that King “ Edear, and Edward the Confess r; and indeed “many others of your predecessors, and many pri- ** vate Christians, have also given to God. and to His “ hurch, mucn land, and many immunitit 5. which 6“ Pp ioht ‘ ; ' ; 1 they mignot have riven to those ol their own N178 THE LIE OF “‘ 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, | 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 consciences of the “princes of this realm. For they that consult «© Magna Charta shall find, that as all your prede- “ cessors were at their coronation, so you also were sworn before all the nobility and bishops then pre- sent, 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 cursé 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 con- ‘secrated to God; and the father’s sin of sacrilege hath, and will prove to be entailed on his son and 66 . « a © . “ ” “ o “ e “ wn “~ a“ = “ . “ “ om a -~ pay wn « - . “ . “~ “ - n family. And now. madam, what account can be given for the breach of this oath at the Last = .MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 179 ry me, if e wilfully, or but negligently violated, I know =" ROL. «© And therefore, rood madam, let not the late lord’s é xceptions against the failinos of ss Great Day, either by your Majesty, or | “ith es some tew cleroymen, prevail with you to punish posterity for se *‘ 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 | pretend not to prophecy, yet 1 beg posterity to take * notice of what is already become visible in many “families; that Church-land added to an ancient . hath g a garment, and secretly consumed both: and just inheritances proved like a moth ike the ea rle that stole altar, . which consumed oth her young eagles and herself that stole it. “¢ And though I shall forbear to speak reproachfully of your tather, vet | bee vou to take a part of the Cl a coal from the . that rizhts, added to the vast “‘ treasures left him by his father. hath been novice con- . - 5 . 4 ] . ““ ceived to bring an unavoidable consumption upon ag both, notwithst inding all his dilivenecy tO preserve : oer ra nd consider, that after the violation of nose 7 7 ’ e Af “7 i ‘ *" laws » which he had sworn in Miagna Charta,. God “did so far deny him His restraining grace, that as 7 ij 7 te “ King Saul, after he was forsaken of God. fell from 4 1] ** one n toa [ I h . tlil 5 IASG 5 fell into : ee : Ar. * greater sins than iam willincn to mention. JWLia= ‘“‘ dam, ] ligion is the foundation and cement of serve at asst ita aan ee tiene nin i ts180 Coe LIP OF « contemptible; 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 par- liament, entrusted 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 Le- ‘« yite’s portion, I beseech you, and to the approach- ‘ing 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 © Hie,’ The Queen’s patient hearing this affectionate speech, and her future care to preserve the Church’s rights, which till then had been neglected, may ap- pear a fair testimony, that he made her’s and the Church’s good the chiefest of his cares, and that she also thoueht so. And of this there were such daily testimonies given, as begot betwixt them so mutual a joy and confidence, that they seemed born to be- lieve 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 re- markable 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 ”~ c ~ “ . nn n~ “ ”~ “~ “~ ” . “ ”“ “ " "MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 181 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 menage of them: he eave 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 devotions ; he lived to be the greatest comfort of her soul upon her death-bed, to be present at the expiration of her last breath, and to behold the closing of thos 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 proclaim: r 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 [ 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 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 :just occasion for Bovse Sisi, 182 THE GIPe OF: and whensoever the Queen descended to that lowli- ness to dine with him at his palace in Lambet h,— which was very often,—he neue usually the next day show the like lowliness to his poor brothers and sisters at C roydon, and dine with them at his hospi- tal; 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 main- tenance for the master and scholars. Which gave then ambassador for the French King, and resident here, at the bishop’s death, to say, ‘‘ the bishop had published many ‘< learned books; buta free-school to train up youth, «and an hospit tal to lodge and maintain aged and «‘ noor people, were the best evidences of Christian ‘‘ learning that a bishop could leave to posterity.” This good bishop lived to see King James se ttled 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 de clining condition and very weak: and after some short discourse betwixt them, the King at his departure assured him, * He had a ‘“‘ oreat affection for him, and a very high value for ‘«‘ his prudence and virtues, and w ah endeavour to “‘ bee his life of God for the good of His Church.” To which the good bishop ealieas ae Ecclesia “ 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 timeM i: RICHAR dD Hoo K ic. 183 you may believe he had many trials of his courage and patience: but his motto was * Vincit qui patt- J > 7 } } . = ae 2 and ne made il cood. lany of his trials were o¢ ‘asioned by the then por I K url ot La este;y, who did still but se- cretly—raise and cherish a faction of Non-con- formists to oO} DOSt him espt ( ally One Thomas Cartwrio'it. 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 plac here 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 i 1 Ul 1s dis ‘ontent ater the Karl's death,— which was 1d8é \ir. { rtwri¢ ht app ared a chiet cherisher of a party that were for the Geneva Church-government; and, to effect it, he ran him- his party in man, remonstrances, whi h ie caused to be printed, and to which the Bishop made a first an- swer, and C vright replied upon him; and then the Bishop having rejoined to his first reply, Mr. ; { i) \ t >] VW Ss, or \ iS npersuad ad to be, } { f ] ee Satis ~ -0F J wrote no more, bu left the reade1 to be jud which had maintained their cause with Os Cc} Lrity I} reason. After some silene o@ Mr. Cartwright received from the Bishop many persona fayours and bet olk 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, —184 THE LIFE OF 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. Cart- wright and the Bishop were now at rest, yet there was sprung up a new generation of restless men, that by company and clamours 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:’’ inso- much, that about this time, at the execution of the Queen of Scots, the bishop that preached her funeral sermon—whiech was Dr. Howland, then Bishop of Peterborough—was reviled for not being positive for her damnation. And besides this boldness 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,WR. RICHALD: HOCLER. 1S who was a man of sharp wit, and the master of a scofling, satirical, merry pen, which he empl . ' } ee he discover the absurdities of those blind, malicious, ] | Pe awe . ‘ } 4 senseiecss pamphiets and Sermons as enseless as hev: Nash’s answers being like his books, which bore the se, ( r like titl aS fF An Almond tora Parr «A Fic for my Godson; “Come crack me this : T 9 ] } +} . 1} “ Nut.” and the like; so that this merry wit mad as | rinks i cive i ek tw o heeled some sport, ana sucn a al overy OL TheIT A2vsUurTal as which 1 trange I nit a oreater ston fot ana nich 18 SLTanee 1C PUL a PCat I } 1 i { malicious pamphiets, than a mu h wiser man had been able. And now the reader is to take notice, that at the death of Father Alvey, who was Master of thi } Temple, this Walt ~ : = } ] iy t| t the even nea sermons, WHICH Ne preached With LPreat I enhati cae ta f Fs an approbation, especially OF Some Cll ns, : Ga Uw younger gentlemen of that society; and for tl ° most part approved by Mr. Hooke r himself in th midst of their oppositions. For he continued le turer a part Ol his time: Mr. Trav rs by ing inde | aman of competent learnins yiour, and of a blameless life. But he had taken orders by the Presbytery in and with th m some oO} inlons, that could never be eradicate dl —and if in any thing he was transported, 1t was in an extreme desire to set up that government in this nation; for the promoting of which he had a corre- spond nce with others in Scotland: and was one of the chiefest as- sistants to Mr. Cartwright in that de sion. Mr. Trave rs ha | also a partic ular hoy eto set up this government in the Temple, and to that end used his most zealous endeayours to be Master of it; and ER! a i¢ H Ni t 14 ale 1h) ‘pein ici aasnblcor eran eee aR aE ~ , Seer \ Spee seine186 ae Libre OF his being disappointed by Mr. Hooker’s admittance, proved the occasion of a public opposition 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 Canterbury; and the “ afternoon Geneva.” He In these sermons there was little of bitterness, HA but each party brought all the reasons he was able, HI to prove his adversary’s opinion erroneous. And | thus it continued a long time, till the oppositions Hi became so visible, and the consequences so danger- A ous, especially in that place, that the prudent Arch- ay ih bishop put a stop to Mr. Travers his preaching, by | a positive prohibition. Against which Mr. Travers appealed, and petitioned her Majesty’s Privy Council to have it recalled; where, besides his patron, the Karl 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 in- trusted with all Church-power; and he had received so fair a testimony of Mr. Hooker’s principles, and i] of his learning and moderation, that he withstood ay) a all solicitations. But the denying this petition of vey Mr. Travers, was unpleasant to divers of his party; mv and the reasonableness of it became at last to be so tf] publicly magnified by them, and many others of that party, as never to be answered: so that, in- tending the Bishop’s and Mr. Hooker's disgrace, they procured it to be privately printed and scat- tered abroad; and then Mr. Hooker was forced to appear, and make as public an answer; which heRICHARD HOOKER. 187 eclicated it to the Archbishop ; and it proved so full an answer, an answer that had in it so “ } app ired in his <« ise, and d Ll a not earmesti\ } } } ao to be J S irl ds Ip even a lta lila! rie} s] with { ' is ea ae a man Oo so much et | roll l UMILLITY. To enumerate the many particular p ints, in which Mr. Hooker and Mr. Travers dissented,—all, Or MOST of which | h ive seen W ritte n,—would prove at least tedious: and therefore I shall impose upon Lia ri ; i | hicl my reader no more than two, w! shall imme- ] mae ’ S hae rae : ] } aiats ly follow, ana vy whi * i) he may Ji aee or the . a rey Cuat In One OT His Sermons he declared Loar | : lt ce . 1 17 . ‘ ‘‘ assurance of what we believe by the W ord of Go L ] ] j ‘is not to us so ¢ in as that which we perceive by 3 7 t } , : ** sense. And Mr. Hooker confesseth he said so, itv Kin Sbats 6 lies th acs Gas and enaeavours to ‘yo yy The reasons [OLiOwl1ne, rj: ] 7-8 “ is 9 ‘ : ™ FN Se | taucne that the thines which God pro- ‘“ mises 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 a | id . = : ene 2 <¢ His promises to us as He doth, by arceuments drawn ‘‘from our sens ble experi nce? ‘or we must be i hg ; il 5. © ‘surer of t proof than of the things proved; «< otherwise it is no proof. For example; how is it | ad 1 7 t] t many men looking on the moon at the same ‘* time, eve one knoweth it to be the moon as cer- ‘‘ tainly as the other doth ¢ but many believing’ one nd the same promise, have not all one and the , ve a6 8 For how falleth itLAE LIFE OF ‘‘ 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 concerning heavenly and spiritual things may grow, increase, and be augmented?” The sermon, that gave him the cause of this his justification, 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 certainty of ad- herence 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 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 asad sense of his sin; to one that, by a too severe judging of himself, concludes that he wants faith, because he wants the comfortable assur- ance 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 6é ¢ ” ¢é ¢¢ > " ‘ « *“ t ‘6 «MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 189 “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 thos = things to be, which thi Vv 3] ow they love, whe n ; ¥: kn ‘‘ they desire to believe them then must it ! that, A. ;° 1 | | “ by desiring to believe, they prove themselves true . ¥ ae | . } * ; ; ; °F belie vers: for without faith no m in th eth tha “ things be lieve d are: which areument all tleties of infernal powers will never be able to dis- « solve.” This is an a ment of part of reason Mr. Hooke r gives for his just heation of this his opinion, for which he was excepted against by Mr. Travers. Mr. Hook« r was also aceu d by Mr. Trav rs, for that he in one of his sermons had declared, “That “he doubted not but that God was merciful to mans * of our forefathers living in Popish superstition, for “as much as they sinned ignorantly:” and Mr. Hooker in his answer professeth it to be his judg- ment, and declares his reasons for this charitable opinion to be as followeth. But first, | and works, and how the foundation of faith without { t} | tates the ques ion about justification 1? Ss works is overthrown : and then he proces ds to dis- cover that way, which natura men and some others have mistaken to be the 3 way, by which they hope t attain true and everlasting happiness : and | aving discovered the mistaken n, he proceeds to direct to that true way, by which, and no other, everlastiy g life and blessedness is attainable. And these ty } ways he demonstrates thus :—thevy he hi } | i ’ ; 7 a Y 7 that follow :—< That, the way of Nature: this. the = way ot Grace: the end of that way Saly ition . merited, pre-supposing the righteousness of men’s190 Lae LIFE OF “ 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 oift : ‘* pre-supposing not their righteousness, but the for- ‘«‘oiveness 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 yoca- ‘ tion, the election of God, taking them out of the “ number of lost children: their election, a mediator ‘‘in whom to be elected; this mediation, inexpli- «cable mercy: this mercy, supposing their misery «for whom He vouchsafed to die, and make Him- “ self a Mediator.” And he also declareth, ‘There is no meritorious «‘ cause for our justification, but Christ: no effectual, “but His mercy;’’ and says also, “‘ We deny the « orace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we abuse, disan- « nul and annihilate the benefit of His Passion, if by «) now ’ ’ er, the ad s] Wet Tire : : i re ‘ ry AD os Ly are Jn' 4] Lil § ‘192 THE LIFE OF 6 66 6é nn “ “ . n " n n n ”“ n~ ” 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 haying any proud opinion, that oy 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 erieved to find wanting in themselves ? although they be not obstinate in this opinion ? although they be willing, and would be elad to forsake it, if any one reason were brought sufficient to disprove it? although the only cause why they do not for- sake it ere they die, be their ignorance of that means by which it might be disproved ? although ‘the cause why the ignorance in 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 Car- dinal 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 1s 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 supposing 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 argu- ments of Mr. Hooker’s great and clear reason, and equal charity. Other exceptions were also madeMR. RICHARD HOOKER. 193 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 Sacra- ment;’’ and—says Mr. Hooker in his Defence— ‘ sé other exceptions so like these, as but to name, I should have thought a greater fault than to com- mit them.”’ “ - And it is not unworthy the noting, that, in the manage of so oreat 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 oceasion of exceptions, to which his answer was, ‘‘ your next argument consists of railing ‘* and of reasons: to your railing | Say nothing : to * your reasons | 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 blest the Dissenters from the f this Church, with a like ! imility, instead of their pertinacious zeal, then obedience and truth had kiss d each other, then peace and piety had flour- ished in our nation, and this Church and State had ceremonies and d scl} line « I measure of wisdom and been blessed like Jerusalem, that is at unity with itself : but this can never be expected, till (tod 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 taken which are not given, and that laws are not made for private men to dis- pute, but to ob V- And this also may be worthy of noting, that these exceptions ot Mr. T'rayers against Mr. Hooker { }194 PHE LIkFk OF 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 Peti- “ tion of Mr. Travers,” Mr. Hooker grew daily into ereater 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 discon- tent 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 te 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 shew 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 aMR. RICHARD HOOKER. 195 large preface, or Epistle to the Dissenting Brethren, wherein there were such bowels of love, and commixture of that love with reason, aS Was never exceeded but in Holy Writ; and particularly by that ot St. Paul to his dear brother and fellow-labourer Philemon: than which none eyer was more like this epistle of Mr. Hooker’s. So that his dear friend and companion in his studies, Dr. Spencer, might, alter 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 ; such a ss 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 soli- cited the Archbishop for a remove from that place ; to whom he spake to this purpose: “ My Lord, when ‘| lost the freedom of my cell, which was my col- * lege, yet I found some degree of it in my quiet 66 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 és sé ‘eee ieee 196 THE LIFE OF “be a good man; and that belief hath occasioned “me to examine mine own conscience concerning ‘‘ his opinions; and to satisfy 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 justitication 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 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 [ have a“ 6 . ~ . “ “ " - n “ “~ © ” " " . “”~ “ “ ” “~ “ ”~ ” n " “ “ ~ * « « “~ , w « “ © “ © “ . wn“ *" begun.” About this time, the parsonage or rectory of Bos- cum, 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 bene- fices belonging to that See, during this said vacancy,MR. RICHARD HOOKER. 197 came to be disposed of by the Archbishop of Canter- bury: and he presented Richard Hooker to it in the year 1591. And Richard Hooker was also in this 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 ot his eight proposed books ot a The Laws ot Eecle- ** siastical 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 Chureh 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 39th year of his age, He left Boscum in the year 1595, by a surrender of it into the hands of Bishop Caldwell: and he pre- sented 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 made Bishop of Nor- wich; by which means the power of presenting to it was pro ea vice in the Queen; and she presented Richard Hooker, whom she loyed well, to this good198 THE LIFE OF living of Bourne, the 7th July, 1595; in which living he continued till his death, without any addi- tion of dignity or profit. And now haying 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 to- “gether 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 ‘introduction unto the books that are to follow “ concerning particulars; in the mean time 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. Hooker's four books were first printed—meeting with this generalMR. RICHARD HOOKER. 199 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 eaused them to be sent for to Rome; and after reading them, boasted LO the Pope—which then was Clement the Eighth—** That though he had lately ‘ said. he never met with an English book whose ‘“ writer deserved 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 ex- ‘‘ pressed 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, which Dr. read a part of them to him in Latin; at the Stapleton did, to the end of the first book ; conclusion of which, the Pope spake to this pur- pose : = The re 1g no learning that this man hath not ‘searched into, nothine too hard for his under- - standing: 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 learning.” Nor was this high, the only testimony and com- mendations given to his books; for at the first coming of King James into this kingdom, he en- quired of the Archbishop W hiteift for his friend Mr. Hooker, that writ the books of Church polity; to which the answer was, that he died a year before ‘ 1] « fire shall consume all 5) G) c CSN (Se | NO NSS (EX & SO) =. e \s J Ns) ie ig ¢ 3 S27 AW YREAZAB MR. GEORGE HERBERT. “ He pleased God, and was beloved of Him: so that ** whereas he lived among sinners, He translated him. WISDOM OF SOLOMON, iv. 10. C”r ? ean meena eRe Sata AES a = San anonuneaeuae sno ena Tien aee ene A ee = —_ a Seas aINTRODUCTION TO THE LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT. >] N 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 conte mp lation of some of those historic: al passages th: it are recorde din Ss acred Story : and more particularly of what had passed betwixt our blessed Saviour and that wonder of women, and sinners, and mourners, Saint Mary Magdalen. J] 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 sensualitie 'S; as after those eyes had wept such a flood of penitential tears as did wash, and that hair had wiped, and she most pas- sionately kissed the feet of her’s and our blessed Jesus. And I do now consider, that because she loved much, not only much was forgiven her, but that besid dened, » that blessed blessing of having her sins ind the joy of knowing her happy condi- tion, she also had from Him a testimony, that her244 INTRODUCTION. alabaster box of precious ointment poured on Ilis head and feet, and that spikenard, and those spices that were by her dedicated to embalm and preserve His sacred body from putrefaction, should so far pre- serve her own memory, that these demonstrations of her sanctified love, and of her officious and generous eratitude, should be recorded and mentioned where- soever His Gospel should be read ; intending thereby, that as His, so her name, should also live to succeed- ing generations, even till time itself shall be no more. Upon occasion of which fair example, I did lately look back, and not without some content—at least lf—that I have endeavoured to deserve the of my two deceased to myse love, and preserve the memory, friends, Dr. Donne, and Sir Henry Wotton, by declaring the several employments and various acci- dents 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 pertect, 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. EORGE HERBERT was born the third day of April, in the year of our Redemp- tion 1593. 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 I and county ; that castle was then a place of state ih and streneth, and had been successively happy in i the family of the Herberts, who had long possessed i} it; and, with it, a plentiful estate, and hearts as liberal to their poor neighbours. ~ ’ Dm ** , 7 1” > _pDrn \ ME. GEORGE HERBERT. 295 Hi} “maintenance secured her after my death, and ] } +. thereiore as this is my prayer, so this my resolu- ‘* tion 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 HH 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 contess d it did, but sald, His life could not be if ‘‘ better spent than in the service of his Master Wt “« Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for him: 11] “but.” said he, ‘I will not be wilful; for though Hi «“ 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 | will now be “only a hearer of them, till this mortal shall put on -s 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, cen cP tr { ; : ; it * George Herbert is cenerally called Rector of Bemerton, i . { ecause the glebe-house in which he resided is in that parish ; en l but he should more properly be called Rector of Fugglestone, ( Fou Sfton wt, Peter’s cum Bemerton annexed, as the Re C- Hi | tory comprises the parishes of Fugglestone, Quidhampton, | Bemerton.—ARCHDEACON (296 THE LIFE OF when the music-meeting at Salisbury caused his absence from it. About one month before his death, his friend Mr. Ferrar (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 Fryer 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 ac- count of Mr. Herbert’s condition. Mr. Duncon found him weak, and at that time lying on his bed, or ona pallet; but at his seeing Mr. Duncon, he raised himself vigorously, saluted him, and with some earnestness inquired the health of his brother Ferrar; of which Mr. Duncon satisfied him; and after some discourse of Mr. Ferrar’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 Eng- “land; no other prayers are equal to them! but at “this time I beg of you to pray only the Litany, for “© T am weak and faint;”’ and Mr. Duncon did so. After which, and some other discourse of Mr. Fer- rar, 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,MR GEORGE HEREEHT. 297 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 be- took 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. l"errar. Mr. Nicholas Ferrar (who got the reputation of being called St. Nicholas at the age of six years ) was born in London, and doubtless had good educa- tion 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 learning. 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 manner, and the In this his travel he met with many persuasions to come into a communion with that Church which calls itself catholic; but he returned of their religion, and reasons of their worship. from his travels as he went, eminent for his obe dience tO his mother, the Church of England. In his absence from England Mr. Ferrar’s father (who was a merchant) allowed him a liberal mainte- nance; and, not long after his return into England, Mr. Ferrar had, by the death of his father, or an elder brother, or both, an estate left him, that en- abled him to purchase land to the value of four or five hundred pounds a year, the greatest part of298 THE LIFE OF which land was at Little Gidden, four or six miles from Huntingdon, and about eighteen from Cam- bridge ; 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. Ferrar having seen the manners and yanities 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 col- lege, 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 I’ridays, 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 deyout 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 him- self 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 dayMR. GEORGE HERBERT. 209 at the appointed hours of ten and four, in the Parish Chureh, which was very near his house, and which he had both repair d and adorned ; for it was fallen into a great ruin, by reason of a depopulation of the village, before Mr. Ferrar bought the manor: and he did also constantly read the Matins every morn- ing 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 atter 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 themselves to meditate, or to pray privately, or to read a part of the New Testament to themselves, or to con- tinue their praying or reading the Psalms; and, in case the Psalms were not always read in the day, then Mr. Ferrar and others of the congregation, did at night, at the ring’ of a watch-bell, repair to the Church, or orat ry, and there betake thems lves to prayers 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 and faint, then they rung the watch-bell, and were also relieved by some of the former, or by a new part ot the society which con- tinued their devotions (as hath been mentioned) until morning. And it is to be noted, that in this con- tinued serving of God, the Psalter, or whole Book ee toteLAE ELIF E OF of Psalms, was in every four and twenty hours sung or read oyer, 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. Ferrar and his happy family serve God day and night:—thus did they always behave themselves, as in His presence. And they did al- ways eat and drink by the strictest rules of tem- perance; eat and drink so as to be ready to rise at midnight, or at the call of a watch-bell, and perform their devotions to God.— BiG BS certainly begun again, and Wi “ continued the year following : and that this being | HH << done, it might probably abate the inordinate de- 1 sire of knowing what we need not, and practising ‘what we know and ought to do.” This was the He | earnest desire of this prudent man. And oh that . Dr. Sanderson had undertaken it! for then in all ii arobability it would have proved effectual. Hii And at this happy time of enjoying his company | and this discourse, he expressed a sorrow by say ing to ih | me, ‘Oh that I had gone chaplain to that excellently q ‘© accomplished gentleman, your friend, Sir Henry Ai «© Wotton! which was once intended, when he first Be “‘ went ambassador to the State of Venice: for by | ‘‘ that employment I had been forced into a neces- | | Hy “sity of conversing, not with him only, but with | | ”~ “ several men of several nations ; and might thereby | have kept myself from my unmanly bashfulness, i which has proved very troublesome, and not less H| : ‘inconvenient to me; and which I now fear is be- come so hal vitual 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 W otton’s dear friend, Padre « Paulo, who, the author of his life s says, was born - ww “ wn o “ ~ . . nn ee ; | ‘i ceDR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 371 ‘‘ 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 condescension. IL 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 se- questered livings were possessed with such rigid Co- venanters as denied the sacrament to their parish- ioners, unless upon such conditions and in sucha manner as they could not take it. This he men- tioned with much sorrow, saying, * The blessed sa- “crament did, by way of preparation for it, give ‘‘ oceasion 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 re-search 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 sa- ‘«* crament repairs the decays of grace, helps us to con- ‘‘ quer infirmities, gives us grace to beg God’s grace, ‘‘ and then gives us what we beg; makes us still hun- ‘“ ger and thirst after His righteousness, which we ‘then receive, and being assisted with our endea- ‘¢ yours, will still so dwell in us, as to become our ‘ sanctification in this life, and our comfort onour last372 THE LIFE OF < sick beds.” The want of this blessed benefit he lamented much, and pitied their condition that de- sired, but could not obtain it. I hope I shall not disoblige my re eader, 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 mildness, 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 ‘iat apkeuieaad witha doubtful conscience. His le: rning was metho- dical and exact, his wisdom useful, ig, integrity vi- sible, and his whole life so unspotted, 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 overcome by his bashfulness; for he alone, or toa friend, could repeat all the Odes of Horace, all Tully’s Offices, and toi of Juvenal and Persius, without book; and would say, ‘the repetition of one of the <‘ Odes of Horace to himself was to him such music ‘’as a lesson on the viol was to others, when theyDR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 27° Oi “ played it to themselves or friends.’”’ And though he was blest with a clearer judgment than other men, yet he was so distrustful of it that he did over-con- sider of consequences, and would so delay and recon- sider what to determine, that though none ever de- termined 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 de- termine; so that that appeared 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-consider- ‘¢ ine, 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, be- got in him some averseness 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 al- ways loaden with these knotty points and distine- tions; yet the study of old records, genealogies, and heraldry, were a recreation, 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 ex- actness. And this humble man had so conquered all re- pining and ambitious thoughts, and with them all other unruly passions, that, if the accidents of the a a aa374 THE LIFE OF day proved to his danger or damage, yet he both be- gan and ended it with an even and undisturbed quiet- ness ; 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 condition; 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 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—haying casually met with and read his Lectures de Juramento, to his great satisfaction, and being informed of Dr. Sanderson’s great inno- cence and sincerity, and that he and his family were brought into a low condition by his not complying with the Parliament’s injunctions, 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 Conscientid, which he had read when he was Doc- tor 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 yearly if desired, during his life, to enable him to pay an amanuensis,DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 375 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 to me by the said Dr. Barlow, which I have annexed to the end of this relation. Towards the end of this year, 1609, when the many mixed sects, and their creators and merciless protectors, had led or driven each other into a whirl- pool of confusion: when amazement and fear had seized them, and their accusing consciences gaye them an inward and fearful intellivence 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. San- derson—and with him many of the oppressed clergy and others—could toresee the cloud of their attlic- tions would be dispersed by it: then, in the begin- ning of the year following, the King was by God re- stored to us, and we to our known laws and liberties, and a ceneral joy and peace seemed to breathe throuch the three nations. Then were the suffering clerey 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 de- jected family rejoiced to see this day, and be of this number. It ought to be considered—which I have often heard or read—that in the primitive times men of learning and yirtue were usually sought for, and solicited to accept of episcopal government, andtee Liles OF 376 often refused it. For they conscientiously consi- dered 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 auizenee 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 primi- tive times they were therefore timorous to undertake it. It may not be said that Dr. Sanderson was ac- complished with these, and all the other requisites seried 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—ifor he was so old at the King’s return— fewer faults to be pardoned by God or man than are apparent in Laie 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 d: ays of primitive Ch ristianity. This is mentioned by ia of peepee ation to what I shall say more of Dr. San- derson ; and namely, that at the King’s nett Dr. Sheldon, the late prudent Archbishop of Canterbury, than whom none knew, valued, or loved Dr. Sandlot son more or better, was by his Maje sty sail 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 hum] bly desired the King that he would nominate him ; and that done, he did as humb ly desire Dr. anibertinn 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 forwardnessDR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 377 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 endeayours, might promote His glory, and help forward the salvation of others. This I have mentioned as a happy preparation to his bishopric; and am next to tell that he was con- secrated 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 s lect 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 prov ed ineffectual, for there be some prepossessions like jealousies, which, though causeless, yet cannot be removed by reasons as ap- parent as demonstration can make any truth. The place appointed for this debate was the Savoy in the Strand; and the points debated were, L 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,378 THE LIFE OF 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 acci- dens, which is not so in itself, and may be unlaw- ** fully 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 Con- formists, “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 un- “lawful, and be commanded by an unjust penalty, 66 6 ”“ 6 “ ‘é ©DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 379 ‘ though no other act or circumstance commanded “ be such.” Again, this proposition being brought by the Con- formists, “That command which commandeth an ‘‘ act in itself lawful, and no other act whereby any “ unjust pen: alty is enjoined, nor any circumstance, ‘whence dire etly r per acceidens any sin 18 conse- « quent, which a commander ought to provide ‘‘ avainst, hath in it all things requisite to the law- < fulness of a command, and particularly cannot be «* cuilty of comm: nding an act per accidens unlaw- « ful, nor of commanding an act under an unjust ** pen: uty.’ Mr. Baxter denied it upon the same reasons. Peter GUNNING. Joun 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 an me very lately that one of the dissenters— hich I cor ild, but torbear to name—appeared to Dr. tna to be so bold, so troublesome, and so illo- vical in the dispute, as forced patient Dr. Sanderson —who was the on Bishop ot L, incoln, and a moderator with othe 1 Bishops—to say with an unusu: al earnest- ness, That he had never met with a man of more ‘pertinacious confide nee, and less abilities, in all his ** conve rsation.’ But though this debate at the Savoy was ended without any great satisfaction to either party, yet both parties knew the desires and understood the abilities of the other much better than before it; and the late distressed clergy that were now restored380 THE LIFE OF to their former rights and power did, at their next meeting in Convocation, contrive to give the dissent- ing party satisfaction by alteration, explanation, and addition to some part both of the Rubric and Com- mon Prayer, as also by adding some new necessary collects, and a particular collect of thanksgiving. How many of those new collects were worded by Dr. Sanderson I cannot say, but am sure the whole Con- vocation valued him so much, that he never under- took 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 Thanks- “ giving for the Restoration of his Son our King ;” and “For the Baptizing 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 Con- vocation, alter and add to the forms of prayer to be used at sea, now taken into the Service Book, And it may be noted that William, the now Right Reyerend Archbishop of Canterbury, was in these em- ployments diligently useful, especially in helping to rectify the calendar and rubric. And lastly, it may be noted that, for the satisfying all the dissenting 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,DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 381 was appointed to be printed before the Liturgy, and may be known by this title—‘* The Preface ? and begins thus—“» ] iness, evermore to tne particul rly those sins that are so rife, and seem ccs t i. Son Ym o ne | hank fil ' qaaly to Increase none us, O© unthankKrulhess, ® ond aan) wt H eae riot, and sacrilere—ao not ten pt i $3 patience to } 4 4) ’ 7 I » contrary. And | also furth l hi mbly beseecn } 7% ] Him that it would please Him to give unto our ' . T> 1 1 rracious Sovereign, the rey d Bishops, and the . ; : ' Parliam nt, timely to consider the great danger ] et F 4 3 Papen 7 ‘J a : <3 : : that visibly threatens this Church in point of re- eae In4 . > . ) — -« ; lizion by the late creat increase of Popery, and in i } 1 : : . . oT point oI revenue DY Sacruegious enclosurt - and .7 : 7 y ] to provide such wholesome and effectual reme- may prevent the same before it be too386 THE LIFE OF thoughts and desires, they may appear to the reader by another part of his Will which follows. 6é 66 éé é ¢ wn ce ~ “~ “~ “~ n “ “~ ~ ~ nn ~ - € a nn n~ w~ nw wn ”~ € n ~ “ « “~ o “~ “ “~ « e wn“ - “ “ n © “ ~ “ “ ~ ~ “ ~ « 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 inha-~ bitants of Buckden; without the unnecessary ex- pense of escutcheons, gloves, ribbons, &c. and without any blacks to be hung any where 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, containing some wholesome discourse concerning mortality, the re- surrection of the dead, and the last judgment ; and that he shall have for his pains 45/. upon con- dition 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 MDCLXIJ. ET AZTATIS SUZ SEPTUAGESIMODR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 387 3 ** SEXTO, HIC REQUIESCIT IN SPE BEATA RESURREC- “rronts. This manner of burial, although I cannot but foresee it will prove unsatisfact ry 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 alto- gether unusual, and not according to the mode of ‘these times; yet it is agreeab le to the sense of my heart, and I do very much desire my Will may be c: irefully observed herein, hoping it may be- come exe mpl: iry to some or other: atleast howso- ‘ ever testifying at my doathsaihiet [ have so often “‘ and earnestly pr essed In my lifetime—my utter ‘* dislike of the flatteries co mmonly used in funeral sermons, and of the yast expenses otherwise laid ‘out in funeral iki ss and entertainments, “ with very little benefit to any; which, if bestowed ‘in plous and charit: ‘ab le works, might redound to the public or private benefit of many persons.” I am next to tell, that he died the 29th of Janu- ary, 1662, and that his body was buried in Buckden, the third day after his d ath; and for the manner, that it was as far from ostentation as he desired it: and all the rest of his Will was as punctually per- formed. And when I haye—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 his strength to decay by reason of his constant infirmity, and a consumptive cough added to it, he retired to his chamber, ex- pressing a desire to enjoy his last thoughts to him- a ‘\388 THE LIFE OF | 7 self in private, without disturbance or care, especially HE of what might concern this world. And that none of his clergy—which are more numerous than any other Bis hop’s—might suffer by his ee he did by commission impower his chaplain, Mr. Pullin, with episcopal power to give institutions to all livings or Church-preferments, during this his disability to i do it himself. In this time of his retirement he WE | 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 disple ased, by say- | | ing, “ His friends said their prayers backward for ‘him: and that it was not his desire to live a useless | “life, and by filling upa place keep another out of it Vit “ that might do God and His Church more service.” be | He would often with much joy and thankfulness ie | mention, ‘‘ That during his being a housekeeper, a «“ which was more than forty years—there had not «‘ been one buried out of hi s family, and that he was ‘«« now like to be the first.” He would also often men- tion with thankfulness, “‘ That till he was three score | “ years of age, he had never spent five shillings in . | | ‘ Jaw, nor—upon himself—so much in wine: and re- ai ‘‘ joiced much that he had so lived, as never to cause ‘¢ an hour’s sorrow to his good father, and hoped he i ‘* should die without an enemy. BE He, in this retirement, had the Church prayers iy read in his chamber twice every day; and at nine at | night, some prayers read to him and a part of his NY family out of “The Whole Duty of Man.” As he was | ie | 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 call-DR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 389 ing for it, was answered, * It would be ready ina ‘«‘ quarter of an hour.” To which his reply was, ‘* A quarter of an hour! Is a quarter of an hour no- “‘ thing 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 be- come so weak and weary of either motion or sitting, that he was content, or forced, to keep his bed: in which I desire he may apy till I haye 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 = his sins past, and be strenothened in his way to the New Jerusalem, took the blessed Sacrament of € the Body and Blood of his and our blessed J , from the hands of his chaplain, Mr. Pullin, accompanied with his wife, children, and a friend, in as ful humble, and ardent a manner, as outward revert aaa ae express. Aiter the praise and thanksgiving for it was ended, he spake to this purpose. « Thou, O God! tookest me out of ‘‘ mother’s womb, and hast been the powerful Pro- “tector 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 con- « science 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 | 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 Dayid,390 THE LIFE OF hath been noted to be 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 me- ditating on God’ s Word: Psal. exix. 147, so it was Dry of Sander rson’s constant practice ev ery morn- ing 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 haying 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 month had formerly ended and baci 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 em- ployment in Heaven. After his taking his bed, and about a day before his death, he desired his chaplain, Mr. Pullin, to give him a bsolution : and at his performing that office, he pulled off his cap, that Mr. Pullin might ey his h and upon his bare head. After this desires io of his was sa- tisfied, 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 ThyDR. ROBERT SANDERSON. 391 “praise.” He continued the remaining night and day very patient, and thankful for any of the little offices that were performed tor his ease and re- freshment: and during that time did aa say the 103rd 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 sur- prise him as a thief in the night: for he had often said, he was prepared, and longed for it. And as this desire seeme dd to come from Heaven, 80 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 in- nocence C h: ing red this for a better life. Tis now too late to wish that my life may be like his, for [ am in the eighty-fifth year of mv age: but I humbly be- seech Almighty God that my death may ; and do as earnestly beg that if any reader shall receive any satisfaction from this very plain and as true relation, he will be so charitable as to say Amen. i, We «Blessed is the man in whose spirit there is no le.” Psal. xxxil. 2.33 ‘T' my return to this place, I stricter search after the letters long sent me from our most excellent Dr. San- derson, before the happy restoration of the King and Church of England to their several 2 . . 1 nights: in one of which peter more especially, he vas 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 bent controverted between the Cal- vinians and the Arminians, as they are commonly (though ee and unskilfully) miscalled on either side. The whole letter I allude to does consist of several sheets, whereof a good part had been made public long ago, by a most learned, most judicious, most pious Dr. Hammond, (to whom I sent it both for his private, and for the public s: tiliean. if he thought fit,) in his excellent book, entitled, § cA Pacifie Dis- ** course of God’s Grace and Decrees, in full aecord- “ance with Dr. Sanderson:” to which discourse [| refer you for an account of Dr. Sanderson and the history of his thoughts in his own hand- writing, wherein I sent it to Westw ood, as I received it foe Boothby Pannel. And although the whole book, (printed in the year 1660, and reprinted since withry worthy of your pe- rusal: vet. for the work you are about, you shall not have need to read more at prt sent than iro I . 4 i} EVO east ‘ a + | ’ ean Sth to the 2Zord page, and as far as the end of sec- I I of Arts: how his first reading of learned Hooker had bee! easioned by certain puritanical pamphlets ; = a= j . , =e _— 1 rOs Wa HOW Lov la preparatlye he found it fol his read- . ; . . . 1 : , ing of Calyin’s Institutions, the honour of whose a = 1 7 eS ame (at that time ¢ special vy) gave such crealt to i Sf his errors: how he erred with Mr. Calvin, whilst he ‘ae i | : = ae ii took things upon trust in the sublapsarian way: how, bi ing C| osen to be a ( li rk of the (Convocation for the Diocese of Lincoln, 1625, he reduced the Quinquar- | . 1 i ] ] j ticular Controversy into hye schemes or tables; ana hereupon discerned a necessity of quitting the sub- lapsar! in way, or ¥ hich he had beforea better liking, as well as the supralapsarian, which he could never fancy. [here you ¥ ill meet with his two weighty reasons against them both, and find his happy change or jucdgm » | heen ever since the year 1620, even thirty-four years before th¢ world either knew, ] ‘ ; ; 2 . +s lavl< or, at least, took notice Of 10, and more particularly | reasons for Fre] tinge Dr. l'wiss, (or the way he wa 1, though his acute and very learned and ancl it irk nd. [ now proceed to let you know, from Dr. Sander- son’s own hand,* which was never printed, (and hardly know from any, unless from3904 Dh FIERCE S LETTER. his son, or from myself,) that, when that Parliament was broken up, and the convocation therewith dis- solved, 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.p. 1623,) by a Spanish bishop,* who had undertaken to clear the differences in the great controversy De Concor- dia Gratie 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 pub- lish. ‘* 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 perform- ances. [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 coexistence of all things, ‘ past, present, and future, 7n mente divina realiter ab eterno, which is the subject of his whole third book: only he interpreteth the word realiter so as to import not only presentialitatem objectivam, (as others held before him,) but propriam et actualem existentiam ; yet confesseth it is hard to make this *‘ intelligible. In his fourth book he endeavours to ‘declare a two-fold manner of God’s working ad extra; the one sub ordine predestinationis, of which eternity is the proper measure: the other sud or- dine gratia, whereof time is the measure ; and that “ God worketh fortiter in the one (though not irre- Arriba, 6é ‘ ”~ ‘c . n * . " ” © - - - . . © * ° - - . . . . €éDR. PIERCE’S LETTER. 395 “~ ‘ sistibiliter) 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 freewill in the conversion ‘© of a sinner; and so likewise in all other events, ‘the consistency of the infallibility of God’s fore- ‘knowledge 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, | say, we must acknowledge “for the S:: but for the +3 was, I thought 1t boot- less for me to think of comprehending it. And so ‘eame the two Acta 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,* Vindicie Gratia, a large yolume, ‘ purposely writ against Arminius: and then not- “ withstanding my former resolution, Il must need be ‘meddling again. The respect I bore to his person ‘and great learning, and the acquaintance | had had ‘‘ with him in Oxford, drew me to the reading of ‘© that whole book. But from the reading of it (for « T read it through to a syllable) 1 went away with ‘‘ many and great dissatisfactions. Sundry things in ‘‘ that book I took notice of, which brought me into ° . . . - . - . a . - * This learned nonconformist was born at Reading about 1575, and educated at Winchester School, and New College, Oxford. He had been Chaplain to the Princess Elizabeth. He died at Newbury, July 20, 1646. Wood says, “ his plain ‘ preaching was esteemed good ; his solid disputations were ‘ accounted better; but his pious life was reckoned best of . ry ii.396 DH. PIEHRCIHS. LETTER. “a greater dislike of his opinion than I had before: “‘ but especially these three: First, that he bottom- “‘ eth very much of his discourse upon a very erro- ‘‘neous 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 converso. ‘* Which is an error of that magnitude, that I can- “not but wonder how a person of such acuteness “and subtilty of wit could possibly be deceived “‘ with it. All logicians know there is no such uni- “versal maxim as he buildeth upon. The true “maxim is but this: Finis qui primus est in inten- ‘ tione, est ultimus in executione. 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, forseeing “‘ 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 opi- ‘‘nion which he had undertaken to defend. Thirdly, “ that seeing (out of the sharpness of his wit) a ne- ‘ cessity of forsaking the ordinary sublapsarian way, “ and the supralapsarian too, as it had diversely been declared by all that bad 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 “ “ “~ © o © ~ © a paDR. PIERCE’S LETTER 307 . \ out of his own brain a new way, (like a spider's web cht out of her own bowels,) hoping by that M-wene « device to salve all absurdities, that could be ob- a jected ; to wit by making the colory 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 coordinate medium “ eonducing to that one end, and so the whole sub- ‘‘ ordinate to it, but not any one part thereof subor- «« dinate to any other of the same. Dr. Twiss should “ have done well to have been more sparing in 1m- puting the studium p irtium to others, wherewith ‘< his own eyes, though of eminent perspicacity, were ‘so strangely blindfolded, that he could not discern «‘ how this his new device, and his old dearly beloved « principle, (like the Cadmean Sparti, ) do mutually ed stroy the one the other. ‘‘This relation of my past thoughts having spun out “ toa far creater length than I intended, I shall give ‘ ea Ww } } =" ' — <5 you such particular passages of his life as were cer- tainly known to me. I confess I had the happiness to be particularly known to him for about the space of twenty years; and, in Oxon, to enjoy his conver- sation, and his learned and pious instructions while he was Regius Professor of Divinity there. After- wards, when (in the time of our late unhappy con- fusions) he left Oxon, and was retired into the coun- try, I had the benefit of his letters; wherein, with creat candour and kindness, he answered those doubts | proposed, and gave me that satisfaction, which I neither had nor expected from some others of greater confidence, but less judgment and humility. Having, in a letter, named two or three books writ (ex pro- fesso) against the being of any original sin: and that400 BISHOP OF Adam, by his fall, transmitted some calamity only, but no crime to his posterity; the good old man was exceedingly troubled, and bewailed 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 their 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, be- ing an argument of Dr. Sanderson’s piety, great ability, and judgment, asa 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 par- ticular reasons, he then desired more fully to be in- formed; I commended to him Dr. Sanderson’s book ‘“ De Juramento;” which having read, with great satisfaction, he asked me,—* If I thought the Doc- ‘‘ tor 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 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 Juramento;” and asked him, oe whe ] or |} + y wiz he lar ] for ] , | ) iy 4 ° ] whether he wouid be pleased, tor the bt nent oi the * Robert Boyle, Esq.LINCOGLN’S LEITER. 401 ‘«* Church, to write some tracts of Cases of Consci- “ence?” 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 se br hi +. ing such benefit to any, as we seemed to say is former had done, he would willingly, though ‘“ without any pension, set about that work.” Hay- ing received this answer, that honourable person, before mentioned, did, by my hands, return £50 to the good Doctor, whose condition then (as most cood men’s at that time were) was but low; and he presently revised, finished, and published that ent boo! ace Dea Conscl ntia:” a book little ln bulk, but not so if we consider the benefit an in- telligent reader may receive by it. For there are so many general propositions conc rning conscience, the nature and obligation of it, explained and proved, W th such hrm Cons quence and evidence ot reason, that he who reads, remembers, and can with pru- dence pertinently apply them /ée et nune to particu- lar cases, may, by their light and help, rationally resolye a thousand particular doubts and scruples of conscience. Here you may see the charity of that honourable person in promoting, and the piety and industry of the good Doctor, in performing that ex- cell nt work. And here I shall add the judgment of that learned and pious Prelate concerning a passage very perti- nent to our present purpose. When he was in Oxon, and read his public lectures in the schools, as Regius Professor of Divinity, and by the truth of his posi- tions, 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 D D402 BISHOP OF in the explication of the subject-matter of his lec- tures; 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 languages, at least of Hebrew, Greek, “and Latin, and a sufficient knowledge 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 ara- tional and able casuist, which otherwise was very difficult, if not impossible: 1. A convenient know- ‘ledge of moral philosophy; especially that part of it which treats of the nature of human actions: To know, ‘quid sit actus humanus (spontaneus, invitus, mixtus,) unde habet bonitatem et malitiam mora- lem? an ex genere et objecto, vel ex circumstantiis 2’ ‘ How the variety of circumstances varies the good- ness or evil of human actions? How far know- ledge and ignorance may aggravate or excuse, in- crease or diminish the goodness or evil of our actions ? ‘ “ ‘ n “~ “ “ n “~ . é ns ” ~ “ “~ 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 hypothesi) rationally and certainly determine, whether this or that particu- ‘lar action be so.—2. The second thing which,” he sud, “ would be a great help and advantage to a ca- ‘ suist, was a convenient knowledge of the nature ‘and obligation of laws in general: to know whata ‘law is; what a natural and a positive law; what’s “‘ required to the latio, dispensatio, derogatio, vel ab- ‘* rogatio legis ;’ what promulgation is antecedently cé "~ cLINCOLN’S LETTER. 403 « required to the obligation of any positive law ; what ‘ jonorance takes off the obligation of a law, or does ‘* excuse, diminish, or aggravate the transgression : 35 Kor every Case of conscience being only this—‘ Is > and the law the e and measure by which I must judge of ‘this lawful for me, or is it not? “ only rul ‘«« the lawfulness or unlawfulness of any action; it evi- « dently 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 par- “3 tle ul il . This was the judgment and good counsel of that learned and pious prelate: And having, by long ex- perience, found the truth and benefit of it, I con- ceive, | could not without ingratitude to him, and want of charity to others, conceal it.—Pray pardon this rude, and, [ fear impertinent scribble, which if nothing else, may signify thus much, that | am wil- ling to obey your desires, and am indeed, Your affectionate friend, Thomas LINcoLn. CHISWICK I! 3S :—WHITTINGHAM AND WILKINS, URT, CHANCERY LANEALDERMAN LIBRARY The return of this book is due on the date indicated below DUE DUE.UX 000 271 323