Viri seraphici Joannis Donne Quadragenarij Effigies vera, Qui post eam aetatem Sacris initiatus Ecclesiae S ti Pauli Decanus obijt.  
Anno Domm 1631o AEtatis suae 59o    

THE LIVES Of D r. John Donne, Sir Henry Wotton, M r. Richard Hooker, M r. George Herbert.  
Written by IZAAK WALTON.  
To which are added some Letters written by Mr. George Herbert, at his being in Cambridge: with others to his Mother, the Lady Magdalen Herbert, written by John Donne, afterwards Dean of St. Paul's.  
Eccles. 44. 7. These were honourable men in their Generations.  
LONDON, Printed by Tho. Newcomb for Richard Marriott. Sold by most Booksellers. 1670.   

To the Right Honourable And Reverend Father in GOD GEORGE Lord Bishop of Winchester, and Prelate of the most noble Order of the Garter.  
My Lord,  
I Did some years past, present you with a plain relation of the life of Mr Richard Hooker, that humble man, to whose memory, Princes and the most learned of this Nation have paid a reverence at the mention of his name— And, now with Mr. hooker's I present you also, the life of that pattern of primitive piety, Mr. George Herbert; and, with his, the life of Doctor Donne, and your friend Sir Henry Wotton, all reprinted.— The two first were written under your roof: for which reason, if they were worth it, you might justly challenge a Dedication. And indeed, so you might of Doctor Donnes, and Sir Henry Wotton's: because, if I had been fit for this Undertaking, it would not have been by acquired Learning or Study, but by the advantage of forty years' friendship, and thereby the hearing of and discoursing with your Lordship, which hath enabled me to make the relation of these Lives passable in an eloquent and captious age.  
And indeed, my Lord, though, these relations be well-meant Sacrifices to the Memory of these Worthy men: yet, I have so little Confidence in my performance, that I beg pardon for 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 rather, as an humble, and a more public acknowledgement of your long continued: and, your now daily Favours of  
My Lord Your most affectionate and most humble Servant Izaak Walton.   

To the Reader.  
THough, the several Introductions to these several Lives, have partly declared the reasons how, and why I undertook them: yet, since they are come to be reviewed, and, augmented, and reprinted: and, the four are become one Book; I desire leave to inform you that shall become my Reader, that when I look back upon my mean abilities, 'tis not without some little wonder at myself, that I am come to be publicly in print. And, though I have in those Introductions declared some of the accidental reasons: yet, let me add this to what is there said: that, by my undertaking to collect some notes for Sir Henry Wotton's writing the life of Doctor Donne, and Sir Henry's dying before he performed it, I became like those that enter easily into a Lawsuit, or a quarrel, and having begun, cannot make a fair retreat and be quiet, when they desire it. And really, after such a manner, I became engaged, into a necessity of writing the life of Doctor Donne: Contrary, to my first Intentions. And that begot a like necessity of writing the life of his and my 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. But, about that time, Doct. Ga. (then Lo. B. of Exeter) published the Life of Mr. Ric. 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 Arch bishop of Canterbury, he enjoined me to examine some Circumstances, and then rectify the Bishop's mistakes, by giving the World a truer account of Mr. Hooker and his Books; and I know I have done so. And, indeed, 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 had twice enjoined me to it, I then trusted his judgement, and submitted to his Commands; considering that if I did not, I could not forbear accusing myself of disobedience: And, indeed of Ingratitude for his many favours. Thus I became engaged into the third Life.  
For the life of Mr. George Herbert, I profess it to be a Free-will-offering, and writ, chiefly to please myself: but not without some respect to posterity, for though he was not a man that the next age can forget, yet many of his particular acts and virtues might have been neglected, or lost, if I had not collected and presented them to the Imitation of those that shall succeed us: for I conceive writing to be both a safer and truer preserver of men's Virtuous actions, than tradition. I am to tell the Reader, that though this life of Mr. Herbert was not by me writ in haste, yet, I intended it a Review, before it should be made public: but, that was not allowed me, by reason of my absence from London when 'twas printing; so that the Reader may find in it, some double expressions, and some not very proper, and some that might have been contracted, and, some faults that are not justly chargeable upon me but the Printer: and yet I hope none so great, as may not by this Confession purchase pardon, from a good natured Reader.  
And now, I wish that as Josephus (that learned Jew) and others, so these men had also writ their own lives: and since 'tis not the fashion of these times; that their friends would do it for them, before delays make it too difficult. And I desire this the more: because 'tis an honour due to the dead, and a debt due to those that shall live, and succeed us. For when the next age shall (as this does) admire the Learning and clear Reason which Doctor Sanderson (the late Bishop of Lincoln) hath demonstrated in his Sermons and other writings, who, if they love virtue, would not rejoice to know that this good man was as remarkable for the meekness and innocence of his life, as for his great learning; and as remarkable for his Fortitude, in his long and patient suffering (under them, that then called themselves the Godly Party) for that Doctrine, which he had preached and printed, in the happy days of the Nations and the Church's peace? And, who would not be content to have the like account of Doctor Field, and others of noted learning? And though I cannot hope, that my example or reason can persuade to this: Yet, I please myself, that I shall conclude my Preface, with wishing that it were so.  
J. W.   

ERRATA.  
If these mistakes (which spoil the sense) be first corrected by the Reader, he will do me some, and himself a greater Courtesy.  
Doct. Donne. Pag. 29. lin. 15. r. perform 30. l. 24. r. do it 32. l. 2. r. fortune 63. l. 121. r. Dort  
In Sir H. Wotton. 29. l. 10. r. samed 35. l. 9 as well 37. l. 22. deal Mr. Bedell 38. l. 17. deal miss- 41. l. 8. r. delivery 45. l. 5. r. mont 47. l. 19 r. Syfiph● 53. l. 7. r. against 56. l. 24. r. Elegy 75. l. 19 r. those.  
In Mr. Hoooker. 25. l. 4. r. assiduous: still 42. l. 7. r. God and so These must be thus corrected, or that Paragraph will not be senses. 42 l. 11. r. and in wicked 42. l. 15. deal (it) 56. l. 20. r. answers.  
In George Herbert, 14. l. 4. r. his 24. deal of 32. l. 22. ●r. Parish Church 33. l. 26. r. she 34. l. 4. deal at 49. l. 10. r. wants it 63. l. 24. deal too 65. l. 24. r. spirits and 72. l. 3. r. for the 80. l. 1. r. to their.   

The Copy of a Letter writ to Mr. Isaac Walton, by Doctor King Lord Bishop of Chichester.  
Honest Isaac,  
THough a Familiarity of more than Forty years' continuance, and the constant experience of your Love even in the worst times, be sufficient to endear our Friendship; yet, I must confess my Affection much improved, not only by Evidences of private Respect to many that know and love you, but by your new Demonstration of a public Spirit, testified in a diligent, true, and useful Collection of so many Material Passages as you have now afforded me in the Life of Venerable Mr. Hooker, of which, since desired by such a Friend as yourself, I shall not deny to give the Testimony of what I know concerning him and his learned Books: but shall first here take a fair occasion to tell you, that you have been happy in choosing to write the Lives of three such Persons, as Posterity hath just cause to honour; which they will do the more for the true Relation of them by your happy Pen; of all which I shall give you my unfeigned Censure.  
I shall begin with my most dear and incomparable Friend Dr. Donne, late Dean of St. Paul's Church, who not only trusted me as his Executor, but three days before his death delivered into my hands those excellent Sermons of his now made public: professing before Dr. Winniff, Dr. Monford, and, I think, yourself then present at his bed side, that it was by my restless importunity, that he had prepared them for the Press; together with which (as his best Legacy) he gave me all his Sermon-Notes, and his other Papers, containing an Extract of near Fifteen hundred Authors. How these were got out of my hands, you, who were the Messenger for them, and how lost both to me and yourself, is not now seasonable to complain: but, since they did miscarry, I am glad that the general Demonstration of his Worth was so fairly preserved, and represented to the World by your Pen in the History of his Life; indeed so well, that beside others, the best Critic of our later time (Mr. John Hales of Eton College) affirmed to me, He had not seen a Life written with more advantage to the Subject, or more reputation to the Writer, then that of Dr. Donnes.  
After the performance of this task for Dr. Donne, you undertook the like office for our Friend Sir Henry Wotton: betwixt which two there was a Friendship begun in Oxford, continued in their various Travels, and more confirmed in the religious Friendship of Age: and doubtless this excellent Person had writ the Life of Dr. Donne, if Death had not prevented him; by which means his and your Pre-collections for that Work fell to the happy Menage of your Pen: a Work which you would have declined, if imperious Persuasions had not been stronger than your modest Resolutions against it. And I am thus far glad, that the first Life was so imposed upon you, because it gave an unavoidable Cause of Writing the second; if not? 'tis too probable, we had wanted both, which had been a prejudice to all Lovers of Honour and ingenious Learning. And let me not leave my Friend Sir Henry without this Testimony added to yours; That he was a Man of as Florid a Wit and as Elegant a Pen, as any former (or ours which in that kind is a most excellent) Age hath ever produced.  
And now having made this voluntary Observation of our two deceased Friends, I proceed to satisfy your desire concerning what I know and believe of the ever-memorable Mr. Hooker, who was Schismaticorum Mallcus, so great a Champion for the Church of England's Rights against the Factious Torrent of Separatists, that then ran high against Church-Discipline: and in his unanswerable Books continues to be so against the unquiet Disciples of their Schism, which now under other Names still carry on their Design; and, who (as the proper Heirs of Irrational Zeal) would again take into the scarce closed Wounds of a newly bleeding State and Church.  
And first, though I dare not say that I knew Mr. Hooker; yet, as our Ecclesiastical History reports to the honour of S. Ignatius, that he lived in the time of St. John, and had seen him in his Childhood; so, I also joy that in my Minority I have often seen Mr. Hooker with my Father, who was then Bishop of London, from whom, and others, at that time, I have heard most of the material passages which you relate in the History of his Life, and from my Father received such a Character of his Learning, Humility, and other Virtues, that like Jewels of unvaluable price, they still cast such a lustre as Envy or the Rust of Time shall never darken.  
From my Father I have also heard all the Circumstances of the Plot to defame him; and how Sir Edwin Sandys outwitted his Accusers, and gained their Confession; and I could give an account of each particular of that Plot, but that I judge it fitter to be forgotten, and rot in the same grave with the malicious Authors.  
I may not omit to declare, that my Father's Knowledge of Mr. Hooker was occasioned by the Learned Dr. John Spencer, who after the Death of Mr. Hooker was so careful to preserve his unvaluable Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Books of ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY, and his other Writings, that he procured Henry Jackson, then of Corpus Christi College, to transcribe for him all Mr. hooker's remaining written Papers, many of which were imperfect, for his Study had been rifled, or worse used, by Mr Chark, and another, of Principles too like his: but, these Papers were endeavoured to be completed by his dear friend Dr. Spencer who bequeathed them as a precious Legacy to my Father, after whose Death they rested in my hand, till Dr. Abbot, then Archbishop of Canterbury, commanded them out of my custody by authorising Dr. John Barkcham to require, and bring them to him to his Palace in Lambeth; at which time, I have heard, they were put into the Bishop's Library, and that they remained there till the Martyrdom of Archbishop Laud; and, were then by the Brethren of that Faction given with all the Library to Hugh Pe●ers, as a Reward for his remarkable service in those sad times of the Church's Confusion; and though they could hardly fall into a fouler hand; yet there wanted not other Endeavours to corrupt and make them speak that Language for which the Faction then fought, which, indeed was To subject the Sovereign Power to the People.  
But I need not strive to vindicate Mr. Hooker in this particular, his known Loyalty to his Prince whilst he lived, the Sorrow expressed by King James at his Death, the Value our late Sovereign (of ever-blessed Memory) put upon his Works, and now, the singular Character of his Worth by you given in the passages of his Life, especially in your Appendix to it, do sufficiently clear him from that Imputation: and I am glad you mention how much value Thomas Stapleton, Pope Clement the VIII. and other Eminent men of the Romish Persuasion, have put upon his Books: having been told the same in my Youth by Persons of worth that have traveled Italy.  
Lastly, I must again congratulate this Undertaking of yours, as now more proper to you then any other person, by reason of your long Knowledge and Alliance to the worthy Family of the Cranmers, (my old Friends also) who have been men of noted Wisdom, especially Mr. George Cranmer, whose Prudence added to that of Sir Edwin Sandys, proved very useful in the Completing of Mr. hooker's matchless Books; one of their Letters I herewith send you, to make use of, if you think fit. And let me say further; you merit much from many of Mr. hooker's best Friends then living, namely, from the ever renowned Archbishop Whitgift, of whose incomparable Worth, with the Character of ●he Times, you have given us a more short and significant Account than I have received from any other Pen. You have done much for Sir Henry Savile, his Contemporary and familiar Friend; amongst the surviving Monuments of whose Learning (give me leave to tell you so) two are omitted, his Edition of Euclid but especially his Translation of King James his Apology for the Oath of Allegiance into elegant Latin; which flying in that dress as far as Rome, was by the Pope and Conclave sent to Salamanca unto Francisous Suarez, (then residing there as Precedent of that College) with a Command to answer it. When he had perfected the Work, which he calls Defensio Fidei Catholicae, it was transmitted to Rome for a view of the Inquisitors; who according to their custom blotted out what they pleased, and (as Mr. Hooker hath been used since his Death) added whatsoever might advance the Pope's Supremacy, or carry on their own Interest, commonly coupling Deponere & Occidere, the Deposing and Killing of Princes; which cruel and unchristian Language Mr. John Saltkel, his Amanuensis, when he wrote at Salamanca, (but since a Convert, living long in my Father's house) often professed, the good Old man (whose Piety and Charity Mr. Saltkel magnified much) not only disavowed, but detested. Not to trouble you further; your Reader (if according to your desire, my Approbation of your Work carries any weight) will here find many just Reasons to thank you for it; and for this Circumstance here mentioned (not known to many) may happily apprehend one to thank him, who heartily wishes your happiness, and is unfeignedly,  
Chichester, Novem. 17. 1664. Sir, Your ever-faithful and affectionate old Friend Henry Chichester.   

THE LIFE OF D r. JOHN DONNE, late Dean of St Paul's Church, LONDON.  

The Introduction.  
IF that great Master of Language and Art, Sir Henry Wotton, the late Provost of Eton College, had lived to see the Publication of these Sermons, he had presented the World with the Author's Life exactly written; And, 'twas pity he did not; for it was a work worthy his undertaking, and he fit to undertake it: betwixt whom, and the Author, there was so mutual a knowledge, and such a friendship contracted in their Youth, as nothing but death could force a separation. And though their bodies were divided, their affections were not: for, that learned Knights love followed his Friend's fame beyond death and the forgetful grave; which he testified by entreating me, whom he acquainted with his design, to inquire of some particulars that concerned it; not doubting but my knowledge of the Author, and love to his memory, might make my diligence useful: I did most gladly undertake the employment, and continued it with great content till I had made my Collection ready to be augmented and completed by his curious Pen: but then, Death prevented his intentions.  
When I heard that sad news, and heard also that these Sermons were to be printed, and want the Author's Life, which I thought to be very remarkable: Indignation or grief (indeed I know not which) transperted me so far, that I reviewed my forsaken Collections, and resolved the World should see the best plain Picture of the Author's Life that my artless Pencil, guided by the hand of truth, could present to it.  
And, if I shall now be demanded as once Pompey's poor bondman was, (The grateful wretch had been left alone on the Seashore, with the forsaken dead body of his once glorious lord and master: and, was then gathering the scattered pieces of an old broken boat to make a funeral pile to burn it (which was the custom of the Romans;) who art thou that alone hast the honour to bury the body of Pompey the great? so, who I am that do thus officiously set the Author's memory on fire? I hope the question will prove to have in it more of wonder than disdain; But wonder indeed the Reader may, that I who profess myself artless should presume with my faint light to show forth his Life whose very name makes it illustrious! but be this to the disadvantage of the person represented: Certain I am, it is to the advantage of the beholder, who shall here see the Author's Picture in a natural dress, which ought to beget faith in what is spoken: for, he that wants skill to deceive may safely be trusted.  
And if the Author's glorious spirit, which now is in Heaven, can have the leisure to look down and see me, the poorest, the meanest of all his friends, in the midst of this officious duty, confident I am that he will not disdain this well-meant sacrifice to his memory: for, whilst his Conversation made me and many others happy below, I know his Humility and Gentleness was then eminent; and, I have heard Divines say, those Virtues that were but sparks upon Earth, become great and glorious flames in Heaven.  
Before I proceed further, I am to entreat the Reader to take notice, that when Doctor Donn's Sermons were first printed, this was then my excuse for daring to write his life; and, I dare not now appear without it.   

The Life.  
MAster John Donne was born in London, of good and virtuous Parents: and, though his own Learning and other multiplied merits may justly appear sufficient to dignify both Himself and his Posterity: yet, the Reader may be pleased to know, that his Father was masculinely and lineally descended from a very ancient Family in Wales, where many of his name now live, that deserve and have great reputation in that Country.  
By his Mother he was descended of the Family of the famous and learned Sir Tho. Moor, sometime Lord Chancellor of England: as also, from that worthy and laborious Judge Rastall, who left Posterity the vast Statutes of the Law of this Nation most exactly abridged.  
He had his first breeding in his Father's house, where a private Tutor had the care of him, until the ninth year of his age; and, in his tenth 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 remarkable Abilities, made one 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 in Hart-Hall, having for the advancement of his studies Tutors of several Sciences to attend and instruct him, till time made him capable, and his learning expressed in public exercises declared him worthy to receive his first degree in the Schools, which he forbore by advice from his friends, who being for their Religion of the Romish persuasion, were conscionably averse to some parts of the Oath that is always tendered at those times; and, not to be refused by those that expect the titulary honour of their studies.  
About the fourteenth year of his age he was transplanted from Oxford to Cambridge; where, that he might receive nourishment from both Soils, he stayed till his seventeenth year; all which time he was 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 Lincolns-Inne, with an intent to study the Law; where he gave great testimonies of his Wit, his Learning, and of his Improvement in that profession: which never served him for other use than an Ornament and Self-satisfaction.  
His Father died before his admission into this Society; and being a Merchant left him his portion in money (it was 3000 l.) His Mother and those to whose care he was committed, were watchful to improve his knowledge, and to that end appointed him Tutors in the Mathematics, and all the Liberal Sciences, to attend him. But with these Arts they were advised to instil particular Principles of the Romish Church, of which those Tutors professed (though secretly) themselves to be members.  
They had almost obliged him to their faith; having for their advantage (besides many opportunities) the example of his dear and pious Parents, which was a most powerful persuasion, and did work much upon him, as he professeth in his Preface to his Pseudomartyr; a Book of which the Reader shall have some account in what follows.  
He was now entered into the eighteenth year of his age, and at that time had betrothed himself to no Religion that might give him any other denomination than a Christian. And Reason and Piety had both persuaded him that there could be no such sin as Schis me, if an adherence to some visible Church were not necessary.  
He did therefore at his entrance into the nineteenth year of his age (though his youth and strength than promised him a long life) yet being unresolved in his Religion, he thought it necessary to rectify all scruples that concerned that: and therefore waving the Law, and betrothing himself to no Art or Profession, that might justly denominate him; he begun to survey the Body of Divinity, as it was then controverted betwixt the Reformed and the Roman Church. And as God's blessed Spirit did then awaken him to the search, and in that industry did never forsake him, (they be his own words 
* In his Preface to Pseudomartyr. ) so he calls the same holy Spirit to witness this Protestations that, in that disquisition and search, he proceeded with humility and diffidence in himself; and, by that which he took to be the safest way; namely, frequent Prayers, and an indifferent affection to both parties; and indeed truth had too much light about her to be hid from so sharp an Inquirer, and he had too much ingenuity not to acknowledge he had found her.  
Being to undertake this search, he believed the Cardinal Bellarmine to be the best defender of the Roman cause, and therefore betook himself to the examination of his Reasons. The Cause was weighty, and wilful delays had been inexcusable both towards God and his own Conscience; he therefore proceeded in this search with all moderate haste, and before the twentieth year of his age, did show the then Dean of Gloucester (whose name my memory hath now lost) all the Cardinals 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.  
The year following he resolved to travel; and the Earl of Essex going first the Cales, and after the Island voyages, he took the advantage of those opportunities, waited upon his Lordship, and was an eye-witness of those happy and unhappy employments.  
But he returned not back into England, till he had stayed some years first in Italy, and then in Spain, where he made many useful observations of those Country's, their Laws and manner of Government, and returned perfect in their Languages.  
The time that he spent in Spain was at his first going into Italy designed for travelling the Holy Land, and for viewing Jerusalem and the Sepulchre of our Saviour. But at his being in the furthest parts of Italy, the disappointment of Company, or of a safe Convoy, or the uncertainty of returns for Money into those remote parts, denied him that happiness which he did often occasionally mention with a deploration.  
Not long after his return into England, that exemplary Pattern of Gravity and Wisdom, the Lord Elsemore, than Keeper of the Great Seal, and Lord Chancellor of England, taking notice of his Learning, Languages, and other Abilities, and much affecting his Person and Condition, took him to be his chief Secretary; supposing and intending it to be an Introduction to some more weighty Employment in the State; for which, his Lordship did often protest, he thought him very fit.  
Nor did his Lordship in this time of Master Donne's attendance upon him, account him to be so much his Servant, as to forget he was his friend; and to testify it, did always use him with much courtesy, appointing him a place at his own Table, to which he esteemed his Company and Discourse a great Ornament.  
He continued that employment for the space of five years, being daily useful, and not mercenary to his Friends. During which time he (I dare not say unhappily) fell into such a liking, as (with her approbation) increased into a love with a young Gentlewoman that lived in that Family, who was Niece to the Lady Elsemore, and daughter to Sir George Moor, then Chancellor of the Garter and Lieutenant of the Tower.  
Sir George had some intimation of it, and knowing prevention to be a great part of wisdom, did therefore remove her with much haste from that to his own house at Lothesley, in the County of Surry; 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 o● cool their affections to each other: but in vain for, love is a flattering mischief, that hath denied aged and wise men a foresight of those evils that too often prove to be the children of that blind father; a passion that carries u● to commit Errors with as much ease as whirlwinds remove feathers, and begets in us a●●unwearied industry to the attainment of wha● we desire. And such an Industry did, notwithstanding much watchfulness against it, bring them secretly together (I forbear to tell how● and to a marriage too without the allowance of those friends, whose approbation always was and ever will be necessary to make even● virtuous love become lawful.  
And that the knowledge of their marriage might not fall, like an unexpected tempest, o● those that were unwilling to have it so; bu● that preapprehensions might make it the les● enormous, it was purposely whispered into th● ears of many that it was so, yet by none tha● could attest it. But to put a period to th● jealousies of Sir George, (Doubt often begetting more restless thoughts then the certain knowledge of what we fear) the news was i● favour to Mr. Donne, and with his allowance, made known to Sir George● by his honourable friend and neighbour Henry Earl of Northumberland: but it was to Sir George so immeasurably unwelcome, and so transported him, that as though his passion of anger and inconsideration might exceed theirs of love and error, he presently engaged his Sister the Lady Elsemore, to join with him to procure her Lord to discharge Mr. Donne of the place he held under his Lordship. This request was followed with violence; and though Sir George were remembered, that Errors might be overpunished, and desired therefore to forbear till second considerations might clear some scruples, yet he became restless until his suit was granted, and the punishment executed. And though the Lord Chancellor did not at Mr. Donnes' dismission, give him such a Commendation as the great Emperor Charles the fifth, did of his Secretary Eraso, when he presented him to his Son and Successor Philip the Second; saying, That in his Eraso, he gave to him a greater gift than all his Estate, and all the Kingdoms which he then resigned to him: yet he said, He parted with a Friend, and such a Secretary as was fitter to serve a King than a subject.  
And yet this Physic of Mr. Donnes' dismission was not strong enough to purge out all Sir George's choler, for he was not satisfied till Mr. Donne and his sometime Compupil in Cambridge that married him, namely, Samuel Brook (who was after Doctor in Divinity, and Master of Trinity College) and his brother Mr. Christopher Brook, sometime Mr. Donnes Chamber-fellow in Lincoln's Inn, who gave Mr. Donne his Wife, and witnessed the marriage, were all committed, and 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 an hard service for her, yet he lost a good one and was forced to make good his title to her, and to get possession of her by a long and restless suit in Law; which proved troublesome and 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. Donnes' merits, together with his winning behaviour, (which when it would entice, had a strange kind of elegant irresistible art) these and time had so dispassionated Sir George, that as the world had approved his Daughter's choice, so he also could not but see a more than ordinary merit in his new son: and this at last melted him into so much remorse (for Love and Anger are so like Agues, as to have hot and cold fits; and love in Parents, though it may be quenched, yet is easily rekindled, and expires not, till death denies mankind a natural heat) that he laboured his Son's restauration to his place; using to that end both his own and his Sister's power to her Lord; but with no success; for his Answer was, That though he was unfeignedly sorry for what he had done, yet it was inconsistent with his place and credit, to discharge and readmit servants at the request of passionate petitioners.  
Sir George's endeavour for Mr. Donnes' readmission, was by all means to be kept secret (for men do more naturally reluct for errors, then submit to put on those blemishes that attend their visible acknowledgement.) But however it was not long before Sir George appeared to be so far reconciled, as to wish their happiness, and not to deny them his paternal blessing, but yet refused to contribute any means that might conduce to their livelihood.  
Mr Donnes' estate was the greatest part spent in many and chargeable Travels, Books and dear-bought Experience: he out of all employment that might yield a support for himself and wife, who had been curiously and plentifully educated; both their natures generous, and accustomed to confer, and not to receive Courtesies: These and other considerations, but chiefly that his wife was to bear a part in his sufferings surrounded him with many sad thoughts, and some apparent apprehensions of want.  
But his sorrows were lessened and his wants prevented by the seasonable courtesy of their noble kinsman Sir Francis Wolly of Pirford in Surrie, who entreated them to a cohabitation with him; where they remained with much freedom to themselves, and equal content to him for many 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 ●he fairer Testimonies of his love to Mankind; ●●● this was the present condition of this man ●●●●●● excellent Erudition and Endowments; whose necessary 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; a disposition that is so like to God himself, that it owes itself only to him who takes a pleasure to behold it in his Creatures. These times he did bless with many such; some of which still live to be Patterns of Apostolical Charity, and of more than Humane Patience. I have said this, because I have occasion to mention one of them in my following discourse; namely, Dr. Morton, the most laborious and learned Bishop of Durham, one that God hath blessed with perfect intellectuals, and a cheerful heart at the age of 94 years (and is yet living:) one that in his days of plenty had so large a heart as to use his large Revenue to the encouragement of Learning and Virtue; and is now (be it spoken with sorrow) reduced to a narrow estate, which he embraces without repining; and still shows the beauty of his mind by so liberal a hand, as if this were an age in which to morrow were to care for itself. I have taken a pleasure in giving the Reader a short, but true character of this good man, from whom I received this following relation. He sent to Mr. Donne, and entreated to borrow an hour of his time for a Conference the next day. After their meeting there was not many minutes passed before he spoke to Mr. Donne to this purpose; Mr. Donne, The occasion of sending for you is to propose to you what I have often revolved in my own thought since I last saw you: which, nevertheless, I will not do but upon this condition, that you shall not return me a present answer, but forbear three days, and bestow some part of that time in Fasting and Prayer; and after a serious consideration of what I shall propose, then return to me with your answer. Deny me not, Mr. Donne, for it is the effect of a true love, which I would gladly pay as a debt due for yours to me.  
This request being granted, the Doctor expressed himself thus:  
Mr. Donne, I know your Education and Abilities; I know your expectation of a State-employment; and I know your fitness for it; and I know too the many delays and contingencies that attend Court-promises; and let me tell you, my love begot by our long friendship, our familiarity and your merits hath prompted me to such an inquisition of your present temporal estate, as makes me no stranger to your necessities, which are such as your generous spirit could not bear, if it were not supported with a pious Patience: you know I have formerly persuaded you to 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 possessed 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 resolve to die a single man) and will quit my Benefice, and estate you in it, (which the Patron is willing I shall do) if God shall incline your heart to embrace this motion. Remember, Mr. Donne, no man's Education or Parts make him too good for this employment, which is to be an Ambassador for the God of glory, 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 testimony of an inward conflict; but he performed his promise and departed without returning an answer till the third day, and then it was to this effect;  
My most worthy and most dear friend, since I saw you I have been faithful to my promise, and have also meditated much of your great kindness, which hath been such as would exceed even my gratitude; but that it cannot do; and more I cannot return you; and I do that with an heart full of Humility and Thanks, though I may not accept of your offer; but, Sir, my refusal is not for that I think myself too good for that calling, for which Kings, if they think so, are not good enough: nor for that my Education and Learning, though not eminent, may not, being assisted with God's Grace and Humility, ●ender me in some measure fit for it: but, I ●●e make so dear a friend as you are my Confessor; some irregularities of my life have been so visible to some men, that though I have, I thank God, made my peace with him by penitential resolutions against them, and by the assistance of his Grace banished them my affections; yet this, which God knows to be so, is not so visible to man, as to free me from their censures, and it may be that sacred calling from a dishonour. And besides, whereas it is determined by the best of Casuists, that God's Glory should be the first end, and a maintenance the second motive to embrace that calling; and though each man may propose to himself both together; yet the first may not be put last without a violation of Conscience, which he that searches the heart will judge. And truly my present condition is such, that if I ask my own Conscience, whether it be reconcileable to that rule, it is at this time so perplexed about it, that I can neither give myself nor you an answer. You know, Sir, who says, Happy is that man whose Conscience doth not accuse him for that thing which he does. To these I might add other reasons that dissuade me; but I crave your favour that I may forbear to express them, and thankfully decline your offer.  
This was his present resolution, but the heart of man is not in his own keeping; and he was destined to this sacred service by an higher hand; a hand so powerful, as at last forced him to a compliance: of which I shall give the Reader an account before I shall give a rest to my Pen.  
Mr. Donnne and his wife continued with Sir Francis Wolly till his death: a little before which time, Sir Francis was so happy as to make a perfect reconciliation betwixt Sir George and his forsaken son and daughter; Sir George conditioning by bond, to pay to Mr. Donne 800 l. at a certain day, as a portion with his wife, or 20 l. quarterly for their maintenance: as the interest for it, till the said portion was paid.  
Most of those years that he lived with Sir Francis, he studied the Civil and Cannon Laws; in which he acquired such a perfection, as was judged to hold proportion with many who had made that study the employment of their whole life.  
Sir Francis being dead, and that happy family dissolved, Mr. Donne took for himself an house in Micham (near to Croyden in Surrey) a place noted for good air and choice company: there his wife and children remained: and for himself he took lodgings in London, near to White-Hall, whither his friends and occasions drew him very often, and where he was as often visited by many of the Nobility and others of this Nation, who used him in their Counsels of greatest consideration.  
Nor did our own Nobility only value and favour him, but his acquaintance and friendship was sought for by most Ambassadors of foreign Nations, and by many other strangers, whose learning or business occasioned their stay in this Nation.  
He was much importuned by many friends to make his constant residence in London, but he still denied it, having settled his dear wife and children at Micham, and near some friends that were bountiful to them and him: for they, God knows, needed it: and that you may the better now judge of the then present Condition of his mind and fortune, I shall present you with an extract collected out of some few of his many Letters.  
— And the reason why I did not send an answer to your last week's letter, was, because it found me under too great a sadness; and at present 'tis thus with me: There is not one person, but myself, well of my family: I have already lost half a Child, and with that mischance of hers, my wife is fallen into such a discomposure, as would afflict her too extremely, but that the sickness of all her children stupifies her: of one of which, in good faith, I have not much hope: and these meet with a fortune so ill provided for Physic, and such relief, that if God should ease us with burtals, I know not how to performe even that: but I flatter myself with this hope, that I am dying too: for, I cannot waste faster than by such griefs. As for,—  
Aug. 10. From my hospital at Micham, JOHN DONNE.  
Thus he did bemoan himself: And thus in other letters.  
— For, we hardly discover a sin, when it is but an omission of some good, and no accusing act; with this or the former, I have often suspected myself to be overtaken; which is, with an over earnest desire of the next life: and though I know it is not merely a weariness of this, because I had the same desire when I went with the tide, and enjoyed fairer hopes than I now do: yet I doubt worldly troubles have 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 deminisheth and my load grows heavier; and yet, I would fain be or do something; but that I cannot tell what, is no wonder in this time of my sadness, for, to choose is to do, but to be no part of my 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 hydroptique immoderate desire of humane learning and languages: Beautiful ornaments indeed to men of great fortunes; but mine was grown so low as to need an occupation: which I thought I entered well into it, when I subjected myself to such a service as I thought might exercise my poor abilities: and there I stumbled, and fell too: and now I am become so little, or such a nothing, that I am not a subject good enough for one of my own letters,— I fear my present discontent does not proceed from a good root, that I am so well content to be nothing, that is, dead. But, Sir, though my fortune hath made me such, as that I am rather a Sickness or a Disease of the world, than any part of it, and therefore neither love it nor life; yet I would gladly live to become some such thing as you should not repent loving me: Sir, your own Soul cannot be more zealous of your good then I am, and, God who loves that zeal in me, will not suffer you to doubt it: you would pity me now, if you saw me write, for my pain hath drawn my head so much awry, and holds it so, that my eye cannot follow my pen. I therefore receive you into my Prayers with mine own weary soul, and, Commend myself to yours. I doubt not but next week will bring you good news, for I have either mending or dying on my side: but, If I do continue longer thus, I shall have Comfort in this, That my blessed Saviour in exercising his Justice upon my two worldly parts, my Fortune and my Body, reserves all his Mercy for that which most needs it, my Soul? that is, I doubt, too like a Porter, which is very often near the gate, and yet goes not out. Sir, I profess to you truly, that my lothness to give over writing now, seems to myself a sign that I shall write no more—  
Sept. 7. Your poor friend, and Gods poor patient JOHN DONNE.  
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 constantly at Micham, and to which place he often retired himself, and destined some days to a constant study of some points of Controversy betwixt the English and Roman Church; and especially those of Supremacy and Allegiance: and, to that place and such studies he could willingly have wedded himself during his life: but the earnest persuasion of friends became at last to be so powerful as to cause the removal of himself and family to London, where Sir Robert Drewry, a Gentleman of very noble estate, and a more liberal mind, assigned him a very choice and useful house rentfree, next to his own in Drewry-lane; and was also a cherisher of his studies, and such a friend as sympathized with him and his in all their joy and sorrows.  
Many of the Nobility were watchful and solicitous to the King for some secular preferment for him: His Majesty had formerly both known and put a value upon his company, and had also given him some hopes of a State-employment, being always much pleased when Mr. Donne attended him, especially at his meals, where there were usually many deep discourses of general learning, and very often friendly debates or disputes of Religion betwixt his Majesty and those Divines, whose places required their attendance on him at those times: particularly the Dean of the Chapel; who then was Bishop Montague) the publisher of the learned and eloquent Works of his Majesty) and the most reverend Doctor Andrews, the late learned Bishop of Winchester, who then was the King's Almoner.  
About this time there grew many disputes that concerned the Oath of Supremacy and Allegiance, in which the King had appeared and engaged himself by his public writings now extant: and his Majesty discoursing with Mr. Donne 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 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 applied himself, and within six weeks brought them to him under his own hand-writing, as they be now printed, the Book bearing the name of Pseudomartyr.  
When the King had read and considered that Book, he persuaded Mr. Donne to enter into the Ministry; to which at that time he was, and appeared very unwilling, apprehending it (such was his mistaking modesty) to be too weighty for his Abilities; and though his Majesty had promised him a favour, and many persons of worth mediated with his Majesty for some secular employment for him, to which his Education had apted him, and particularly the Earl of Somerset, when in his height of favour; who being then at Th●obalds with the King, where one of the Clerks of the Council died that night, and the Earl having sent for Mr. Donne to come to him immediately, said, Mr. Donne, To testify the reality of my Affection, and my purpose to prefer you, Stay in this Garden till I go up to the King and bring you wor● that you are Clark of the Council: doubt not my doing this, for I know the King loves you, and will not deny me. But the King gave a positive denial to all requests; and having a discerning spirit, replied, I know Mr. Donne is ● learned man, has the abilities of a learned Divine; and will prove a powerful Preacher, and my desire is to prefer him that way. After that time, as he professeth, 
* In his Book of Devotions.  The King descended to a persuasion, almost to a solicitation of him to enter into sacred Orders: which though h● than denied not, yet he deferred it for almost three years. All which time he applied himself to an incessant study of Textual Divinity, and to the attainment of a greater perfection in the learned Languages, Greek and Hebrew.  
In the first and most blessed times of Christianity, when the Clergy were looked upon with reverence, and deserved it, when they overcame their opposers by high examples of Virtue, by a blessed Patience and long Suffering: those only were then judged worthy the Ministry, whose quiet and meek spirits did make them look upon that sacred calling with an humble adoration and fear to undertake it; which indeed requires such great degrees of humility, and labour and care, that none but such were then thought worthy of that celestial dignity. And such only were then sought out, and solicited to undertake it. This I have mentioned because forwardness and inconsideation, 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 strictness of life and competency of learning required in such as enter into sacred Orders; and doubtless, considering his own demerits, did humbly ask God with St. Paul, Lord, who is sufficient for these things? and, with meek Moses, Lord, who am I? And sure, if he had consulted with flesh and blood, he had not put his hand to that holy lough. But, God who is able to prevail, wrestled with him, as the Angel did with Jacob, and marked him; marked him for his own; marked him with a blessing; a blessing of obedience to the motions of his blessed Spirit. And then, as he had formerly asked God with Moses, Who am I? So now being inspired with an apprehension of God's particular mercy to him, in the Kings and others solicitations of him, he came to a●●● King David's thankful question, Lord who am I, tha● thou art so mindful of me? So mindful o● me as to lead me for more than forty years through this wilderness of the many temptations, and various turnings of a dangerous life: so merciful to me, as to move the learnedest of Kings to descend to move me to serve at thy Altar so merciful to me, as at last, to move my l●●a to embrace this holy motion: thy motions will and do embrace: And, I now say with the blessed Virgin, Be it with thy servant as seemeth best in thy sight: and so, blessed Jesus, I ●● take the cup of Salvation, and will call upo● thy Name, and will preach thy Gospel.  
Such strifes as these St. Austin had, whe● St. Ambrose endeavoured his conversion to Christianity, with which he confesseth, he acquai●●ted his friend Alipius. Our learned Author (a man sit to write after no mean Copy) d● the like. And declaring his intentions to ●● dear friend Dr. King than Bishop of London, man famous in his generation, and no strangth to Mr. Donnes' abilities. (For he had been Chaplain to the Lord Chancellor, at the ti●● of Mr. Donnes being his Lordship's Secretary● That Reverend man did receive the news wi●● much gladness; and, after some expressions ●● joy, and a persuasion to be constant in his pious purpose, he proceeded with all convenient speed to ordain him both Deacon and Priest.  
Now the English Church had gained a second St. Austin, for, I think, none was so like him before his Conversion: none so like St. Ambrose after it: and if his youth had the infirmities of the one, his age had the excellencies of the other, the learning and holiness of both.  
And now all his studies which had been occasionally diffused, were all concentred in Divinity. Now he had a new calling, new thoughts, and a new employment for his wit and eloquence. Now all his earthly affections were changed into divine love; and all the faculties of his own soul were engaged in the Conversion of others: In preaching the glad tidings of Remission to repenting Sinners; and peace to each troubled soul. To these he app'yed himself with all care and diligence; and now, such a change was wrought in him, that he could say with David, Oh how amiable are thy Tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts! Now he declared openly, that when he required a temporal, God gave him a spiritual blessing. And that, he was now gladder to be a doorkeeper in the house of God, than he could be to enjoy the noblest of all temporal employments.  
Presently after he entered into his holy profession, the King sent for him, and made him his Chaplain in ordinary; and promised to take a particular care for his preferment.  
And though his long familiarity with Scholars and persons of greatest quality, was such as might have given some men boldness enough to have preached to any eminent Auditory, yet his modesty in this employment was such, that he could not be persuaded to it, but went usually accompanied with some one friend, to preach privately in some village, not far from London: his first Sermon being preached at Paddington. This he did, till His Majesty sent and appointed him a day to preach to him at Whitehall, and, though much were expected from him, both by His Majesty and others yet he was so happy (which few are) as to satisfy and exceed their expectations: preaching the Word so, as showed his own heart was po●ssest with those very thoughts, and joys that h● laboured to distil into others: A Preacher ●● earnest weeping sometimes for his Auditory sometimes with them: always preaching ●● himself, like an Angel from a cloud, but ●● none; carrying some, as St. Paul was, ●● Heaven in holy raptures, and enticing other● by a sacred Art and Courtship to amen● their lives; here picturing a vice so as to make it ugly to those that practised it; and a virtue so, as to make it be beloved even by tho● that loved it not; and, all this with a most particular grace and an unexpressible addition of comeliness.  
There may be some that may incline to think (such indeed as have not heard him) that my affection to my Friend, hath transported me to an immoderate Commendation of his Preaching. If this meets with any such, Let me entreat, though I will omit many, yet that they will receive a double witness for what I say, it being attested by a Gentleman of worth, (Mr. Chidley, a frequent hearer of his Sermons) being part of a funeral Elegy writ by him on Doctor Donne, and a known truth, though it be in Verse.  

— Each Altar had his fire—  
He kept his love, but not his object: wi●,  
He did not banish, but transplanted it;  
Taught it both time & place, and brought it home  
To Piety, which it doth best become.  
For say, had ever pleasure such a dress?  
Have you seen crimes so shaped, or loveliness  
Such as his lips did cloth Religion in?  
Had not reproof a beauty, passing sin?  
Corrupted nature sorrowed that she stood  
So near the danger of becoming good.  
And, when he preached she wished her ears exempt  
From Piety, that had such power to tempt.  
How did his sacred flattery beguile  
Men to amend?—   
More of this, and more witnesses might be brought, but I forbear and return.  
That Summer, in the very same month in which he entered into sacred Orders, and was made the King's Chaplain, His Majesty then going his Progress, was entreated to receive an entertainment in the University of Cambridge. And Mr. Donne attending his Majesty, at that time, his Majesty was pleased to recommend him to the University, to be made Doctor in Divinity; Doctor Harsnet (after Archbishop of York) was then Vicechancellor, who knowing him to be the Author of that learned Book the Pseudomartyr, required no other proof of his Abilities, but proposed it to the University, who presently assented, and expressed a gladness, that they had such an occasion to entitle him to be theirs.  
His Abilities and Industry in his Profession were so eminent, and he so known and so beloved by Persons of Quality, that within the first year of his entering into sacred Orders, he had fourteen Advowsons' of several Benefices presented to him: But they were in the Country, and he could not leave his beloved London, to which place he had a natural inclination, having received both his Birth and Education in it, and, there contracted a friendship with many, whose conversation multiplied the joys of his life: But, an employment that might affix him to that place would be welcome, for he needed it.  
Immediately after his return from Cambridge, his wife died, leaving him a man of an unsettled estate, and (having buried five) the careful father of seven children then living, to whom he gave a voluntary assurance never to bring them under the subjection of a stepmother; which promise he kept most faithfully, burying with his tears all his earthly joys in his most dear and deserving wives grave; betaking himself to a most retired and solitary life.  
In this retiredness which was often from the sight of his dearest friends, he became crucified to the world, and all those vanities, those imaginary pleasures that are daily acted on that restless stage; and, they crucified to him. Nor is it hard to think (being passions may be both changed and heightened by accidents) but that that abundant affection which once was betwixt him and her, who had long been the delight of his eyes, the Companion of his youth; her, with whom he had divided so many pleasant sorrows and contented fears, as Common-people are not capable of; She, being now removed by death, a commeasurable grief took as full a possession of him as joy had done; and so indeed it did: for, now his very soul was elemented of nothing but sadness; now grief took so full a possession of his heart, as to leave no place for joy: If it did, It was a joy to be alone, where like a Pelican in the wilderness, he might bemoan himself without witness or restraint, and pour forth his passions like Job in the days of his affliction, Oh that I might have the desire of my heart! Oh that God would grant the thing that I long for! For then, as the grave is become her house, so I would hasten to make it mine also; that we two might there make our beds together in the dark. Thus as the Israelites sat mourning by the rivers of Babylon, when they remembered Zion; so he gave some ease to his oppressed heart by thus venting his sorrows: Thus he began the day, and ended the night; ended the restless night and began the weary day in Lamentations. And, thus he continued till a consideration of his new engagements to God, and St. Paul's W● is me, if I preach not the Gospel: disper'st those sad clouds that had now benighted his hopes, and forced him to behold the light.  
His first motion from his house was to preach, where his beloved wife lay buried (in St Clement's Church, near Temple-Bar London) and his Text was a part of the Prophet Jeremy's Lamentation: Lo, I am the man that have seen affliction.  
And indeed, his very words and looks testified him to be truly such a man; and they, with the addition of his sighs and tears, expressed in his Sermon, did so work upon the affections of his hearers, as melted and moulded them into a companionable sadness; and so they left the Congregation; but then their houses presented them with objects of diversion, and his presented him with no diversions, but with fresh objects of sorrow, in beholding many helpless children, a narrow fortune, and, a consideration of the many cares and casualties that attend their education.  
In this time of sadness he was importuned by the grave Benchers of Lincoln's Inn, once the friends of his youth, to accept of their Lecture, which by reason of Dr. Gatakers removal from thence was then void: of which he accepted; being most glad to renew his intermitted friendship with those whom he so much loved, and where he had been a Saul, though not to persecute Christianity, or to deride it, yet in his irregular youth to neglect the visible practice of it: there to become a Paul, and preach salvation to his beloved brethren.  
And now his life was as a Shining light among his old friends: now he gave an ocular testimony of the strictness and regularity of it; now he might say as St Paul adviseth his Corinthians, Be ye followers of me, as I follow Christ, and walk as ye have me for an example; not the example of a busybody; but, of a contemplative, a harmless, an humble and an holy life and conversation.  
The love of that noble society was expressed to him many ways: for, besides fair lodgings that were set apart and newly furnished for him, with all necessaries, other courteesies were daily added; indeed so many and so freely, as if they meant their gratitude should exceed his merits; and, in this love-strife of desert and liberality, they continued for the space of two years, he preaching ruthfully and constantly to them, and● they liberally requiting him. About which time the Emperor of Germany died, and the Palsgrave, who had lately married the Lady Elizabeth the King's only daughter, was elected and crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning of many miseries in that Nation.  
King James, whose Motto (Beati pacifici) did truly speak the very thoughts of his heart, endeavoured first to prevent, and after to compose the discords of that discomposed State; and amongst other his endeavours did then send the Lord Hay Earl of Doncaster his Ambassador to those unsettled Princes; and by a special command from his Majesty Dr Donne was appointed to assist and attend that employment to the Princes of the Union: for which the Earl was most glad, who had always put a great value on him, and taken a great pleasure in his conversation and discourse: and his friends of Lincoln's Inn were as glad, for, they feared that his immoderate study and sadness for his wife's death, would, as Jacob said, make his days few, and respecting his bodily health, evil too: and of this there were some visible signs.  
At his going he left his friends of Lincolns-Inne, and they him with many reluctations: for, though he could not say as S. Paul to his Ephesians, Behold you to whom I have preached the Kingdom of God, shall from henceforth see my face no more; yet, he believing himself to be in a Consumption, questioned, and they feared it: all concluding that his troubled mind, with the help of his unintermitted studies, hastened the decays of his weak body: And God turned it to the best; for this employment (to say nothing of the event of it) did not only divert him from those too serious studies and sad thoughts, but seemed to give him a new life by a true occasion of joy, to be an eye-witness of the health of his most dear and most honoured Mistress the Qu. of Bohemia, in a foreign Nation; and, to be a witness of that gladness which she expressed to see him: Who, having formerly known him a Courtier, was much joyed to see him in a Canonical habit, and more glad to be an earwitness of his excellent and powerful Preaching.  
About fourteen months after his departure out of England, he returned to his friends of Lincolns-Inne with his sorrows moderated, and his health improved; and there betook himself to his constant course of Preaching.  
About a year after his return out of Germany, Dr. Cary was made Bishop of Exeter, and by his removal the Deanery of St. Paul's being vacant, the King sent to Dr. Donne, and appointed him to attend him at Dinner the next day. When his Majesty was sat down, before he had eat any meat, he said after his pleasant manner, Dr. Donne, I have invited you to Dinner; and, though you sit not down with me, yet I will carve to you of a dish that I know you love well; for knowing you love London, I do; therefore make you Dean of Paul's; and when I have dined, then do you take your beloved dish home to your study; say grace there to yourself, and much good may it do you.  
Immediately after he came to his Deanery, he employed workmen to repair and beautify the Chapel; suffering, as holy David once vowed, his eyes and temples to take no rest, till he had first beautified the house of God.  
The next quarter following, when his Father-in-law Sir George Moor, (whom Time had made a lover and admirer of him,) came to pay to him the conditioned sum of twenty pounds; he refused to receive it, and said (as good Jacob did, when he heard his beloved son Joseph was alive, It is enough,) You have been kind to me and mine: I know your present condition is such as not to abound: and I hope mine is or will be such as not to need it: I will therefore receive no more from you upon that contract; and in testimony of it freely gave him up his bond.  
Immediately after his admission into his Deanery, the Vicarage of St. Dunstan in the West, London, fell to him by the death of Dr. White, the Advowson of it having been given to him long before by his honourable friend, Richard Earl of Dorset, than the Patron, and confirmed by his brother the late deceased Edward, both of them men of much honour.  
By these and another Ecclesiastical endowment which fell to him about the same time, given to him formerly by the Earl of Kent, he was enabled to become charitable to the poor, and kind to his friends, and to make such provision for his children, that they were not left scandalous, as relating to their or his Profession and Quality.  
The next Parliament, which was within that present year, he was chosen Prolocutor to the Convocation; and about that time was appointed by his Majesty, his most gracious Master, to preach very many occasional Sermons, as at St. Paul's Cross, and other places. All which employments he performed to the admiration of the Representative Body of the whole Clergy of this Nation.  
He was once, and but once, clouded with the King's 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 become busy in insinuating a fear of the Kings inclining to Popery, and a dislike of his Government: and particularly, for his then turning the Evening Lectures into Catechising, and expounding the Prayer of our Lord, and of the Belief, and Commandments. His Majesty was the more inclineable 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 discarded the Court (I shall forbear his name, unless I had a fairer occasion) and justly committed to prison; which begot many rumours in the common people, who in this Nation think they are not wise, unless they be busy about what they understand not: and especially about Religion.  
The King received this news with so much discontent and restlessness, that he would not suffer the Sun to set and leave him under this doubt; but sent for Dr. Donne, and required his answer to the Accusation; which was so clear and satisfactory, that the King said he was right glad he rested no longer under the suspicion. When the King had said this, Doctor Donne kneeled down and thanked his Majesty, and protested his answer was faithful and free from all collusion, and therefore desired that he might not rise, till, as in like cases he always had from God, so he might have from his Majesty, some assurance that he stood clear and fair in his opinion. Then the King raised him from his knees with his own hands, and protested he believed him: and that he knew he was an honest man, and doubted not but that he loved him truly. And, having thus dismissed him, he called some Lords of his Council into his Chamber, and said with much earnestness, My Doctor is an honest man: and my Lords, I was never better satisfied with an answer than he hath now made me: and I always rejoice when I think that by my means he became a Divine.  
He was made Dean the fiftieth year of his age; and in his fifty fourth year a dangerous sickness seized him, which inclined him to a Consumption. But God, as Job thankfully acknowledged, preserved his spirit, and ke●t his intellectuals as clear and perfect, as when that sickness first seized his body: but it continued long and threatened him with death; which he dreaded not.  
In this distemper of body, his dear friend Doctor Henry King (than chief Residenciary of that Church, and late Bishop of Chich●ster) a man generally known by the Clergy of this Nation, and as generally noted for his obliging nature, visited him daily; and observing that his sickness rendered his recovery doubtful, he chose a seasonable time to speak to him, to this purpose.  
Mr. Dean, I am by your favour no stranger to your temporal estate, and you are no stranger to the offer lately made us, for the renewing a Lease of the best prebend's Corpse 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 Residenciaries shall join to accept of what was offered: one of these I can and will by your favour do without delay, and without any trouble either to your body or mind; I beseech you to accept of my offer, for I know it will be a considerable addition to your present estate, which I know needs it.  
To this, after a short pause, and raising himself upon his bed, he made this reply.  
My most dear friend, I most humbly thank you for your many favours, and this in particular: But, in my present 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 the● all Christians looked upon it with horror and detestation: Judging it to be even an open defiance of the Power and Providence of Almighty God, and a sad presage of a declining Religion. But in stead of such Christians, who had selected times set apart to fast and pray to God, for a pious Clergy which they then did obey; Our times abound with men that are busy and litigious about trifles and Church-Ceremonies; and yet so far from scrupling Sacrilege, that they make not so much as a quaere what it is: But, I thank God I have; and, dare not now upon my sickbed, when Almighty God hath made me useless to the service of the Church, make any advantages out of it. But, if he shall again restore me to such a degree of health, as again to serve at his Altar, I shall then gladly take the reward which the bountiful Benefactors of this Church have designed me; for God knows my Children and Relations will need it. In which number my Mother (whose Credulity and Charity has contracted a very plentiful to a very narrow estate) must not be forgotten: But Doctor King, if I recover not, that little worldly estate that I shall leave behind me, (that very little, when divided into eight parts,) must, if you deny me not so Charitable a favour, fall into your hands as my most faithful friend and Executor; of whose Care and Justice, I make no more doubt than of God's blessing on that which I have conscientiously collected for them; but it shall not be augmented on my sickbed; and, this I declare to be my unalterable resolution.  
The reply to this was only a promise to observe his request.  
Within a few days his distempers abated; and as his strength increased, so did his thankfulness to Almighty God, testified in his most excellent Book of Devotions, which he published at his Recovery. In which the Reader may see, the most secret thoughts that then possessed his Soul, Paraphrased and made public: a book that may not unfitly be called a a Sacred picture of Spiritual Ecstasies, occasioned and appliable to the emergencies of that sickness; which book being a composition of Meditations, Disquisitions and Prayers, he writ on his sickbed; herein imitating the Holy Patriarches, who were wont to build their Altars in that place, where they had received their blessings.  
This sickness brought him so near to the gates of death, and he saw the grave so ready to devour him, that he would often say his recovery was supernatural: But that God that then restored his health continued it to him, till the fifty-ninth year of his life. And then in August 1630. being with his eldest Daughter Mrs. Harvy at Abury hatch in Essex, he there fell into a fever, which with the help of his constant infirmity (vapours from the spleen) hastened him into so visible a Consumption, that his beholders might say, as St Paul of himself, H●dies daily; and he might say with Job, My welfare passeth away as a cloud, the days of my affliction have taken hold of me, and weary nights are appointed for me.  
Reader, This sickness continued long, not only weakening but wearying him so much, that my desire is, he may now take some rest: and that before I speak of his death, thou wilt not think it an impertinent digression to look back with me, upon some observations of his life, which, whilst a gentle slumber gives rest to his spirits, may, I hope, not unfitly exercise thy consideration.  
His marriage was the remarkable error of his life; an error which though he had a wit able and very apt to maintain Paradoxes, yet, he was very far from, justifying it: and though his wives Competent years, and other reasons might be justly urged to moderate severe Censures; yet he would occasionally condemn himself for it: and doubtless it had been attended with an heavy Repentance, if God had not blest them with so mutual and cordial affections, as in the midst of their sufferings made their bread of sorrow taste more pleasantly than the banquets of dull and low-spirited people.  
The Recreations of his youth were Poetry, in which he was so happy, as if nature and all her varieties had been made only to exercise his sharp wit, and high facy; and in those pieces which were facetiously Composed and carelessly scattered (most of them being written before the twentieth year of his age) it may appear by his choice Metaphors, that both Nature and all the Arts joined to assist him with their utmost skill.  
It is a truth, that in his penitential years, viewing some of those pieces too loosely scattered in his youth, he wished they had been abortive, or so short lived that his own eyes had witnessed their funerals: But, though he was no friend to them, he was not so fallen out with heavenly Poetry as to forsake that: no not in his declining age; witnessed then by many Divine Sonnets, and other high, holy, and harmonious Composures. Yea, even on his former sickbed he wrote this heavenly Hymn, expressing the great joy that then possessed his soul in the Assurance of God's favour to him.  

An Hymn to God the Father.  

WIlt thou forgive that sin where I begun,  
Which was my sin, though it were done before?  
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,  
And do run still though still I do deplore?  
When thou hast done, thou hast not done?  
For I have more.   

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 wallowed in a score?  
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,  
For I have more.   

I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun  
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore:  
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son  
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;  
And having done that thou hast done,  
I fear no more.    
I have the rather mentioned this Hymn, for that he caused it to be set to a most grave and solemn Tune, and to be often sung to the Organ by the Choristers of St. Paul's Church, in his own hearing, especially at the Evening Service; and at his return from his Customary Devotions in that place, did occasionally say to a friend, The words of this Hymn have restored to me the same thoughts of joy that possessed my Soul in my sickness when I composed it. And, O the power of Church-music! that Harmony added to it has raised the Affections of my heart, and quicned my graces of zeal and gratitude; and I observe, that I always return from paying this public duty of Prayer and Praise to God, with an unexpressible tranquillity of mind, and a willingness to leave the world.  
After this manner did the Disciples of our Saviour, and the best of Christians in those Ages of the Church nearest to his time, offer their praises to Almighty God. And the reader of St. Augustine's life may there find, that towards his dissolution he wept abundantly, that the enemies of Christianity had broke in upon them, and profaned and ruined their Sanctuaries, and because their Public Hymns and laud's were lost out of their Churches. And after this manner have many devout Souls lifted up their hands and offered acceptable Sacrifices unto Almighty God where Dr. Donne offered his,  
But now, oh Lord— 1656.  
Before I proceed further, I think fit to inform the reader, that not long before his death he caused to be drawn a figure of the Body of Christ extended upon an Anchor, like those which Painters draw when they would present us with the picture of Christ crucified on the Cross: his, varying no otherwise then to affix him to an Anchor (the Emblem of hope) this he caused to be drawn in little, and then many of those figures thus drawn to be engraven very small in Helitropian Stones, and set in gold, and of these he sent to many of his dearest friends to be used as Seals, or Rings, and kept as memorial of him, and of his affection to them.  
His dear friends and benefactors, Sir Henry Goolier, and Sir Robert Dr●wry, could not be of that number; Nor could the Lady Magdalen Herbert, the mother of George Herbert, for they had put off mortality, and taken possession of the grave before him: But Sir Henry Wootton, and Dr. Hall the then late deceased Bishop of Norwitch were; and, so were Dr. Duppa Bishop of Salisbury, and Dr. Henry King Bishop of Chichester, (lately deceased) men in whom there was such a Commixture of general Learning, of natural eloquence, and Christian humility, that they deserve a Commemoration by a pen equal to their own, which none hath 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 George Herbert, who was the Author of the Temple or Sacred Poems and Ejaculations. (A Book, in which by declaring his own spiritual Conflicts he hath Comforted and raised many a dejected and discomposed Soul, and charmed them into sweet and quiet thoughts: A Book, by the frequent reading whereof, and the assistance of that Spirit that seemed to inspire the Author, the Reader may attain habits of Peace and Piety, and all the gifts of the Holy Ghost and Heaven: and may by still reading, still keep those sacred fires burning upon the Altar of so pure an heart, as shall free it from the anxieties of this world, and keep it fixed upon things that are above;) betwixt him and Dr. Donne there was a long and dear friendship, made up by such a Sympathy of inclinations, that they coveted and joyed to be in each others Company; and this happy friendship was still maintained by many sacred endearments; of which, that which followeth may be some Testimony.  
To Mr. George Herbert; sent him with one of my Seals of the Anchor and Christ. (A sheaf of Snakes used heretofore to be my Seal, which is the Crest of our poor Family.)  

Qui prius assuetus serpeatum falce tabellas  
Signare, haec nostrae Symbola parva domus  
Adscitus domui domini.—   

Adopted in God's family, and so  
My old Coat lost into new Arms I go.  
The Cross my seal in Baptism, spread below,  
Does by that form into an Anchor grow.  
Crosses grow Anchors, bear as thou shouldst do  
Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.  
But he that makes our Crosses Anchors thus  
Is Christ; who there is crucified for us.  
Yet with this I may my first Serpents hold:  
(God gives new blessings, & yet leaves the old)  
The Serpent may as wise my pattern be;  
My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.  
And, as he rounds the earth to murder, sure  
He is my death; but on the Cross my cure:  
crucify nature then; and then implore  
All grace from him, crucified there before:  
When all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown,  
This seals a Catechism, not a seal alone.  
Under that little seal great gifts I send,  
Both works & prayers, pawns & fruits of a friend,  
Oh may that Saint that rides on our great Seal,  
To you that bear his name large bounty deal.  J. Donne.  

In Sacram Anchoram Piscatoris Geo. Herbert.  

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

Although the Cross could not Christ here detain,  
When nailed unto't, but he ascends again:  
Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still,  
But only whilst thou speakest; 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.   G. Herbert.  
I return to tell the Reader, that besides these verses to his dear Mr. Herbert, and that Hymn that I mentioned to be sung in the Choir of St Paul's Church; he did also shorten and beguile many sad hours by composing other sacred Ditties; and he writ an Hymn on his deathbed, which bears this title.  

An Hymn to God, my God, in my sickness, March 23. 1630.  

Since I am coming to that holy room,  
Where, with thy choir of Saints for ever more  
I shall be made thy music, as I come  
I tune my Instrument here at the door,  
And, what I must do then, think here before.   

Since my Physicians by their loves are grown  
Cosmographers! and I their map, who lie  
Flat on this bed—  
—   

So, in his purple wrapped, receive me, Lord!  
By these, his thorns, give me his other Crown:  
And, as to other souls I preached thy Word,  
Be this my text: my Sermon to mine own.  
That, he may raise; therefore, the lord throws down.    
If these fall under the censure of a soul, whose too much mixture with earth makes it unfit to judge of these high raptures and illuminations; let him know that many holy and devout men have thought the Soul of Prudentius to be most refined, when not many days before his death he charged it to present his God each morning and evening with a new and spiritual song; justified by the example of King David and the good King Hezekias, who upon the renovation of his years paid his thankful vows to Almighty God in a royal Hymn, which he concludes in these words, The Lord was ready to save, therefore I will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all the days of my life in the temple of my God.  
The latter part of his life may be said to be a continued study; for as he usually preached once a week, if not oftener, so after his Sermon he never gave his eyes rest, till he had chosen out a new Text, and that night cast his Sermon into a form, and his Text into divisions; and the next day betook himself to consult the Fathers, and so commit his meditations to his memory, which was excellent. But upon Saturday he usually gave himself and his mind a rest from the we●●y burden of his week's meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of friends, or some other diversions of his thoughts; and would say, that he gave both his body and mind that refreshment, that he might be enabled to do the work of the day following, not faintly, but with courage and cheerfulness.  
Nor was his age only so industrious, but in the most unsettled days of his youth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond the hour of four in a 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 sixscore 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 surveyed and judiciously censured: a Treatise written in his younger days, which alone might declare him then not only perfect in the Civil and Canon Law, but in many other such studies and arguments, as enter not into the consideration of many that labour to be thought great Clerks, and pretend to know all things.  
Nor were these only found in his study; but all businesses that past of any public consequence, either in this, or any of our neighbour nations, he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the Language of that Nation, and kept them by him for useful memorial. 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's portions equal; and a lover of his friends, whom he remembered with Legacies fitly and discreetly chosen and bequeathed. I cannot forbear a nomination of some of them; for, methinks they be persons that seem to challenge a recordation in this place; as namely, to his Brother-in-law Sir Th. Grimes, he gave that striking Clock which he had long worn in his pocket— to his dear friend and Executor Dr. King (late Bishop of Chicester) that model of gold of the Synod of Dcrt, with which the States presented him at his last being at the Hague— and the two Pictures of Padre Paulo and Fulgentio, men of his acquaintance when he traveled Italy, and of great note in that Nation for their remarkable learning.— To his ancient friend Dr. Brook, (that married him) Master of Trinity College in Cambridge, he gave the Picture of the blessed Virgin and Joseph.— To Dr. Winniff (who succeeded him in the Deanery) he gave a Picture called the Sceleton.— To the succeeding Dean, who was not then known, he gave many necessaries of worth, and useful for his house; and also several Pictures and Ornaments for the Chapel, with a desire that they might be registered, and remain as a Legacy to his Successors.— To the Earls of Dorset and of Carlisle, he gave several Pictures, and so he did to many other friends; Legacies, given rather to express his affection, than to make any addition to their Estates: but unto the Poor he was full of Charity, and unto many others, who by his constant and long continued bounty might entitle themselves to be his Alms-people; for all these he made provision, and so largely, as having then six children living, might to some appear more than proportionable to his Estate. I forbear to mention any more, lest the Reader may think I trespass upon his patience: but I will beg his favour to present him with the beginning and end of his Will.  
In the Name of the blessed and glorious Trinity, Amen. I John Donne, by the mercy of Christ Jesus, and by the calling of the Church of England Priest, being at this time in good health and perfect understanding (praised be God therefore) do hereby make my last Will and Testament in manner and form following:  
First, I give my gracious God an entire sacrifice of body and soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance which his blessed Spirit imprints in me now of the salvation of the one, and the Resurrection of the other; and for that constant and cheerful resolution which the same Spirit hath established in me to live and die in the Religion now professed in the Church of England. In expectation of that Resurrection, I desire my body may be buried (in the most private manner that may be) in that place of St. Paul's Church London, that the now Residentiaries have at my request designed for that purpose, etc. And this my l●st Will and Testament, made in the fear of God (whose mercy I humbly beg, and constantly rely upon in Jesus Christ) and in perfect love and charity with all the world (whose pardon I ask, from the lowest of my servants, to the highest of my Superiors) written all with my own hand, and my name subscribed to every page, of which there are five in number.  
Sealed Decem. 13. 1630.  
Nor was this blessed sacrifice of Charity expressed only at his death, but in his life also, by a cheerful and frequent visitation of any friend whose mind was dejected, or his fortune necessitous; he was inquisitive after the wants of Prisoners, and redeemed many from thence that lay for their Fees or small Debts; he was a continual Giver to poor Scholars, both of this and foreign Nations. Besides what he gave with his own hand, he usually sent a Servant, or a discreet and trusty Friend, to distribute his Charity to all the Prisons in London at all the Festival times of the year, especially at the Birth and Resurrection of our Saviour. He gave an hundred pounds at one time to an old Friend, whom he had known live plentifully, and by a too liberal heart and carelessness became decayed in his Estate: and, when the receiving of it was denied, by the Gentleman's saying, He wanted not; for as there be some spirits so generous as to labour to conceal and endure a sad poverty, rather than those blushes that attend the confession of it; so there be others to whom Nature and Grace have afforded such sweet and compassionate souls, as to pity and prevent the Distresses of Mankind; which I have mentioned because of Dr. Donne's Reply, whose Answer was, I know you want not what will sustain nature, for a little will do that; but my desire is, that you who in the days of your plenty have cheered and raised the hearts of so many of your dejected friends, would now receive this from me, and use it as a cordial for the cheering of your own: and so it was received. He was an happy reconciler of many differences in the Families of his Friends and Kindred, (which he never undertook faintly; for such undertake have usually faint effects;) and they had such a faith in his judgement 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 her Mother's Milk, spent her Estate in foreign Countries, to enjoy a liberty in it, and died in his house but three Months before him.  
And to the end it may appear how just a Steward he was of his Lord and Master's Revenue, I have thought fit to let the Reader know, that after his entrance into his Deanery, as he numbered his years, he (at the foot of a private account (to which God and his Angels were only witnesses with him) computed first his Revenue, than what was given to the Poor, and other Pious Uses: and lastly, what rested for him and his; he then blest each years poor remainder with a thankful Prayer; which, for that they discover a more than common Devotion, the Reader shall partake some of them in his own words:  
So all is that remains this year  

Deo Opt. Max benigno  
Largitori, à me● & ab iis  
Quibus haec à me reservantur,  
Gloria & gratia in aeternum.  
Amen.   
So, that this year, God hath blessed me and mine with  

Multiplicatae a sunt super  
Nos misericordiae tuae  
Domine.—   

Da Domine, ut quae ex immensâ  
Bonitate tu● nobis elargiri  
Dignatus sis, in quorumcunque  
Manus devenerint, in tuam  
Semper cedant gloriam.  
Amen.   
In fine horum sex Annorum manet—  

Quid habeo quod non accepi à Domino?  
Largitur etiam ut quae largitus est  
Sua iterum fiant, bono eorum usu; ut  
Quemadmodum nec officiis hujus mundi,  
Nec loci in quo me posuit; dignitati, nec  
Servis, nec egenis, in toto hujus anni  
Curriculo mihi conscius sum me defuisse;  
Ita & liberi, quibus quae supersunt,  
Supersunt, grato animo ea accipiant,  
Et beneficum authorem recognescant.  
Amen.   
But I return from my long Digression.  
We left the Author sick in Essex, where he was forced to spend much of that Winter, by reason of his disability to remove from that place: And having never for almost twenty years omitted his personal attendance on His Majesty in that month in which he was to attend and preach to him; nor, having ever been left out of the Roll and number of Lent-Preachers; and there being then (in January 1630.) a report brought to London, or raised there, that Dr. Donne was dead: That report, gave him occasion to write this following Letter to a dear friend.  
Sir,  
This advantage you and my other friends have by my frequent fevers, that I am so much the oftener at the gates of Heaven; and this advantage by the solitude and close imprisonment that they reduce me to after, that I am so much the oftener at my prayers, in which I shall never leave out your happiness; and I doubt not among his other blessings, God will add some one to you for my prayers. A man would almost be content to die (if there were no other benefit in death) to hear of so much sorrow, and so much good testimony from good men as I (God be blessed for it) did upon the report of my death; yet I perceive it went not through all, for one writ to me that some (and he said of my friends) conceived I was not so ill as I pretended, but withdrew myself to live at ease, discharged of preaching. It is an unfriendly, and God knows an ill-grounded interpretation; for I have always been sorrier when I could not preach, than any could be they could not hear me. It hath been my desire, and God may be pleased to grant it, that I might die in the Pulpit; if not that, yet, that I might take my death in the Pulpit, that is, die the sooner by occasion of those labours. Sir, I hope to see you presently after Candlemas, about which time will fall my Lent-Sermon at Court, except my Lord Chamberlain believe me to be dead, and so leave me out of the Roll; but as long as I live, and am not speechless, I would not willingly decline that service. I have better leisure to write, than you to read; yet I would not willingly oppress you with too much Letter. God bless you and your Son as I wish,  
Your poor friend and servant in Christ Jesus, J. Donne.  
Before that month ended, he was appointed to preach upon his old constant day, the first Friday in Lent; he had notice of it, and had in his sickness so prepared for that employment, that as he had long thirsted for it: so, he resolved his weakness should not hinder his journey; he came therefore to London, some few days before his appointed day of preaching. At his coming thither, many of his friends (who with sorrow saw his sickness had left him only so much flesh as did only cover his bones) doubted his strength to perform that task, and, did therefore dissuade him from undertaking it, assuring him however, it was like to shorten his life; but, he passionately denied their requests; saying, he would not doubt that that God who in so many weaknesses had assisted him with an unexpected strength, would now withdraw it in his last employment; professing an holy ambition to perform that sacred work. And, when to the amazement of some beholders he appeared in the Pulpit, many of them thought he presented himself not to preach mortification by a living voice: but, mortality by a decayed body and dying face. And doubtless, many did secretly ask that question in Ezekiel; 
Ezek. 37. 3.  Do these bones live? or, can that soul organize that tongue, to speak so long time as the sand in that glass will move towards its centre, and measure out an hour of this dying man's unspent life? Doubtless it cannot; and yet, after some faint pauses in his zealous prayer, his strong desires enabled his weak body to discharge his memory of his preconceived meditations, which were of dying, the Text being, To God the Lord belong the issues from death. Many that then saw his tears, and heard his faint and hollow voice, professing they thought the Text prophetically chosen, and that Dr. Donne had preached his own funeral Sermon.  
Being full of joy that God had enabled him to perform this desired duty, he hastened to his house, out of which he never moved, till like St. Stephen, he was carried by devout men to his Grave.  
The next day after his Sermon, his strength being much wasted, and his spirits so spent, as indisposed him to business, or to talk: A friend that had often been a witness of his free and facetious discourse, asked him, Why are you sad? To whom he replied with a countenance so full of cheerful gravity, as gave testimony of an inward tranquillity of mind, and of a soul willing to take a farewell of this world. And said,  
I am not sad, but most of the night passed I have entertained myself with many thoughts of several friends that have left me here, and are gone to that place from which they shall not return: And, that within a few days I also shall go hence, and be no more seen. And, my preparation for this change is become my nightly meditation upon my bed, which my infirmities have now made restless to me. But, at this present time I was in a serious contemplation of the providence and goodness of God to me, who am less than the least of his mercies; and looking back upon my life past, I now plainly see it was his hand that prevented me from all temporal employment; and, it was his Will that I should never settle nor thrive till I entered into the Ministry; in which, I have now lived almost twenty years (I hope to his glory) and by which I most humbly thank him, I have been enabled to require most of those friends which showed me kindness when my fortune was very low, as God knows it was: and (as it hath occasioned the expression of my gratitude) I thank God most of them have stood in need of my requital. I have lived to be useful and comfortable to my good Father-in-law Sir George Moor, whose patience God hath been pleased to exercise with many temporal Crosses; I have maintained my own Mother, whom it hath pleased God after a plentiful fortune in her younger days, to bring to a great decay in her very old age. I have quieted the Consciences of many that have groaned under the burden of a wounded spirit, whose prayers I hope are available for me. I cannot plead innocency of life, especially of my youth: But, I am to be judged by a merciful God, who is not willing to see what I have done amiss. And, though of myself I have nothing to present to him but sins and misery; yet, I know he looks not upon me now as I am of myself, but as I am in my Saviour, and hath given me even at this time some testimonies by his Holy Spirit, that I am of the number of his Elect: I am therefore full of joy, and shall die in peace.  
I must here look so far back, as to tell the Reader, that at his first return out of Essex to preach his last Sermon, his old Friend and Physician, Dr. Fox, a man of great worth, came to him to consult his health; and that after a sight of him, and some queries concerning his distempers, he told him, That by Cordials, and drinking milk twenty days together, there was a probability of his restauration to health; but he passionately denied to drink it. Nevertheless, Dr. Fox, who loved him most entirely, wearied him with solicitations, till he yielded to take it for ten days; at the end of which time, he told Dr. Fox, he had drunk it more to satisfy him, than to recover his health; and that he would not drink it ten days longer upon the best moral assurance of having twenty years added to his life, for he loved it not; and that he was so far from fearing death, which is the King of terrors, that he longed for the day of his dissolution.  
It is observed, that a desire of glory or commendation is rooted in the very nature of man; and, that those of the severest and most mortified lives, though they may become so humble as to banish self-flattery, and such weeds as naturally grow there; yet, they have not been able to kill this desire of glory, but that like our radical heat it will both live and die with us; and, many think it should do so; and, we want not sacred examples to justify the desire of having our memory to outlive our lives: which I mention, because Dr. Donne, by the persuasion of Dr. Fox, easily yielded at this very time to have a Monument made for him; but Dr. Fox undertook not to persuade how or what it should be; that was left to Dr. Donne himself.  
This being resolved upon, Dr. Donne sent for a Carver to make for him in wood the figure of an Urn, giving him directions for the compass and height of it; and, to bring with it a board of the height of his body. These being got, then without delay a choice Painter was to be in a readiness to draw his picture, which was taken as followeth.— Several Charcole-fires being first made in his large Study, he brought with him into that place his winding-sheet in his hand; and, having put off all his clothes, had this sheet put on him, and so tied with knots at his head and feet, and his hands so placed, as dead bodies are usually fitted to be shrouded and put into the grave. Upon this Urn he thus stood with his eyes shut, and with so much of the sheet turned aside as might show his lean, pale, and deathlike face; which was purposely turned toward the East, from whence he expected the second coming of his and our Saviour. Thus he was drawn at his just hèight; and when the picture was fully finished, he caused it to be set by his bedside, where it continued, and became his hourly object till his death: and, was then given to his dearest friend and Executor Dr. King, who caused him to be thus carved in one entire piece of white Marble, as it now stands in the Cathedral Church of St. Paul's; and by Dr. Donne's own appointment, these words were to be affixed to it as his Epitaph: 
JOHANNES DONNE Sac. Theol. Professor  
Post varia Studia quibus ab annis tenerrimis fideliter, nec infeliciter incubuit; Instinctu & impulsu Sp. Sancti, Monitu & Hortatu  
REGIS JACOBI, Ordines Sacros amplexus Anno sui Jesus, 1614 & suae aetatis 42.  
Decanatu hujus Ecclesiae indutus 27. Novembris 1621.  
Exutus morte ultimo Die Martii 1631.  
Hic licet in Occiduo Cinere Aspicit Eum Cujus nomen est Oriens.   
Upon Monday following, he took his last leave of his beloved Study; and, being sensible of his hourly decay, retired himself to his bedchamber: and, that week sent at several times for many of his most considerable friends, with whom he took a solemn and deliberate farewell; commending to their considerations some sentences useful for the regulation of their lives, and then dismissed them, as good Jacob did his sons, with a spiritual benediction. The Sunday following he appointed his servants, that if there were any business 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 time of his dissolution.  
And now he had nothing to do but to die; to do which, he stood in need of no longer time, for he had studied long, and to so happy a perfection, that in a former sickness he called God to witness 
* In his Book of Devotions.  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 he now had a modest assurance that his Prayers were then heard, and his Petition granted. He lay fifteen days earnestly expecting his hourly change; and, in the last hour of his last day, as his body melted away and vapoured into spirit, his 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, but died before him; for that it was become useless to him that now conversed with God on earth, as Angels are said to do in heaven, only by thoughts and looks. Being speechless, he did as St. Stephen, look steadfastly towards heaven, till he saw the Son of God standing at the right hand of 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 variable, thus virtuous was the Life; thus excellent, thus exemplary was the Death of this memorable man.  
He was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church which he had appointed for that use some years before his death; and, by which he passed daily to pay his public devotions to Almighty God (who was then served twice a day by a public form of Prayer and Praises in that place) but, he was not buried privately though he desired it; for, beside an unnumbered number of others, many persons of Nobility, and of eminency for Learning, who did love and honour him in his life, did show it at his death, by a voluntary and sad attendance of his body to the grave, where nothing was so remarkable as a public sorrow.  
To which place of his Burial some mournful Friend repaired, and, as Alexander the Great did to the grave of the famous Achilles, so they strewed his with an abundance of curious and costly Flowers; which course they (who were never yet known) continued morning and evening for many days; not ceasing till the stones that were taken up in that Church to give his body admission into the cold earth (now his bed of rest) were again by the Mason's art so leveled and firmed, as they had been formerly; and, his place of Burial undistinguishable to common view.  
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. Donnes' memory ought to be perpetuated, an hundred Marks sent to his two faithful Friends 
* Dr. King and Dr. Monfort  and Executors, 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.  
He was of Stature moderately tall, of a straight and equally proportioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an unexpressible addition of Comeliness.  
The melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so contempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and made his Company one of the delights of Mankind.  
His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great wit, both being made useful by a commanding judgement.  
His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony of a clear knowing soul, and of a Conscience at peace with itself.  
His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, full of noble compassion; of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too much a Christian not to pardon them in others.  
He did much contemplate (especially after he entered into his Sacred Calling) the mercies of Almighty God, the immortality of the Soul, and the joys of Heaven; and would often say, Blessed be God that he is God divinely like himself.  
He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to reluct at the excesses of it. A great lover of the offices of humanity, and of so merciful a spirit, that he never beheld the miseries of Mankind without pity and relief.  
He was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge; with which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in a continual praise of that God that first breathed it into his active body; that body which once was a Temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now become a small quantity of Christian dust:  
But I shall see it reanimated.  J. W.  

An EPITAPH written by Dr. Corbet, late Bishop of Oxford, on his Friend Dr. Donne.  
HE that would write an Epitaph for thee,  
And write it well, must first begin to be  
Such as thou wert; for, none can truly know  
Thy life and worth● but he that hath lived so.  
He must have wit to spare, and to hurl down,  
Enough to keep the Gallants of the Town.  
He must have learning plenty, both the Laws,  
Civil and Common, to judge any Cause.  
Divinity great store above the rest,  
No● of the last Edition, but the best.  
He must have language, travel, all the Arts,  
Judgement to use, or else he wants thy parts.  
He must have friends the highest, able to do,  
Such as Maecenas, and Augustus too.  
He must have such a sickness, such a death,  
Or else his vain descriptions come beneath.  
He that would write an Epitaph for thee,  
Should first be dead; let it alone for me.   

To the Memory of my ever desired Dr. Donne. An Elegy by H. King, late Bishop of Chicester.  

TO have lived eminent in a degree  
Beyond our loftiest thoughts, that is like thee;  
Or t'have had too much merit, is not safe,  
For such excesses find no Epitaph.   

At common graves we have poetic eyes,  
Can melt themselves in easy Elegies;  
Each quill can drop his tributary verse,  
And pin it like the hatchments to the hearse:  
But at thine, Poem or Inscription  
(Rich soul of wit and language) we have none.  
Indeed a silence does that Tomb befit,  
Where is no Herald left to blazon it.  
Widowed invention justly doth forbear  
To come abroad, knowing thou art not there:  
Late her great Patron, whose prerogative  
Maintained and clothed her so, as none alive  
Must now presume to keep her at thy rate,  
Though he the Indies for her dower estate.  
Or else that awful fire which once did burn  
In thy clear brain, now fallen into thy Urn,  
Lives there to fright rude Empirics from thence,  
Which might profane thee by their Ignorance.  
Whoever writes of thee, and in a stile  
Unworthy such a theme, does but revile  
Thy precious dust, and wakes a learned spirit,  
Which may revenge his rapes upon thy merit:  
For all a low-pitched fancy can devise  
Will prove at best but hallowed injuries.   

Thou like the dying Swan didst lately sing  
Thy mournful dirge in audience of the King;  
When pale looks and faint accents of thy breath  
Presented so to life that piece of death,  
That it was feared and prophesied by all  
Thou thither cam'st to preach thy Funeral.  
Oh hadst thou in an Elegiac knell  
Rung out unto the World thine own farewell,  
And in thy high victorious numbers beat  
The solemn measures of thy grieved retreat,  
Thou mightst the Poet's service now have missed,  
As well as then thou didst prevent the Priest:  
And never to the World beholden be,  
So much as for an Epitaph for thee.   

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

Commit we then thee to thyself, nor blame  
Our drooping loves that thus to thine own fame  
Leave thee Executor, since but thine own  
No pen could do thee Justice, nor bays Crown  
Thy vast deserts; save that, we nothing can  
Depute to be thy ashes guardian:  
So, Jewellers no Art or Metal trust  
To form the Diamond, but the Diamonds dust.   H. K.  

An ELEGY on Dr. DONNE.  

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  
Makes others proud; but, as these served to unlock  
That Cabinet his mind, where such a stock  
Of knowledge was reposed, that I lament  
Our just and general cause of discontent.   

And, I rejoice I am not so severe,  
But as I write a Line, to weep a tear  
For his decease: such sad Extremities  
Can make such men as I write Elegies.   

And wonder not; for, when so great a loss  
Falls on a Nation, and they slight the Cross,  
God hath raised Prophets to awaken them  
From their dull Lethargy: witness my Pen,  
Not used to upbraid the World: though now it must  
Freely, and boldly, for, the Cause is just.   

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

Did his Youth scatter Poetry, wherein  
Lay Loves Philosophy? Was every sin  
Pictured in his sharp Satyrs, made so foul  
That some have feared sins shapes, & kept their soul  
Safer by reading Verse? Did he give days,  
Past marble Monuments to those whose praise  
He would perpetuate? Did he (I fear  
Envy will doubt) these at his twentieth year?   

But more matured: did his rich soul conceive,  
And, in harmonious holy numbers wove  
A Crown of Sacred 
* La Corona.  Sonnets, sit to adorn  
A dying Martyrs brow: or, to be worn  
On that blessed head of Mary Magdalen,  
After she wiped Christ's feet; but not, till then.  
Did he (fit for such Penitents as she  
And he to use) leave us a Litany,  
Which all devout men love: and, doubtless shall  
As times grow better, grow more Classical.  
Did he write Hymns, for Piety and Wit,  
Equal to those great grave Prudentius writ?  
Spoke he all Languages? Knew he all Laws?  
The grounds and use of Physic: but, because  
'Twas mercenary, waved it: went to see  
That happy place of Christ's Nativity.  
Did he return and preach him? preach him so  
As since St. Paul none ever did! they know:  
Those happy souls that heard him know this truth.  
Did he confirm thy aged? convert thy youth?  
Did he these wonders! and, is his dear loss  
Mourned by so few? few for so great a Cross.   

But sure, the silent are ambitious all  
To be close Mourners at his Funeral.  
If not, in common pity, they forbear  
By Repititions to renew our care:  
Or knowing grief conceived, and bid, consumes  
Man's life insensibly, as poison fumes  
Corrupt the brain, take silence for the way  
To'inlarge the soul from these walls, mud, and clay,  
Materials of this body: to remain  
With him in Heaven, where no promiscuous pain  
Lessens those joys we have: for, with him all  
Are satisfied, with joys essential.   

Dwell on these joys my thoughts: oh, do not call  
Grief back, by thinking on his Funeral:  
Forget he loved me: waste not my swift years  
Which haste to David's seventy, filled with fears  
And sorrows for his death. Forget his parts,  
They find a living grave in good men's hearts.  
And, for my first is daily paid for sin:  
Forget to pay my second sigh for him.  
Forget his powerful preaching: and, forget  
I am his Convert. Oh my frailty! let  
My flesh be no more heard: it will obtrude  
This Lethargy: so should my gratitude,  
My vows of gratitude should so be broke;  
Which, can no more be, than his virtues spoke  
By any but himself: for which cause, I  
Write no Incomiums, but this Elegy.  
Which, as a freewill offering, I here give  
Fame and the World: and, parting with it, grieve,  
I want abilities, fit to set forth,  
A Monument, great, as Donne's matchless worth.   
April 7. 1631. Iz: Wa.  
FINIS.    

  

THE LIFE OF Sr HENRY WOTTON, SOMETIME Provost of Eton College.  
There are them that have left a name behind them; so that their praise shall be spoken of: Ecclus. 44. 8.  
LONDON, Printed by Thomas Newcomb, for Richard Marriot, and sold by most Booksellers. 1670.   

THE LIFE OF Sir HENRY WOTTON.  
SIR Henry Wotton, (whose Life, I now intent to write) was born in the year of our Redemption, 1568. in Boctonhall, (commonly called, Bocton, or Bougton place) in the Parish of Bocton Malherb, in the fruitful Country of Kent: Boctonhall being an ancient and goodly structure, beautifying, and being beautified by the Parish Church of Bocton Malherb adjoining unto it: and, both seated within a fair Park of the Wottons, on the Brow of such a Hill, as gives the advantage of a large Prospect, and of equal pleasure to all Beholders.  
But this House and Church, are not remarkable for any thing so much, as for that the memorable Family of the Wottons have so long inhabited the one, and now lie buried in the other, as appears by their many Monuments in that Church; the Wottons being a Family, that hath brought forth divers Persons eminent for Wisdom and Valour, whose Heroic Acts, and Noble Employments, both in England and in foreign parts, have adorned themselves, and this Nation: which they have served abroad faithfully, in the discharge of their great trust, and prudently in their Negotiations with several Princes; and also served it at home with much Honour and Justice, in their wise managing a great part of the public affairs thereof, in the various times both of War and Peace.  
But, lest I should be thought by any, that may incline, either to deny or doubt this Truth, not to have observed Moderation in the commendation of this Family; And also, for that I believe the Merits and Memory of such persons, aught to be thankfully recorded; 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) of that just Commendation which might be from thence enlarged, and shall then leave the indifferent Reader to judge, whether my error be an excess or defect of Commendations.  
Sir Robert Wotton of Bocton Malherb Knight, was born in the year of Christ 1463. He living in the Reign of King Edward the fourth, was by him trusted to be Lieutenant of Guisnes, to be Knight Porter, and controller of Callais; where he died, and lies honourably buried.  
Sir Edward Wotton of Bocton Malherb 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 Callais, and of Privie-Councel to King Henry the Eight, who offered him to be Lord Chancellor of England, but (saith 
* In his Chronicle  Hollinshed) out of a virtuous modesty he refused it.  
Thomas Wotton of Bocton Malherb Esquire, Son and Heir of the said Sir Edward, (and the Father of our Sir Henry, that occasions this relation) was born in the year of Christ 1521. He was a Gentleman excellently educated, and studious in all the Liberal Arts; in the knowledge whereof, he attained unto a great perfection, who though he had (besides those abilities, a very Noble, and plentiful estate, and the ancient Interest of his Predecessors) many invitations from Queen Elizabeth to change his Country Recreations and Retirement for a Court-Life, offering him a Knighthood (she was then with him at his Boctonhall) and that to be but as an earnest of some more honourable and more profitable employment under Her, yet, he humbly refused both; being a man of great modesty, of a most plain and single heart, of an ancient freedom, and integrity of mind. A commendation which Sir Henry Wotton took occasion often to remember with great gladness, and thankfully to boast himself the Son of such a Father: From whom indeed he derived that noble ingenuity that was always practised by himself, and which he ever both commended and cherished in others. This Thomas was also remarkable for Hospitality, a great Lover, and much beloved of his Country; to which may justly be added, that he was a Cherisher of Learning, as appears by that excellent Antiquary M. William Lambert, in his perambulation of Kent.  
This Thomas had four sons, Sir Edward, Sir James, Sir John, and Sir Henry.  
Sir Edward was Knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and made controller of Her Majesty's Household. He was (saith Cambden) a man remarkable for many and great Employments in the State, during her Reign, and sent several times Ambassador into Foreign Nations. After her death, he was by King James made controller of his Household, and called to be of his Privy-Councel, 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 38 of Queen Elizabeth's Reign (with Robert Earl of Sussex, Count Lodowick of Nassaw, Don Christophoro, son of Antonio King of Portugal, and divers other Gentlemen of Nobleness and Valour) Knighted in the Field near Cadiz in Spain, after they had gotten great Honour and Riches, besides a notable retaliation of Injuries by taking that Town.  
Sir John, being a Gentleman excellently accomplished, both by Learning and Travel, was Knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and by her looked upon with more than ordinary favour, and 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 forenamed Wottons, were all in a direct Line; and most of them and their actions, in the memory of those with whom we have conversed: But, if I had looked so far back, as to Sir Nicolas Wotton, (who lived in the Reign of King Richard the second;) or before him, upon divers others of great note in their several Ages, I might by some be thought tedious; and yet others may more justly think me negligent, if I omit to mention Nicholas Wotton, the fourth Son of Sir Robert, whom I first named.  
This Nicholas Wotton was Doctor of Law, and sometime Dean of Canterbury: a man whom God did not only bless with a long life, but with great abilities of mind, and an inclination to employ them in the service of his Country, as is testified by his several Employments; 
* Cambden in his Britannia.  having been sent nine times Ambassador unto foreign Princes; and being a Privy- Councillor to King Henry the eighth, to Edward the sixth, to Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth; who also, after he had (during the Wars between England, Scotland and France) been three several times (and not unsuccessfully) employed in Committees for settling of peace betwixt this and those Kingdoms, died (saith learned Cambden) full of Commendations for Wisdom and Piety. He was also by the Will of King Henry the eighth, made one of his Executors, and chief Secretary of State to his Son, that pious Prince Edward the sixth. Concerning which Nicholas Wotton, I shall say but this little more; That he refused (being offered it by Queen Elizabeth) to be 
* Holinshed.  Archbishop of Canterbury, and that he died not rich, though he lived in that time of the dissolution of Abbeys.  
More might be added: but by this it may appear, that Sir Henry Wotton, was a Branch of such a kindred as left a Stock of Reputation to their Posterity; such Reputation, as might kindle a generous emulation in strangers, and preserve a noble ambition in those of his name and Family to perform Actions worthy of their Ancestors.  
And, that Sir Henry Wotton did so, might appear more perfectly than my Pen can express it, if of his many surviving friends, some one of higher parts and employment, had been pleased to have commended his to Posterity; But, since some years are now past, and they have all (I know not why) forborn to do it; my gratitude to the memory of my dead friend, and the renewed request of some 
* Mr. Nic. Oudert, and others.  that still live solicitous to see this duty performed; these have had a power to persuade me to undertake it; which, truly, I have not done, but with some distrust of mine own Abilities, and yet so far from despair, that I am modestly confident my humble language shall be accepted, because I present all Readers with a Commixture of truth, and Sir Henry Wotton's merits.  
This being premised, I proceed to tell the Reader, that the father of Sir Henry Wotton was twice married, first to Elizabeth, the Daughter of Sir John Rudstone Knight; after whose death, though his inclination was averse to all Contentions; yet, necessitated he was to several Suits in Law: in the 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 often answered, That if ever he did put on a resolution to marry, he was seriously resolved to avoid three sorts of persons: 
namely, those 


that had Children.  
that had Lawsuits.  
that were of his Kindred.      
And yet, following his own Lawsuits, he met in Westminster-Hall with one Mistress Morton, Widow to Morton of Kent Esquire: who was also engaged in several suits in Law, and, he observing her Comportment at the time of hearing one of her Causes before the Judges, could not but at the same time, both compassionate her Condition, and yet, so affect her Person, that although there were in her a concurrence of all those accidents, against which he had so seriously resolved; yet his affection to her grew then so strong, that he resolved to solicit her for a Wife; and did; and obtained her.  
By her (who was the Daughter of Sir William Finch of Eastwell in Kent) he had Henry his youngest son. His Mother undertook to be Tutoress unto him during much of his Childhood; for whose care and pains, he paid her each day with such visible signs of future perfection in Learning, as turned her employment into a pleasing-trouble: which she was content to continue, till his Father took him into his own particular care, and disposed of him to a Tutor in his own House at Bocton.  
And, when time and diligent instruction, had made him fit for a removal to an higher Form, (which was very early) he was sent to Winchester-School: a place of strict Discipline and Order: that so, he might in his youth be moulded into a Method of living by Rule; which his wise Father knew to be the most necessary way, to make the future part of his life, both happy to himself, and useful for the discharge of all business, whether public or private.  
And, that he might be confirmed in this regularity, he was at a fit age removed from that School, to New-Colledge in Oxford; both being founded by William Wickham Bishop of Winchester.  
There he continued, till about the eighteenth year of his Age: and was then transplanted into Queens-Colledge; where within that year, he was by the chief of that College, perswasively enjoined to write a play for their private use: (it was the Tragedy of Tancredo) which was so interwoven with Sentences, and for the Method and exact personating those humours, passions, and dispositions, which he proposed to represent, so performed; that the gravest of that society declared, he had in a sleight employment, given an early, and a solid testimony of his future abilities. And, though there may be some sour dispositions, which may think this not worth a memorial; yet, that wise Knight Baptista Guarini (whom learned Italy accounts one of her ornaments) thought it neither an uncomely, nor an unprofitable employment for his Age.  
But I pass to what will be thought more serious.  
About the nineteenth year of his Age, he proceeded Master of Arts; and at that time read in Latin three Lectures ●e Oculo: wherein, he having described 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 of Order hath appointed, without mixture or confusion; and all this, to the advantage of man, to whom it is given; not only as the body's guide: but, whereas all other of his senses require time to inform the Soul: this, in an instant apprehends and warns him of danger; teaching him in the very eyes of others to discover wit, folly, love, and hatred. After these observations he fell to dispute this Optic question, Whether we see by the Emission of the Beams from within; or Reception of the Species from without? and after that, and many other like learned disquisitions, in the Conclusion of his Lectures, he took a fair occasion to beautify his discourse with a Commendation of the blessing and benefit of Seeing: By which, we do not only discover Nature's Secrets: but, with a continued content (for the eye is never weary of seeing) behold the great Light of the World, and by it discover the Fabric of the Heavens, and both the Order and Motion of the Celestial Orbs; nay, that if the eye look but downward, it may rejoice to behold the bosom of the Earth, our common Mother, embroidered and adorned with numberless and various Flowers, which man sees daily grow up to perfection; and then, silently moralise his own condition, who in a short time (like those very Flowers) decays, withers, and quickly returns again to that Earth, from which both had they first being.  
These were so exactly debated, and so Rhetorically heightened, as, among other admirers, caused that learned Italian, Albericus Gentilis (than Professor of the Civil Law in Oxford) to call him Henrice mi ocelle; which dear expression of his, was also used by divers of Sir Henry's dearest Friends, and by many other persons of Note, during his stay in the University.  
But his stay there was not long; at least, not so long as his ●riends 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 Mark 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 concern him, may not be buried without a Relation; which I shall undertake to do, for that I suppose, they may so much concern the Reader to know, that I may promise myself a pardon for a short Digression.  
IN the year of our Redemption, 1553. Nicholas Wotton Dean of Canterbury (whom I formerly mentioned) being then 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.  
Doubtless, the good Dean did well know, that common Dreams are but a senseless paraphrase on our waking thoughts; or, of the business of the day past; or, are the result of our over engaged affections, when we betake ourselves to rest; and, that the observation of them, may turn to silly Superstitions, as they too often do: But, though he might know this, and, might also believe that Prophecies are ceased; yet, doubtless he could not but consider, that all Dreams are not to be neglected or cast away; and did therefore rather lay this Dream aside, than intent totally to lose it; for that dreaming the same again the Night following, when it became a double Dream; like that of Pharaoh (of which dreams, the learned have made many observations) and that, it had no dependence ●n is waking thoughts, much less on the desires of his heart; then, he did more seriously consider it, and remembered that Almighty God was pleased in a Dream to reveal and to assure 
* St. Austin's confession.  Monica the Mother of St. Austin, that he, her son (for whom she wept so bitterly, and prayed so much) should at last become a Christian: This the good Dean considered; and, considering also, that Almighty God (though the causes of Dreams be often unknown) hath even in these latter times, by a certain illumination of the soul in sleep, discovered many things that humane wisdom could not foresee: Upon these considerations, he resolved to use so prudent a remedy by way of prevention, as might introduce no great inconvenience to either party. And to that end, he wrote to the Queen ('twas Queen Mary) and besought her, That she would cause his Nephew Thomas Wotton, to be sent for out of Kent: and, that the Lords of her Council might interrogate him in some such feigned questions, as might give a colour for his Commitment into a favourable Prison; declaring, that he would acquaint her Majesty with the true reason of his request, when he should next become so happy as to see, and speak to her Majesty.  
'Twas 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 having 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; believing (as they said) it would be a means to bring England under subjection to Spain, and make those of this Nation slaves to strangers.  
And of this number Sir Thomas Wyatt of Boxley-Abby in Kent (betwixt whose Family, and the Family of the Wottons, there had been an ancient and entire friendship) was the principal Actor; who having persuaded many of the Nobility and Gentry (especially of Kent) to side with him; and, being defeated, and taken Prisoner, was legally arraigned, 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 was not ignorant that another man's Treason, makes it mine by concealing it; yet, he durst confess to his Uncle, when he returned into England, and 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 place, when he was delivered by the same hand that caused his Commitment, they both considered the Dream more seriously; and then, both joined in praising God for it; That God, who ties himself to no Rules, either in preventing of evil, or in showing of mercy to those, whom of his good pleasure he hath chosen to love.  
And this Dream was the more considerable, because many of the Dreams of this Thomas Wotton did most usually true, both in foretelling things to come, and discovering things past: of which I will give the Reader but one particular more, namely this; This Thomas, a little before his death, dreamed that the University Treasury was robbed by Townsmen, and poor Scholars; and, that the number was five: And being that day to write to his Son Henry at Oxford, he thought it worth so much pains, as by a Postscript in his Letter, to make a slight inquiry of it; the Letter (which was writ out of Kent, and dated three days before) came to his Sons hands the very morning after the night in which the Robbery was committed; and when the City and University were both in a perplexed Enquest of the Thiefs, than did Sir H. Wotton show his father's Letter, and by it such light was given of this work of darkness, that the five guilty persons were presently discovered, and apprehended, without putting the Univesity to so much trouble, as the casting of a Figure.  
And it may yet be more considerable, that this Nicholas and Thomas Wotton should both (being men of holy lives, of even tempers, and much given to fasting and prayer) foresee and foretell the very days of their own death: Nicholas did so, being then Seventy years of age, and in perfect health. Thomas did the like in the 65 year of his age; who being then in London (where he died) and foreseeing his death there, gave direction that 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 gave direction concerning himself, to be buried privately, and especially without any pomp at his Funeral.  
BUt it may now seem more than time that I return to Sir Henry Wotton at Oxford; where, after his optic Lecture, he was taken into such a bosom friendship with the learned Albericus Gentilis (whom I formerly named) that if it had been possible, Gentilis would have breathed all his excellent knowledge both of the Mathematics and Law, into the breast of his dear Harry (for so Gentilis used to call him:) and though he was not able to do that, yet, there was in Sir Henry such a propenfity and connaturalness to the Italian Language, and those Studies whereof Gentilis was a great Master, that this friendship between them did daily increase, and proved daily advantageous to Sir Henry, for the improvement of him in several Sciences, during his stay in the University.  
From which place, before I shall invite the Reader to follow him into a foreign Nation, though I must omit to mention divers persons that were then in Oxford, of memorable note for Learning, and Friends to Sir Henry Wotton, yet I must not omit the mention of a love that was there begun betwixt him and Dr. Donne (sometimes Dean of St. Paul's) a man, of whose abilities I shall forbear to say any thing, because he who is of this Nation, that pretends to Learning or Ingenuity, and is ignorant of Dr. Donne, deserves not to know him. The friendship of these two, I must not omit to mention, being such a friendship as was generously elemented: And as it was begun in their Youth, and in an University, and there maintained by correspondent Inclinations and Studies, so it lasted till Age and Death forced a Separation.  
In Oxford he stayed till about two years after his father's death: at which time, he was about the two and twentieth year of his Age; and having to his great Wit, added the ballast of Learning, and knowledge of the Arts, he then laid aside his Books, and betook himself to the useful Library of Travel, and a more general Conversation with Mankind, employing the remaining part of his Youth, his industry and fortune to adorn his mind, and to purchase the rich treasure of foreign knowledge; of which, both for the secrets of Nature, the dispositions of many Nations, their several Laws and Languages, he was the possessor in a very large measure, as I shall faithfully make to appear, before I take my Pen from the following Narration of his Life.  
In his Travels, which was almost nine years before his return into England, he stayed but one year in France, and most of that in Geneva; where he became acquainted with Theodor Bez● (then very aged) and with Isaac Causabon, in whose fathers house (if I be rightly informed) Sir Henry Wotton was lodged, and there contracted a most worthy friendship with him and his most learned Son.  
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 divers other manual Arts; even Arts of inferior nature; of all which, he was a most dear Lover, and a most excellent Judge.  
He returned out of Italy into England about the Thirtieth year of his Age, being then noted by many, both for his person and comportment; for indeed he was of a choice shape, tall of stature, and of a most persuasive behaviour; which was so mixed with sweet Discourse, and Civilities, as gained him much love from all persons with whom he entered into an acquaintance.  
And whereas he was noted in his Youth to have a sharp wit, and apt to jest; that by Time, Travel, and Conversation, was s● polished, and made so useful, that his company seemed to be one of the delights of Mankind; insomuch, as Robert Earl of Essex (than one of the darlings of fortune, and in greatest favour with Queen Elizabeth) invited him first into a friendship, and after a knowledge of his great abilities, to be one of his Secretaries; the other being Mr. Henry Cuffe, sometimes of Merton College 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 removal from that place, for the great abilities of his mind; nor indeed, for the fatalness of his end.  
Sir Henry Wotton being now taken into a serviceable friendship with the Earl of Essex, did personally attend his Counsels and Employments in two Voyages at Sea against the Spaniard, and also in that (which was the Earls last) into Ireland; that Voyage wherein he did so much provoke the Queen to anger then, and worse at his return into England; upon whose immovable favour he had built such sandy hopes, as encouraged him to those undertake 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 Earls followers were also divided into their several interests) which encouraged the Earl to those undertake which proved so fatal to him, and divers of his Confederation: yet, knowing Treason to be so comprehensive, as to take in even Circumstances, and out of them to make such 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 plead his innocency in a Prison. Therefore did he, so soon as the Earl was apprehended, very quickly, and as privately glide through Kent to Dover, without so much as looking toward his native and beloved Bocton; and was by the help of favourable winds, and liberal payment, within Sixteen hours after his departure from London, set upon the French shore; where he heard shortly after, that the Earl was Arraigned, Condemned, and Beheaded; that his Friend Mr. Cuffe was hanged, and divers other persons of Eminent Quality executed.  
The Times did not look so favourably upon Sir Henry Wotton, as to invite his return into England; having therefore procured of his elder brother (the Lord Wotton) an assurance that his Annuity should be paid him in Italy, thither he went, happily renewing his intermitted friendship and interest, and indeed, his great content, in a new conversation with his old acquaintance in that Nation; and more particularly in Florence, which City is not more eminent for the great Duke's Court, then 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 T●●cany.  
After some stay in Florence, he went the 4th time to visit Rome, where in the English College he had very many Friends (their humanity made them really so, though they knew him to be a dissenter from many of their Principles of Religion;) and having enjoyed their company, and satisfied himself concerning some Curiosities that did partly occasion his Journey thither, he returned back to Florence, where a most notable accident befell him; an accident, that did not only find new employment for his choice Abilities, but introduce him a knowledge and an interest with our King James, than 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 most to be the man upon whom the sweet trouble of Kingly Government would be imposed; and the Queen declining very fast, both by age, and visible infirmities, those that were of the Romish persuasion in point of Religion (even Rome itself, and those of this Nation) knowing that the death of the Queen, and the establishing of her Successor, were taken to be critical days for destroying or establishing the Protestant Religion in this Nation, did therefore improve all opportunities for preventing a Protestant Prince to succeed Her. And, as the Pope's Excommunication of Queen Elizabeth, had both by the judgement and practice of the Jesuited Papist, exposed Her to be warrantably destroyed; so (if we may believe an angry Adversary, (a 
* Watson in his Quodlibets.  secular Priest against a Jesuit) you may believe, that about that time there were many endeavours, first to excommunicate, and then to shorten the life of King James.  
Immediately after Sir Henry Wotton's return from Rome to Florence (which was about a year before the death of Queen Elizabeth) Ferdinand the great Duke of Florence had intercepted certain Letters that discovered a design to take away the life of the then King of Scots. The Duke abhorring the Fact, and resolving to endeavour a prevention of it, advised with his Secretary Vietta, by what means a caution might be best given to that King; and after consideration, it was resolved to be done by Sir Henry Wotton, whom Vietta first commended to the Duke, and the Duke had noted and approved of above all the English that frequented his Court.  
Sir Henry was gladly called by his Friend Vietta to the Duke, who after much profession of trust and friendship, acquainted him with the secret; and being well instructed, dispatched him into Scotland with Letters to the King, and with those Letters, such Italian Antidotes against poison, ●s the Scots till then had been strangers to.  
Having partel from the Duke, he took up the name and language of an Italian; and thinking it best to avo●d the line of English intelligence and dange●, he posted into Norway, and through that Country towards Scotland, where he found the K●ng at Sterling; then he used means (by Bernard Lindsey, one of the King's Bedchamber to procure him a speedy and private conference with His Majesty; assuring him, That the business which he was to negotiate, was of such consequence, as had caused the great Duke of Tuscany, to enjoin him suddenly ●o leave his Native Country of Italy, to impart it to his King.  
This being by Bernard Lindsey m●de known to the King, the King after a little wonder, (mixed with jealousy) to hear of an Italian Ambassador, or Messenger, required his name, (which was said to be Octavio Baldi) and appointed him to be heard privately ●t a fixed hour that Evening.  
When Octavio Baldi came to the Presence● Chamber-door, he was requested to lay aside his long Rapier (which Italian-like he then wore) and being entered the Chamber, he found there with the King three or four Scotch Lords standing distant in several corrers of the Chamber. At the sight of whom he made a stand; which the King observing, b●d him be bold, and deliver his Message for he wou●d undertake for the secrecy of all that were present. Then did Octavio Baldi deliver his Letter's and his Message to the King in Italian; which, ●hen the King had graciously ●eceived, after a little pause, Octavio Baldi steps to the Table, an● whispers to the King in his own Language, that he was an English man, beseeching Him for a more private conference with His Majesty; and, that he might be concealed during h●s stay in that Nation; which was promised, and really performed by the King, during all his abode there; (which was about three Months) all which time was spent with much pleasantness to the King, and, with as much to Octavio Baldi himself, as that Country could afford; from which he departed as true an Italian as he came thither.  
To the Duke at Florence he returned with a fair and grateful account of his employment, and within some few Months after his return, there came certain News to Florence, that Queen Elizabeth was dead, and James King of the Scots proclaimed King of England. The Duke knowing travel and business to be the best Schools of wisdom, and that Sir Henry Wotton had been tutored in both, advised him to return presently to England, and joy the King with his new and better Title, and there wait upon Fortune for a better employment.  
When King James came into England, he found, amongst other of the late Queen's Officers, the Lord Wotton, controller 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 ask where he then was, was answered, at Venice, or Florence; but by late Letters from thence, he understood, he would suddenly be at Paris. Send for him, said the King, and when he shall come into England, bid him repair 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, Seeing I know you neither want Learning, Travel, nor Experience, and that I have had so real a Testimony of your faithfulness and abilities to manage an Embassage, I have sent for you to declare my purpose; which is, to make use of you in that kind hereafter: And indeed the King did so most of those two and twenty years of his Reign; but before he dismissed Octavio Baldi from his present 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 friendship with his Neighbour Kingdoms of France and Spain, and also for divers weighty reasons, to enter into an Alliance with the State of Venice, and to that end to send Ambassadors to those several places, did propose the choice of these Employments to Sir Henry Wotton; who considering the smallness of his own Estate (which he never took care to augment) and knowing the Courts of great Princes to be sumptuous, and necessarily expensive, inclined most to that of Venice, as being a place of more retirement, and best suiting with his Genius, who did ever love to join with Business Study, and a trial of natural Experiments; for both which fruitful Italy, that Darling of Nature, and Cherisher of all Arts, is so justly framed in all parts of the Christian World.  
Sir Henry having after some short time and consideration, resolved upon Venice, and a large allowance being appointed by the King for his voyage thither, and a settled maintenance during his stay there, he left England, nobly accompanied through France to Venice, by Gentlemen of the best families and breeding that this Nation afforded; they were too many to name, but these two, for following reasons may not be omitted; Sir Albertus Morton his Nephew, who went his Secretary, and William Bedel, a man of choice Learning, and sanctified Wisdom, who went his Chaplain. And, though his dear friend Dr. Donne (than a private Gentleman) was not one of that Number that did personally accompany him in this Voyage, yet the reading of this following Letter sent by him to Sir Henry Wotton, the morning before he left England, may testify he wanted not his friends best wishes to attend him.  
SIR,  

AFter those reverend papers, whose soul is  
Our good, and great Kings loved hand, and feared name,  
By which to you he derives much of his;  
And, how he may, makes you almost the same;   

A Taper of his Torch, a Copy writ  
From his Original, and a fair Beam  
Of the same warm and dazzling Sun, though it  
Must in another Sphere his virtue stream;   

After those Learned Papers which your hand  
Hath stored 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 where Friends send  
With glad grief to your Sea-ward-steps farewel,  
Which thicken on you now as prayers ascend  
To heaven on troops at a good man's passing-bell.   

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

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

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

'Tis therefore well, your spirits now are placed o'erpast  
In their last furnace, in activity;  
Which fits them: Schools, and Courts, and Wars  
To touch and taste in any best degree.   

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

But, though she part us, to hear my oft prayers  
For your increase, God is as near me here;  
And, to send you what I shall beg, his stairs  
In length, and ease, are alike every where.   
J. Donne.  
SIR Henry Wotton was received by the State of Venice, with much honour and gladness, both for that he delivered his Embassage most elegantly in the Italian Language, and came also in such a Juncture of time, as his Master's friendship seemed useful for that Republic: the time of his coming thither was about the year 1604. Leonardo Donato being then Duke; a wise and resolved man, and to all purposes such (Sir Henry Wotton would often say it) as the State of Venice could not then have wanted; there having been formerly in the time of Pope Clement the eighth, some contests about the privileges of Churchmen, and the power of the Civil Magistrate; of which, for the information of common Readers, I shall say a little, because it may give light to some passages that follow.  
About the year 1603. the Republic of Venice made several Injunctions against Lay-people giving Lands or Goods to the Church, without Licence from the Civil-Magistrate; and in that inhibition, they expressed their reasons to be, For that when it 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 even to excess) the Clergy grew every day more numerous, and, pretending exemption from all public service and taxes, the burden did grow too heavy to be born by the Laity.  
Another occasion of difference was, That about this time complaints were justly made by the Venetians against two Clergymen, the Abbot of Nervesa, and a Canon of Vicenza, for committing such sins, as I think not fit to name; nor are these mentioned with an Intent to fix a Scandal upon any Calling; (for holiness is not tied to Ecclesiastical Orders, and Italy is observed to breed the most virtuous, and most vicious men of any Nation) these two having been long complained of at Rome in the name of the State of Venice, and no satisfaction being given to the Venetians, they seized their persons, and committed them to prison.  
The justice, or injustice of such power, then used by the Venetians, had formerly had some calm debates betwixt the present Pope Clement the Eighth, and that Republic: for he did not excommunicate them; considering (as I conceive) that in the late Council of Trent it was at last (after many Politic disturbances, and delays, and endeavours to preserve the Pope's present power) declared, in order to a general reformation of those many Errors which were in time crept into the Church: that though Discipline, and especial Excommunication be one of the chief sinews of Church government; and intended to keep men in obedience to it: for which end, it was declared to be very profitable; yet it was also declared, and advised to be used with great sobriety and care: because experience had informed them, that when it was pronounced unadvisedly, or rashly, it became more contemned then 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 fi●t, who succeeded him, being a man of a much hotter temper, brought this difference with the Venetians to a much higher Contention: objecting those late acts of that State, to be a diminution of his just power, and limited a time for their revocation; threatening, if he were not obeyed, to proceed to excommunication of the Republic; who still offered to show both reason and ancient custom to warrant their Actions. But this Pope, contrary to his Predecessors 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 performance, till at last, the Pope's zeal to the Apostolic Sea, did make him to excommunicate the Duke, the whole Senate, and all their Dominions; and then shut up all their Churches; charging the whole Clergy to forbear all sacred Offices to the Venetians, till their Obedience should render them capable of Absolution.  
But this act of the Popes did the more confirm the Venetians in their resolution not to obey him; And to that end, upon the hearing of his 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, 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.  
Then was the Inquisition presently suspended by Order of the State; and the Floodgates being thus set open, any pleasant or scoffing wit might safely vent itself against the Pope, either by free speaking, or in Print.  
Matters thus heightened, the State advised with Father Paul, a holy and Learned Friar (the Author of the History of the Council of Trent) whose advice was, Neither to Provoke the Pope, nor lose their own Right; he declaring publicly in Print, in the name of the State, That the Pope was trusted to keep two Keys; one of Prudence, and the other of Power; And that if they were not both used together, Power alone is not effectual in an Excommunication.  
And thus it continued, till a report was blown abroad, that the Venetians were all turned Protestants: which was believed by many, for that it was observed, the English Ambassador was so often in conference with the Senate, and his Chaplain Mr. Bedel, more often with Father Paul: And also, for that the Republic of Venice was known to give Commis●●on to Gregory Justiniano, than their Ambassador in England, to make all these proceedings known to the King, and to crave a Promise of his assistance, if need should require: and in the mean time, the King's advice and judgement; which was the same that he gave to Pope Clement at his first coming to the Crown of England; (that Pope then moving him to an Union with the Roman Church) namely; To endeavour the calling of a free Council, for the settlement of peace in Christendom: And that he doubed not, but that the French King, and divers other Princes would join to assist in so good a work; and in the mean time, the sin of this Breach, both with his, and the Venetians Dominions, must of necessity lie at the Pope's door.  
In this contention (which lasted several years) the Pope grew still higher, and the Venetians more resolved and careless; still acquainting King James with their proceedings, which was done by the help of Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. Bedel, and Padre Paulo, whom the Venetians did then call to be one of their Consultors of State, and with his Pen to defend their Cause: which was by him so performed, that the Pope saw plainly, he had weakened his Power by exceeding it, and offered the Venetians Absolution upon very easy terms; which the Venetians still slighting did at last obtain, by that which was scarce so much as a show of acknowledging it: For they made an order, that in that day, in which they were absolved, there should be no public rejoicing: nor any Bonfires that night; lest the Common people might judge they were absolved for committing a fault.  
These Contests were the occasion of Padre Paulo his knowledge and interest with King James, for whose sake principally Padre Paul compiled that eminent History of the remarkable Council of Trent; which History was, as fast as it was written, sent in several sheets in Letters by Sir Henry Wotton, Mr Bedel, and Mr. Bedel, and others, unto King James, and the than Bishop of Canterbury in England; and there first made public both in English; and in the universal Language.  
For eight years after Sir Henry Wotton's going into Italy, he stood fair, and highly valued in the King's opinion, but at last became much clouded by an accident, which I shall proceed to relate.  
At his first going Ambassador into Italy; as he passed through Germany, he stayed some days at Augusta; where having been in his former Travels, well known by many of the best note for Learning and Ingeniousness, (those that are esteemed the Virtuosos of that Nation) with whom he passing an evening in merriments, was requested by Christopher Flecamore to write some Sentence in his Albo; (a Book of white paper, which, for that purpose many of the Germane Gentry usually carry about then.) and Sir Henry Wotton consenting to the motion, took an occasion from some accidental discourse of the present Company, to write a pleasant definition of an Ambassador, in these very words.  
Legatus est vir bonus peregre mismissus ad mentiendum Reipublicae causâ.  
Which Sir Henry Wotton could have been content should have been thus Englished:  
An Ambassador is an honest man, sent to lie abroad for the good of his Country.  
But the word for lie being the hinge upon which the Conceit was to turn) was not so expressed in Latin as would admit (in the hands of an enemy especially) so fair a construction as Sir Henry thought in English. Yet as it was, it slept quietly among other Sentences in this Albo, almost eight years, till by accident it fell into the hands of Jasper Scioppius; a Romanist, a man of a restless spirit, and a malicious Pen: who with Books against King James, prints this as a Principle of that Religion professed by the King and his Ambassador Sir Henry Wotton, then at Venice; and in Venice it was presently after written in several Glass-windows, and spitefully declared to be Sir Henry Wotton's.  
This coming to the knowledge of King James, he apprehended it to be such an oversight, such a weakness, or worse, in Sir Henry Wotton, as caused the King to express much wrath against him; and this caused Sir Henry Wotton to write two Apologies, one to Velserus (one of the Chiefs of Augusta) in the Universal Language, which he caused to be printed, and given, and scattered in the most remarkable places both of Germany and Italy, as an Antidote against the venomous books of Scioppius: and another Apology to King James, which were both so ingenious, so clear, and so choicely Eloquent, that his Majesty (who was a pure Judge of it) could not forbear at the receipt thereof, to declare publicly, That Sir Henry Wotton had commuted sufficiently for a greater offence.  
And now, as broken bones well set become stronger; so Sir Henry Wotton did not only recover, but was much more confirmed in his Majesty's estimation and favour then formerly he had been.  
And as that man (his friend) of great wit and useful fancy, gave in a Will 
* Dr. Donne.  of his (a Will of conceits) his Reputation to his Friends, and his Industry to his Foes, because from thence he received both: so those friends, that in this time of trial laboured to excuse this facetious freedom of Sir Henry Wotton's, were to him more dear, and by him more highly valued; and those acquaintance that urged this as an advantage against him: caused him by this error, to grow both more wise, and which is the best fruit error can bring forth) for the future to become more industriously watchful over his tongue and pen.  
I have told you a part of his employment in Italy, where (notwithstanding the accusation of Scioppius) his interest still increased with this Duke Leonardo Donato; after whose death (as though it had been an entailed love) it was still found living in the succeeding Dukes, during all the time of his employment to that State: (which was almost Twenty years.) All which time he studied the dispositions of those Dukes, and the other Consultors of State; well knowing, that he who negotiates a continued business, and neglects the study of dispositions, usually fails in his proposed ends: But this Sir Henry Wotton did not, for by a fine sorting of fit Presents, curious, and not costly entertainments, always sweetened by various and pleasant discourse; with which, and his choice application of stories, and his so elegant delivered 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: 'Twill 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, then to enrich himself; he still endeavouring that the reputation of the English might be maintained, both in the Germane Empire, and in Italy; where many Gentlemen, whom Travel had invited into that Nation, received from him cheerful Entertainments, advice for their behaviour, and shelter, or deliverance from those accidental storms of adversity, which usually attend upon Travel.  
And because these things may appear to the Reader to be but Generals, I shall acquaint him with two particular Examples; one, of his merciful disposition, and one, of the Nobleness of his Mind: which shall follow.  
There had been many English Soldiers brought by Commanders of their own Country, to serve the venetians for pay against the Turk: and those English, having by Irregularities, or Improvidence, brought themselves into several Galleys and Prisons, Sir Henry Wotton, became a Petitioner to that State for their Lives, and Enlargement; and his request was granted; so that those (which were many hundreds, and there made the sad Examples of humane misery, by hard imprisonment, and unpitied poverty in a strange Nation) were by his means released, relieved, and in a comfortable Condition sent to thank God and him for their Lives and Libertyes, in their own Country.  
And this I have observed as one testimony of the compassionate Nature of him, who was (during his stay in those parts) as a City of Refuge for the Distressed of this and other Nations.  
And for that which I offer as a Testimony of the Nobleness of his mind: I shall make way to the Readers clearer understanding of it, by telling him that Sir Henry Wotton was sent thrice Ambassador to the Republic of Venice; and that at his second going thither, he was employed Ambassador to several of the Germane Princes, and to the Emperor Ferdinando the second; and, that his employment to him, and those Princes, was to incline them to equitable Conditions, for the restauration of the Queen of Rohemia and her Descendants to their Patrimonial Inheritance of the Palatinate.  
This was by his eight months constant endeavours and attendance upon the Emperor, his Court and Counsel) brought to the probability of a successful Conclusion without bloodshed, there being at that time two opposite armies in the field but, as they were treating, the Armies met; and there was a battle fought, the managery whereof was so full of miserable errors on the one side (so Sir Henry Wotton expresses it in a dispatch to the King) and so advantageous to the Emperor, as put an end to all Hopes of a succcessful 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 ●n the unseen wheels of Fortune, which are this moment up, and down the next; and therefore, humbly advised him to use his Victory so soberly, as still to put on thoughts of Peace. Which advice, though it seemed to be spoke with some Passion, his dear Mistress the Queen of Bohemia, being concerned in it, was yet taken in good part, by the Emperor, who was much pleased with his carriage, all the time that he resided in his Court; and said, That the King his Master was looked on as an Abettor of his Enemy the Palsgrave, but yet, he took him to be a Person of much Honour and Merit, and did therefore desire him to accept of that Jewel, as a Testimony of his good opinion of him; which was a Jewel of Diamonds, of more value than a thousand pounds.  
This was received with all Circumstances and terms of Honour, by Sir Henry Wotton; but the next morning, at his departing from Vienna, at his taking leave of the Countess of Sabrina (an Italian Lady) in whose House the Emperor had appointed him to be lodged, and honourably entertained: He acknowledged her Merits, and besought her to accept of that Jewel, as a testimony of his gratitude for her Civilities: presenting her with the same that was given him by the Emperor; which being suddenly discovered by the Emperor, was by him taken for a high affront, and Sir Henry Wotton told so: To which he replied, That though he received it with thankfulness; yet he found in himself an indisposition to be the better for any gift that came from an Enemy to his Royal Mistress the Queen of Bohemia, for so she was pleased, he should always call her.  
Many other of his services to his Prince, and this Nation, might be insisted upon, as namely his procuration of Privileges, and courtesies with the Germane Princes, and the Republic of Venice, for the English Merchants, and what he did by direction of King James with the Venetian State, concerning the Bishop of Spalato's return to the Church of Rome. But for the particulars of these, and many more, that I mean to make known; I want a view of some papers that might inform me, (his late Majesty's Letter-Office having suffered a strange alienation) and, indeed I want time too; for, the Printers Press-stayes; so that I must haste 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 this 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, Thomae optimi viri filius natu minimus, a serenissimo Jacobo I. Mag. Britt. Rege, in equestrem titulum adscitus, ejusdemque ter ad Rempublicam Venetam Legatus Ordinarius, semel ad confaederatarum Provinciarum Ordines in Juliacensi negotio. Bis ad Carolum Emanuel, Sabaudiae Ducem; semel ad unitos superioris G●rmaniae Principes in Conventu Heilbrunensi, postremo ad Archiducem Leopoldum, Ducem Wittembergensem, Civitates imperiales, Argentinam, Ulmamque, & ipsum Romanorum Imperatorem Ferdinandum secundum, Legatus Extraordinarius, tandem hoc didicit,  
Animas fieri sapientiores quiescendo.  
To London he came that year in which King James died; who having for the reward of his foreign service, promised him the reversion of an Office which was fit to be turned into present money, for a supply of his present necessities, and also granted him the reversion of the Master of the Rolls place, if he outlived charitable Sir Julius Caesar, who then possessed it: and then, grown so old, that he was said to be kept alive beyond Nature's Course, by the prayers of those many poor which he daily relieved.  
But, these were but in hope; and his condition required a present support: For in the beginning of these employments he sold to his elder brother the Lord Wotton, the Rent-charge left by his good Father, and (which is worse) was now at his return indebted to several persons, whom he was not able to satisfy, but by the King's payment of his Arrears due for his foreign Employments: He had brought into England many servants, of which some were Germane 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 careless of money, as though our Saviour's wores, Care not for to morrow, were to be literally understood.  
But it pleased God, that in this juncture of time, the Provostship of His Majesty's College of Eton became void by the death of● Murray, for which there were (as the place deserved) many earnest and powerful Suitors to the King. Sir Henry who had for many years (like Sisyphus) rolled the restless stone of a State employment; and knowing experimentally, that the great blessing of sweet content was not to be found in multitudes of men or business; and, that a College was the fittest place to nourish holy thoughts, and to afford rest both to his body and mind, which his age (being now almost threescore years) seemed to require, did therefore use his own, and the interest of all his friends to procure it. By which means, and quitting the King of his promised reversionary Offices, and a piece of honest policy (which I have not time to relate) he got a Grant of it from His Majesty.  
And this was a fair settlement for his mind: but money was wanting to furnish him with those necessaries which attend removes, and a settlement in such a place; and to procure that, he wrote to his old friend Mr. Nicholas Pey, for his assistance; of which Nicholas Pey, I shall here say a little, for the clearing of something that I shall say hereafter.  
He was in his youth a Clerk, or in some such way, a servant to the Lord Wotton, Sir Henry's brother; and by him, when he was controller of the King's Household, was made a great Officer in His Majesty's house. This, and other favours being conferred upon Mr. Pey (in whom was a radical honesty) were always thankfully acknowledged by him, and his gratitude expressed by a willing and unwearied serviceableness to that Family even till his death. To him Sir Henry Wotton wrote, to use all his in●●●● at Court, to procure Five hundred pounds of his Arrears (for less would not settle him ●●● College) and the want of it, wrinkled ●●●●● with care; ('twas his own expression) and th●r being procured, he should the next day after find him in his College, and Invidiae remedium, writ over his Study door.  
This money, being part of his Arrears, was by his own, and the help of honest Nicholas Pey's interest in Court, quickly procured him; and he as quickly in the College, the place where indeed his happiness then seemed to have its beginning, the College being to his mind, as a quiet Harbour to a Sea-faring-man after a tempestuous voyage; where, by the bounty of the pious Founder, his very Food and Raiment were plentifully provided for him in kind; where he was freed from all corroding cares, and seated on such a Rock, as the waves of want could not probably shake, where he might sit in a Calm, and looking down, behold the busy multitude turmoiled and tossed in a tempestuous Sea of dangers! And (as Sir William Davenant has happily expressed the like of another person)  
Laugh at the graver business of the State,  
Which speaks men rather wise than fortunate.  
Being thus settled according to the desires of his heart, his first study was the Statutes of the College: by which, he conceived himself bound to enter into Holy Orders, which he did; being made Deacon with convenient speed, shortly after, as he came in his Surplice from the Church-service, an old Friend, a person of Quality, met him so attired, and joyed him of his new habit; to whom Sir Henry Wotton replied, I thank God and the King, by whose goodness I now am in this condition; a condition, which that Emperor Charles the Fifth, seemed to approve: who, after so many remarkable Victories, when his glory was great in the eyes of all men, freely gave up his Crown, and the many cares that attended it, to Philip his son, making a holy retreat to a Cloysteral life, where he might by devout meditations consult withGod, (which the rich or busy men seldom do) and have leisure both to examine the errors of his life past, and prepare for that great day, wherein all flesh must make an account of their actions: And after a kind of tempestuous life, I now have the like advantage from him, that makes the out-going of the morning to praise him; even from my God, whom I daily magnify for this particular mercy, of an exemption from business, a quiet mind, and a liberal maintenance, even in this part of 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: After his customary public Devotions, his use was to retire into his Study, and there to spend some hours in reading the Bible, and Authors in Divinity, closing up his meditations with private prayer; this was, for the most part, his employment in the Forenoon: But, when he was once sat to Dinner, than nothing but cheerful thoughts possessed his mind; and, those still increased by constant company at his Table, of such persons as brought thither additions both of Learning and Pleasure; but some part of most days was usually 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, he would rather live five May-months, than forty December's.  
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 Learning; 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 Apothegm or sentence, that might be worthy of a room in the memory of a growing Scholar.  
He was pleased constantly to breed up one or more hopeful Youths, which he picked out of the School, and took into his own Domestic care, and to attend him at his Meals; out of whose Discourse and Behaviour, he gathered observations for the better completing of his intended work of Education: of which, by his still striving to make the whole better, he lived to leave but part to Posterity.  
He was a great Enemy to wrangling Disputes of Religion, concerning which I shall say a little, both to testify that, and to show the readiness of his Wit.  
Having 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 in a small piece of paper, Where was your Religion to be found before Luther? To which question Sir H●nry presently underwit, My Religion was to be found then, where yours is not to be found now, in the written Word of God.  
The next Vesper, Sir Henry went purposely to the same Church, and sent one of the Quire-boyes with this Question, to his honest, pleasant friend, the Priest; Do you believe all those many Thousands of poor Christians were dam●d, that were Excommunicated, because the Pope, and the Duke of Venice, could not agree about their temporal power? Speak your Conscience. To which he underwit in French, Monsieur, excusay moy  
To one that asked him, Whether a Papist may be saved? he replied, You may be saved without knowing that. Look to yourself.  
To another, whose earnestness exceeded his knowledge, and was still railing against the Papists, he gave this advice, Pray Sir forbear, till you have studied the Points better; for the wise Italians have this Proverb, He that understands amiss, concludes worse: And take heed of thinking, The farther you go from the Church of Rome, the nearer you are to God.  
And to another that spoke indiscreet, and bitter words against Arminius, I heard him reply to this purpose:  
In my travel towards Venice, as I passed through Germany, I rested almost a year at Leyden, where I entered into an acquaintance with Arminius (than the Professor of Divinity in that University) a man much talked of in this Age, which is made up of opposition and Controversy: And indeed, if I mistake not Arminius in his expressions (as so weak a brain as mine is may easily do) than I know I differ from him in some points; yet, I profess my judgement of him to be, that he was a man of most rare Learning, and I knew him to be of a most strict life, and of a most meck spirit. And that he was so mild, appears by his Proposals to our Master Perkins of Cambridge, from whose Book, of the Order and Causes of Salvation (which was first writ in Latin) Arminius took the occasion of writing some Queries to him concerning the consequents of his Doctrine, intending them ('tis said) to come privately to Mr. Perkin's own hands, and to receive from him, a like private, and a like loving Answer: But, Mr. Perkins died before those Queries came to him; and 'tis thought Arminius meant them to die with him; for though he lived long after, I have heard he forbore to publish them, (but since his death, his sons did not:) And 'tis pity (if God had been so pleased) that Mr. Perkins did not live to see, consider, and answer those proposals himself; for he was also of a most meek spirit, and of great and sanctified Learning: And though since their deaths, many (of high parts and piety) have undertaken to clear the Controversy; yet, for the most part, they have rather satisfied themselves, than convinced the dissenting party. And doubtless, many middle-witted men (which yet may mean well) many Scholars that are not in the highest Form for Learning (which yet may preach well) men that shall never know, till they come to Heaven, where the questions stick betwixt Arminius and the Church of England, will yet in this world be tampering with, and thereby perplexing the Controversy, and do therefore justly fall under the reproof of St. Judas, for being Busybodies, and for meddling with things they understand not.  
And here it offers itself (I think not unfitly) to tell the Reader, that a friend of Sir Henry Woltons, being designed for the employment of an Ambassador, came to Eton, and requested from him some experimental Rules for his prudent and safe carriage in his Negotiations; to whom he smilingly gave this for an infallible Aphorism; That, to be in safety himself, and serviceable to his Country, he should always, and upon all occasions speak the truth (it seems a State-Paradox) for, says Sir Henry Wotton, you shall never be believed; and by this means, your truth will secure yourself, if you shall ever be called to any account; and 'twill also put your Adversaries (who will still hunt counter) to a loss in all their disquisitions, and undertake.  
Many more of this nature might be observed, but they must be laid aside; for I shall here make a little stop, and invite the Reader to look back with me, whilst (according to my promise) I shall say a little of Sir Albertus Morton, and Mr. William Bedel, whom I formerly mentioned.  
I have told you that are the Readers, that at Sir Henry Wotton's first going Ambassador into Italy, his Cousin, Sir Albert Morton, went his Secretary; and am next to tell you, that Sir Albertus died, Secretary of State to our late King; but cannot, am not able to express the sorrow that possessed Sir Henry Wotton at his first hearing the news that Sir Albertus was by death lost to him and this world; and yet, the Reader may partly guests by these following expressions: The first in a Letter to his Nicholas Pey, of which this that followeth is a part.  
— And My dear Nick, When I had been here almost a fortnight, in the midst of my great contentment, I received notice of Sir Albertus Morton his departure out of this World, who was dearer to me, than mine own being in it; what a wound it is to my heart, you that knew him, and knew me, will easily believe: but, our Creator's Will must be done, and unrepiningly received by his own Creatures, who is the Lord of all Nature, and of all Fortune, when he taketh to himself now one, and then another, till that expected day, wherein it shall please him to dissolve the whole, and wrap up even the Heaven itself as a Scroll of parchment: This is the last Philosophy that we must study upon Earth; let us therefore that yet remain here, as our days and friends waste, reinforce our love to each other; which of all virtues, both spiritual and moral, hath the highest privilege, because death itself cannot end it. And my good Nick, etc.  
This is a part of his sorrow thus expressed to his Nick Pey; the other part is in this following Elegy, of which the Reader may safely conclude, 'twas too hearty to be dissembled.  

Tears wept at the Grave of Sir Albertus Morton, by Henry Wotton.  

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

Oh my unhappy Lines, you that before  
Have served my youth to vent some wanton cries,  
And now congealed with grief, can scarce implore  
Strength to accent, Here my Albertus lies.   

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

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

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

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

Dwell then in endless bliss with happy souls,  
Discharged from natures and from fortunes trust:  
Whilst on this fluid Globe, my Hourglass rowls,  
And runs the rest of my remaining dust.  H. Wotton.   
This concerning his Sir Albertus Morton.  
And for what I shall say concerning Mr. William Bedel, I must prepare the Reader, by telling him, That when King James sent Sir Henry Wotton Ambassador to the State of Venice, he sent also an Ambassador to the King of France, and another to the King of Spain; with the Ambassador of France, went Joseph Hall (late Bishop of Norwich) whose many and useful works, speak his great merit; with the Ambassador of Spain, went Ja. 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 
* Emanuel College in Cambridge.  College, all Beneficed in one Diocese, and all most dear and int●●e 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 declare himself for the Church of Rome, discharging himself of his attendance on the Ambassador, and betaking himself to a Monasterial life; in which he lived very regularly, and so died.  
When Dr. Hall (the late Bishop of Norwich) came into England, he wrote to Mr. Wadsworth, ('tis the first Epistle in his printed Decades) to persuade his return, or the reason of his Apostasy; the Letter seemed to have in it many sweet expressions of love, and yet, there was something in it that was so unpleasant to Mr. Wadsworth, that he chose rather to acquaint his old friend Mr. Bedel with his motives; by which means, there past betwixt Mr. Bedel, and Mr. Wadsworth very many Letters, which be extant in Print, and did well deserve it; for in them there seems to be a controversy, not of Religion on only, but, who should answer each other with most love and meekness; which I mention the rather, because it seldom falls out so in a Book-War.  
There is yet a little more to be said of Mr. Bedel, for the greatest part of which, the Reader is referred to this following Letter of Sir Henry Wotton's, writ to our late King Charles.  
May it please Your most Gracious Majesty,  
HAving been informed that certain persons have, by the good wishes of the Archbishop of Armagh, been directed hither, with a most humble Petition unto Your Majesty, that You will be pleased to make Mr. William Bedel (now resident upon a small Benefice in Suffolk) Governor of your College at Dublin, for the good of that Society; and myself being 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 Conscience and Truth (so far as Your Majesty will vouchsafe to accept my poor judgement) 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 Travels abroad, were not obscure, in the time of the Excommunication of the Venetians.  
For it may please Your Majesty to know, that this is the man whom Padre Paulo took, I may say, into his very soul, with whom he did communicate the inwardest thoughts of his heart, from whom he professed to have received more knowledge in all Divinity, both Scholastical and Positive, than from any that he had ever practised in his days; of which, all the passages were well known to the King Your Father, of most blessed memory. And so with Your Majesty's good favour, I will end this needless Office; for the general Fame of his Learning, his Life, and Christian temper, and those Religious Labours which himself hath dedicated to your Majesty, do better describe him than I am able.  
Your MAJESTY'S Most humble and faithful Servant, H. WOTTON.  
TO this Letter, I shall add this; That he was (to the great joy of Sir Henry Wotton) made Governor of the said College; and that after a fair discharge of his duty and trust there, he was thence removed to be Bishop of Kilmore: In both which places, his life was so holy, as seemed to equal the primitive Christians; for as they, so he kept all the Ember-weeks, observed (besides his private devotions) the Canonical hours of Prayer very strictly; and so he did all the Feasts, and fast-days of his Mother, the Church of England; his Patience and Charity were both such, as showed his affections were set upon things that are above; for indeed his whole life brought forth the fruits of the Spirit; there being in him such a remarkable meekness, that as St. Paul advised his Timothy in the Election of a Bishop, 
* 1 Tim. 3. 7.  That he have a good report of those that be without; so had he: for those that were without, even those that in point of Religion, were of the Roman persuasion (of which there were very many in his Diocese) did yet ever look upon him with respect and reverence; and, testified it, by a concealing, and safe protecting him, in the late horrid Rebellion in Ireland, when the fury of the wild Irish knew no distinction of persons; and yet there, and then, he was protected and cherished by those of a contrary persuasion; and there, and then he died, though not by violence: And with him was lost many of his learned Writings, which were thought worthy of preservation; and amongst the rest, was lost the Bible, which by many years' labour, and conference, and study, he had translated into the Irish Tongue, with an intent to have printed it for public use.  
More might be said of Mr. Bedel, who (I told the Reader) was Sir Henry Wotton's first Chaplain; and much of his second Chaplain, Isaac Bargrave, Doctor in Divinity, and the late learned and hospitable Dean of Canterbury; as also, of the Merit 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 Eaton-Colledge, and therefore I shall lead him back as gently, and as orderly as I may to that place, for a further conference concerning Sir Henry Wotton.  
Sir Henry Wotton had proposed to himself, before he entered into his Collegiate life, to write the life of Martin Luther; and in it, the History of the Reformation, as it was carried on in Germany: For the doing of which, he had many advantages by his several Embassies into those parts, and his interest in the several Princes of the Empire; by whose means he had access to the Records of all the Hans Towns, and the knowledge of many secret passages that fell not under common view; and in these he had made a happy progress, as is 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) that knew the value of Sir Henry Wotton's Pen) did by a persuasive loving violence (to which may be added a promise of 500 l. a year) force him to lay Luther aside, and betake himself to write the History of England; in which he proceeded to write some short Characters of a few Kings, as a foundation upon which he meant to build; but, for the present, meant to be more large in the story of Henry the sixth, the Founder of that College, in which he then enjoyed all the worldly happiness of his present being; but Sir Henry died in the midst of this undertaking, and the footsteps of his labours are not recoverable by a more than common diligence.  
This is some account both of his inclination, and the employment of his time in the College, where he seemed to have his Youth renewed by a continual conversation with that Learned Society, and a daily recourse of other Friends of choicest breeding and parts, by which that great blessing of a cheerful heart was still maintained; he being always free, even to the last of his days, from that peevishness which usually attends Age.  
And yet his mirth was sometimes damped by the remembrance of divers old Debts, partly contracted in his foreign Employments, for which his just Arrears due from the King, would have made satisfaction; but, being still delayed with Cou●t-promises, and finding some decays of health, he did (about two years before his death) out of a Christian desire, that none should be a loser by it, make his last Will; concerning which, a doubt still remains, whether it discovered more holy wit, or conscionable policy: But there is no doubt, but that his chief design was a Christian endeavour that his Debts might be satisfied.  
And that it may remain as such a Testimony, and a Legacy to those that loved him, I shall here impart it to the Reader, as it was found writ with his own hand.  
IN the Name of God Almighty and All-merciful, I Henry Wotton, Provost of His Majesty's College by Eton, being mindful of mine own mortality, which the sin of our first Pa●●ents did bring upon all flesh, Do by this last Will and Testament, thus dispose of myself, and the poor things I shall leave in this World. My Soul, I bequeath to the Immortal God my Maker, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, my blessed Redeemer, and Mediator, through his all-sole sufficient satisfaction for the sins of the whole World, and efficient for his Elect; in the number of whom, I am one by his mere grace, and thereof most unremovably assured by his holy Spirit, the true Eternal Comforter. My Body I bequeath to the Earth, if I shall end my transitory days at, or near Eton, to be buried in the Chapel of the said College, as the Fellows shall dispose thereof, with whom I have lived (my God knows) in all loving affection; or if I shall die near Bocton Malherb, in the County of Kent, than 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 Executours should lay over his grave a Marble stone, plain, not costly: And considering that time moulders even Marble to dust; (for 
* Javen.  Monuments themselves must die.) therefore did he (●●aving the common way) think fit rather to preserve his name (to which the Son of Sirac adviseth all men) by an useful Apothegm, then by a large enumeration of his descent or merits, (of both which he might justly have boasted:) but, he was content to forget them, and did choose only this prudent, pious, Sentence, to discover his Disposition, and preserve his Memory. 'Twas directed by him, to be thus inscribed:  
Hic jacet hujus Sententiae primus Author.  
DISPUTANDI PRURITUS, ECCLESIARUM SCABIES.  
Nomen aliàs quaere.  
Which may be Englished thus,  
Here lies the first Author of this Sentence.  
THE ITCH OF DISPUTATION, WILL PROVE THE SCAB OF THE CHURCH.  
Inquire his name elsewhere.  
And if any shall object (●as I think some have) That Sir Henry Wotton was not the first Author of this Sentence; but, that this, or a Sentence like it, was long before his time; To him I answer, that Solomon says, Nothing can be spoken that hath not been spoken; for there is no new thing under the Sun. But grant, that in his various reading, he had met with this, or a like Sentence; yet reason will persuade all Readers to believe, That Sir Henry Wotton's mind was then so fixed on that part of the Communion of Saints which is above, that an holy Lethargy did surprise his Memory. For doubtless, if he had not believed himself to be the first Author of— what he said, he was too prudent first to own, and then expose it to the public view, and censure of every Critic (with which that Age abounded, and this more.) And questionless, 'twill be Charity in all Readers, to think his mind was then so fixed on Heaven, that a holy zeal did transport him; and in this Sacred Ecstasy, his thoughts being only of the Church Triumphant, (into which he daily expected his admission) Almighty God was pleased to make him a Prophet, to tell the Church Militant, (and particularly that part of it in this Nation) where the weeds of controversy grow to be daily both more numerous, and more destructive to humble Piety; where men have Consciences which boggle at Ceremonies, and scruple not to speak and act such sins as the ancient humble Christians believed to be a sin to think; where (as our Revered Hooker says) former Simplicity, and softness of Spirit, is not now to be found; because Zeal hath drowned Charity, and Skill Meekness:) These sad changes have proved this Epitaph to be a useful Caution unto us of this Nation; and the sad effects thereof in Germany have proved it to be a mournful Truth.  
This by way of Observation concerning his Epitaph: The rest of his Will follows in his own words.  
Further, I the said Henry Wotton, do constitute and ordain to be joint Executors of this my last Will and Testament, my two Grand-Nephews, Albert Morton, second son to Sir Robert Morton Knight, late deceased, and Thomas Bargrave, eldest son to Dr Bargrave, Dean of Canterbury, Husband to my Right Virtuous and only Niece. And I do pray the foresaid Dr. Bargrave, and Mr. Nicholas Pey, my most faithful and chosen friends, together with Mr. John Harrison one of the Fellows of Eton College, best acquainted with my Books and Pictures, and other Utensils, to be Supervisors of this my last Will and Testament. And I do pray the foresaid Dr. Bargrave, and Mr. Nicholas Pey, to be Solicitors for such Arrearages as shall appear due unto me from his Majesty's Exchequer at the time of my death; and to assist my forenamed Executors in some reasonable and conscientious satisfaction of my Creditors, and discharge 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 Harison. And fi●st, To my most dear Sovereign and Master of incomparable Goodness, (in whose gracious opinion, I have ever had some portion, as far as the interest of a plain honest man) I leave four Pictures at large of those Dukes of Venice, in whose time I was there employed, with their names written on the back side, which hang in my great ordinary Dining-room, done after the Life by Edoardo Fialetto. Likewise a Table of the Venetian College, where Ambassadors had their Audience, hanging over the Mantle of the Chimney in the said Room, done by the same hand, which containeth a draught in little, well resembling the famous D. Leonardo Donato, in a time which needed a wise and constant man. It ' The Picture of a Duke of Venice hanging over against the door, done either by Titiano, or some other principal hand long before my time. Most humbly beseeching his Majesty, that the said Pieces may remain in some corner of any of his Houses, for a poor Memorial of his most humble vassal.  
It ' I leave his said Majesty all the Papers and Negotiations of Sir Nich. Throgmorton Knight, during his famous employment under Queen Elizabeth, in Scotland and in France, which contain divers secrets of State, that perchance his Majesty will think fit to be preserved in his Paper-Office, after they have been perused and sorted by Mr. Secretary Windebanck, with whom I have heretofore, as I remember, conferred about them. They were committed to my disposal by Sir Arthur Throgmorton his son, to whose worthy memory I cannot better discharge my faith, then by assigning them to the highest place of trust. It ' I leave to our most Gracious and Virtuous Queen Mary, Dioscorides, with the Plants naturally coloured, and the Text translated by Matthiolo, in the best Language of Tuscany, whence her said Majesty is lineally descended, for a poor token of my thankful devotion, for the honour she was once pleased to do my private study with her presence. I leave to the most hopeful Prince, the Picture of the elected and crowned Queen of Bohemia, his Aunt, of clear and resplendent virtues through the clouds of her Fortune. To my Lord's Grace of Canterbury now being, I leave my Picture of Divine Love, rarely copied from one in the King's Galleries, of my presentation to his Majesty: beseeching him to receive it as a pledge of my humble reverence to his great Wisdom. And to the most worthy Lord Bishop of London, Lord high Treasurer of England, in true admiration of his Christian simplicity, and contempt of earthly pomp; I leave a Picture of Heraclitus bewailing, and Democritus laughing at the world: Most humbly beseeching the said Lord Archbishop his Grace, and the Lord Bishop of London, of both whose favours I have tasted in my life time, to intercede with our most gracious Sovereign after my death, in the bowels of Jesus Christ, That out of compassionate memory of my long Services (wherein I more studied the public Honour, than mine own Utility) some Order may be taken out of my Arrears due in the Exchequer, for such satisfaction of my Creditors, as those whom I have Ordained Supervisors of this my ●ast Will and Testament shall present unto their Lordships, without their farther trouble: Hoping likewise in his Majesty's most indubitable Goodness, that he will keep me from all prejudice, which I may otherwise suffer by any defect of formality in the Demand of my said Arrears. To— for a poor addition to his Cabinet, I leave as Emblems of his attractive Virtues, and Obliging Nobleness, my great Loadstone; and a piece of Amber of both kinds naturally united, and only differing in degree of Concoction, which is thought somewhat rare. Item, A piece of Crystal Sexangular, (as they grow all) grasping divers several things within it, which I bought among the Rhaetian Alps, in the very place where it grew: recommending most humbly unto his Lordship, the reputation of my poor Name in the point of my debts, as I have done to the forenamed Spiritual Lords; and am heartily sorry, that I have no better token of my humble thankfulness to his honoured Person. It ' I leave to Sir Francis Windebank, one of his Majesty's principal Secretaries of State, (whom I found my great friend in point of Necessity) the four Seasons of old Bassano, to hang near the Eye in his Parlour, (being in little form) which I bought at Venice, where I first entered into his most worthy Acquaintance.  
To the above named Doctor Bargrave Dean of Canterbury, I leave all my Italian Books not disposed in this Will. I leave to him likewise my Viol de Gamba, which hath been twice with me in Italy, in which Country I first contracted with him an unremovable Affection. To my other Supervisor Mr. Nicholas Pey, I leave my Chest, or Cabinet of Instruments and Engines of all kinds of uses: in 
* In it were Italian locks, picklocks, screws to force open doors; and things of worth and rarity, that he had gathered in his foreign Travel.  the lower box whereof, are some fit to be bequeathed to none but so entire an honest man as he is. I leave him likewise forty pound 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 at Eton College I leave all my Manuscripts not before disposed, and to each of the Fellows a plain Ring ●of Gold, enamelled black; all save the verge, with this Motto within, Amor unit omnia.  
This is my last Will and Testament, save that shall be added by a Schedule thereunto annexed. Written on the first of October, in the present year of our Redemption 1637. And subscribed by myself, with the Testimony of these Witnesses.  
Nich. Oudert. Geo. Lash. H. Wotton.  
ANd now, because the mind of man is best satisfied by the knowledge of Events, I think fit to declare, that every one that was named in his Will, did gladly receive their Legacies; by which, and his most just and passionate desires for the payment of his debts, they joined in assisting the Overseers of his Will; and by their joint endeavours to the King (than whom none was more willing) conscionable satisfaction was given for his just debts.  
The next thing wherewith I shall acquaint the Reader, is, That he went usually once a year, if not oftener, to the beloved Boctonhall, where he would say, he found both cure for all cares, by the company (which he called the living furniture) of that place: and, a restorative of his strength, by the Connaturalness of that, which he called his genial air.  
He yearly went also to Oxford. But the Summer before his death he changed that for a journey to Winchester- College; to which School he was first removed from Bocton. And as he returned from Winchester, towards Eton College, said to a friend, his Companion in that Journey; How useful was that advice of a Holy Monk, who persuaded his friend to perform his Customary devotions in a constant place; because in that place, we usually meet with those very thoughts which possessed us at our last being there; And I find it thus far experimentally true; that, at my now being in that School, and seeing that very place where I sat when I was a boy, occasioned me to remember those very thoughts of my youth which then possessed me; sweet thoughts indeed, that promised my growing years numerous pleasures, without mixtures of cares; and those to be enjoyed, when time (which I therefore thought slow paced) had changed my youth into manhood. But age and experience have taught me, that those were but empty hopes. And though my days have been many, and those mixed with more pleasures, than the sons of men do usually enjoy: yet, I have alw●●es 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, hopes, fears, and death's.  
A●ter his return from Winchester (which was about nine Months before his death) he fell into a dangerous Fever, which weakened him much; he was then also much troubled with an Asthma, or continual short spitting, but that infirmity he seemed to overcome in a good degree by leaving Tobacco, which he had taken somewhat immoderately: And about two months before his death (in October 1639.) he again fell into a Fever, which though he seemed to recover, yet, these still left him so weak, that those common infirmities, which were wont like civil Friends to visit him, and after some short time to depart; came both oftener, and at last took up their constant habitations with him, still weakening his body; of which he grew daily more sensible, retiring oftener into his Study, and making many Papers that had passed his Pen, both in the days of his youth and business, useless by fire. These, and several unusual expressions to his Friends, seemed to foretell his death, for which he seemed to those many friends that observed him, to be well prepared, and still free from all fear, and cheerful; (as several Letters writ in his bed, and but a few days before his death may testify.) And in the beginning of December following, he fell again into a Quartan Fever, land in the tenth fi●, his better part, that part of Sir Henry Wotton which could not die, put off Mortality with as much content and cheerfulness, as humane frailty is capable of: he being in perfect peace with God and man.  
And thus the Circle of his Life, (that Circle which began at Bocton, and in the Circumference thereof, did first touch at Winchester-School, then at Oxford, and after upon so many remarkable parts and passages in Christendom;) That Circle of his Life, was by Death thus closed up and completed, in the seventy and second year of his Age, at Eton College, where (according to his Will) he now lies buried, 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 imitation of Posterity.   

AN ELEGY ON Sir HENRY WOTTON, WRIT By Mr ABRAM COWLEY.  
WHat shall we say, since silent now is he,  
Who when he spoke all things would silent be.  
Who had so many languages in store,  
That only fame shall speak of him in more.  
Whom England now no more returned must see:  
He's gone to Heaven, on his fourth Embassy.  
On Earth he travailed often, not to say  
he'd been abroad to pass loose time away:  
For, in what ever land he chanced to come,  
He read the men and manners: bringing home  
Their Wisdom, Learning, and their Piety,  
As if he went to Conquer, not to see.  
So well he understood the most and best  
Of Tongues, that Babel sent into the West:  
Spoke them so truly, that he had (you'd swear)  
Not only lived, but, been born every where.  
Justly each Nation's speech to him was known:  
Who, for the World was made, not us alone.  
Nor, ought the Language of that man be less  
Who in his breast had all things to express:  
We say that Learning's endless, and blame Fate  
For not allowing life a longer date:  
He did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find;  
And found them not so large as was his mind:  
But, like the brave Pellean youth did moon:  
Because that Art had no more Worlds than one.  
And, when he saw that he through all had passed,  
He died, lest he should Idle grow at last.  A. Cowley. 
FINIS.   


Mr RICHARD HOOKER Author of those— Learned Books of Ecclesiastical— polity—    

The LIFE OF Mr. RICH. HOOKER, THE AUTHOR of those Learned Books OF THE Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity.  
Psal. 145. 4.  
One generation shall praise thy works to another:  
Prov. 2. 15.  
The tongue of the wise useth knowledge rightly.  
LONDON, Printed by Tho: Newcomb, for Rich: Marriot, sold by most Booksellers. M.DC.LXX.   

To his very Worthy Friend Mr. Isaac Walton, upon his Writing and Publishing the Life of the Venerable and Judicious Mr. Richard Hooker.  

I.  
Hail, Sacred Mother, British Church, all hail!  
From whose fruitful Loins have sprung  
Of Pious Sons so great a throng,  
That Heav'nt oppose their force of strength did fail:  
And, let the mighty Conquerors, o'er Almighty arms prevail;  
How art thou changed from what thou wert a late,  
When destitute, and quite forlorn,  
(And scarce a Child of thousands, with thee left to mourn)  
Thy veil all rent, and all thy garments torn:  
With tears thou didst bewail thine own, and children's fate?  
Too much (alas!) thou didst resemble then  
Zion thy pattern; Zion, in ashes laid,  
Despised, Forsaken, and betrayed;  
Zion, thou dost resemble once again:  
And raised, like her, the glory of the World art made.  
Threnes only to thee could that time belong,  
B●t now thou art the lofty Subject of my Song.   

II.  
Begin my Verse, and where the doleful Mother sat,  
(As it in Vision was to Esdras shown  
Lamenting, with the rest, her dearest Son,  
(Blessed CHARLES, who his Forefathers has outgon,  
And to the Royal, joined the Martyr's brighter Crown)  
Let a new City rise, with beauteous state:  
And, beauteous let its Temple be, and beautiful the Gate!  
Lo! how the Sacred Fabric up does rise!  
The Architects so skilful All,  
So grave, so humble, and so wise:  
The Axes, and the Hammers noise  
Is drowned in silence, or, in numbers Musical!  
'Tis up; and, at the Altar stand  
The Reverend Fathers; as of Old,  
With Harps. and Incense in their hand:  
Nor, let the pious service grow or stiff, or cold.  
Th'inferior Priests, the while,  
To Praise continually employed, or Pray,  
Need not the weary hours beguile,  
Enough's the single Duty of each day.  
Thou thyself, Woodford, on thy humbler Pipe must play;  
And, though but lately entered there,  
So gracious those thou honour'st all appear,  
So ready and attended to hear  
An easy part, proportioned to thy skill, may'st bear.   

III.  
But where (alas!) where wilt thou fix thy choice?  
The Subjects are so noble all,  
So great their beauties, and thy art so small,  
They'll judge, I fear, themselves disparaged by thy voice:  
Yet try, and since thou canst not take  
A name● so despicably low,  
But 'twill exceed what thou canst do,  
Tho thy whole Mite thou away at once shouldst throw,  
Thy Poverty a virtue make;  
And, that thou may'st Immortal live,  
(Since Immortality thou canst not give)  
From one, who has enough to spare, be ambitious to receive!  
Of Reverend, and Judicious Hooker sing;  
Hooker, does to th' Church belong,  
The Church, and Hooker claim thy Song,  
And inexhausted Riches to thy Verse will bring:  
So far, beyond itself, will make it grow,  
That life, his gift to thee, thou shalt again on him bestow.   

IV.  
How great, blessed Soul, must needs thy Glories be,  
Thy Joys how perfect, and thy Crown how fair,  
Who mad'st the Church thy chiefest care;  
This Church, which owes so much to thee,  
That all Her Sons are studious of thy memory?  
'Twas a bold work the Captived to redeem,  
And not so only, but th'oppressed to raise,  
(Our aged Mother) to that due Esteem  
She had, and merited in her younger days;  
When Primitive Zeal, and Piety,  
Were all her Laws, and Policy:  
And decent Worship kept the mean,  
It's too wide stretched Extremes between,  
The rudely scrupulous, and extravagantly vain.  
This was the work of hooker's Pen;  
With Judgement, Candour, and such Learning writ,  
Matter, and Words so exactly fit,  
That, were it to be done again,  
Expected 'twould be, as its Answer hitherto has been.   

RITORNATA.  
To Chelsea, Song; there, tell Thy Patron's Friend  
The Church is hooker's Debtor: Hooker His;  
And strange 'twould be, if he should Glory miss,  
For whom two such most powerfully contend.  
Bid him, cheer up, the Day's his own:  
And, he shall never die  
Who after Seventy's past and gone,  
Can all th' Assaults of Age defy:  
Is, master still, of so much youthful heat,  
A Child, so perfect, and so sprightly to beget.   
Bensted Hants. Mar. 10. 1669/ 70. Sam: Woodford.   

THE LIFE OF Mr. RICHARD HOOKER.  

The Introduction.  
I Have been persuaded, by a Friend whom I reverence, and aught to obey, to write The Life of RICHARD HOOKER, the happy Author of Five (if not more) of the Eight learned Books of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity. And, though I have undertaken it, yet it hath been with some unwillingness; because I foresee that it must prove to me, and especially at this time of my Age, a work of much labour to inquire, consider, research, and determine what is needful to be known concerning him: For, I knew him not in his Life, and must therefore not only look back to his Death, now 64 years past; but, almost 50 years beyond that, even to his Childhood and Youth, and gather thence such Observations and Prognostics, as may at least adorn, if not prove necessary for the completing of what I have undertaken.  
This trouble I foresee; and foresee also, that it is impossible to escape Censures; against which I will not hope my well-meaning and diligence can protect me (for I consider the Age in which I live) and shall therefore but entreat of my Reader a suspension of them, till I have made known unto him some Reasons, which I myself would now fain believe do make me in some measure fit for this undertaking: and, if these Reasons shall not acquit me from all Censures, they may at least abate of their severity, and this is all I can probably hope for.  
My Reasons follow.  
About forty years passed (for I am now past the Seventy of my Age) I began a happy affinity with William Cranmer (now with God) grand Nephew unto the great Archbishop of that name, a Family of noted prudence and resolution; with him and two of his Sisters, I had an entire and free friendship: one of them was the Wife of Doctor Spencer, a Bosom-friend, and sometime Compupil with Mr. Hooker in Corpus-Christi College in Oxford, and after Precedent of the same. I name them here, for that I shall have occasion to mention them in this following Discourse; as also George Cranmer their Brother, of whose useful abilities my Reader may have a more authentic Testimony, than my Pen can purchase for him, by that of our learned Cambden, and others.  
This William Cranmer, and his two forenamed Sisters, had some affinity, and a most familiar friendship with M. Hooker; and, had had some part of their Education with him in his house, when he was Parson of Bishopsborne near Canterbury, in which City their good father then lived. They had (I say) a part of their Education with him, as myself since that time a happy Cohabitation with them; and having some years before read part of Mr. hooker's Works with great liking and satisfaction, my affection to them made me a diligent Inquisitor into many things that concerned him; as namely, of his Person, his Nature, the management of his Time his Wife, his Family, and the Fortune of him and his. Which inquiry hath given me much advantage in the knowledge of what is now under my 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; as also with the learned John Hales of Eaton-Colledge; and with them also (who loved the very name of Mr. Hooker) I have had many discourses concerning him: and from them, and many others that have now put off Mortality, I might have had more Informations, if I could then have admitted a thought of any fitness for what by persuasion I have now undertaken. But, though that full Harvest be irrecoverably lost, yet, my Memory hath preserved some glean, and my Diligence made such additions to them, as I hope will prove useful to the completing of what I intent, In the discovery of which I shall be faithful, and with this assurance put a period to my Introduction.   

The Life.  
IT is not to be doubted but that Richard Hooker was born at Heavy-tree near or within the Precincts, or in the City of Exeter; a City which may justly boast, that it was the Birth place of him, and Sir Tho. Bodley; as indeed the County may in which it stands, that it hath furnished this Nation with Bishop Jewel, Sir Francis Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, and many others, memorable for their Valour and Learning. He was born about the Year of our Redemption 1553, and of Parents that were not so remarkable for their Extraction or Riches, as for their Virtue and Industry, and God's blessing upon both; by which they were enabled to educate their Children in some degree of Learning, of which our Richard Hooker may appear to be one fair testimony; and that Nature is not so partial, as always to give the great blessings of Wisdom and Learning, and with them the greater blessings of Virtue and Government, to those only that are of a more high and honourable Birth.  
His Complexion (if we may guests 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 a Gravity suitable to the Aged. And 'tis observed (so far as Inquiry is able to look back at this distance of Time) that at his being a Schoolboy he was an early Questionist, quietly inquisitive Why this was, and that was not, to be remembered? Why this was granted and that denied? This being mixed with a remarkable Modesty, and a sweet serene quietness of Nature, and with them a quick apprehension of many perplexed part● of Learning imposed then upon him as a Scholar, made his Master and others to believe him to have an inward blessed Divine Light, and therefore to consider him to a little wonder. For in that, Children were less pregnant, 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 Schoolmaster, 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 enriched with the blessings of Nature and Grace, that God seemed to single him out as a special Instrument of his Glory. And the good man told them also, that he would double his diligence in instructing him, and would neither expect nor receive any other Reward, than the content of so hopeful and happy an employment.  
This was not unwelcome News, and especially to his Mother, to whom he was a dutiful and dear Child; and all Parties were so pleased with this proposal, that it was resolved ●o it should be. And in the mean time his Parents and Master laid a foundation for his future happiness, by instilling into his Soul the seeds of Piety, those conscientious principles of loving and fearing God; of an early belief that he knows the very secrets of our Souls; That he punisheth our Vices, and rewards our Innocence; That we should be free from hypocrisy, and appear to man what we are to God, because first or last the crafty man is catched in his own snare. These seeds of Piety were so seasonably planted, and so continually watered with the daily dew of God's blessed Spirit, that his Infant virtues grew into such holy habits, as did make him grow daily into more and more favour both with God and man, which with the great Learning that he did attain to, hath made Richard Hooker honoured in this● and will continue him to be so to succeeding Generations.  
This good Schoolmaster, whose Name I am not able to 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) was very solicitous with John Hooker, than Chamberlain of Exeter, and Uncle to our Richard, to take his Nephew into his care, and to maintain him for one Year in the University, and in the mean time to use his endeavours to procure an admission for him into some College; still urging and assuring him, that his Charge would not continue long, for the Lads Learning and Manners were both so remarkable, that they must of necessity be taken notice of; and that doubtless God would provide him some second Patron, that would free him and his Parents from their future care and charge.  
These Reasons, with the affectionate Rhetoric of his good Master, and God's blessing upon both, procured from his Uncle a faithful promise, that he would take him into his care and charge before the expiration of the Year following, which was performed by the assistance of the Learned John Jewel, who left, or was about the first of Queen Mary's Reign, expelled out of Corpus-Christi College in Oxford (of which he was a Fellow) for adhering to the Truth of those Principles of Religion, to which he had assented in the days of her Brother and Predecessor Edward the Sixth; and he having now a just cause to fear a more heavy punishment than Expulsion, was forced, by forsaking this, to seek safety in another Nation; and, with that safety the enjoyment of that Doctrine and Worship, for which he suffered.  
But the Cloud of that Persecution and Fear ending with the Life of Queen Mary, the Affairs of the Church and State did then look more clear and comfortable; so that he, and with him many others of the same judgement, made a happy return into England about the first of Queen Elizabeth; in which Year, this John Jewel was sent a Commissioner or Visitor of the Churches of the Western parts of this Kingdom, and especially of those in Devonshire, in which County he was born, and then and there he contracted a friendship with John Hooker, the Uncle of our Richard.  
In the second or third Year of her Reign, this John Jewel was made Bishop of Salisbury, and there being always observed in him a willingness to do good, and to oblige his Friends, and now a power added to it, John Hooker gave him a Visit in Salisbury, and be sought him for Charity's sake to look favourably upon a poor Nephew of his, whom Nature had fitted for a Scholar, but the Estate of his Parents was so narrow, that they were unable to give him the advantage of Learning; and that the Bishop would therefore become his Patron, and prevent him from being a Tradesman; for he was a Boy of remarkable hopes. And though the Bishop knew men do not usually look with an indifferent eye upon their own Children and Relations yet he assented so far to John Hooker, that he appointed the Boy and his Schoolmaster should attend him about Easter next following at that place, which was done accordingly; and then after some Questions and observations of the Boy's learning and gravity, and behaviour, the Bishop gave his Schoolmaster a reward, and took order for an annual Pension for the Boys Parents' promising also to take him into his care for a future preferment, which was 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, than Precedent of Corpus-Christi College. Which he did; and Dr. Cole had (according to a promise made to the Bishop) provided for him both a Tutor (which was said to be the learned Dr. John Reynolds) and a Clerks place in that College: which place, though it were not a full maintenance, yet with the contribution of his Uncle, and the continued Pension of his Patron the good Bishop, gave him a comfortable subsistence. And in this 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 even like St. John Baptist, to be sanctified from his Mother's womb, who did often bless the day in which she bore him.  
About this time of his age he fell into a dangerous Sickness, which lasted two Months; all which tim his Mother, having notice of it, did in her hou●ly prayers as earnestly beg his life of God, as the Mother of St. Augustine did that he might become a true Christian; and their prayers were both so heard as to be granted. Which Mr. Hooker would often mention with much joy, and as often pray that he might never live to occasion any sorrow to so good a Mother, of whom he would often say, he loved her so dearly, that he would endeavour to be good even as much for hers, 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 accompanied 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 Companion dine with him at his own Table; which Mr. Hooker boasted of with much joy and gratitude when he saw his Mother and Friends: And at the Bishops 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 professed he had traveled through many parts of Germany; and he said, Richard, I do not give, but lend you my Horse; be sure you be honest, and bring my Horse back to me at your return this way to Oxford. And I do now give you Ten Groats to bear your charges to Exeter; and here is Ten Groats more, which I charge you to deliver to your Mother, and tell her, I send her a Bishop's Benediction with it, and beg the continuance of her prayers for me. And if you bring my Horse back to me, I will give you Ten Groats more to carry you on foot to the College, and so God bless you, good Richard.  
And this, you may believe, was performed by both Parties. But, alas! the next News that followed Mr. Hooker to Oxford, was, that his learned and charitable Patron had changed this for a better life. Which may be believed, for that as he lived, so he died, in devout meditation and prayer; and in both so zealously, that it became a religious question, Whether his last Ejaculations, or his Soul, did first enter into Heaven?  
And now Mr. Hooker became a man of sorrow and fear; of sorrow, for the loss of so dear and comfortable a Patron; and of fear, for his future subsistence: But Dr. Cole raised his spirits from this dejection, by bidding him go cheerfully to his Studies, and assuring him he should neither want food nor raiment (which was the utmost of his hopes) for he would become his Patron.  
And so he was for about nine months, and not longer; for about that time, this following accident did befall Mr. Hooker.  
Edwin Sandys (than 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 September 1571. A little before which time, the two Bishop's meeting, Jewel began a story of his Richard Hooker, and in it gave such a Character of his Learning and Manners, that though Bishop Sandys was educated in Cambridge, where he had obliged and had many Friends; yet his resolution was, that his Son Edwin should be sent to Corpus-Christi College in Oxford, and by all means be Pupil to Mr. Hooker, though his Son Edwin was not then much younger: for, the Bishop said, I will have a Tutor for my Son that shall teach him Learning by Instruction, and Virtue by Example; and my greatest care shall be of the last, and (God willing) this Richard Hooker shall be the Man into whose hands I will commit my Edwin. And the Bishop did so about twelve months, or not much longer after this resolution.  
And doubtless as to these two a better choice could not be made; for Mr. Hooker was now in the nineteenth year of his age, had spent five in the University, and had by a constant unwearied diligence attained unto a perfection in all the learned Languages; by the help of which, an excellent Tutor, and his unintermitted Study, he had made the subtlety of all the Arts easy and familiar to him, and useful for the discovery of such Learning as lay hid from common Searchers; so that by these added to his great Reason, and his Industry added to both, He did not only know more, of Causes and effects, but what he knew, he knew better than other men. And with this Knowledge he had a most blessed and clear Method of Demonstrating what he knew, to the great advantage of all his Pupils, (which in time were many) but especially to his two first, his dear Edwin Sandys, and his as dear George Cranmer, of which there will be a fair Testimony in the ensuing Relation.  
This for his Learning. And for his Behaviour, amongst other Testimonies this still remains of him, That in four years, he was but twice absent from the Chapel prayers; and that his Behaviour there was such as showed an awful reverence of that God which he then worshipped and prayed to; giving all outward testimonies that his Affections were set on heavenly things. This was his Behaviour towards God; and for that to Man, it is observable that he was never known to be angry, or passionate, or extreme in any of his Desires; never heard to repine or dispute with Providence, but by a quiet gentle submission and resignation of his will to the Wisdom of his Creator, bore the burden of the day with patience; never heard to utter an uncomely word: and by this and a grave Behaviour, which is a Divine Charm, he begot an early Reverence unto his Person, even from those that at other times, and in other companies, took a liberty to cast off that strictness of Behaviour and Discourse that is required in a Collegiate Life. And when he took any liberty to be pleasant, his Wit was never blemished with Scoffing, or the utterance of any Conceit that bordered upon, or might beget a thought of Looseness in his hearers. Thus mild, thus innocent and exemplary was his Behaviour in his College, and thus this good man continued till his death, still increasing in Learning in Patience, and Piety.  
In this nineteenth year of his age, he was December 24. 1573, admitted to be one of the twenty Scholars of the Foundation, being elected and so admitted as born in Devon or Hantshire, out of which Countries 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 in o●porated into this beloved College, which was then noted for an eminent Library, strict students, and remarkable scholar's. And indeed it may glory, that it had Cardinal Poole, Bishop Jewel, Doctor John Reynolds, and Doctor 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) about the Head and Faith of the Church, and then printed by consent of both parties. And, the Third, for his most excellent Exposition of the Creed, and other Treatises: All such as have given greatest satisfaction to men of the greatest Learning. Nor was this man more Noteworthy for his Learning, than for his strict and and pious Life, testified by his abundant love and charity to all men.  
And in the year 1576. Febr. 23. Mr. hooker's Grace was given him for Inceptor of Arts, Doctor Herbert Westphaling, a man of note for Learning, being then Vicechancellor. And the Act following he was completed Master, which was Anno 1577. his Patron Doctor Cole being Vicechancellor that year, and his dear friend Henry Savill of Merton College being then one of the Proctors. 'Twas that Henry Savill, that was after Sir Henry Savill, Warden of Merton College, and Provost of Eton: He which founded in Oxford two famous Lectures, and endowed them with liberal maintenance.  
'Twas that Sir Henry Savil, that translated and enlightened the History of Cornelius Tacitus, with a most excellent Comment; and enriched the world by his laborious and chargeable collecting the scattered pieces of S. chrysostom, and the publication of them in one entire Body in Greek; in which Language he was a most judicious Critic. 'Twas this Sir Henry Savill, that had the happiness to be a Contemporary, and familiar friend to Mr. Hooker; and let Posterity know it.  
And in this year of 1577. He was admitted Fellow of the College; happy also in being the Contemporary and Friend of Dr. John Reynolds, of whom I have lately spoken; and of Dr. Spencer: both which were after, and successively, made Precedents of Corpus-Christi College; men of great Learning and Merit, and famous in their Generations.  
Nor was Mr. Hooker more happy in his Contemporaries of his Time and College, than in the Pupillage and Friendship of his Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer; of whom my Reader may note, that this Edwin Sandys was after Sir Edwin Sandys, and as famous for his Speculum Europae, as his brother George for making Posterity beholden to his Pen by a learned Relation and Comment on his dangerous and remarkable Travels; and for his harmonious Translation of the Psalms of David, the Book of Job, and other Poetical parts of Holy Writ, into most high and elegant Verse. And for Cranmer, his other Pupil, I shall refer my Reader to the printed Testimonies of our learned Mr. Cambden, of Fines Morison, and others.  
This Cranmer, 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 many years before he removed, and then betook himself to Travel, accompanying that worthy Gentleman Sir Edwin Sandys into France, Germany, and Italy, for the space of three years; and after their happy return he betook himself to an Employment under a Privy Counsellor of note, for an unhappy undertaking, after whose Fall, he went in place of Secretary with Sir Henry Killigrew in his Embassage into France: and after his death he was sought after by the most Noble Lord Mount-Joy, with whom he went into Ireland, where he remained until in a battle against the Rebels, near Carlingford, an unfortunate wound put an end both to his Life, and the great Hopes that were conceived of him: he being then but in the 36 year of his age.  
Betwixt Mr. Hooker and these his two Pupils, there was a sacred Friendship, a Friendship made up of Religious Principles, which increased daily by a similitude of Inclinations to the same Recreations and Studies; a Friendship elemented in Youth, and in an University, free from self-ends, which the Friendships of Age usually are not: and in this sweet, this blessed, this spiritual Amity they went on for many years; and as the Holy Prophet saith, so they took sweet counsel together, and walked in the House of God as Friends. By which means they improved it to such a degree of Amity as as bordered upon Heaven; a Friendship so sacred, that when it ended in this world, it began in the next, where it shall have no end.  
And, though this world cannot give any degree of Pleasure equal to such a Friendship: yet, Obedience to Parents, and a desire to know the Affairs, Manners, Laws, and Learning of other Nations, that they might thereby become the more serviceable unto their own, made them put off their Gowns, and leave the College and Mr. Hooker to his Studies, in which he was daily more assiduous still: enriching his quiet and capacious Soul with the precious Learning of the Philosophers, Cas●ists, and Schoolmen; and with them the foundation and reason of all Laws, both Sacred and Civil: and with such other Learning as lay most remote from the tract of common Studies. And as he was diligent in these, so he seemed restless in searching the scope and intention of God's Spirit revealed to Mankind in the Sacred Scripture: for the understanding of which, he seemed to be assisted by the same Spirit with which they were written: He that regardeth truth in the inward parts, making him to understand wisdom secretly: And the good man would often say, that the Scripture was not writ to beget Disputations, and Pride, and Opposition to Government; but, Charity and Humility, Moderation, Obedience to Authority, and peace to Mankind: of which virtues, no man did ever repent himself at his death. And, that this was really his judgement, did appear in his future writings, and in all the actions of his life: Nor was this excellent man a stranger to the more light and airy parts of Learning, as Music and Poetry; all which he had digested, and made useful: and of all which, the Reader will have a fair testimony, in what will follow.  
In the Year 1579. the Chancellor of the University was given to understand, that the public Hebrew Lecture was not read according to the Statutes; nor could be, by reason of a distemper that had seized the brain of Mr. Kingsmill, who was to read it; so that, it lay long unread, to the great detriment of those that were studious of that language: Therefore, the Chancellor writ to his Vicechancellor, and the University, that he had heard such commendations of the excellent knowledge of Mr. Richard Hooker in that tongue, that he desired he might be procured to read it: And he did, and continued to do so, till he left Oxford.  
Within three months after his undertaking this Lecture (namely in October 1579.) he was with Dr. Reynolds, and others expelled his College; and this Letter transcribed from Dr. Reynolds his own hand, may give some account of it.  
To Sir Francis Knolles.  
I Am sorry, Right Honourable, that I am enforced to make unto you such a suit, which, I cannot move, but I must complain of the unrighteous deaing of one of our College; who hath taken upon him against all Law and Reason, to expel out of our house, both me and Mr. Hooker, and three other of our Fellows, for doing that which by Oath we were bound to do. Our matter must be heard before the Bishop of Winchester, with whom I do not doubt, but we shall find equity. Howbeit, forasmuch as some of our adversaries have said, that the Bishop is already forestalled, and will not give us such audience as we look for; therefore I am humbly to beseech your Honour, that you will desire the Bishop, by your Letters, to let us have Justice; though it be with rigour, so it be Justice: our Cause is so good, that I am sure we shall prevail by it. Thus much I am bold to request of your Honour for Corpus Christi College sake, or rather for Christ's sake; whom I beseech to bless you with daily increase of his manifold gifts, and the blessed graces of his holy Spirit.  
London, Octob. 9 1579. Your HONOURS in Christ to command, JOHN REYNOLDS.  
This Expulsion was by Dr. John Barfoote, Chaplain to Ambrose Earl of Warwick, and then Vicepresident of the College: I cannot learn the pretended cause; but, that they were restored the same Month is most certain.  
I return to Mr. Hooker in his College, where he continued his studies with all quietness, for the space of three years; about which time, he entered into Sacred Orders, and was 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 Shunamites house; which is a House so called, for that, besides the Stipend paid the Preacher, there is provision made also for his Lodging and Diet two days before, and one day after his Sermon; this house was then kept by John Churchman, sometimes a Draper of good Note in Watling-street, upon whom Poverty had at last come like an armed man, and brought him into a necessitous condition; which, though it be a punishment, is not always an argument of God's disfavour, for he was a virtuous man: I shall not yet give the like testimony of his Wife, but leave the Reader to judge by what follows. But to this house Mr. Hooker came so wet, so weary, and weatherbeaten, that he was never known to express more passion, than against a Friend that dissuaded him from footing it to London, and for finding him no easier an Horse; supposing the Horse trotted, when he did not: And at this time also, such a faintness and fear possessed him, that he would not be persuaded two day's quietness, or any other means could be used to make him able to preach his Sundays Sermon; but a warm Bed, and Rest, and Drink, proper for a Cold, given him by Mrs. Churchman, and her diligent attendance added unto it, enabled him to perform the office of the day, which was in or about the Year 1581.  
And in this first public appearance to the World, he was not so happy as to be free from Exceptions against a point of Doctrine delivered in his Sermon, which was, That in God there were two Wills, an Antecedent, and a Consequent Will; his first Will, that all Mankind should be saved; but his second Will was, that those only should be saved, that did live answerable to that degree of Grace which he had offered, or afforded them. This seemed to cross a late Opinion of Mr. calvin's, and then taken for granted by many that had not a capacity to examine it, as it had been by him, and hath been since by Dr. Jackson, and Dr. Hammond, and others of great Learning, who believe that a contrary Opinion trenches 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 an Orational Answer to Mr. Travers) by John Elmer, than Bishop of London, at this time one of his Auditors, and at last one of his Advocates too, when Mr. Hooker was accused for it.  
But the justifying of this Doctrine did not prove of so bad consequence, as the kindness of Mrs. Churchman's curing him of his late Distemper and Cold; for that was so gratefully apprehended by Mr. Hooker, that he thought himself bound in conscience to believe all that she said; so that the good man came to be persuaded by her, that he was a man of a tender consti●tion, and that it was best for him to have a Wife, that might prove a Nurse to him; such an 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 Nathanael, fearing no guile, because he meant none, did give her such a power as Eleazar was trusted with, 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 the year following. Now the Wife provided for him, was her Daughter Joan, who brought him neither Beauty nor Portion; and for her Conditions, they were too like that Wife's which is by Solomon compared to a dripping house; so that he had no reason to rejoice in the Wife of his Youth, but too just cause to say with the holy Prophet, Woe is me that I am constrained to have my habitation in the tents of Kedar.  
This choice of Mr. hooker's (if it were his choice) may be wondered at; but let us consider that the Prophet Ezekiel says, There is a wheel within a wheel, a secret Sacred wheel of Providence (especially in Marriages) guided by his hand, that allows not the race to the swift, nor bread to the wise, nor good wives to good men: and he that can bring good out of evil, (for Mortals are blind to this Reason) only knows why this blessing was denied to patient Job, to meek Moses, and to our as meek and patient Mr. Hooker. But so it was; and, let the Reader cease to wonder, for Affliction is a Divine diet, which though it be not pleasing to Mankind, yet Almighty God hath often, very often imposed it as good, though bitter Physic to those children whose Souls are dearest to him.  
And by this means the good man was drawn from the tranquillity of his College, from that Garden of Piety, of Pleasure, of Peace, and a sweet Conversation, into the thorny Wilderness of a busy World, into those corroding cares that attend a married Priest, and a Country Parsonage, which was Draiton Beauchamp in Buckinghamshire, not far from Alesbury, and in the Diocese of Lincoln, to which he was presented by John Cheny Esquire, than Patron of it, the 9 th' of December 1584. where he behaved himself so as to give no occasion of evil, but (as St. Paul adviseth a Minister of God) in much patience, in afflictions, in anguishes, in necessities; in poverty, and no doubt in long-suffering: yet troubling no man with his discontents and wants.  
And in this condition he continued about a year, in which time his two Pupils, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took a journey to see their Tutor, where they found him with a Book in his hand (it was the Odes of Horace) he being then like humble and innocent Abel, tending his small allotment of sheep in a common field, which he told his Pupils he was forced to do then, for that his servant was gone home to Dine, and assist his Wife to do some necessary household business. When his servant returned and released him, his two Pupils attended him unto his house, where their best entertainment was his quiet company, which was presently denied them, for Richard was called to rock the Cradle; and the rest of their welcome was so like this, that they stayed but till next morning, which was time enough to discover and pity their Tutor's condition; and having in that time remembered and paraphrased on many of the innocent recreations of their younger days, and other like diversions, given him as much present comfort as they were able, they were forced to leave him to the company of his wife Joan, and seek themselves a quieter Lodging: But at their parting from him, Mr. Cranmer said, Good Tutor, I am sorry your lot is fallen in no better ground as to your Parsonage; and, more sorry that your Wife proves not a more comfortable Companion after you have wearied yourself in your restless studies. To whom the good man replied, My dear George, If Saints have usually a double share in the miseries of this life, I that am none, ought not to repine at what my wise Creator hath appointed for me, but labour, as indeed I do daily, to submit mine to his Will, and possess my soul in patience, and peace.  
At their return to London, Edwin Sandys acquaints his father's who was then Bishop of London, and after Archbishop of York, with his Tutors sad condition, and solicits for his removal to some Benefice that might give him a more comfortable subsistence; which his father did most willingly grant him, when it should next fall into his power. And not long after this time, which was in the year 1585., Mr. Alvie (Master of the Temple) died, who was a man of a strict Life, of great Learning, and of so venerable Behaviour, as to gain so high a degree of love and reverence from all men, that he was generally known by the name of Father Alvie. At the Temple-Reading, next after the death of this Father Alvie, he the said Archbishop of York being then at Dinner with the Judges, the Reader, and Benchers of that Society, met with a Condolement for the death of Father Alvie, an high commendation of his Saintlike life, and of his great merit both to God and man: and as they bewailed his death, so they wished for a like pattern of Virtue and Learning to succeed him. And here came in a fair occasion for the Bishop to commend Mr. Hooker to Father Alvies 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 Draiton Beauchamp to London, and there the Mastership of the Temple proposed unto him by the Bishop, as a greater freedom from his Country cares, and the advantage 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 
* 
This you may find in the Temple Records. William Ermstead was Master of the Temple at the Dissolution of the Priory, and died 2 Eliz.  
Richard Alvey Bat. Divinity, Pat. 13 Febr. 2 Eliz. Magister five Custos Domuns & Ecolesiae novi Templi, died 27 Eliz.  
Richard Hooker succeeded that year by Patent in terminis, as Alvey ●ad it, and he left it, 33 Eliz.  
That year Dr. Balgey succeeded Richard Hooker.   Patent for Life, made Master of the Temple the 17 th' of March 1585. he being then in the 34 th' year of his age.  
And, here I shall make a stop; and, that the Reader may the better judge of what follows, give him a character of the Times, and Temper of the people of this Nation, when Mr. Hooker had his admission into this place, a place which he accepted, rather than desired; and yet here he promised himself a virtuous quietness, that blessed Tranquillity which he always prayed and laboured for; that so he might in peace bring forth the fruits of peace, and glorify God by uninterrupted prayers and praises: for this he always thirsted, and yet this was denied him. For his admission into this place, was the very beginning of those oppositions and anxieties, which till then this good man was a stranger to, and of which the Reader may guests by what follows.  
In this character of the Times, I shall, by the Readers 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 that raged to the effusion of so much blood in the Reign of Queen Mary, were fresh in the memory of all men; and, begot fears in the most pious and wisest of this Nation, lest the like days should return again to them, or their present posterity. And the apprehension of these dangers, begot a hearty desire of a settlement in the Church and State, believing there was no other probable way left to make them sit quietly under their own Vines and Figtrees, and enjoy the desired fruit of their Labours. But, Time, and Peace, and Plenty, begot Self-ends, and these begot Animosities, Envy, Opposition, and Unthankfulness for those very blessings for which they lately thirsted, being then the very utmost of their desires, and even beyond their hopes.  
This was the temper of the Times in the beginning of her Reign, and thus it continued too long; for those very people that had enjoyed the desires of their hearts in a Reformation from Rome, became at last so like the grave, as never to be satisfied; but were still thirsting for more and more, neglecting to pay that Obedience, and perform those Vows which they made in their days of adversities and fear: so that in short time, there appeared three several Interests, each of them fearless and restless in the prosecution of their designs; they may for distinction be called, The active Romanists, The restless Non-conformists (of which there were many sorts) and, The passive peaceable Protestant. The Counsels of the first considered, and resolved on in Rome: the second in Scotland, in Geneva, and in divers selected, secret, dangerous Conventicles, both there, and within the bosom of our own Nation: the third pleaded and defended their Cause by established Laws, both Ecclesiastical and Civil; and if they were active, it was to prevent the other two from destroying what was by those known Laws happily established to them and their Posterity.  
I shall forbear to mention the very many and dangerous Plots of the Romanists against the Church and State, because what is principally intended in this digression, is an account of the Opinions and Activity of the Non-conformists; against whose judgement and practice, Mr. Hooker became at last, but most unwillingly, to be engaged in a Book-war; a War, which he maintained not as against an Enemy, but with the spirit of meekness and reason.  
In which number of Non-conformists, though some might be sincere, well-meaning men, whose indiscreet Zeal might be so like Charity, as thereby to cover a multitude of their Errors; yet, of this party, there were many that were possessed with a high degree of spiritual wickedness, I mean, with an innate restless pride, and malice. I do not mean the visible carnal sins of Gluttony, and Drunkenness, and the like (from which good Lord deliver us) but, sins of a higher nature, because they are more unlike God, who is the God of love and mercy, and order, and peace; and more like the Devil, who is not a Glutton, nor can be drunk, and yet is a Devil; but I mean those spiritual wickednesses of malice and revenge, and an opposition to Government. Men that joyed to be the Authors of misery, which is properly his work that is the enemy and disturber of Mankind; and, greater sins than Gluttony or Drunkenness, though some will not believe it. And of this party, there were also many, whom prejudice and a furious Zeal had so blinded, as to make them neither to hear reason, nor adhere to the ways of peace. Men, that were the dregs of Mankind, whom Pride and Self-conceit, had made to overvalue 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 to find out the faults, and to speak evil of Government; and then, to be the Authors of Confusion. Men, whom Company, and Conversation, and Custom, had at last so blinded, and made so insensible that these were sins; that, like those that perished in the gainsaying of Core, so these died without repenting of these spiritual wickednesses: of which the practices of Copinger, and Hacket in their lives; and the death of them and their adherents, are God knows too sad examples; and, aught to be cautions to those men that are inclined to the like spiritual wickednesses.  
And in these Times which tended thus to Confusion, there were also many others that pretended a tenderness of Conscience, refusing to take an Oath before a lawful Magistrate; and yet these men, in their secret Conventicles, did covenant 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. To which end, there were many that wandered up and down, and were active in sowing Discontents and Sedition, by venomous and secret murmurings, and a dispersion of scurrilous Pamphlets and Libels against the Church and State, but especially against the Bishops; by which means, together with 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 then given over to such a desperate delusion, as to find out a Text in the Revelation of St. John, that Antichrist was to be overcome by the Sword. So that those very men, that began with tender and meek Petitions, proceeded to Admonitions, then to Satyrical Remonstrances; and at last, having 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, than 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 so blinded his reason, that his ambitious and greedy hopes had almost put him into a present possession of Lambeth-house.  
And to these undertake, 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 
* Mr. Dering.  one 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 History 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 spoken in the Pulpit; showing at last such a disobedience to Him, that His Mother being in England, and then in distress, and in prison, and in danger of death, the Church denied the King their prayers for her: and at another time, when He had appointed a day of Feasting; the Church declared for a general Fast, in opposition to His Authority.  
To this height they were grown in both Nations, and by these means there was distilled into the minds of the common people such other venomous and turbulent principles, as were inconsistent with the safety of the Church and State: and these vented so daringly, that, beside the loss of life and limbs, they were forced to use such other severities as will not admit of an excuse, if it had not been to prevent Confusion, and the perilous consequences of it; which, without such prevention, would have been Ruin and Misery to this numerous Nation.  
These Errors and Animosities were so remarkable, that they begot wonder in an ingenious Italian, who being about this time come newly into this Nation, writ scoffingly to a friend in his own Country, to this purpose, That the Common people of England were wiser than the wisest of his wiser Nation; for, here the very Women and Shopkeepers, were able to judge of Predestination, and determine what Laws were fit to be made concerning Church-government; and then, what were fit to be obeyed or abolished. That they were more able (or at least thought so) to raise and determine perplexed Cases of Conscience, than the wisest of the most learned Colleges in Italy. That men of the slightest Learning, and the most ignorant of the Common people, were mad for a new or Super- or Re-reformation of Religion; and that in this they appeared like that man, who would never cease to whet and whet his knife, till there was no steel left to make it useful. And he concluded his Letter with this observation, That those very men that were most busy in Oppositions, and Disputations, and Controversies, of 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 lust of delusion, and so highly opposed the blessed motions of his Spirit, and the inward light of their own Consciences, that they had thereby sinned themselves into a belief which they would, but could not believe; into a belief which is repugnant even to humane Nature (for the Heathens believe that there are many gods) but these had sinned themselves into a belief that there was no God, so finding nothing in themselves but what was worse than nothing, began to wish what they were not able to hope for, that they should be like the beasts that perish: And wicked company, which is the Atheists Sanctuary, were so bold as to say so, though the worst of Mankind when he is left alone at midnight, may wish, but cannot then think it a belief that there is no God. Into this wretched, this reprobate condition, many had then sinned themselves.  
And now when the Church was pestered with them, and with all these other Irregularities; when her Lands were in danger of Alienation, her Power at least neglected, and her Peace torn to pieces by several Schisms, and such Heresies as do usually attend that sin (for Heresies do usually outlive their first Authors) when the Common people seemed ambitious of doing those very things that were attended with most dangers, that thereby they might be punished, and then applauded and pitied; when they called the Spirit of opposition a Tender Consciouce, and complained of persecution, because they wanted power to persecute others; when the giddy multitude raged, and became restless to find out misery for themselves and others; and the Rabble would herd themselves together, and endeavour to govern and act in spite of Authority. In this extremity of fear, and danger of the Church and State, when to suppress the growing evils of both, they needed a man of prudence and piety, and of an high and fearless fortitude, they were blest in all by John Whitgift his being made Archbishop of Canterbury; of whom Sir Henry Wotton (that knew him well, for he was his Pupil) gives this true Character: That he was a man of Reverend and Sacred memory; and, of the primitive temper; such a temper, as when the Church by lowliness of Spirit did flourish in highest examples of Virtue.  
And though I dare not undertake to add to this excellent and true character of Sir Henry Wotton, yet I shall neither do right to this Discourse, nor to my Reader, if I forbear to give him a further and short account of the life and manners of this excellent man; and it shall be short, for I long to end this digression, that I may lead my Reader back to Mr. Hooker, where we left him at the Temple.  
John Whitgift was born in the County of Lincoln, of a Family that was ancient, and noted to be both prudent, and affable, and Gentile by nature; he was educated in Cambridge, much of his Learning was acquired in Pembroke-Hall, (where Mr. Bradford the Martyr was his Tutor) from thence he was removed to Peter-house, from thence to be Master of Pembroke Hall, and from thence to the Mastership of Trinity College: About which time, the Queen made him Her Chaplain and not long after Pre●end of Ely, and then Dean of Lincoln; and having for many years past look'● upon him with much reverence and favour, gave him a fair testimony of both, by giving him the Bishopric of Worcester, and (which was not a usual favour) forgiving him his First-fruits; then by constituting him Vicepresident of the principality of Wales. And having experimented his Wisdom, his Justice, and Moderation in the menage of Her affairs, in both these places; She, in the 26 th' of Her Reign, 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 upon the place where it rested; and in all his Employments was like Jchoida, 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. Cambdens' very words in ● is Annals) he devoutly consecrated both his whole life to God, and his painful labours to the ●●od of his Church. And yet in this place he met with many oppositions in the regulation of Church-affairs, which were much disordered at his entrance, by reason of the age and remissness of Bishop Grindall, his immediate Predecessor, the activity of the Non-consormists, and their chief assistant the Earl of Leicester, and indeed by too many others of the like Sacrilegious principles. With these he was to encounter; and, though he wanted neither courage, nor a good cause, yet he foresaw, that without a great measure of the Queen's favour, it was impossible to stand in the breach that was made into the Lands and Immunities of the Church, or to maintain the remaining rights of it. And therefore by justifiable sacred Insinuations such as St. Paul to Agrippa (Agrippa, believest thou? I know thou believest) he wrought himself into so great a degree of favour with Her, as by his pious use of it, hath got both of them a great degree of Fame in this World, and of Glory in that into which they are now entered.  
His merits to the Queen, and Her favours to him were such, that She called him Her little black Husband, and called his Servants Her Servants: and She saw so visible and blessed a sincerity shine in all his cares and endeavours for the Churches, and for Her good, that She was supposed to trust him with the very secrets of Her Soul, and to make him Her Confessor; of which She gave many fair testimonies, and of which one was, that She would never eat Flesh in Lent without obtaining a Licence from her little black Husband: and would often say, She pitied him because She trusted him, and had eased Herself, by laying the burden of all Her Clergy-cares upon his shoulders, which he managed with prudence and piety.  
I shall not keep myself within the promised Rules of brevity in this account of his Interest with Her Majesty, and his care of the Church's Rights, if in this digression I should enlarge to particulars; and therefore my desire is, that one Example may serve for a Testimony of both. And that the Reader may the better understand it, he may take notice, that not many years before his being made Archbishop, there passed an Act or Acts of Parliament, intending the better preservation of 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 Queens, the Earl of Leicester was one; and the Bishop having by his Interest with Her Majesty, put a stop to the Earls sacrilegious designs, they two fell to a open opposition before Her; after which they both quitted the Room, not friends in appearance; but the Bishop made a sudden and a seasonable return to Her Majesty (for he found Her alone) and spoke to Her with great humility and reverence, and to this purpose.  
I Beseech Your Majesty to hear me with patience, and to believe that Yours, and the Church's safety, are dearer to me than my Life; but, my Conscience dearer than both: and therefore give me leave to do my Duty, and tell You, that Princes are deputed Nursing Fathers of the Church, and owe it a protection; and therefore God forbid that You should be so much as Passive in her Ruins, when You may prevent it; or that I should behold it without horror and detestation, or should forbear to tell Your Majesty of the sin and danger of Sacrilege: And, though You and myself were born in an Age of Frailties, when the primitive piety and care of the Church's Lands and Immunities are much decayed; yet (Madam) let me beg that you would first consider that there are such sins as Profaneness and Sacrilege; and, that if there were not, they could not have names in Holy Writ, and particularly in the New Testament. And I beseech You to consider, that though our Saviour said. He judged no man; and to testify it, would not judge nor divide the inheritance betwixt the two Brethren; nor would judge the Woman taken in Adultery: yet, in this point of the Church's Rights he was so zealous, that he made himself both the Accuser, and the Judge, and the Executioner too, to punish these sins; witnessed, in that he himself made the Whip to drive the Prophaners out of the Temple, overthrew the Tables of the Money-changers, and drove them out of it. And consider that it was St. Paul that said to those Christians of his time that were offended with Idolatry, yet committed Sacrilege; Thou that abhorrest Idols, dost thou commit Sacrilege? Supposing (I think) Sacrilege the greater sin. This may occasion Your Majesty to consider that there is such a sin as Sacrilege; and to incline You to prevent the Curse that will follow it, I beseech You also to consider, that Constantine the first Christian Emperor, and Helena his Mother; that King Edgar, and Edward the Confessor, and indeed many others of Your Predecessors, and many private Christians, have also given to God, and to his Church, much Land, and many Immunities, which they might have given to those of their own Families, and did not: but, gave them 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 from being liable to that Curse.  
And, to make You that are trusted with their preservation, the better to understand the danger of it, I beseech You forget not, that, besides these Curses, the Church's Land and Power have been also endeavoured to be preserved, as far as Humane 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 Predecessors were at their Coronation so You also were sworn before all the Nobility and Bishops then present, and in the presence of God, and in his stead to him that anointed You, To maintain the Church-lands, and the Rights belonging to it; and this testified openly at the holy Altar, by laying Your hands on the Bible then lying upon it. And not only Magna Charta, but many modern Statutes have denounced a Curse upon those that break Magna Charta: A Curse like the Leprosy, that was entailed on the Jews; for, as that, so these Curses have and will cleave to the very stones of those buildings that have been consecrated to God; and, the father's sin of Sacrilege, will prove to be entailed on his Son and Family. And now what account can be given for the breach of this Oath at the last great day, either by Your Majesty, or by me, if it be wilfully, or but negligently violated, I know not?  
And therefore, good Madam, let not the late Lords Exceptions against the failings of some few Clergymen, prevail with You to punish Posterity, for the Errors of this present Age; let particular men suffer for their particular Errors, but let God and his Church have their right: And though I pretend not to Prophesy, yet I beg Posterity to take notice of what is already become visible in many Families, That Churchland added to an ancient Inheritance, hath proved like a Moth fretting a Garment, and secretly consumed both: Or like the Eagle that stole a coal from the Altar, and thereby set her Nest on fire, which consumed both her young Eagles, and herself that stole it. And though I shall forbear to speak reproachfully of Your Father, yet I beg You to take notice, that a part of the Church's Rights, added to the vast Treasure left him by his Father, hath been conceived to bring an unavoidable Consumption upon both, notwithstanding all his diligence to preserve them.  
And consider that after the violation of those Laws, to which he had sworn in Magna Charta, God did so far deny him his restraining Grace, that as King Saul after he was forsaken of God, fell from one sin to another; so he, till at last he fell into greater sins than I am willing to mention. Madam Religion is the Foundation and Cement of humane Societies: and when they that serve at God's Altar, shall be exposed to Poverty, then, Religion itself will be exposed to scorn, and become contemptible, as You may already observe in too many poor Vicaridges in this Nation. And therefore, as You are by a late Act or Acts of Parliament entrusted with a great power to preserve or waste the Church's Lands; yet, dispose of them for Jesus sake, as the Dono●s intended; let neither Falsehood nor Flattery beguile You to do otherwise: but put a stop to Gods and the Levites portion (I beseech You) and to the approaching Ruins of his Church, as You expect comfort at the great day; for, Kings must be judged; Pardon this affectionate plainness, my most dear Sovereign, and let me beg still to be continued in Your favour, and the Lord still continue You in his.  
The Queen's patient hearing this affectionate Spe●●, and her future Care to preserve the Church's Rights, which till then had been neglected, may appear a fair Testimony, that he made hers and the Churches Good the chiefest of his Cares, and that she also thought 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 believe and do good to each other; she not doubting his Piety to be more than all his Opposers, which were many; nor his Prudence equal to the chiefest of her Council, who were then as remarkable for active Wisdom, as those dangerous Times did require, or this Nation did ever enjoy. And in this condition he continued twenty years; in which time he saw some Flow, but many more Ebb of her Favour towards all men that opposed him, especially the Earl of Leicester: so that God seemed still to keep him in her Favour, that he might preserve the remaining Church Lands and Immunities from Sacrilegious Alienations. And this Good man deserved all the Honour and Power with which she 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 gave her faithful and prudent Counsels in all the Extremities and Dangers of her Temporal Affairs, which were many; he lived to be the Chief Comfort of her Life in her Declining age, to be then most frequently with her, and her Assistant at her private Devotions, to be the greatest Comfort of her Soul upon her Deathbed, to be present at the Expiration of her last Breath, and to behold the closing of those Eyes that had long looked upon him with Reverence and Affection. And let this also be added, that he was the Chief Mourner at her sad Funeral; nor let this be forgotten, that within a few hours after her death, he was the happy Proclaimer, that King James (her peaceful Successor) was Heir to the Crown.  
Let me beg of my Reader to allow me to say a little, and but a little, more of this good Bishop, and I shall then presently lead him back to Mr. Hooker; and, because I would hasten, I will mention but one part of the Bishop's Charity and Humility, but this of both: He built a large Almshouse near to his own Palace at Croyden in Surry, and endowed it with Maintenance for a Master and twenty eight poor Men and Women; which he visited so often, that he knew their Names and Dispositions, and was so truly humble, that he called them Brothers and Sisters: and whensoever the Queen descended to that lowliness to dine with him at his Palace in Lambeth, (which was very often) he would usually the next day show the like lowliness to his poor Brothers and Sisters at Croyden, and dine with them at his Hospital; at which time, you may believe, there was Joy at the Table. And at this place he built also a fair Free-School, with a good Accommodation and Maintenance for the Master and Scholars; Which gave just occasion for Boyse Sisi, than Ambassador for the French King, and Resident here, at the Bishop's death to say, The Bishop had published many learned Books, but a Free-school to train up Youth, and an Hospital to lodge and maintain aged and poor People, were the best Evidences of Christian Learning that a Bishop could leave to Posterity. This good Bishop lived to see King James settled in Peace, and then fell sick at his Palace in Lambeth; of which when the King had notice, he went to visit him, and found him in his Bed in a declining condition, and very weak; and after some short discourse betwixt them, the King, at his departure assured him, He had a great Affection for him, and a very high value for his Prudence and Virtues, and would endeavour to beg his life of God. To which the good Bishop replied, Pro Ecclesia Dei, Pro Ecclesia Dei: which were the last words he ever spoke; therein testifying, that as in his Life, so at his Death, his chiefest care was of God's Church.  
This John Whitgift was made Archbishop in the year 1583. In which busy place, he continued twenty years and some months; and in which time, you may believe, he had many Trials of his Courage and Patience; but his Motto was, Vincit, qui patitur.  
And he made it good. Many of his many Trials were occasioned by the then powerful Earl of Leicester, who did still (but secretly) raise and cherish a Faction of Non-conformists to oppose him; especially one Thomas Cartwright, a man of noted Learning, sometime Contemporary with the Bishop in Cambridge, and of the same College, of which the Bishop had been Master; in which place there began some Emulations (the particulars I forbear) and at last open and high Oppositions betwixt them; and in which you may believe Mr. Cartwright was most faulty, if his Expulsion out of the University can incline you to it.  
And in this discontent after the Earls death (which was 1588.) Mr. Cartwright appeared a chief Cherisher of a Party that were for the Geneva Church-government; and to effect it, he ran himself into many dangers both of Liberty and Life; appearing at the last to justify himself and his Party in many Remonstrances, which he caused to be printed, and to which the Bishop made a first Answer, and Cartwright replied upon him; and then the Bishop having rejoined to his first Reply, Mr. Cartwright either was, or was persuaded to be, satisfied: for he wrote no more, but lefty the Reader to be judge which had maintained their Cause with most Charity and Reason. After some silence, Mr. Cartwright received from the Bishop many personal Favours, and retired himself to a more private Living, which was at Warwick, where he was made Master of an Hospital, and lived quietly, and grew rich, and where the Bishop gave him a Licence to Preach, upon promises not to meddle with Controversies, but incline his Hearers to Piety and Moderation; and this Promise he kept during his Life, which ended 1602, the Bishop surviving him but some few months: each, ending his days in perfect Charity with the other.  
And now after this long Digression made for the Information of my Reader concerning what follows, I bring him back to venerable Mr. Hooker, where we left him in the Temple, and where we shall find him as deeply engaged in a Controversy with Walter Trevers, a Friend and Favourite of Mr. Cartwrights, as the Bishop had ever been with Mr. Cartwright himself; and of which I shall proceed to give this following account.  
And first this; That though the Pens of Mr. Cartwright and the Bishop were now at rest, yet there was sprung up a new Generation of restless men, that by Company and Clamours 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 Papest cannot be saved: insomuch that about this time, at the Execution of the Queen of Scots, the Bishop that preached her Funeral Sermon (which was Doctor Howland, than Bishop of Peterborough) was reviled for not being positive for her Damnation. And beside 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, who was a man of a sharp wit, and the Master of a scoffing Satyrical merry Pen, which he employed to discover the Absurdities of those blind malicious senseless Pamphlets, and Sermons as senseless as they; Nash his Answer being like his Books, which bore these Titles, An Almond for a Parrot. A Fig for my Godson. Come crack me this Nut, and the like: so that his merry Wit made such a discovery of their Absurdities, as (which is strange) he put a greater stop to these malicious Pamphlets, than a much wiser man had been able.  
And now the Reader is to take notice, That at the Death of Father Alvie, who was Master of the Temple, this Walter Travers was Lecturer there for the Evening Sermons, which he preached with great approbation, especially of the younger Gentlemen of that Society; and for the most part approved by Mr. Hooker himself, in the midst of their oppositions. For he continued Lecturer a part of his time, Mr. Travers being indeed a man of a Competent Learning, of a winning Behaviour, and of a blameless Life. But he had taken Orders by the Presbytery in Antwerp, (and with them some opinions, that could never be eradicated) and if in any thing he was transported, it was in an extreme desire to set up that Government in this Nation: For the promoting of which, he had a correspondence with Theodore Beza at Geneva, and others in Scotland; and w●s one of the chiefest assistants to Mr. Cartwright in that Design.  
Mr. Travers had also a particular hope to set up this Government in the Temple, and to that end used his endeavours to be Master of it, and his being disappointed by Mr. hooker's admittance, proved some occasion of opposition betwixt them, in their Sermons. Many of which were concerning the Doctrine, and Ceremonies of this Church: Insomuch that, as Saint Paul withstood Saint Peter to his face, So did they, for as one hath pleasantly expressed it, The Forenoon Sermon upake Canterbury, and the Afternoons, Geneva.  
In these Sermons there was little of bitterness, but each party brought all the Reasons he was able to prove his Adversaries Opinion erroneous. And thus it continued a long time, till the Oppositions became so visible, and the Consequences so dangerous, especially in that place, that the prudent Archbishop 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: and where he met with many assisting Friends; but they were not able to prevail with or against the Archbishop, whom the Queen had entrusted with all Church-power: and he had received so fair a Testimony of Mr. hooker's Principles, and of his Learning and Moderation, that he withstood all Solicitations. But the denying this Petition of Mr. Travers was unpleasant to divers of his Party; and, the Reasonableness of it became at last to be so magnified by them and many others of that party, as never to be answered; so that intending the Bishops and Mr. hooker's disgrace, they procured it to be privately printed, and scattered abroad: and then Mr. Hooker was forced to appear publicly, which he did, and Dedicated it to the Archbishop; and it proved so full an Answer, an answer that had in it so much of clear Reason, and writ with so much Meekness and Majesty of Style, that the Bishop began to wonder at the Man, to rejoice that he had appeared in his Cause, and disdained not earnestly to beg his Friendship, even a familiar Friendship, with a man of so much quiet Learning and Humility.  
To enumerate the many particular points, in which Mr. Hooker and Mr. Travers dissented, (all or most of which, I have seen written) would prove at least tedious; and therefore, I shall impose upon my Reader no more than two, which shall immediately follow, and by which he may judge of the rest.  
Mr. Travers excepted against Mr. Hooker, for that in one of his Sermons he declared, That the assurance of what we believe by the Word of God, is not to us so certain as that which we perceive by sense. And Mr. Hooker confesseth he said so; and endeavours to justify it by the Reasons following.  
First, I taught, That the things which God promises in his Word are surer than what we touch, handle, or see; but are we so sure and certain of them? if we be, why doth God so often prove his Promises to us, as he doth, by Arguments drawn from our sensible Experience? For we must be surer of the Proof than of the things Proved; otherwise it is no Proof. For Example: How is it that many men looking on the Moon at the same time; every one knoweth it to be the Moon, as certainly as the other doth: but many believing one and the same Promise, have not all one and the same Fullness of Persuasion? For how falleth it out, that men being assured of any thing by Sense, can be no surer of it than they are; when as the strongest in Faith that liveth upon the Earth, hath always need to labour, strive and pray, that his Assurance 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 Adherence is, he makes this comfortable use of it, Comfortable (he says) as to weak Believers, who suppose themselves to be faithless, not to believe, when notwithstanding they have their Adherence; the Holy Spirit hath his private operations, and worketh secretly in them, and effectually too, though they want the inward Testimony of it.  
Tell this to a man that hath a mind too much dejected by a sad sense of his sin; to one that by a too severe judging of himself, concludes that he wants Faith, because he wants the comfortable Assurance of it; and his Answer will be, Do not persuade me against my knowledge, against what I find and feel in myself; I do not, I know, I do not believe. (Mr. hooker's own words follow) Well then, to favour such men a little in their weakness, Let that be granted which they do imagine; be it that they adhere not to God's Promises, but are faithless and without belief; but are they not grieved for their unbelief? they confess they are; do they not wish it might, and also strive that it may be otherways? we know they do; whence cometh this, but from a secret Love and Liking that they have of those things believed? For, no man can love those things which in his own opinion are not; and, if they think those things to be, which they show they love when they desire to believe them; then must it be that by desiring to believe, they prove themselves true believers; For, without Faith no man thinketh that things believed are: which argument all the Subtleties of ●●●ernal powers will never be able to dissolve. This is an abridgement of part of the Reasons he gives for his Justification of this his Opinion for which he was excepted against by Mr. Travers.  
Mr. Hooker was also accused by Mr. Travers● for that he in one of his Sermons had declared, that he doubted not but that God was merciful to many of our forefathers living in Popish Superstition, for as much as they Sinned ignorantly: and Mr. Hooker in his answer professeth it to be his Judgement, and declares his Reasons for this Charitable opinion to be as followeth.  
But first he states the question about Justification and Works, and how the Foundation of Faith is overthrown; and then he proceeds to discover that way which Natural men and some others have mistaken to be the way by which they hope to attain true and everlasting happiness; and having discovered the mistaken, he proceeds to direct to that True way, by which and no other, everlasting life and blessedness is attainable; and, these two ways he demonstrates thus: (they be his own words that follow) That, the way of Nature, This, the way of Grace; the end of that way, Salvation merited, presupposing the righteousness of men's works; their Righteousness, a Natural ability to do them; that ability, the goodness of God which created them in such perfection. But the end of this way, Salvation bestowed upon men as a gift: presupposing not their righteousness, but the forgiveness of their Unrighteousness, Justification; their Justification, not their Natural ability to do good, but their hearty Sorrow for not doing, and unfeigned belief in him for whose sake not doers are accepted, which is their vocation; their Vocation, the Election of God, taking them out of the number of lost Children; their Election a Mediator in whom to be elected; this mediation inexplicable mercy; this mercy, supposing their misery for whom he vouchsafed to die, and make himself a Mediator.  
And he also declareth, There is no meritorious cause for our Justification but Christ, no effectual but his Mercy; and says also, We deny the Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, we abuse, disannul, and annihilate the benefit of his Passion, if by a proud imagination we believe we can merit everlasting life, or can be worthy of it. This belief (he declareth) is to destroy the very essence of our Justification, and he makes all opinions that border upon this, to be very dangerous. Yet nevertheless, (and for this he was accused) Considering how many virtuous and just men, how many Saints and Martyrs have had their dangerous opinions, amongst which this was one, that they hoped to make God some part of amends by voluntary punishments which they laid upon themselves; because by this or the like erroneous opinions which do by consequence overthrow the merits of Christ, shall man be so bold as to write on their Graves, such men are demned, there is for them no Salvation? St. Austin says, errare possum, Haereticus esse nolo. And except we put a difference betwixt them that err Ignorantly, and them that Obstinately persist in it, how is it possible that any man should hope to be saved; give me a Pope or a Cardinal, whom great afflictions have made to know himself, whose heart God hath touched with true sorrow for all his Sins, and filled with a Love of Christ and his Gospel, whose eyes are willingly open to see the truth, and his mouth ready to renounce all error, this one opinion of merit excepted, which he thinketh God will require at his hands, and because he wanteth, trembleth, and is discouraged, and yet can say, Lord cleanse me from all my secret sins, shall I think because of this or a like error such men touch not so much as the Him of Christ's Garment; if they do, wherefore should I doubt but that virtue may proceed from Christ to save them? no, I will not be afraid to say to such a one, you err in your opinion, but be of good comfort, you have to do with a merciful God who will make the best of that little which you hold well a●d not with a captious Sophister, who gathereth the worst out of every thing in which you are mistaken.  
But it will be said, The admittance of Merit in any degree, overthroweth the foundation, excludeth from the hope of mercy, from all possibility of Salvation. (And now Mr. hooker's own words follow.)  
What though they hold the truth sincerely in all other parts of Christian Faith; although they have in some measure all the Virtues and Graces of the Spirit? although they have all other tokens of God's Children in them; although they be far from having any proud opinion that they shall be saved by the worthiness of their deeds; although the only thing that troubleth and molesteth them be a little too much dejection, somewhat too great a fear arising from an erroneous conceit, that God will require a worthiness in them, which they are grieved to find wanting in themselves? although they be not obstinate in this opinion? although they be willing and would be glad to forsake it, if any one reason were brought sufficient to disprove it? although the only cause why they do not forsake it ere they die, be their Ignorance of that means by which it might be disproved? although the cause why the Ignorance in this point is not removed, be the want of knowledge in such as should be able, and are not to remove it; Let me die (says Mr. Hooker) if it be ever proved, that simply an Error doth exclude a Pope or Cardinal in such a case utterly from hope of life. Surely I must confess, that if it be an Error to think that God may be merciful to save men even when they err; my greatest comfort is my error: were it not for the love I bear to this error, I would never wish to speak or to live.  
I was willing to take notice of these two points, as 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 arguments of Mr. hooker's great and clear reason, and equal Charity. Other exceptions were also made against him, as, That he prayed before and not after his Sermons; that in his Prayers he named Bishops; that he kneeled both when he prayed and when he received the Sacrament, and (says Mr. Hooker in his defence) other exceptions so like these, as but to name, I should have thought a greater fault then to commit them.  
And 'tis not unworthy the noting, that in the manage of so great a controversy, a sharper reproof than this, and one like it, did never fall from the happy pen of this Humble man. That like it was upon a like occasion of exceptions, to which his answer was, Your next argument consists of railing and of reasons; to your Railing, I say nothing, to your Reasons, I say what follows. And I am glad of this fair occasion, to testify the Dovelike temper of this meek, this matchless man; and doubtless if Almighty God had blest the Dissenters from the Ceremonies and Discipline of this Church, with a like measure of Wisdom and Humility, instead of their pertinacious zeal, than Obedience and Truth had kissed each other; then Peace and Piety had flourished in our Nation, and this Church and state had been blest like Jerusalem that is at unity with itself; But this can never be expected, till God shall bless the common people with a belief that Schism is a Sin, and That there may be offences taken which are not given, and, That Laws are not made for private men to dispute, but to Obey.  
And this also may be worthy of noting, That these Exceptions of Mr. Travers against Mr. Hooker, were the cause of his Transcribing several of his Sermons, which we now see printed with his Books; 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 the hands of others, and have been thereby preserved 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 Petiton of Mr. Travers, Mr. Hooker grew daily into greater repute with the most learned and wise of the Nation; but it had a contrary effect in very many of the Temple that were zealous for Mr. Travers and for his Church Discipline: insomuch that though Mr. Travers left the place, yet the seeds of Discontent could not be rooted out of that Society, by the great Reason, and as great Meekness of this humble man: for though the chief Benchers gave him much Reverence and Encouragement, yet he there met with many neglects and oppositions by those of Master Travers Judgement; in so much that it turned to his extreme grief and that he might unbeguile and win them, he designed to write a deliberate sober Treatise of the Church's power to make Canons for the use of Ceremonies, and by Law to impose an obedience to them, as upon her Children; and this he proposed to do in eight Books of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity; intending therein to show such Arguments as should force an assent from all men, if Reason, delivered in sweet Language and void of any provocation, were able to do it; And that he might prevent all prejudice, he wrote before it a large Preface or Epistle to the Dissenting Brethren, wherein there were such Bowels of Love, and such a Commixture of that Love with Reason, as was never exceeded but in Holy Writ, and particularly by that of St. Paul to his dear Brother and fellow Labourer Philemon, than which none ever was more like this Epistle of Mr. hooker's; so that his dear friend and Companion in his Studies Doctor Spenser might after his death justly say, What admirable height of Learning and depth of Judgement dwelled in the lowly mind of this truly humble man, great in all wise men's eyes except his own; with what gravity and Majesty of speech his Tongue and Pen uttered Heavenly Mysteries; whose eyes in the Humility of his Heart were always cast down to the ground; how all things that proceeded from him were breathed as from the Spirit of Love, as if he, like the Bird of the Holy Ghost, the Dove, had wanted Gall, let those that knew him not in his Person, judge by these living Images of his soul, his Writings.  
The foundation of these Books was laid in the Temple; but he found it no fit place to finish what he had there designed; and therefore solicited the Archbishop for a remove, to whom he spoke to this purpose, My Lord, When I lost the freedom of my Cell, which was my College, yet I found some degree of it in my quiet Country Parsonage: but I am weary of the noise and oppositions of this place; and indeed, God and Nature did not intend me for Contentions, but for Study and quietness: My Lord, My particular contests with Mr. Travers here, have proved the more unpleasant to me, because I believe him 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 humane and divine, whether the Conscience of him and others of his judgement 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 their tender Consciences shall require us, and in this examination, I have not only satisfied myself, but have begun a treatise, in which I intent the Justification of our Laws of Church-Government, and I shall never be able to finish it, 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 blessing spring out of my Mother Earth, and eat my own bread without oppositions; and therefore if your Grace can Judge me worthy such a favonr, let me beg it, that I may perfect what I have begun.  
About this time the Parsonage or Rectory of Boscum, in the Diocese of Sarum, and six miles from that City, became void. The Bishop of Sarum is Patron of it, but in the vacancy of that See (which was three years betwixt the Translation of Bishop Peirce to the See of York, and Bishop Caldwells admission into it) the disposal of that and all Benefices belonging to that See, during this said vacancy, came to be disposed of by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he presented Richard Hooker to it, in the year 1591. And Richard Hooker was also in the said year Instituted, July 17. to be a minor Prebend of Salisbury, the Corpse to it being Nether-Havin, about ten miles from that City, which Prebend was of no great value, but intended chiefly to make him capable of a better preferment in that Church. In this Boscum he continued till he had finished four of his eight proposed Books of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, and these were entered into the register Book in Stationer's Hall, the 9 of March 1592. but not published till the year 1594. and then with the beforementioned large and affectionate Preface, which he directs to them that seek (as they term it) the Reformation of the laws and orders Ecclesiastical in the Church of England; of which Books I shall yet say nothing more, but that he continued his laborious diligence to finish the remaining four during his life (of all which more properly hereafter) but at Boscum he finished and published but only the first four; being then in the 39 th' year of his Age.  
He left Boscum in the year 1595. by a surrender of it into the hands of Bishop Caldwell, and he presented Benjamin Russel, who was Instituted into it the 23. of June in the same year.  
The Parsonage of Bishops Borne in Kent, three miles from Canterbury, is in that Arch-Bishops gift, but in the latter end of the year 1594. Doctor William Redman the Rector of it was made Bishop of Norwich, by which means the power of presenting to it was pro ea vice in the Queen; and she presented Richard Hooker, whom she loved well, to this good living of Born the 7. of July 1595. in which living he continued till his Death, without any addition of Dignity or Profit.  
And now having brought our Richard Hooker, from his Birth place to this where he found a Grave, I shall only give some account of his Books, and of his behaviour in this Parsonage of Borne, 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 is printed this Advertisement to the Reader. I have for some causes thought it at this time more fit to let go these first four Books by themselves, than to stay both them and the rest, till the whole might together be published. Such generalities of the cause in question as are here handled, it will be perhaps not amiss to consider apart, by way of Introduction unto the Books that are to follow concerning particulars, in the mean time the Reader is requested to mend the Printers 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 than he chose none) the Archbishop. These Books were read with an admiration of their excellency in This, and their just fame spread itself into foreign Nations. And I have been told more than forty years past, that either Cardinal Allen, or learned Doctor Stapleton (both English men, and in Italy about the time when hooker's four Books were first printed: meeting with this general fame of them, were desirous to read an Author that both the Reformed and the learned of their own Church did so much magnify, and therefore caused them to be sent for; and after reading them, boasted to the Pope (which then was Clement the eighth) that though he had lately said he never met with an English Book whose Writer deserved the name of Author; yet there now appeared a wonder to them, and it would be so to his Holiness, if it were in Latin, for a poor obscure English Priest had writ four such Books of Laws, and Church Polity, and in a Style that expressed so Grave and such Humble Majesty with 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 Doctor Stapleton should bring the said four Books, and looking on the English read a part of them to him in Latin, which Doctor Stapleton did, to the end of the first Book; at the conclusion of which, the Pope spoke to this purpose; There is no Learning that this man hath not searched into, nothing too hard for his understanding: this man indeed deserves the name of an Author; his books will get reverence by Age, for there is in them such seeds of Eternity, that if the rest be like this, they shall last till the last fire shall consume all Learning.  
Nor was this high, the only testimony and commendations given to his Books; for at the first coming of king James into this Kingdom, he inquired of the Archbishop Whitgift for his friend Mr. Hooker that writ the Books of Church Polity; to which the answer was, that he died a year before Queen Elizabeth, who received the sad news of his Death with very much Sorrow; to which the King replied, and I receive it with no less, that I shall want the desired happiness of seeing and discoursing with that man, from whose Books I have received such satisfaction: Indeed, my Lord, I have received more satisfaction in reading a leaf, or paragragh in Mr. Hooker, though it were but about the fashion of Churches, or Church music, or the like, but especially of the Sacraments, than I have had in the reading particular large Treatises written but of one of those Subjects by others, though very learned men; and, I observe there is in Mr. Hooker no affected language, but a grave, comprehensive, clear manifestation of Reason, and that backed with the Authority of the Scripture, the Fathers and Schoolmen and with all Law both Sacred and Civil. And though many others write well, yet in the next age they will be forgotten; but doubtless there is in every page of Mr. hooker's Book the picture of a Divine Soul, such Pictures of Truth and Reason, and drawn in so sacred Colours, that they shall never fade, but give an immortal memory to the Author. And it is so truly true, that the King thought what he spoke, that as the most learned of the Nation have and still do mention Mr. Hooker with reverence, so he also did never mention him but with the Epithet of Learned, or Judicious, or Reverend, or Venerable Mr. Hooker.  
Nor did his Son, our late King Charles the First, ever mention him but with the same reverence, enjoining his Son, our now gracious King, to be studious in Mr. hooker's Books. And our learned Antiquary Mr. Cambden 
* In his ●●nnals ●199.  mentioning the death, the modesty, and other virtues of Mr. Hooker, and magnifying his Books, wished, That for the honour of this, and benefit of other Nations, they were turned into the Universal Language. Which work, though undertaken by many, yet they have been weary, and forsaken it; but the Reader may now expect it, having been long since begun, and lately finished, by the happy Pen of Dr. Earl, late Lord Bishop of Salisbury, of whom I may justly say (and let it not offend him, because it is such a truth as ought not to be concealed from Posterity, or those that now live, and yet know him not) that since Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom God hath blest with more innocent Wisdom, more sanctified Learning, or a mo●e pious● peaceable, primitive temper: so that this excellent person seems to be only like himself, and our veerbale Rich. Hooker; and only fit to make the learned of all Nations happy, in knowing what hath been too long confined to the language of our little Island.  
There might be many more and just occasions taken to speak of his Books, which none ever did, or can commend too much, but I decline them, and hasten to an account of his Christian behaviour and death at Borne, in which place he continued his customary Rules of Mortification and Self-denial; was much in Fasting, frequent in Meditation and Prayers, enjoying those blessed returns, which only men of strict lives feel and know, and of which men of loose and godless lives, cannot be made sensible, for spiritual things are spiritually discerned.  
At his entrance into this place, his friendship was much sought for by Dr. Hadrian Saravia, then or about that time made one of the prebend's of Canterbury, a Germane by Birth, and sometimes a Pastor both in Flanders and Holland, where he had studied and well considered the controverted points concerning Episcopacy and Sacrilege; and, in England had a just occasion to declare his judgement concerning both, unto his Brethren Ministers of the Low Countries, which was excepted against by Theodor Beza, and others; against whose exceptions, he rejoined, and thereby became the happy Author of many learned Tracts, writ in Latin, especially of three; one, of the Degrees of Ministers, and of the Bishop's superiority above the Presbytery; a second against Sacrilege; and, a third of Christian Obedience to Princes; the last being occasioned by Gretzerus the Jesuit. And it is observable, that when in a time of Churchtumults, Beza gave his reasons to the Chancellor of Scotland for the abrogation of Episcopacy in that Nation, partly by Letters, and more fully in a Treatise of a threefold Episcopacy (which he calls Divine, Humane, and Satanical) this Dr. Saravia had by the help of Bishop Whitgift made such an early discovery of their intentions, that he had almost as soon answered that Treatise as it became public; and therein discovered how Beza's opinion did contradict that of calvin's, and his adherents, leaving them to interfere with themselves in point of Episcopacy; but of these Tracts it will not concern me to say more, than that they were most of them dedicated to his and the Church of England's watchful Patron John Whitgift the Archbishop, and printed about the time in which Mr. Hooker also appeared first to the World in the publication of his first four Books of Ecclesiastical Polity.  
This friendship being sought for by this learned Doctor, you may believe was not denied by Mr. Hooker, who was by fortune so like him, as to be engaged against Mr. Travers, Mr. Cartwright, and others of their judgement, in a Controversy too like Dr. Saravia's; so that in this year of 1595, and in this place of Borne, these two excellent persons began a holy friendship, increasing daily to so high and mutual affections, that their two wills seemed to be but one and the same, and their designs both for the glory of God, and peace of the Church, still assisting and improving each others virtues, and the desired comforts of a peaceable piety which I have willingly mentioned, because it gives a foundation to some things that follow.  
This Parsonage of Borne is from Canterbury three miles, and near to the common Road that leads from that City to Dover, in which Parsonage Mr. Hooker had not been Twelve months, but his Books, and the innocency and sanctity of his life became so remarkable, that many turned out of the Road, and others (Scholars especially) went purposely to see the man, whose life and learning were so much admired; and alas, as our Saviour said of St. John Baptist, What went they out to see, a man clothed in purple and fine linen? no indeed, but an obscure, harmless man, a man in poor clothes, his Loins usually girt in a course Gown, or Canonical Coat; of a mean stature, and stooping, and yet more lowly in the thoughts of his Soul; his Body worn out, not with Age, but Study, and Holy Mortifications; his Face full of Heat-pimples, begot by his unactivity and sedentary life. And to this true character of his person, let me add this of his disposition and behaviour; God and Nature blest with so blessed a bashfulness, that as in his younger days his Pupils might easily look him out of countenance; so neither then, nor in his age, did he ever willingly look any man in the face; and was of so mild and humble a nature, that his poor Parish Clerk and he did never talk but with both their Hats on, or both off at the same time: And to this may be added, that though he was not purblind, yet he was short or weak-sighted; and where he fixed his eyes at the beginning of his Sermon, there they continued till it was ended; and the Reader has a liberty to believe that his modesty and dim-sight, were some of the reasons why he trusted Mrs. Churchman to choose his Wife.  
This Parish-Clerk lived till the third or fourth year of the late Long Parliament, betwixt which time and Mr. hooker's death, there had come many to see the place of his Burial, and the Monument dedicated to his memory by Sir William Cooper (who still lives) and the poor Clerk had many rewards for showing Mr. hooker's Grave-place, and his said Monument, and did always hear Mr. Hooker mentioned with commendations and reverence, to all which he added his own knowledge and observations of his humility and holiness; and in all which Discourses, the poor man was still more confirmed in his opinion of Mr. hooker's virtues and learning; but it so fell out, that about the said third or fourth year of the Long Parliament, the then present Parson of Borne was Sequestered (you may guests why) and a Genevian Minister put into his good Living; this, and other like Sequestrations, made the Clerk express himself in a wonder, and say, They had Sequestered so many good men, that he doubted if his good Master Mr. Hooker had lived till now, they would have Sequestered him too.  
It was not long, before this intruding Minister had made a Party in and about the ●aid Parish, that were desirous to receive the Sacrament as in Geneva; to which end, the day was appointed for a select Company, and Forms and Stools set about the Altar or Communion-Table, for them to sit and eat, and drink; but when they went about this work, there was a want of some Joint-stools, which the Minister sent the Clerk to fetch, and then to fetch Cushions; when the Clerk saw them begin to sit down, he began to wonder, but the Minister bade him cease wondering, and lock the Church-door; to whom he replied, Pray take you the Keys, and lock me out, I will never come more into this Church; for all men will say, my Master Hooker was a good Man, and a good Scholar, and I am sure it was not used to be thus in his days: And the report says, the old man went presently home, and died; I do not say died immediately, but within a few days after.  
But let us leave this grateful Clerk in his quiet Grave, and return to Mr. Hooker himself, continuing our observations of his Christian behaviour in this place, where he gave a holy Valediction to all the pleasures and allurements of Earth, possessing his Soul in a virtuous quietness, which he maintained by constant Study, Prayers, and Meditations; his use was to preach once every Sunday, and he or his Curate to Catechise a●ter the second Lesson in the Evening Prayer; his Sermons were neither long nor earnest, but uttered with a grave zeal, and an humble voice; his eyes always fixed on one place to prevent his imagination from wand'ring, insomuch, that he seemed to study as he spoke; the design of his Sermons (as indeed of all his Discourses) was to show Reasons for what he spoke; and with these Reasons, such a kind of Rhetoric, as did rather convince and persuade, than frighten men into piety; studying not so much for matter (which he never wanted) as for apt illustrations to inform and teach his unlearned Hearers by familiar Examples, and then make them better by convincing Applications; never labouring by hard words, and then by needless distinctions and subdistinctions, to amuse his Hearers, and get glory to himself; but glory only to God. Which intention, he would often say, was as discernible in a Preacher, as an Artificial, from a Natural beauty.  
He never failed the Sunday before every Ember-week, to give notice of it to his Parishioners, persuading them both to fast, and then to double their devotions for a learned and pious Clergy, but especially the last, saying often, That the life of a pious Clergyman was visible Rhetoric, and so Convincing, that the most Godless men, (though they would not deny themselves the enjoyment of their present lusts) did yet secretly wish themselves like those of the strictest lives: And to what he persuaded others, he added his own example of Fasting and Prayer; and did usually every Ember-week, take from the Parish-Clerk the Key of the Church-door; into which place he retired every day, and locked himself up for many hours; and did the like most fridays, and other days of Fasting.  
He would by no means omit the customary time of Procession, persuading all both rich and poor, if they desired the preservation of Love, and their Parish Rights and Liberties to accompany him in his Perambulation, and most did so; in which Perambulation, he would usually express more pleasant Discourse than at other times, and would then always drop some loving and facetious observations to be remembered against the next year, especially by the boys and young people; still inclining them and all his present Parishioners, to meekness, and mutual kindnesses, and love; because Love thinks not evil, but covers a multitude of Infirmities.  
He was diligent to inquire who of his Parish were sick, or any ways distressed, and would often visit them, unsent for; supposing, that the fittest time to discover those Errors to which health and prosperity had blinded them; and having by pious reasons and prayers, moulded them into holy resolutions for the time to come, he would incline them to confession, and bewailing their sins, with purpose to forsake them, and then to receive the Communion, both as a strengthening of those holy resolutions, and as a seal betwixt God and them of his Mercies to their Souls, in case that present sickness did put a period to their lives.  
And as he was thus watchful and charitable to the sick, so he was as diligent to prevent Lawsuits, still urging his Parishioners and Neighbours, to bear with each others infirmities, and live in love, because (as St. John says) he that lives in love, lives in God, for God is love. And to maintain this holy fire of love constantly burning on the Altar of a pure heart, his advice was to watch and pray, and always keep themselves fit to receive the Communion; and then to receive it often, for it was both a confirming and a strengthening of their graces; this was his advice: And at his entrance or departure out of any house, he would usually speak to the whole Family, and bless them by name; insomuch, that as he seemed in his youth to be taught of God, so he seemed in this place to teach his precepts, as Enoch did by walking with him, in all holiness and humility, making each day a step towards a blessed Eternity. And though in this weak and declining Age of the World, such Examples are become barren, and almost incredible, yet let his memory be blest with this true Recordation, because he that praises Richard Hooker, praises God, who hath given such gifts to men; and let this humble and affectionate Relation of him, become such a pattern, as may invite Posterity to imitate his virtues.  
This was his constant behaviour at Borne, so he walked with God; thus he did tread in the footsteps of primitive piety; and yet, as that great example of meekness and purity, even our blessed Jesus was not free from false accusations, no more was this Disciple of his, this most humble, most innocent holy man; his was a slander parallel to that of chaste Susannah's by the wicked Elders, or that against St. Athanasius, as it is recorded in his life, for that holy man had heretical enemies, and which this Age calls Trepanning; the particulars need not a repetition; and that it was false, needs no other Testimony than the public punishment of his Accusers, and their open confession of his Innocency; 'twas said that the accusation was contrived by a dissenting Brother, one that endured not Church-Ceremonies, hating him for his Books sake, which he was not able to answer; and his name hath been told me, but I have not so much confidence in the relation, as to make my Pen fix a scandal on him to posterity; I shall rather leave it doubtful till the great day of Revelation: But this is certain, that he lay under the great charge, and the anxiety of this accusation, and kept it secret to himself for many months; and being a helpless man, had lain long under this heavy burden, but that the protector of the innocent gave such an accidental occasion as forced him to make it known to his two dearest friends, Edwin Sandys, and George Cranmer, who were so sensible of their Tutor's sufferings, that they gave themselves no rest, till by their disquisitions and diligence they had found out the fraud, and brought him the welcome News, that his Accusers did confess they had wronged him, and begged his pardon: To which, the good man's reply was to this purpose, The Lord forgive them, and the Lord bless you for this comfortable News: Now I have a just occasion to say with Solomon, Friends are born for the days of adversity, and such you have proved to me; and to my God I say, as did the mother of St. John Baptist, Thus hath the Lord dealt with me, in the day wherein he looked upon me, to take away my reproach among men: And, oh my God, neither my life, nor my reputation are safe in mine own keeping, but in thine, who didst take care of me, when I yet hanged upon my mother's breast; blessed are they, that put their trust in thee O Lord; for when false Witnesses were risen up against me, when shame was ready to cover my face, when I was bowed down with an horrible dread, and went mourning all the day long, when my nights were restless, and my sleeps broken with a fear worse than death, when my Soul thirsted for a deliverance, as the Hart panteth after the rivers of waters, than thou Lord didst hear my complaints, pity my condition, and art now become my deliverer; and as long as I live I will hold up my hands in this manner, and magnify thy mercies, who didst not give me over as a prey to mine enemies. Oh blessed are they that put their trust in thee; and no prosperity shall make me forget those days of sorrows, or to perform those vows that I have made to thee in the days of my affliction; for with such Sacrifices, thou, O God, art well pleased, and I will pay them.  
Thus did the joy and gratitude of this good man's heart break forth; and 'tis observable, that as the invitation to this slander was his meek behaviour and Dovelike simplicity, for which he was remarkable; so his Christian charity ought to be imitated: for, though the spirit of revenge is so pleasing to Mankind, that it is never conquered but by a supernatural grace, being indeed so deeply rooted in humane Nature, that to prevent the excesses of it (for men would not know Moderation) Almighty God allows not any degree of it to any man, but says, Vengeance is mine. And, though this be said by God himself, yet this revenge is so pleasing, that man is hardly persuaded to submit the menage of it to the Time, and Justice, and Wisdom of his Creator, but would hasten to be his own Executioner of it. And yet nevertheless, if any man ever did wholly decline, and leave this pleasing passion to the time and measure of God alone, it was this Richard Hooker of whom I write; for when his Slanderers were to suffer, he laboured to procure their pardon; and when that was denied him, his Reply was, That however he would fast and pray, that God would give them repentance, and patience to undergo their punishment. And his prayers were so far returned into his own bosom, that the first was granted, if we may believe a penitent behaviour, and an open confession. And 'tis observable, that after this time he would often say to Dr. Saravia, Oh with what quietness did I enjoy my Soul after I was free from the fears of my Slander! and how much more after a conflict and victory over my desires of Revenge!  
About the Year 1600, and of his Age 46, he fell into a long and sharp sickness, occasioned by a cold taken in his passage betwixt London and Gravesend, from the malignity of which he was never recovered; for, till his death he was not free from thoughtful Days, and restless Nights; but a submission to his Will that makes the sick man's Bed easy by giving rest to his Soul, made his very languishment comfortable: and yet all this time he was solicitous in his Study, and said often to Dr. Saravia (who saw him daily, and was the chief comfort of his life) That he did not beg a long life of God, for any other reason, but to live to finish his three remaining Books of POLITY; and then, Lord, let thy servant depart in peace, which was his usual expression. And God heard his prayers, though he denied the Church the benefit of them, as completed by himself; and 'tis thought he hastened his own death, by hastening to give life to his Books: But this is certain, that the nearer he was to his death, the more he grew in Humility, in Holy Thoughts and Resolutions.  
About a month before his death, this good man, that never knew, or at least never considered the pleasures of the Palate, became first to lose his appetite, then to have an averseness to all food; insomuch, that he seemed to live some intermitted weeks by the smell of meat only, and yet still studied and writ. And now his guardian Angel seemed to foretell him, that the day of his dissolution drew near, for which his vigorous Soul appeared to thirst. In this time of his Sickness, and not many days before his Death, his House was robbed; of which he having notice, his Question was, Are my Books and written Papers safe? And being answered, That they were; his Reply was, than it matters not, for no other loss can trouble me.  
About one day before his Death, Dr. Saravia, who knew the very secrets of his Soul, (for they were supposed to be Confessors to each other) came to him, and after a Conference of the Benefit, the Necessity, and Safety of the Church's Absolution, it was resolved the Doctor should give him both that and the Sacrament the day following. To which end, the Doctor came, and after a short retirement and privacy, they returned to the company, and then the Doctor gave him, and some of those friends which were with him, the blessed Sacrament of the body and blood of our Jesus. Which being performed, the Doctor thought he saw a reverend gaiety and joy in his face; but it lasted not long, for his bodily Infirmities did return suddenly, and became more visible, in so much that the Doctor apprehended Death ready to seize him; yet, after some amendment, left him at Night, with a promise to return early the day following, which he did, and then found him in better appearance, deep in Contemplation, and not inclinable to Discourse; which gave the Doctor occasion to require his present Thoughts: to which he replied, That he was meditating the number and nature of Angels, and their blessed obedience and order, without which, peace could not be in Heaven; and oh that it might be so on Earth. After which words he said, I have lived to see this world is made up of perturbations, and I have been long preparing to leave it, and gathering comfort for the dreadful hour of making my account with God, which I now apprehend to be near; and though I have by his grace loved him in my youth, and feared him in mine age, and laboured to have a conscience void of offence to him, and to all men; yet, if thou, O Lord, be extreme to mark what I have done amiss, who can abide it? and therefore, where I have failed, Lord show mercy to me, for I plead not my righteousness, but, the forgiveness of my unrighteousness, for his merits who died to purchase pardon for penitent sinners; and since I owe thee a death, Lord let it not be terrible, and then take thine own time, I submit to it; let not mine, O Lord, but let thy Will be done; with which expression he fell into a dangerous slumber, dangerous as to his recovery; yet recover he did, but it was to speak only these few words, Good Doctor, God hath heard my daily petitions, for I am at peace with all men, and he is at peace with me; and from that blessed assurance I feel that inward joy, which this world can neither give nor take from me● More he would have spoken, but his spirits failed him; and, after a short conflict betwixt Nature and Death, a quiet Sigh put a period to his last breath, and so he fell asleep.  
And here I draw his Curtain, till with the most glorious company of the Patriarches and Apostles, the most Noble Army of Martyrs and Confessors, this most learned, most humble, holy man, shall also awake to receive an eternal Tranquillity, and with it a greater degree of Glory than common Christians shall be made partakers of.  
In the mean time, bless O Lord! Lord bless his Brethren, the Clergy of this Nation, with effectual endeavours to attain, if not to his great learning, yet to his remarkable meekness, his godly simplicity, and his Christian moderation; for, these bring peace at the last: And, Lord! let his most excellent Writings be blest with what he designed, when he undertook them: which was, Glory to Thee O God on High, Peace in thy Church, and, Good Will to Mankind. Amen, Amen.  
This following Epitaph was long since presented to the World, in memory of Mr. Hooker, by Sir William Cooper, who also built him a fair Monument in Born Church, and acknowledges him to have been his Spiritual Father.  

THough nothing can be spoke worthy his fame,  
Or the remembrance of that precious name,  
Judicious Hooker; though this cost be spent  
On him, that hath a lasting Monument  
In his own Books, yet ought we to express,  
If not his Worth, yet our Respectfulness.  
Church-Ceremonies he maintained, then why  
Without all Ceremony should be die?  
Was it because his Life and Death should be  
Both equal patterns of Humility?  
Or that perhaps this only glorious one  
Was above all to ask, why had he none?  
Yet he that lay so long obscurely low,  
Doth now preferred to greater Honours go.  
Ambitious men, learn hence to be more wise,  
Humility is the true way to rise:  
And God in me this Lesson did inspire,  
To bid this humble man, Friend sit up higher.    

AN APPENDIX To the LIFE of Mr. RICH. HOOKER.  
ANd now having by a long and laborious search satisfied myself, and I hope my Reader, by imparting to him the true Relation of Mr. hooker's Life: I am desirous also to acquaint him with some observations that relate to it, and which could not properly fall to be spoken till after his death, of which my Reader may expect a brief and true account in the following Appendix.  
And first it is not to be doubted, but that he died in the Forty-seventh, if not in the Forty-sixth year of his Age; which I mention, because many have believed him to be more aged; but I have so examined it, as to be confident I mistake not; and for the year of his death, Mr. Cambden, who in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth 1599 mentions him with a high commendation of his life and learning, declares him to die in the year 1599 and yet in that Inscription of his Monument set up at the charge of Sir William Cooper in Born Church, where Mr. Hooker was buried, his death is said to be in Anno 1603. but doubtless both mistaken; for I have it attested under the hand of William Somner the Archbishop's Register for the Province of Canterbury, that Richard hooker's Will bears date Octob. 26. in Anno 1600. and that it was proved the third of December following. 
* 
Sin 〈…〉 this Appendix to the Life of Mr. Hooker, Mr. Fulman o 〈…〉 Christi College, hath showed me a good Authority for the very 〈…〉 and hour of Mr. hooker's death, in one of his Books of Politi●● which was Archbishop laud's. In which Book, beside many considerable Marginal Notes of some passages of his time, under the Bishops own hand, there is also written in the Title page of that Book (which now is Mr. Fulmen) this Attestation:  
Richardus Hooker vir summis Doctrinae dutibus ornatus de Ecclesia praecipuè Anglicana optimè meritus, obiit Novemb. 2. circite● horam secundam post neridianam. Anno 1600.    
And that at his death he left four Daughters, Alice, Sicily, Jane and Margaret, that he gave to each of them an hundred pound; that he left Joan his Wife his sole Executrix, and that by his Inventory, his Estate (a great part of it being in Books) came to 1092 l. 9 s. 2 d. which was much more than he thought himself worth; and, which was not got by his care, much less by the good housewifery of his Wife, but saved by his trusty servant Thomas Lane, that was wiser than his Master in getting money for him, and more frugal than his Mistress in keeping of it; of which Will I shall say no more, but that his dear friend Thomas, the father of George Cranmer, of whom I have spoken, and shall have occasion to say more, was one of the witnesses to it.  
One of his elder Daughters was married to one Chalinor, sometime a Schoolmaster in Chichester, and both dead long since, Margaret his youngest Daughter was married unto Ezekiel Chark, Bachelor in Divinity, and Rector of St. Nicholas in Harble down near Canterbury, who died about 16 years past, and had a son Ezekiel, now living, and in Sacred Orders, being at this time Rector of Waldron in Sussex; she left also a Daughter, with both whom I have spoken not many months past, and find her to be a Widow in a condition that wants not, but far from abounding; and these two attested unto me, that Richard Hooker their Grandfather had a Sister, by name Elizabeth Harvey, that lived to the Age of 121 Years, and died in the month of September, 1663.  
For his other two Daughters I can learn little certainty, but have heard they both died before they were marriageable; and for his Wife, she was so unlike Jeptha's Daughter, that she stayed not a comely time to bewail her Widowhood; nor lived long enough to repent her second Marriage, for which doubtless she would have found cause, if there had been but four months betwixt Mr. hooker's and her death: But she is dead, and let her other infirmities be buried with her.  
Thus much briefly for his Age, the Year of his Death, his Estate, his Wife, and his Children. I am next to speak of his Books, concerning which, I shall have a necessity of being longer, or shall neither do right to myself, or my Reader, which is chiefly intended in this Appendix.  
I have declared in his Life, that he proposed eight Books, and that his first four were printed Anno 1594. and his fifth Book first printed, and alone, Anno 1597. and that he lived to finish the remaining three of the proposed eight, but whether we have the last three as finished by himself, is a just and material Question; concerning which I do declare, that I have been told almost 40 Years past, by one that very well knew Mr. Hooker, and the affairs of his Family, that about a month after the death of Mr. Hooker, Bishop Whitgift, than Archbishop of Canterbury, sent one of his Chaplains to inquire of Mrs. Hooker, for the three remaining Books of Polity, writ by her Husband, of which she would not, or could not give any account; and that about three months after, the Bishop procured her to be sent for to London, and then by his procurement she was to be examined, by some of Her Majesty's Council, concerning the disposal of those Books, but by way of preparation for the next day's examination, the Bishop invited her to Lambeth, and, after some friendly questions, she confessed to him, That one Mr. Charke, and another Minister that dwelled near Canterbury, came to her, and desired that they might go into her Husband's Study, and look upon some of his Writings; and that there they two burnt and tore many of them, assuring her, that they were Writings not fit to be seen, and that she knew nothing more concerning them. Her lodging was then in King-street in Westminster, where she was found next morning dead in her Bed, and her new Husband suspected and questioned for it, but declared innocent of her death.  
And I declare also, that Dr. John Spencer (mentioned in the life of Mr. Hooker) who was of Mr. hooker's College, and of his time there, and betwixt whom there was so friendly a friendship, that they continually advised together in all their Studies, and particularly in what concerned these Books of Polity: This Dr. Spencer, the three perfect Books being lost, had delivered into his hands (I think by Bishop Whitgift) the imperfect Books, or first rough draughts of them, to be made as perfect as they might be, by him, who both knew Mr. hooker's hand writing, and was best acquainted with his intentions. And a fair Testimony of this may appear by an Epistle first and usually printed before Mr. hooker's five Books (but omitted, I know not why, in the last impression of the eight printed together in Anno 1662. in which the Publishers seem to impose the three doubtful, as the undoubted Books of Mr. Hooker) with these two Letters J. S. at the end of the said Epistle, which was meant for this John spencer, in which Epistle the Reader may find these words, which may give some Authority to what I have here written.  
And though Mr. Hooker hastened his own death by hastening to give life to his Books, yet he held out with his eyes to behold these Benjamins, these sons of his right hand, though to him they proved Benonies, sons of pain and sorrow. But some evil disposed minds, whether of malice, or covetousness, or wicked blind zeal, it is uncertain, as soon as they were born, and their father dead, smothered them, and, by conveying the perfect Copies, left unto us nothing but the old imperfect mangled draughts dismembered into pieces; no favour, no grace, not the shadow of themselves remaining in them; had the father lived to behold them thus defaced, he might rightly have named them Benonies, the sons of sorrow; but being the learned will not suffer them to die and be buried, it is intended the world shall see them as they are; the learned will find in them some shadows and resemblances of their father's face. God grant, that as they were with their Brethren dedicated to the Church for messengers of peace; so, in the strength of that little breath of life that remaineth in them, they may prosper in their work, and by satisfying the doubts of such as are willing to learn, they may help to give an end to the calamities of these our Civil Wars.  
J. S.  
And next the Reader may note, that this Epistle of Dr. Spencer's, was writ and first printed within four years after the death of Mr. Hooker, in which time all diligent search had been made for the perfect Copies; and, than granted not recoverable, and therefore endeavoured to be completed out of Mr. hooker's rough draughts, as is expressed by the said Dr. Spencer, since whose death it is now 50 Years.  
And I do profess by the faith of a Christian, that Dr. Spencer's Wife (who was my Aunt and Sister to George Cranmer, of whom I have spoken) told me forty Years since, in these, or in words to this purpose, That her Husband had made up, or finished Mr. hooker's last three Books; and that upon her Husband's Deathbed, or in his Last Sickness, he gave them into her hand, with a charge they should not be seen by any man, but be by her delivered into the hands of the then Archbishop of Canterbury, which was Dr. Abbot, or unto Dr. King than Bishop of London, and that she did as he enjoined her.  
I do conceive, that from Dr. Spencer's, and no other Copy, there have been divers Transcripts, and were to be found in several places, as namely, Sir Thomas Bodlies' Library, in that of Dr. Andrews, late Bishop of Winton, in the late Lord Conwayes, in the Archbishop of Canterbury's, and in the Bishop of Armaghs, and in many others, and most of these pretended to be the Authors own hand, but much disagreeing, being indeed altered and diminished, as men have thought fittest to make Mr. hooker's judgement suit with their fancies, or give authority to their corrupt designs; and for proof of a part of this, take these following Testimonies.  
Dr. Barnard, sometime Chaplain to Dr. Usher, late Lord Archbishop of Armagh, hath declared in a late Book called Clavi Trebales, printed by Richard Hodgkinson, Anno 1661. that in his search and examination of the said Bishops Manuscripts, he found the three written Books which were supposed the 6, 7, and 8, of Mr. hooker's Books of Ecclesiastical Polity; and that in the said three Books (now printed as Mr. hooker's) there are so many omissions, that they amount to many Paragraphs, and which cause many incoherencies; the omissions are by him set down at large in the said printed Book, to which I refer the Reader for the whole; but think fit in this place to insert this following short part of them.  
First, as there could be in Natural Bodies no Motion of any thing, unless there were some first which moved all things, and continued unmoveable; even so in Politic Societies, there must be some unpunishable, or else no man shall suffer punishment; for sith punishments proceed always from Superiors, to whom the administration of justice belongeth, which administration must have necessarily a fountain that deriveth it to all others, and receiveth not from any, because otherwise the course of justice should go infinitely in a Circle, every Superior having his Superior without end, which cannot be; therefore, a Wellspring, it followeth, there is, a Supreme head of Justice whereunto all are subject, but itself in subjection to none. Which kind of preeminency if some aught to have in a Kingdom, who but the King shall have it? King's therefore, or no man can have lawful power to judge.  
If private men offend, there is the Magistrate over them which judgeth; if Magistrates, they have their Prince; if Princes, there is Heaven, a Tribunal, before which they shall appear; on Earth they are not accountable to any. Here, says the Doctor, it breaks off abruptly.  
And I have these words also attested under the hand of Mr. Fabian Philip's, a man of Note for his useful Books. I will make Oath, if I shall be required, that Dr. Sanderson, the late Bishop of Lincoln, did a little before his death, affirm to me, he had seen a Manuscript, affirmed to him to be the hand-writing of Mr. Richard Hooker, in which there was no mention made of the King or Supreme Governors being accountable to the People; this I will make Oath that that good man attested to me.  
Fabian Philips.  
So that there appears to be both Omissions and Additions in the said last three printed Books; and this may probably be one reason why Dr. Sanderson, the said learned Bishop (whose Writings are so highly and justly valued) gave a strict charge near the time of his Death, or in his last Will, That nothing of his that was not already printed, should be printed after his Death.  
It is well known how high a value our learned King James put upon the Books writ by Mr. Hooker, as also that our late King Charles (the Martyr for the Church) valued them the second of all Books, testified by his commending them to the reading of his Son Charles, that now is our gracious King; and you may suppose that this Charles the First, was not a stranger to the pretended three Books, because in a Discourse with the Lord Say, when the said Lord required the King to grant the truth of his Argument, because it was the judgement of Mr. Hooker (quoting him in one of the three written Books) the King replied, They were not allowed to be Mr. hooker's Books; but, however he would allow them to be Mr. hooker's, and consent to what his Lordship proposed to prove out of those doubtful Books, if he would but consent to the Judgement of Mr. Hooker in the other five that were the undoubted Books of Mr. Hooker.  
In this relation concerning these three doubtful Books of Mr. hooker's, my purpose was to inquire, then set down what I observed and know, which I have done, not as an engaged person, but indifferently; and now leave my Reader to give sentence, for their legitimation, as to himself, but so, as to leave others the same liberty of believing, or disbelieving them to be Mr. hooker's; and 'tis observable, that as Mr. Hooker advised with Dr. Spencer, in the design and manage of these Books, so also, and chiefly with his dear Pupils George Cranmer (whose Sister was the Wife of Dr. Spencer) of which this following Letter may be a Testimony, and doth also give Authority to some things mentioned both in this Appendix, and in the Life of Mr. Hooker, and is therefore added.   

GEORGE CRANMERS LETTER unto Mr. Richard Hooker. February 1598.  
WHat Posterity is likely to judge of these matters concerning Church-Discipline, we may the better conjecture, if we call to mind what our own Age, within few years, upon better Experience; hath already judged concerning the same. It may be remembered, that at first the greatest part of the Learned in the Land, were either eagerly affected, or favourably inclined that way. The Books then written for the most part, savoured of the Disciplinary stile; it sounded everywhere in Pulpits, and in common phrase of men's speech: the contrary part began to fear they had taken a wrong course, many which impugned the Discipline, yet so impugned it, not as not being the better Form of Government, but as not being so convenient for our State, in regard of dangerous Innovations thereby like to grow; 
* John Whitgift the Archbishop.  one man alone there was, to speak of (whom let no suspicion of flattery deprive of his deserved commendation) who in the defiance of the one part, and courage of the other, stood in the gap, and gave others respite to prepare themselves to the defence, which by the sudden eagerness and violence of their adversaries, had otherwise been prevented, wherein God hath made good unto him his own Impress, Vincit qui patitur; for what contumelious indignities he hath at their hands sustained, the World is witness; and what reward of Honour above his Adversaries God hath bestowed upon him, themselves (though nothing glad thereof) must needs confess. Now of late years the heat of men towards the Discipline is greatly decayed, their judgements begin to sway on the other side: the Learned have weighed it, and found it light; wise men conceive some fear, left it prove not only not the best kind of Government, but the very bane and destruction of all Government. The cause of this change in men's Opinions, may be drawn from the general nature of Error, disguised and clothed with the name of Truth; which did mightily and violently possess men at first, but afterwards, the weakness thereof being by time discovered, it lost that reputation, which before it had gained; as by the outside of an house the passers by, are oftentimes deceived, till they see the conveniency of the Rooms within: so by the very name of Discipline and Reformation, men were drawn at first to cast a fancy towards it, but, now they have not contented themselves only to pass by and behold afar off the Forefront of this reformed house, they have entered in, even at the special request of Master-workmen and chief builders thereof: thy have perused the Rooms, the Lights, the Conveniencies, and they find them not answerable to that report which was made of them, not to that opinion which upon report they had conceived: So as now, the Discipline which at first triumphed over all, being unmasked, beginneth to droop and hang down her head.  
This cause of change in opinion concerning the Discipline, is proper to the Learned, or to such as by them have been instructed; another cause there is more open, and more apparent to the view of all, namely, the course of Practice, which the Reformers have had with us from the beginning; the first degree was only some small difference about the Cap and Surplice, but not such as either bred division in the Church, or tended to the ruin of the Government established. This was peaceable; the next degree more stirring. Admonitions were directed to the Parliament in peremptory sort against our whole Form of Regiment; in defence of them, Volumes were published in English, and in Latin; yet, this was no more than writing. Devices were set on foot to erect the Practice of the Discipline without Authority: yet, herein some regard of Modesty, some moderation was used; Behold, at length it broke forth into open outrage, first in writing by Martin, in whose kind of dealing these things may be observed; first, that whereas T. C. and others his great Masters had always before set out the Discipline as a Queen, and as the Daughter of God; He contrariwise, to make her more acceptable to the people, brought her forth as a Vice upon the Stage. 2. This conceit of his was grounded (as may be supposed) upon this rare policy, that seeing the Discipline was by writing refuted, in Parliament rejected, in secret corners hunted out and deciyed, it was imagined that by open railing (which to the Vulgar is commonly most plausible) the State Ecclesiastical might have been drawn into such contempt and hatred, as the overthrow thereof should have been most grateful to all men, and in a manner desired by all the Common people. 3. It may be noted (and this I know myself to be true) how some of them, although they could not for shame approve so lewd an Action: yet, were content to lay hold on it to the advancement of their cause, by acknowledging therein the secret Judgements of God against the Bishops: and hoping that some good might be wrought thereby for his Church; as, indeed there was, though not according to their construction. For, 4. contrary to their expectation, that railing Spirit did not only not further, but extremely disgrace and prejudice their Cause, when it was once perceived from how low degrees of contradiction, at first, to what outrage of Contumely and Slander they were at length proceeded; and were also likely to proceed further.  
A further degree of outrage was also in Fact; Certain 
* Hacket and Coppinger.  Prophets did arise, who deeming it not possible that God should suffer that to be undone, which they did so fiercely desire to have done, Namely, that his holy Saints, the favourers and Fathers of the Discipline, should be enlarged, and delivered from persecution; and seeing no means of Deliverance Ordinary, were fain to persuade themselves that God must need raise some extraordinary means; and being persuaded of none so well as of themselves, they forth with must needs be the instruments of this great work. Hereupon they framed unto themselves an assured hope that upon their Preaching out of a Pease Cart, all the multitude would have presently joined unto them; and, in amazement of mind have asked them, Viri fratres, quid agimus? whereunto it is likely they would have returned an answer far unlike to that of St. Peter, Such and such are men unworthy to govern, pluck them down; Such and such are the dear Children of God, let them be advanced.  
Of two of these men it is meet to speak with all Commiseration: yet so, that others by their example may receive instruction, and withal some light may appear, what stirring affections the Discipline is like to inspire, if it light upon apt and prepared minds.  
Now if any man doubt of what Society they were? or, if the Reformers disclaim them, pretending, that by them they were condemned; let these points be considered. 1. Whose associates were they before they entered into this frantic Passion? whose Sermons did they frequent? whom did they admire? 2. Even when they were entering into it, whose advice did they require? and when they were in, whose approbation? whom advertised they of their purpose? whose assistance by Prayer did they request? But we deal injuriously with them to lay this to their charge; for they reproved and condemned it. How? did they disclose it to the Magistrate, that it might be suppressed? or were they not rather content to stand aloof of, and see the end of it, as being loath to quench that Spirit, No doubt these mad practitioners were of their society, with whom before, and in the practice of their madness they had most affinity. Hereof, read Dr. bancroft's Book.  
A third inducement may be to dislike of the Discipline, if we consider not only how far the Reformers themselves have proceeded, but what others upon their Foundations have built. Here come the Brownists in the first rank: their lineal descendants: who have seized upon a number of strange opinions: whereof, although their Ancestors, the Reformers, were never actually possessed, yet by right and interest from them derived, the Brownists and Barrowists have taken possession of them; for, if the positions of the Reformers be true, I cannot see how the main and general Conclusions of Brownism should be false; for, upon these two points, as I conceive, they stand.  
1. That because we have no Church, they are to sever themselves from us. 2. That without Civil Authority they are to erect a Church of their own. And if the former of these be true, the latter, I suppose will follow; for if above all things, men be to regard their Salvation; and, if out of the Church, there be no Salvation; it followeth, that if we have no Church, we have no means of Salvation; and therefore Separation from us, in that respect, is both lawful and necessary; as also that men so separated from the false and counterfeit Church, are to associate themselves unto some Church; not to ours; to the Popish much less; therefore to one of their own making. Now the ground of all these Inferences being this, (That in our Church there is no means of Salvation) is out of the Reformers Principles most clearly to be proved. For, wheresoever any matter of Faith unto Salvation necessary is denied, there can be no means of Salvation; But in the Church of England, the Discipline (by them accounted a matter of Faith,) and, necessary to Salvation, is not only denied, but impugned, and the Professors thereof oppressed. Ergo.  
Again, (but this reason perhaps is weak) Every true Church of Christ acknowledgeth the whole Gospel of Christ: The Discipline, in their opinion, is a part of the Gospel, and yet by our Church resisted. Ergo.  
Again, the Discipline is essentially united to the Church: by which term Essentially, they must mean either an essential part, or an essential property. Both which ways it must needs be, that where that essential Discipline is not, neither is there any Church. If therefore between them and the Brownists, there should be appointed a Solemn disputation, whereof with us they have been oftentimes so earnest Challengers: it doth not yet appear what other answer they could possibly frame to these and the like arguments, wherewith they may be pressed, but fairly to deny the Conclusion (for all the Premises are their own) or rather ingeniously to reverse their own Principles before laid, whereon so foul absurdities have been so firmly built. What further proofs you can bring out of their high words, magnifying the Discipline, I leave to your better remembrance: but above all points, I am desirous this one should be strongly enforced against them, because it wringeth them most of all, and is of all other (for aught I see) the most unanswerable; you may notwithstanding say, that you would be heartily glad these their positions might be salved as the Brownists might not appear to have issued out of their Loins: but until that be done, they must give us le●ve to think that they have cast the Seed whereout these tares are grown.  
Another sort of men there are, which have been content to run on with the Reformers for a time and to make them poor instruments of their own designs: These are a sort of Godless Politics, who perceiving the Plot of Discipline to consist of these two parts, the overthrow of Episcopal, and erections of Presbyterial Authority, and that this latter can take no place till the former be removed, are content to join with them in the Destructive part of Discipline, bearing them in hand, that in the other also they shall find them as ready. But when time shall come, it may be they would be as loath to be yoked with that kind of Regiment, as now they are willing to be released from this; These men's ends in all their actions, is Distraction, their pretence and colour, Reformation. Those things which under this colour they have effected to their own good, are, 1. By maintaining a contrary faction, they have kept the Clergy always in Aw; and thereby, made them more pliable and willing to buy their peace. 2. By maintaining an Opinion of Equality among Ministers, they have made way to their own purposes for devouring Cathedral Churches, and Bishop's livings. 3. By exclaiming against abuses in the Church, they have carried their own corrupt dealings in the Civil State more covertly; for such is the Nature of the multitude, that they are not able to apprehend many things at once: so as being possessed with a dislike or liking of any one thing, many other in the mean time, may escape them without being perceived. 4. They have sought to disgrace the Clergy, in entertaining a conceit in men's minds, and confirming it by continual practice, That men of Learning, and specially of the Clergy, which are employed in the chiefest kind of Learning are not to be admitted or sparingly admitted to matters of State; contrary to the practice of all well-governed Commonwealths, and of our own till these late years.  
A third sort of men there are, though not descended from the Reformers, yet in part raised and greatly Strengthened by them; namely, the cursed crew of Atheists. This also is one of those points, which I am desirous you should handle most effectually, and strain yourself therein to all points of motion and affection; as in that of the Brownists, to all strength and sinews of Reason. This is a sort mo● damnable, and yet by the general suspicion of the world at this day most common. The causes of it, which are in the parties themselves, although you handle in the beginning of the fifth Book, ● yet here again they may be touched; but the occasions of help and furtherance, which by the Reformers have been yielded unto them, are, as I conceive, two; namely, Senseless Preaching, and disgracing of the Ministry; for how should not men dare to impugn that, which neither by force of Reason, nor by Authority of Persons is maintained; But in the parties themselves these two causes I conceive of Atheism, 1. more abundance of Wit than Judgement, and of Witty than Judicious Learning; whereby, they are more inclined to contradict any thing, than willing to be informed of the Truth. They are not therefore, men of sound Learning for the most part, but Smatterers; neither is their kind of Dispute so much by force of Argument, as by Scoffing; which humour of scoffing, and turning matters most serious into merriment, is now become so common, as we are not to marvel what the Prophet means by the Seat of Scorners, nor what the Apostles by foretelling of Scorners to come; for our own age hath verified their speech unto us; which also may be an Argument against these Scoffers and Atheists themselves, seeing it hath been so many ages ago foretold, that such men the later days of the world should afford: which, could not be done by any other Spirit, save that whereunto things future and present are alike. And even for the main question of the Resurrection, whereat they stick so mightily! was it not plainly foretold, that men should in the latter times say, Where is the Promise of his Coming? Against the Creation, the Ark, and divers other points, exceptions are said to be taken; the ground whereof is superfluity of Wit, without ground of Learning and Judgement. A second cause of Atheism is Sensuality, which maketh men desirous to remove all stops and impediments of their wicked life; among which, because Religion is the chiefest, so as neither in this life without shame they can persist therein, nor (if that be true) without Torment in the life to come: they therefore whet their wits to annihilate the joys of Heaven, wherein they see (if any such be) they can have no part, and likewise the pains of Hell, wherein their portion must needs be very great. They labour therefore, not that they may not deserve those pains, but that deserving them, there may be no such pains to seize upon them; But, what conceit can be imagined more base, than that man should strive to persuade himself even against the secret Instinct (no doubt) of his own Mind, that his Soul is as the Soul of a Beast, mortal and corruptible with the Body? Against which barbarous Opinion, their own Atheism is a very strong Argument. For were not the Soul a Nature separable from the Body, how could it enter into discourse of things merely Spiritual, and nothing at all pertaining to the Body? Surely the Soul were not able to conceive any thing of Heaven, no not so much as to dispute against Heaven and against God, if there were not in it somewhat Heavenly and derived from God.  
The last which have received strength and encouragement from the Reformers are Papists; against whom although they are most bitter Enemies, yet unwittingly they have given them great advantage. For, what can any Enemy rather desire than the Breach and Dissension of those which are Confederates against him? Wherein they are to remember, that if our Communion with Papists in some few Ceremonies do so much strengthen them as is pretended, how much more doth this Division and Rent among ourselves, especially seeing it is maintained to be, not in light matters only, but even in matter of Faith and Salvation? Which overreaching Speech of theirs, because it is so open an advantage for the Barrowist and the Papist, we are to wish and hope for, that they will acknowledge it to have been spoken rather in heat of Affection, than with soundness of Judgement; and that though their exceeding love to that Creature of Discipline which themselves have bred, nourished, and maintained, their mouth in commendation of her did so often overflow.  
From hence you may proceed (but the means of connexion I leave to yourself) to another discourse, which I think very meet to be handled either here or elsewhere at large; the parts whereof may be these. 1. That in this cause between them and us, men are to sever the proper and essential points and controversy, from those which are accidental. The most essential and proper are these two: overthrow of Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial Authority. But in these two points whosoever joineth with them is accounted of their number; whosoever in all other points agreeth with them, yet thinketh the Authority of Bishops not unlawful, and of Elders not necessary, may justly be severed from their retinue. Those things therefore, which either in the Persons, or in the Laws and Orders themselves are faulty, may be complained on, acknowledged and amended; yet they no whit the nearer their main purpose; for what if all errors by them supposed in our Liturgy were amended, even according to their own hearts desire? if Nonresidence, Pluralities, and the like, were utterly taken away? are their Lay-Elders therefore presently Authorized? or their Sovereign Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction established?  
But even in their complaining against the outward and accidental matters in Church-government, they are many ways faulty: 1. In their end which they propose to themselves. For in Declaiming against Abuses, their meaning is not to have them redressed, but by disgracing the present State, to make way for their own Discipline. As therefore in Venice, if any Senator should discouse against the Power of their Senate, as being either too Sovereign, or too weak in Government, with purpose to draw their Authority to a Moderation, it might well be suffered; but not so, if it should appear he spoke with purpose to induce another State by depraving the present: So, in all Causes belonging either to Church or Commonwealth, we are to have regard what mind the Complaining part doth bear, whether of Amendment or Innovation; and, accordingly either to suffer or suppress it. Their Objection therefore is frivolous, Why may not men speak against Abuses? Yes; but with desire to cure the part affected, not to destroy the whole. 2. A second fault is in their Manner of Complaining, not only because it is for the most part in bitter and reproachful Terms, but also it is to the Common people, who are Judges incompetent and insufficient, both to determine any thing amiss, and for want of Skill and Authority to amend it. Which also discovereth their Intent and Purpose to be rather Destructive than Corrective. 3. Thirdly, those very exceptions which they take are frivolous and impertinent: Some things indeed they accuse as impious, which if they may appear to be such, God forbid they should be maintained.  
Against the rest it is only alleged, that they are Idle Ceremonies without use, and that better and more profitable might be devised. Wherein they are doubly deceived; for neither is it a sufficient Plea to say, This must give place, because a Better may be devised; because in our Judgements of Better and Worse, we oftentimes conceive amiss, when we compare those things which are in Devise, with those which are in Practice; for the Imperfections of the one are hid, till by Time and Trial they be discovered: The others are already manifest and open to all. But last of all (which is a Point in my Opinion of great regard, and which I am desirous to have enlarged) they do not see that for the most part when they strike at the State Ecclesiastical, they secretly wound the Civil State: for Personal faults, What can be said against the Church, which may not also agree to the Commonwealth? In both States Men have always been, and will be always, Men; sometimes blinded with Error, most commonly perverted by Passions: many Unworthy have been and are advanced in both, many Worthy not regarded. And as for Abuses which they pretend to be in the Laws themselves, when they inveigh against Nonresidence, do they take it a matter lawful or expedient in the Civil State for a man to have a great and gainful Office in the North, himself continually remaining in the South? He that hath an Office, let him attend his office. When they condemn Plurality of Livings Spirtual to the pit of Hell, what think they of the Infinite of Temporal Promotions? By the great Philosopher, Pol. lib. 2. c. 9 it is forbidden as a thing most dangerous to Commonwealths, that by the same man many great Offices should be exercised. When they deride our Ceremonies as vain and frivolous, were it hard to apply their Exceptions even to those Civil Ceremonies, which at the Coronation, in Parliament, and all Courts of Justice, are used; Were it hard to argue even against Circumcision, the Ordinance of God, as being a cruel Ceremony? against the Passeover, as being ridiculous? should be girt, a Staff in their hand, to eat a Lamb.  
To conclude; you may exhort the Clergy, (or what if you direct your Conclusion not to the Clergy in general, but only to the Learned in or of both Universities?) you may exhort them to a due Consideration of all things, and to a right Esteem and Valuing of each thing in that degree wherein it ought to stand. For it oftentimes falleth out, that what Men have either devised themselves, or greatly delighted in, the Price and the Excellency thereof they do admire above desert. The chiefest Labour of a Christian should be to know; of a Minister, to preach Christ crucified: in regard whereof, not only Worldly things, but things otherwise precious, even the Discipline itself is vile and base: Whereas now by the heat of Contention, and violence of Affection, the Zeal of men towards the one hath greatly decayed their Love to the other. Hereunto therefore they are to be exhorted, to Preach Christ crucified, the Mortification of the Flesh, the Renewing of the Spirit; not those things which in time of Strife seem precious, but (Passions being allayed) are vain and childish.  
FINIS.    


The Effigies of Mr: r: George Herbert Author of those Sacred Poems called The Temple.    

The LIFE OF Mr. GEORGE HERBERT.  
Wisdom of Salom. 4.10.  
He pleased God, and was beloved of him: so that whereas he lived among sinners, he translated him.  
LONDON, Printed by Tho: Newcomb, for Richard Marriott, sold by most Booksellers. M. DC. LXX.  
IMPRIMATUR, Sam: Parker Reverendissim● in Christo Patri ac Domino, Domino Gilberto Archiep: Cantuan à Sac: Domest:  
April 21. 1670.   

To his very Worthy and much Honoured FRIEND, Mr. Izaack Walton, upon his Excellent Life of Mr. George Herbert.  

I.  
Heaven's youngest Son, its Benjamin,  
Divinity's next Brother, Sacred Poesy,  
No longer shall a Virgin reckoned be,  
(What ere with others 'tis) by me,  
A Female Muse, as were the Nine:  
But (full of Vigour Masculine)  
An Essence Male, with Angels his Companions shine.  
With Angels first the heavenly youth was bred;  
And, when a Child, instructed them to sing,  
The praises of th' Immortal King,  
Who Lucifer in Triumph led:  
For, as in Chains the Monster sank to Hell,  
And tumbling headlong down the precipice fell,  
By him first taught, How art thou fallen thou morning star? they said  
Too fond then, we have fancied him a Maid:  
We, the vain Brethren of the rhyming trade;  
A female Angel less would 
Raphael Urbino the famous painter.  Urbin's skill upbraid.   

II.  
Thus 'twas in Heaven This, Poesy's Sex and Age;  
And, when he thence t'our lower World came down,  
He chose a Form more like his own,  
And Iesse's youngest Son inspired with holy rage.  
The sprightly Shepherd felt unusual Fire,  
And up he took his tuneful Lyre;  
He took it up, and strucked, and his own soft touches did admire.  
Thou, Poesy, on him didst bestow:  
Thy choicest gift, a honour showed before to none;  
And, to prepare his way to th'Hebrew Throne,  
Gav'st him thy Empire, and Dominion;  
The happy Land of Verse, where flow  
Rivers of milk, and Woods of Laurel grow;  
Wherewith, thou, didst adorn his brow,  
And mad'st his first, more flourishing, and triumphant Crown,  
Assist me thy great Prophet's praise to sing,  
David, the Poets, and blessed Israel's King;  
And, with the dancing Echo, let the mountains ring!  
Then, on the wings of some auspicious wind,  
Let his great name from earth, be raised on high,  
And in the starry volume of the Sky  
A lasting Record find:  
Be with his mighty Psaltery joined;  
Which, taken long since up in to the Air,  
And called the Harp, makes a bright Constellation there.   

III.  
Worthy it was to be translated hence,  
And, there, in view of all, exalted hang:  
To which so oft the Princely Prophet sang,  
And mystic Oracles did dispense.  
Though, had it still remained below,  
More wonders of it we had seen,  
How great the mighty Herbert's skill had been;  
Herbert, who could so much without it do;  
Herbert, who did its Chords distinctly know;  
More perfectly, than any Child of Verse below.  
O! Had we known him half so well!  
But then, my friend, there had been left for you  
Nothing so fair, and worthy praise to do;  
Who, so exactly all his Story tell,  
That, though he did not want his Bays,  
Nor all the Monuments virtue can raise,  
Your hand, he did, to Eternize his Praise.  
Herbert, and Donne, again are joined,  
Now here below, as they're above;  
These friends, are in their old embraces twined;  
And, since by you the Enterview's designed,  
Too weak, to part them, death does prove;  
For, in this book they meet again: as, in one Heaven they love.   
Bensted, Apr. 3. 1670. Sam: Woodforde.   

The LIFE OF Mr. GEORGE HERBERT.  

THE Introduction.  
IN a late retreat from the business of this World, and those many little cares with which I have too often encumbered myself, I fell into a Contemplation of some of those Historical passages that are recorded in Sacred Story; and, more particularly, of what had passed betwixt our Blessed Saviour, and that wonder of Women, and Sinners, and Mourners, Saint Mary Magdalen. I call her Saint, because I did not then, nor do now consider her, as when she was possessed with seven Devils; not as when her wanton Eyes, and disheveled Hair, were designed and managed, to charm and ensnare amorous Beholders: But, I did then, and do now consider her as after she had expressed a visible and sacred sorrow for her sensualities; as, after those Eyes had wept such a flood of penitential tears as did wash, and that hair had wiped, and she most passionately kissed the feet of hers, and our blessed Jesus. And, I do now consider, that because she loved much, not only much was forgiven her: but that, beside that blessed blessing of having her sins pardoned, she also had from him a testimony, that her alabaster box of precious ointment poured on his head and feet, and that Spikenard, and those Spices that were by her dedicated to embalm and preserve his sacred body from putrefaction, should so far preserve her own memory, that these demonstrations of her sanctified love, and of her officious, and generous gratitude should be recorded and mentioned wheresoever his Gospel should be read; intending thereby, that as his, so her name should also live to succeeding generations, even till time shall be no more.  
Upon occasion of which fair example, I did lately look back, and not without some content (at least to myself) that I have endeavoured to deserve the love, and preserve the memory of my two deceased friends, Dr. Donne, and Sir Henry Wotton, by declaring the various employments and accidents of their Lives: And, though Mr. George Herbert (whose Life I now intent to write) were to me a stranger as to his person: 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 their 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 liv●d, would be less perfect, and lost to posterity.  
For these Reasons I have undertaken it, and if I have prevented any abler person, I beg pardon of him, and my Reader.   

The Life.  
GEorge Herbert was born the Third day of April, in the Year of our Redemption 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 and County; that Castle was then a place of state and strength, and had been successively happy in the Family of the Epirotes, who had long possessed it: and, with it, a plentiful Estate, and hearts as liberal to their poor Neighbours. A Family, that hath been blest with men of remarkable wisdom, and with a willingness to serve their Country, and indeed, to do good to all Mankind; for which, they were eminent: But alas! this Family did in the late Rebellion suffer extremely in their Estates; and the Heirs of that Castle, saw it laid level with that earth that was too good to bury those Wretches that were the cause of it.  
The Father of our George, was Richard Herbert the Son of Edward Herbert Knight, the Son of Richard Herbert Knight, the Son of the famous Sir Richard Herbert of Colebrook in the County of Monmouth Banneret, who was the youngest Brother of that memorable William Herbert Earl of Pembroke, that lived in the Reign of our King Edward the fourth.  
His Mother was Magdalen Newport, the youngest Daughter of Sir Richard, and Sister to Sir Francis Newport of High Arkall in the County of Salop Knight, and Grandfather of Francis Lord Newport, now controller of His Majesty's Household. A Family, that for their Loyalty, have suffered much in their Estates, and seen the ruin of that excellent Structure, where their Ancestors have long lived, and been memorable for their Hospitality.  
This Mother of George Herbert (of whose person, and wisdom, and virtue, I intent to give a true account in a seasonable place) was the happy Mother of seven Sons, and three Daughters, which she would often say, was Jobs number; and as often bless God, that they were neither defective in their shapes, or in their reason; and, often reprove them that did not praise God for so great a blessing. I shall give the Reader a short account of their names, and not say much of their Fortunes.  
Edward the eldest was first made Knight of the Bath, at that glorious time of our late Prince Henry's being installed Knight of the Garter; and after many years useful travel, and the attainment of many Languages, he was by King James sent Ambassador Resident to the than French King, Lewis the Thirteenth. There, he continued about two Years; but, he could not subject himself to a compliance with the humours of the Duke de Luines, who was then the great and powerful Favourite at Court: so that upon a complaint to our King, he was called back into England in some displeasure; but at his return he gave such an honourable account of his employment, and so justified his Comportment to the Duke, and all the Court, that he was suddenly sent back upon the same Embassy, from which he returned in the beginning of the Reign of our good King Charles the first, who made him first Baron of Castle-Island; and not long after of Cherberie in the County of Salop: He was a man of great learning and reason, as appears by his printed Book de veritate; and, by his History of the Reign of King Henry the Eight, and by several other Tracts.  
The second and third Brothers were Richard and William, who ventured their lives to purchase Honour in the Wars of the Low Countries, and died Officers in that employment. Charles was the fourth, and died Fellow of New-Colledge in Oxford. Henry was the sixth, who became a menial servant to the Crown in the days of King James, and hath continued to be so for fifty years: during all which time he hath been Master of the Revels; a place, that requires a diligent wisdom, with which God hath blest him. The seventh Son was Thomas, who being made Captain of a Ship in that Fleet with which Sir Robert Mansell was sent against Algiers, ●id there show a fortunate and true English valour. Of the three Sisters, I need not say more, then that they were all married to persons of worth, and plentiful fortunes; and, lived to be examples of virtue, and to do good in their generations.  
I now come to give my intended account of George, who was the fifth of those seven Brothers.  
George Herbert spent much of his Childhood in a sweet content under the eye and care of his prudent mother, and the tuition of a Chaplain or Tutor to him, and two of his Brothers in her own Family (for she was then a Widow) where he continued, till about the age of twelve years; and being at that time well instructed in the Rules of Grammar, he was not long after commended to the care of Dr. Neale, who was then Dean of Westminster; and by him to the care of Mr. Ireland, who was then chief Master of that School; where the beauties of his pretty behaviour and wit, shined and became so eminent and lovely in this his innocent age, that he seemed to be marked out for piety, and to become the care of Heaven, and of a particular Angel to guard and guide him. And thus, he continued in that School, till he came to be perfect in the learned Languages, and especially in the Greek Tongue, in which he after proved an excellent Critic.  
About the age of Fifteen, he, being then a King's Scholar, was elected out of that School for Trinity College in Cambridge, to which place he was transplanted about the year 1608. And his prudent mother well knowing, that he might easily lose, or lessen that virtue and innocence which her advice and example had planted in his mind; did therefore procure the generous and liberal Dr. Nevil, who was then Dean of Canterbury, and Master of that College, to take him into his particular care, and provide him a Tutor; which he did most gladly undertake, for he knew the excellencies of his Mother, and how to value such a friendship.  
This was the method of his Education, till he was settled in Cambridge, where we will leave him in his Study, till I have paid my promised account of his excellent mother, and I will endeavour to make it short.  
I have told her birth, her Marriage, and the Number of her Children, and, have given some short account of them: I shall next tell the Reader, that her husband died when our George was about the Age of four years: and that she continued twelve years a Widow: that she then married happily to a Noble Gentleman, the brother and Heir of the Lord Danvers Earl of Danby, who did highly value both her person and most excellent endowments of her mind.  
In this time of her Widowhood, she being desirous to give Edward her eldest son, such advantages of Learning, and other education as might suit his birth and fortune: and thereby make him the more fit for the service of his Country: did at his being of a fit age, remove from Montgomery Castle with him, and some of her younger sons to Oxford; and, having entered Edward into Queen's College, and provided him a fit Tutor, she commended him to his Care; yet, she continued there with him, and still kept him in a moderate awe of herself: and so much under her own eye, as to see and converse with him daily; but she managed this power over him without any such rigid sourness, as might make her company a torment to her Child, but, with such a sweetness and compliance with the recreations and pleasure of youth, as did incline him willingly to spend much of his time in the company of his dear and careful mother: which was to her great content; for, she would often say, That as our bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which we feed: so, our souls do as insensibly take in vice by the example or Conversation with wicked Company: and, would therefore, as often say, That ignorance of Vice was the best preservation of Virtue: and, that the very knowledge of wickedness was as tinder to inflame and kindle sin, and to keep it burning: For these reasons, she endeared him to her own Company: and, continued with him in Oxford four years: in which time, her great and harmless wit, her cheerful gravity, and her obliging behaviour, gained her an acquaintance and friendship with most of any eminent worth or learning, that were at that time in or near that University: and particularly, with Mr. John Donne, who then came accidentally to that place, in this time of her being there: it was that John Done who was after Doctor Donne, and Dean of Saint Paul's London: and he at his leaving Oxford, writ and left there a Character of the Beauties of her body, and mind; of the first, he says, 
No Spring nor Summer-Beauty, has such grace  
As I have seen in an Autumnal face.   
Of the latter he says, 
In all her words to every hearer fit  
You may at Revels, or at Council sit.   
The rest of her Character, may be read in his printed Poems, in that Elegy which bears the name of the Autumnal Beauty. For both he and she were then past the meridian of man's life.  
This Amity begun at this time, and place, was not Amity that polluted their Souls; but, an Amity made up of a chain of suitable inclinations and virtues; an Amity, like that of St. Chrysostoms' to his dear and virtuous Olimpias; whom, in his Letters, he calls his Saint: Or, an Amity indeed more like that of St. Hierom to his Paula; whose affection to her was such, that he turned Poet in his old Age, and then made her Epitaph; wishing, all his Body were turned into Tongues, that he might declare her just praises to posterity. And this Amity betwixt her and Mr. Donne, was begun in a happy time for him, he being then about the Fortieth year of his Age (which was some years before he entered into Sacred Orders:) A time, when his necessities needed a daily supply for the support of his Wife, seven Children, and a Family: And in this time she proved one of his most bountiful Benefactors; and he, as grateful an acknowledger of it. You may take one testimony of what I have said of them, from this following Letter, and Sonnet.  
MADAM,  
YOur Favours to me are every where; I use them, and have them. I enjoy them at London, and leave them there; and yet find them at Micham: Such Riddles as these become things unexpressible; and, such is your goodness. I was almost sorry to find your Servant here this day, because I was loath to have any witness of my not coming home last Night, and indeed of my coming this Morning: But, my not coming was excusable, because earnest business detained me; and my coming this day, is by the example of your St. Mary Magdalen, who rose early upon Sunday, to seek that which she loved most, and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return such thanks as are due to one to whom we owe all the good opinion, that they whom we need most, have of us— by this Messenger, and on this good day, I commit the enclosed Holy Hymns and Sonnets (which for the matter, not the workmanship, have yet escaped the fire) to your judgement, and to your protection too, if you think them worthy of it; and I have appointed this enclosed Sonnet to usher them to your happy hand.  
Micham, July ●●, 1607 Your unworthiest Servant, unless your accepting him, have mended him. Jo. Donne.  

To the Lady Magdalen Herbert, of St. Mary Magdalen.  
HEr of your name, whose fair inheritance  
Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo:  
An active faith so highly did advance,  
That she once knew, more than the Church did know  
The Resurrection; so much good there is  
Delivered of her, that some Fathers be  
Loath to believe one Woman could do this;  
But, think these magdalen's were two or three.  
Increase their number, Lady, and their fame:  
To their Devotion, add your Innocence;  
Take so much of th' example, as of the name;  
The latter half; and in some recompense  
That they did harbour Christ himself, a Guest,  
Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addressed.  J. D.  
These Hymns are now lost to us; but, doubtless they were such, as they two now sing in Heaven.  
There might be more demonstrations of the Friendship, and the many sacred Endearments betwixt these two excellent persons (for I have many of their Letters in my hand) and much more might be said of her great prudence and piety; but my design was not to write hers, but the life of her Son; and therefore I shall only tell my Reader, that about that very day twenty years, that this Letter was dated, and sent her, I saw and heard this Mr. John Donne (who was then Dean of St. Paul's) weep, and preach her Funeral Sermon, in the Parish-Church of Chelsey near London, where she now rests in her quiet Grave, and where we must now leave her, and return to her Son George, whom we left in his Study in Cambridge.  
And in Cambridge we may find our George Herbert's behaviour to be such, that we may conclude, he consecrated the first fruits of his early age to virtue, and a serious study of learning. And that he did so, this following Letter and Sonnet which were in the first year of his going to Cambridge sent his dear Mother for a New-year's gift, may appear to be some testimony.  
— But I fear the heat of my late Ague hath dried up those springs, by which Scholars say, the Muse's use to take up their habitations. However, I need not their help, to reprove the vanity of those many Love-poems, that are daily writ and consecrated to Venus; nor to bewail that so few are writ, that look towards God and Heaven. For my own part, my meaning (dear Mother) is in these Sonnets, to declare my resolution to be, that my poor Abilities in Poetry, shall be all, and ever consecrated to God's glory. And—  

MY God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,  
Wherewith whole showls of Martyrs once did burn,  
Besides their other flames Doth Poetry  
Wear Venus' Livery? only serve her turn?  
Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and lays  
Upon thine Altar burnt? Cannot thy love  
He ghten a spirit to sound out thy praise  
As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove  
Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight?  
Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same,  
Will not a verserun smooth that bears thy name!  
Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might  
Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose  
Than that, which one day, Worms, may chance refuse.   

Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry  
Oceans of Ink; for, as the Deluge did  
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty:  
Each Cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid  
Poets to turn it to another use.  
Roses and Lilies speak thee; and to make  
A pair of Cheeks of them, is thy abuse.  
Why should I women's eyes for Crystal take?  
Such poor invention burns in their low mind  
Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go  
To praise, and on thee Lord, some Ink bestow.  
Open the bones, and you shall nothing find  
In the best face but filth, when Lord, in thee  
The beauty lies, in the discovery.  G. H.  
This was his resolution at the sending this Letter to his dear Mother; about which time, he was in the Seventeenth year of his Age; and, as he grew older, so he grew in learning, and more and more in favour both with God and man: insomuch, that in this morning of that short day of his life, he seemed to be marked out for virtue, and to become the care of Heaven; for God still kept his soul in so holy a frame, that he may, and aught to be a pattern of virtue to all posterity; and especially, to his Brethren of the Clergy, of which the Reader may expect a more exact account in what will follow.  
I need not declare that he was a strict Student, because, that he was so, there will be many testimonies in the future part of his life. I shall therefore only tell, that he was made Minor Fellow in the year 1609. Bachelor of Art in the year 1611. Major Fellow of the College, March 15. 1615. And, that in that year, he was also made Master of Arts, he being then in the 22 d year of his Age; during all which time, all, or the greatest diversion from his Study, was the practice of Music, in which he became a great Master; and of which, he would say, That it did relieve his drooping spirits, compose his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary Soul so far above Earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of Heaven, before he possessed them. And it may be noted, that from his first entrance into the College, the generous Dr. Nevil was a cherisher of his Studies, and such a lover of his person, his behaviour, and the excellent endowments of his mind, that he took him often into his own company, by which he confirmed his native gentileness; and, if during this time he expressed any Error, it was, that he kept himself too much retired, and at too great a distance with all his inferiors; and, his clothes seemed to prove, that he put too great a value on his parts and parentage.  
This may be some account of his disposition, and of the employment of his time, till he was Master of Arts, which was Anno 1615. and in the year 1619. he was chosen Orator for the University. His two precedent Orators, were Sir Robert Nanton, and Sir Francis Nethersoll: The first was not long after made Secretary of State; and, Sir Francis, not long after his being Orator, was made Secretary to the Lady Elizabeth Queen of Bohemia. In this place of Orator, our George Herbert continued eight years; and managed it with as becoming, and grave a gaiety, as any had ever before, or since his time. For, He had acquired great Learning, and was blest with a high fancy, a civil and sharp wit, and with a natural elegance, both in his behaviour, his tongue, and his pen. Of all which, there might be very many particular evidences, but I will limit myself to the mention of but three.  
And the first notable occasion of showing his fitness for this employment of Orator, was manifested in a Letter to King James, who had sent the University his Book, called Basilicon Doron; and their Orator was to acknowledge this great honour, and return their gratitude to His Majesty for such a condescension; at the close of which Letter, he writ,  
Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque objicis hospes!  
Unicus est nobis Bibliotheca Liber.  
This Letter was writ in such excellent Latin, was so full of Conceits, and all the expressions so suited to the genius of the King, that he inquired the Orator's name, and then asked William Earl of Pembroke, if he knew him? whose answer was, That he knew him very well; and, that he was his Kinsman, but he loved him more for his learning and virtue, than for that he was of his name and family. At which answer, the King smiled, and asked the Earl leave, that he might love him too; for, he took him to be the Jewel of that University.  
The next occasion that he had to show his great Abilities, was, with them, to show also his great affection to that Church in which he received his Baptism; and, of which he professed himself a member, and the occasion was this: There w●s one Andrew Melvin, a Gentleman of Scotland, who was in his own Country possessed with an averseness, if not a hatred of Church-government by Bishops; and, he seemed to have a like averseness to our manner of Public Worship, and of Church-prayers and Ceremonies. This Gentleman had travailed France, and resided so long in Geneva, as to have his opinions the more confirmed in him by the practice of that place; from which he returned into England some short time before, or immediately after Mr. Herbert was made Orator. This Mr. Melvin was a man of learning, and was the Master of a great wit, a wit full of knots and clenches: a wit sharp and satirical; exceeded, I think, by none of that Nation, but their Bucanen. At Mr. Melvins return hither, he writ and scattered in Latin, many pieces of his wit against our Altars, our Prayers, and our Public Worship of God; in which, Mr. Herbert took himself to be so much concerned, that as fast as Melvin writ and scattered them, Mr. Herbert writ and scattered answers, and reflections of the same sharpness, upon him and them; I think, to the satisfaction of all uningaged persons. But, this Mr. Melvin, was not only so busy against the Church, but at last so bold with the King and State, that he railed, and writ himself into the Tower; at which time, the Lady Arabella was an innocent prisoner there; and, he pleased himself much in sending the next day after his Commitment, these two Verses to the good Lady; which, I will underwrite, because they may give the Reader a taste of his others, which were like these.  
Causa tibi mecum est communis, Carceris, Ara-Bella; tibi causa est, Araque sacra mihi.  
I shall not trouble my Reader with an account of his enlargement from that Prison, or his Death; but tell him, Mr. Herbert's Verses were thought so worthy to be preserved, that Dr. Duport the learned Dean of Peterborough, hath lately collected, and caused them to be printed, as an honourable memorial of his friend Mr. George Herbert, and the Cause he undertook.  
And, in order to my third, and last observation of his great Abilities, it will be needful to declare, that about this time King James came very often to hunt at New-market and Royston; and was almost as often invited to Cambridge, where his entertainment was suited to his pleasant humour 
* Albumizer. Ig●oramus. , and where Mr. George Herbert was to welcome him with Gratulations, and the Applauses of an Orator; which he always performed so well, that he still grew more into the King's favour; insomuch, that he had a particular appointment to attend His Majesty at Royston, where after a Discourse with him, His Majesty declared to his Kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke, That he found the Orator's learning and wisdom, much above his age or wit. The year following, the King appointed to end His progress at Cambridge, and to stay there certain days; at which time, he was attended by the great Secretary of Nature, and all Learning, Sir Francis Bacon (Lord Virulam) and by the ever memorable and learned Dr. Andrews Bishop of Winchester, both which did at that time begin a desired friendship with our Orator. Upon whom the first put such a value on his judgement, that he usually desired his approbation, before he would expose any of his Books to be printed; and thought him so worthy of his friendship, that having translated many of the Prophet David's Psalms into English Verse, he made George Herbert his Patron of them, by a public dedication of them to him, as the best Judge of Divine Poetry. And, for the learned Bishop, it is observable, that at that time, there fell to be a modest debate about Predestination, and Sanctity of life; of both which, the Orator did not long after send the Bishop some safe and useful Aphorisms, in a long Letter written in Greek; which, was so remarkable for the language, and matter, that after the reading of it, the Bishop put it into his bosom, and did often show it to Scholars, both of this, and foreign Nations; but did always return it back to the place where he first lodged it, and continued it so near his heart, till the last day of his life.  
To these, I might add the long and entire friendship betwixt him and Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Donne, but I have promised to contract myself, and shall therefore only add one testimony to what is also mentioned in the Life of Dr. Donne; namely, that a little before his death, he caused many Seals to be made, and in them to be engraven the figure of Christ crucified on an Anchor, which is the emblem of hope, and of which Dr. Donne would often say, Crux mihi Anchora. These Seals, he sent to most of those friends on which he put a value; and, at Mr. Herbert's death, these Verses were found wrapped up with that Seal which was by the Doctor given to him.  

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

When winds and waves rise highest, I am sure,  
This Anchor keeps my faith, that, me secure.   
At this time of being Orator, he had learned to understand the Italian, Spanish, and French Tongues very perfectly; hoping, that as his Predecessor, so he might in time attain the place of a Secretary of State, being then high in the King's favour; and, not meanly valued and loved by the most eminent and most powerful of the Court Nobility: This, and the love of a Court-conversation mixed with a laudable ambition to be something more than he then was, drew him often from Cambridge to attend the King, who then gave him a Sine Cure, which fell into His Majesty's disposal, I think, by the death of the Bishop of St. Asaph. It was the same, that Queen Elizabeth had formerly given to her Favourite Sir Philip Sidney; and valued to be worth an hundred and twenty pound per Annum. With this, and his Annuity, and the advantage of his College, and of his Oratorship, he enjoyed his gentile humour for clothes, and Courtlike company, and seldom looked towards Cambridge, unless the King were there, and then he never failed; but, at other times, left the manage of his Orator's place, to his learned friend Mr. Herbert Thorndike, who is now Prebend of Westminster.  
I may not omit to tell, that he had often designed to leave the University, and decline all Study, which he judged did impair his health; for he had a body apt to a Consumption, and to Fevers, and other infirmities which he judged were increased by his Studies; for he would often say, He had a Wit, like a Penknife in a narrow sheath, too sharp for his Body: But his Mother would by no means allow him to leave the University, or to travel; to which, though he inclined very much, yet he would by no means satisfy his own desires at so dear a rate, as to prove an undutiful Son to so affectionate a Mother; but, did always submit to her wisdom: And, what I have now said, may partly appear in a Copy of Verses in his printed Poems; 'tis one of those that bears the title of Affliction: And it appears to be a pious reflection on God's providence, and some passages of his life, and in which he says, 

WHereas my birth and spirit rather took  
The way that takes the Town:  
Thou didst betray me to a lingering Book,  
And wrap me in a Gown.  
I was entangled in a World of strife,  
Before I had the power to change my life.   

Yet f●r I threatened oft the Siege to raise,  
Not simpering all mine age:  
Thou often didst with Academic praise,  
Melt, and dissolve my rage;  
I took the sweetened Pill, till I came where  
I could not go away, nor persevere.   

Yet, lest perchance, I should too happy be  
In my unhappiness;  
Turning my purge to food, thou throw'st me  
Into more sicknesses.  
Thus doth thy power, Cross-byas me, not making  
Thine own gifts good; yet, me from my ways taking.   

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me  
None of my Books will show:  
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a Tree,  
For then sure I should grow  
To fruit or shade; at least, some Bird would trust  
Her Household with me, and I would be just.   

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;  
In weakness must be stout:  
Well, I will change my service, and go seek  
Some other Master out:  
Ah my dear God though I am clean forgot,  
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.  G. H.   
In this time of Mr. Herbert's attendance and expectation of some good occasion to remove him from Cambridge, to Court; God, in whom there is an unseen Chain of Causes, did in a short time put an end to the lives of two of his most obliging and most powerful friends, Lodowick Duke of Richmond, and James Marquess of Hamilton; and not long after him, King James died, and with them, all Mr. Herbert's Court-hopes: So that he presently betook himself to a Retreat from London, to a Friend in Kent, where he lived very privately, and was such a lover of solitariness, as was judged to impair his health. In this time of Retirement, he had many Conflicts with himself, Whether he should return to the painted pleasures of a Court-life, or betake himself to a study of Divinity, and enter into Sacred Orders? (to which his dear Mother had often persuaded him) These were such Conflicts, as they only can know, that have endured them; for, ambitious Desires, and the outward Glory of this World, are not easily laid aside; but, at last, God inclined him to put on a resolution to serve at his Altar.  
He did at his return to London, acquaint a Court-friend with his resolution to enter into Sacred Orders, who persuaded him to alter it, as too mean an employment, and too much below his birth, and the excellent abilities and endowments of his mind. To whom he replied, It hath been formerly judged, that the Domestic Servants of the King of Heaven, should be of the noblest Families on Earth: and, though the Iniquity of the late Times have made Clergymen meanly valued, and the sacred name of Priest contemptible; yet, I will labour to make it honourable, by consecrating all my learning, and all my poor abilities, to advance the glory of that God that gave them; knowing, that I can never do too much for him, that hath done so much for me, as to make me a Christian. And I will labour to be like my Saviour, by making Humility lovely in the eyes of all men, and by following the merciful and meek example of my dear Jesus.  
This was then his resolution, and the God of Constancy, who intended him for a great example of virtue, continued him in it; for within that year he was made Deacon, but the day when, or by whom, I cannot learn; but that he was about that time made Deacon, is most certain; for I find by the Records of Lincoln, that he was made Prebend of Layton Ecclesia, in the Diocese of Lincoln, July 15. 1626. and that this Prebend was given him, by John, then Lord Bishop of that See. And now, he had a fit occasion to show that Piety and Bounty that was derived from his generous Mother, and his other memorable Ancestors, and the occasion was this.  
This Layton Ecclesia, is a Village near to Spalden in the County of Huntingdon, and the greatest part of the Parish was fallen down, and that of it which stood, was so decayed, so little, and so useless, that the Parishioners could not meet to perform their Duty to God in public prayer and praises; and thus it had been for almost 20 years, in which time there had been some faint endeavours for a public Collection, to enable the Parishioners to rebuild it; but, with no success, till Mr. Herbert undertook it; and he, by his own, and the contribution of many of his Kindred, and other noble Friends, undertook the Re-edification of it; and, made it so much his whole business, that he became restless, till he saw it finished as it now stands; being, for the workmanship, a costly Mosaic: for the form, an exact Cross; and, for the decency and beauty, I am assured it is the most remarkable Parish-Church, that this Nation affords. He lived to see it so Wainscoated, as to be exceeded by none; and, by his order, the Reading Pew, and Pulpit, were a little distant from each other, and both of an equal height; for, he would often say, They should neither have a precedency or priority of the other: but, that Prayer and Preaching being equally useful, might agree like Brethren, and have an equal honour and estimation.  
Before I proceed farther, I must look back to the time of Mr. Herbert's being made Prebend, and tell the Reader, that not long after, his Mother being informed of his intentions to Rebuld that Church; and, apprehending the great trouble and charge that he was like to draw upon himself, his Relations, and Friends, before it could be finished; sent for him from London to Chelsey (where he then dwelled) and at his coming, said— George, I sent for you, to persuade you to commit Simony, by giving your Patron as good a gift as he has given to you; namely, that you give him back his Prebend; for, George, it is not for your weak body, and empty purse, to undertake to build Churches. To which, he desired he might have a Day's time to consider, and then make her an Answer: And at his return to her at the next Day, when he had first desired her blessing, and she given it him, his next request was, That she would at the Age of Thirty three Years, allow him to become an undutiful Son; for, he had made a kind of Vow to God, that if he were able, he would Rebuild that Church: And then, showed her such reasons for his resolution, that she presently subscribed to be one of his Benefactors, and undertook to solicit William Earl of Pembroke, to be another, who subscribed for 50 l. and not long after, by a witty, and persuasive Letter from Mr. Herbert, made it 50 l. more. And in this nomination of some of his Benefactors, James Duke of Lenox, and his brother Sir Henry Herbert, aught to be remembered; and the bounty of Mr. Nicholas Farrer, and Mr. John Woodnot; the one, a Gentleman in the Neighbourhood of Layton, and the other, a Goldsmith in Foster-lane, London, ought not to be forgotten; for the memory of such men ought to outlive their lives. Of Mr. Farrer, I shall hereafter give an account in a more seasonable place; but before I proceed farther, I will give this short account of Mr. John Woodnot.  
He was a man, that had considered, overgrown Estates do often require more care and watchfulness to preserve, than get them; and, that there be many Discontents, that Riches cure not; and did therefore set limits to himself as to the desire of wealth: And having attained so much as to be able to show some mercy to the Poor, and preserve a competence for himself, he dedicated the remaining part of his life to the service of God; and being useful for his Friends, he proved to be so to Mr. Herbert; for, beside his own bounty, he collected and returned most of the money that was paid for the Re-building of that Church; he kept all the account of the charges, and would often go down to state them, and see all the Workmen paid. When I have said, that this good man was a useful Friend to Mr. Herbert's Father, to his Mother, and continued to be so to him, till he closed his eyes on his Deathbed; I will forbear to say more, till I have the next fair occasion to mention the holy friendship that was betwixt him, and Mr. Herbert.  
About the year 1629. and the 34 th' of his Age, Mr. Herbert was seized with a sharp Quotidian Ague, and thought to remove it by the change of Air; to which end, he went to Woodford in Essex, but thither more chiefly, to enjoy the company of his beloved Brother Sir Henry Herbert, and other Friends. In his House he remained about Twelve Months, and there became his own Physician, and cured himself of his Ague, by forbearing Drink, and eating no Meat, no not Mutton, nor a Hen, or Pigeon, unless they were salted; and by such a constant Diet, he removed his Ague, but with inconveniencies that were worse; for he brought upon himself a disposition to Rheums, and other weaknesses, and a supposed Consumption. And it is to be Noted, that in the sharpest of his extreme Fits, he would often say, Lord abate my great affliction, and increase my patience; but, Lord I repine not, I am dumb, Lord, before thee, because thou dost it. By which, and a sanctified submission to the Will of God, he showed he was inclinable to bear the sweet yoke of Christian Discipline, both then, and in the latter part of his life; of which, there will be many true Testimonies.  
And now his care was to recover from his Consumption by a change, from Woodford into such an air as was most proper to that end. And his remove was from Woodford to Dantsey in Wiltshire, a noble House which stands in a choice Air, the owner of it than was, the Lord Danvers Earl of Danby, who loved Mr. Herbert much, and allowed him such an apartment in that House, as might best suit Mr. Herbert's accommodation and liking. And, in this place, by a spare Diet, declining all perplexing Studies, moderate exercise, and a cheerful conversation; his health was apparently improved to a good degree, of strength and cheerfulness: And then, he declared his resolution to marry, and to enter into the Sacred Orders of Priesthood: These had long been the desires of his Mother, and his other Relations; but, she lived not to see either: for, she died in the year 1627. And, though he was disobedient to her about Layton Church, yet, in conformity to her will, he kept his Fellowship in Cambridge, and his Orator's place, till after her death; and then, declined both: And, the last, the more willingly, that he might be succeeded by his friend Robert Creighton, who now is Dr. Creighton, and the worthy Dean of Wells.  
I shall now proceed to his Marriage, in order to which, it will be convenient, that I first give the Reader a short view of his person, and then, an account of his Wife, and of some circumstances concerning both.— He was for his person of a stature inclining towards Tallness; his body was very straight, and so far from being cumbered with too much flesh, that he was lean to an extremity. His aspect was cheerful, and his speech and motion did both declare him a Gentleman; and were all so meek and obliging, that both then, and at his death, he was said to have no Enemy.  
These, and his other visible virtues, begot him so much love from a Gentleman of a Noble fortune, and a near Kinsman to his friend the Earl of Danby; namely, from Mr. Charles Danvers of Bainton, in the County of Wilts Esq That Mr. Danvers having known him long, and familiarly, did so much affect him, that he often, and publicly declared a desire that Mr. Herbert would marry any of his Nine Daughters (for he had so many) but rather, his Daughter Jane, than any other, because Jane was his beloved Daughter: And he had often said the same to Mr. Herbert himself; and, that if he could like her for a Wife, and she him for a Husband, Jane should have a double blessing: And Mr. Danvers had so often said the like to Jane, and so much commended Mr. Herbert to her, that Jane became so much a Platonic, as to fall in love with Mr. Herbert unseen.  
This was a fair preparation for a Marriage; but alas, her father died before Mr. Herbert's retirement to Dantsey; yet some friends to both parties, procured their meeting; at which time, a mutual affection entered into both their hearts; and as a Conqueror, enters into a surprised City, so Love having got that possession governed, and made there such Laws and Resolutions, as neither party was able to resist; insomuch, that she changed her name into Herbert, the third day after this first Interview.  
This haste, might in others be thought a Love-phrensie, or worse, but it was not; for they wooed so like Princes, as to have select Proxies; such, as were friends to both parties; such, as well understood Mr. Herbert's, and her temper of mind; and, their Estates so well, before this Interview, that, the suddenness was justifiable, by the strictest Rules of prudence: And, the more, because it proved so happy to both parties; for, the eternal lover of Mankind, made them happy in each others mutual affections, and compliance; so happy, that there never was any opposition betwixt them, unless it were a Contest which should most incline to a compliance with the others desires. And, though this begot, and continued in them, such a mutual love and joy, and content, as was no way defective; yet, this mutual content and love, and joy, did receive a daily augmentation, by such daily obligingness to each other, as still added such new affluences to the former fullness of these divine Souls, as was only improvable in Heaven, where they now enjoy it.  
About three months after his Marriage, Dr. Curl, who was then Rector of Bemerton in Wiltshire, was made Bishop of Bath and Wells, (and not long after Translated to Winchester) and by that means the presentation of a Clerk to Bemerton, did not fall to the Earl of Pembroke (who was the undoubted Patron of it) but to the King, by reason of Dr. Curls advancement: But Philip, than Earl of Pembroke (for William was lately dead) requested the King to bestow it upon his Kinsman George Herbert; and the King said, Most willingly to Mr. Herbert, if it were worth his acceptance: And the Earl as willingly and suddenly sent it him, without seeking; but though Mr. Herbert had formerly put on a resolution for the Clergy: yet, the apprehension of the last great Account that he was to make for the Cure of so many Souls, made him fast and pray, and consider, for not less than a month: in which time, he had some resolutions to decline both the Priesthood, and that living. And in this time of considering, He endured (as he would often say) such spiritual Conflicts, as none can think, but only those that have endured them.  
In the midst of these Conflicts, his old and dear friend Mr. John Woodnot, took a journey to salute him at Bainton (where he then was with his Wife's Friends and Relations) and was joyful to be an Eye-witness of his Health, and happy Marriage. And after they had rejoiced together some few days, they two took a Journey to Wilton, the famous Seat of the Earls of Pembroke; at which time, the King, the Earl, and the whole Court were there, or at Salisbury, which is near to it. At which time Mr. Herbert presented his Thanks to the Earl, for his presentation to Bemerton, but had not yet resolved to accept of it, and told him the reason why; but that Night, the Earl acquainted Dr. Laud, the Archbishop of Canterbury, with his Kinsman's irresolution. And the Bishop did the next day so convince Mr. Herbert, That the refusal of it was a sin; that a Tailor was sent for to come speedily from Salisbury to Wilton, to take measure, and make him Canonical clothes, against next day, which the Tailor did; and Mr. Herbert being so habited, went with his presentation to the learned Dr. Davenant, who was then Bishop of Salisbury, and he gave him Institution immediately (for Mr. Herbert had been made Deacon some years before) and he was also the same day (which was April 26. 1630. inducted into the good and more pleasant, than healthful Parsonage of Bemerton, which is a Mile from Salisbury.  
I have now brought him to his Parsonage of Bemerton, and to the Thirty sixth Year of his Age, and must now stop, and bespeak the Reader to prepare for an almost incredible story, of the great sanctity of the short remainder of his holy life; a life so full of Charity, Humility, and all Christian virtues, that it deserves the eloquence of St. Chrysostom to commend and declare it. A life, that if it were related by a Pen like his, there would then be no need for this Age to look back into times passed for the examples of primitive piety; for they might be all found in the life of George Herbert. But now, alas, who is fit to undertake it, I confess I am not, and am not pleased with myself that must; and profess myself amazed, when I consider how few of the Clergy lived like him then; and, how many live so unlike him now: But it becomes not me to censure, my design is rather to assure the Reader, that I have used very great diligence to inform myself, that I might inform him of the truth of what follows, and I will do that with sincerity.  
When at his Induction he was shut into Bemerton Church, being left there alone to Toll the Bell, as the Law requires him; he stayed so much longer than an ordinary time, before he returned to his Friends that stayed expecting him at the Church-door; that his Friend, Mr. Woodnot, looked in at the Church-window, and saw him lie prostrate on the ground before the Altar: at which time and place (as he after told Mr. Woodnot) he set some Rules to himself, for the future manage of his life; and then and there made a vow, to labour to keep them.  
And the same night that he had his Induction, he said to Mr. Woodnot, I now look back upon my aspiring thoughts, and think myself more happy than if I had attained what I so ambitiously thirsted for: And, I can now behold the Court with an impartial Eye, and see plainly, that it is made up of Fraud, and Titles, and Flattery, and many other such empty, imaginary painted Pleasures. Pleasures, that are so empty, as not to satisfy when they are enjoyed; but, in God and his service, is a fullness of all joy and pleasure, and no satiety: And I will now use all my endeavours to bring my Relations and Dependants to a love and reliance on him, who never fails those that trust him. But above all, I will be sure to live well because the virtuous life of a Clergyman, is the most powerful eloquence to persuade all that see it, to reverence and love, and at least to desire to live like him. And this I will do, because I know we live in an Age that hath more need of good examples, than precepts. And I beseech that God, who hath honoured me so much as to call me to serve at his Altar: that, as by his special grace he hath put into my heart these good desires, and resolutions: so, he will be his assisting grace enable me to bring the same to good effect; and, that my humble and charitable life, may so win upon others, as to bring glory to my Jesus, whom I have this day taken to be my Master and Governor; and am so proud of his service, that I will always observe, and obey, and do his Will, and always call him Jesus my Master: and I will always contemn my birth, or any title or dignity that can be conferred upon me, when I shall compare them with any title of being a Priest, and serving at the Altar of Jesus my Master.  
And that he did so, may appear in many parts of his Book of Sacred Poems; especially, in that which he calls the Odour. In which he seems to rejoice in his thoughts of that word Jesus, and to say the adding these words my Master to it, and the often repetition of them, seemed to presume his mind, and leave an oriental fragrancy in his very breath. And for his unforced choice to serve at God's Altar, he seems in another place (the Pearl, Matth. 13.) to rejoice and say— He knew the ways of Learning: knew, what nature does willingly; and what, when 'tis for●'d by fire: knew the ways of honour, and when glory ●nclines the Soul to noble expressions; know ●●● Court; knew the ways of pleasure, of lo●● of wit, of music, and upon what terms he declined all these for the service of his Master Jesus; and concludes, saying, 
That, through these Labyrinths, not my grovelling Wit:  
But, thy Silk-twist, let down from Heaven to me;  
Did, both conduct, and teach me, how by it,  
To climb to thee.   
The third day after he was made Rector of Bemerton, and had changed his sword and silk clothes into a Canonical Coat; he returned so habited with his friend Mr. Woodnot to Bainton: And, immediately after he had seen and saluted his Wife, he said to her— You are now a Ministers Wife, and must now so far forget your father's house, as not to claim a precedence of any of your Parishioners; for you are to know, that a Priest's Wife can challenge no precedence or place, but that which she purchases by her obliging humility; and, I am sure, places so purchased, do best become them. And, let me tell you, That I am so good a Herald, as to assure you that this is truth. And she was so mee● a Wife, as to assure him it was no vexing News to her, and that he should see her observe it with a cheerful willingness. And indeed her unforced humility, that humility that was in her so original, as to be born with her, made her so happy as to do so; and her doing so, begot her an unfeigned love, and a serviceable respect from all that conversed with her; and this love followed her in all places, as inseparably, as shadows follow substances in Sunshine.  
It was not many days before he returned back to Bemerton, to view the Church, and repair the Chancel; and indeed, to rebuild three parts of his house which was fallen down by reason of his Predecessors living at a better Parsonage house; namely, at Minal, 16 or 20 miles from this place. At which time of Mr. Herbert's coming alone to Bemerton, there came to him a poor old Woman, with an intent to acquaint him with her necessitous condition, and with some troubles of her mind; but after she had spoke some few words to him, she was surprised with a fear and shortness of breath, so that her spirits and speech failed her; which he perceiving, did so compassionate her, that he took her by the hand, and said, Speak good Mother, be not afraid to speak to me; for, I am a man that will hear you with patience; and will relieve your necessities too, if I be able: and this I will do willingly, and therefore, Mother, be not afraid to acquaint me with what you desire. After which comfortable speech, he again took her by the hand, made her sit down by him, and understanding she was of his Parish, he told her, He would be acquainted with her, and take her into his care: And having with patience heard and understood her wants (and it is some relief to be but heard with patience) he comforted her by his meek behaviour and counsel; but because that cost him nothing, he relieved her with money too, and so sent her home with a cheerful heart, praising God, and praying for him. Thus worthy, and (like David's blessed man) thus lowly, was Mr. George Herbert in his own eyes.  
At his return that Night to his Wife at Bainton, he gave her an account of the passages 'twixt him and the poor Woman, with which she was so affected, that she went next day to Salisbury, and there bought a pair of Blankets, and sent them as a Token of her love to the poor Woman, and with them a Message, That she would see and be acquainted with her, when her house was built at Bemerton.  
There be many such passages both of him and his Wife, of which, some few will be related; but I shall first tell, that he hasted to get the Parish-Church repaired; then, to beautify the Chapel (which stands near his house) and that at his own great charge. He then proceeded to rebuild the Parsonage-house, which he did also very completely, and at his own charge; and having done this good work, he caused these Verses to be writ upon, or engraven in the Mantle of the Chimney in his Hall. 

TO MY SUCCESSOR.  

If thou chance for to find  
A new House to thy mind,  
And built without thy Cost:  
Be good to the Poor,  
As God gives thee store,  
And then, my Labour's not lost.     
We will now by the Readers favour suppose him fixed at Bemerton, and grant him to have seen the Church repaired, and the Chapel belonging to it very decently adorned, at his own great charge (which is a real Truth) and having now fixed him there, I shall proceed to give an account of the rest of his behaviour to his Parishioners, and those many others that knew him.  
Doubtless Mr. Herbert had considered and given Rules to himself for his Christian carriage both to God and man before he entered into Holy Orders. And 'tis not unlike, but that he renewed those resolutions at his prostration before the Holy Altar, at his Induction into the Church of Bemerton; but as yet he was but a Deacon, and therefore longed for the next Ember-week, that he might be ordained Priest, and made capable of administering both the Sacraments. At which time, the Reverend Doctor Humphrey Hinchman, now Lord Bishop of London (who does not mention him, but with some veneration for the life and excellent learning of Mr. George Herbert) tells me, He laid his hand on Mr. Herbert's Head, and (alas!) within less than three Years, lent his Shoulder to carry his dear Friend to his Grave.  
And, that Mr. Herbert might the better preserve those holy Rules which such a Priest as he intended to be, aught to observe; and, that time might not insensibly blot them out of his memory, but the next year show him his variations from this years' resolutions; he therefore, did set down his Rules in that order, as the World now sees them printed in a little Book, called, The Country Parson, in which some of his Rules are: 

The Parson's Knowledge.  
The Parson on Sundays.  
The Parson Praying.  
The Parson Preaching.  
The Parson's Charity.  
The Parson comforting the Sick.  
The Parson Arguing.  
The Parson Condescending.  
The Parson in his Journey.  
The Parson in his Mirth.  
The Parson with his Churchwardens.  
The Parson's Blessing the People.    
And his behaviour toward God and man, may be said to be a practical Comment on these, and the other holy Rules set down in that useful Book. A Book, so full of plain, prudent and useful Rules, that, that Country Parson, that can spare 12 d. and yet wants, is scarce excusable; because it will both direct him what he is to do, and convince him for not having done it.  
At the Death of Mr. Herbert, this Book fell into the hands of his friend Mr. Woodnot; and he commended it into the trusty hands of Mr. Bar. Oly. who published it with a most conscientious, and excellent Preface; from which I have had some of those Truths, that are related in this life of Mr. Herbert.  
The Text for his first Sermon, was taken out of Solomon's Proverbs, and the words were, Keep thy heart with all diligence. In which first Sermon, he gave his Parishioners many necessary, holy, safe Rules, for the discharge of a good Conscience, both to God and man. And, delivered his Sermon after a most florid manner, both with great learning and eloquence. And at the close of his Sermon, told them, That should not be his constant way of Preaching, and that he would not fill their heads with unnecessary Notions● but, that for their sakes, his language and his expressions should be more plain and practical in his future Sermons. And he than made it his humble request, That they would be constant to the Afternoons Service, and Catechising. And showed them convincing reasons why he desired it; and his obliging example and persuasions, brought them to a willing conformity to his desires.  
The Texts for all his Sermons, were constantly taken out of the Gospel for the day; and he did as constantly declare why the Church did appoint that portion of Scripture to be that day read: And in what manner the Collect for every Sunday does refer to the Gospel, or to the Epistle then read to them; and, that they might pray with understanding, he did usually take occasion to explain, not only the Collect for every particular day, but the reasons of all the other Collects and Responses in our Service; and, made it appear to them, that, the whole Service of the Church, was a reasonable, and therefore an acceptable Sacrifice to God; as namely, that we begin with Confession of ourselves to be vile, miserable sinners; and, that we begin so, because till we have confessed ourselves to be such, we are not capable of that mercy which we acknowledge we need, and pray for; but having in the prayer of our Lord, begged pardon for those sins which we have confessed: And hoping, that as the Priest hath declared our Absolution, so by our public Confession, and real Repentance, we have obtained that pardon: Then, we dare proceed to beg of the Lord, to open our lips, that our mouths may show forth his praise; for, till then, we are neither able, nor worthy to praise him: But this being supposed, we are then fit to say, Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; and fit to proceed to a further service of our God, in the Collects, and Psalms, and Lands that follow in the Service.  
And, as to these Psalms and laud's, he proceeded to inform them, why they were so often, and some of them daily repeated in our Church-service: namely, the Psalms every Month, because they be an Historical and thankful repetition of mercies past; and, such a composition of prayers and praises, as aught to be repeated often, and publicly; for, with such Sacrifices, God is honoured, and well-pleased. This, for the Psalms.  
And for the Hymns and laud's, appointed to be daily repeated or sung after the first and second Lessons were read to the Congregation, he proceeded to inform them, that it was most reasonable, after they have heard the will and goodness of God declared or preached by the Priest in his reading the two Chapters, that it was then a seasonable Duty to rise up and express their gratitude to Almighty God for those his mercies to them, and to all Mankind, and say with the blessed Virgin, That their Souls do magnify the Lord, and that their spirits do also rejoice in God their Saviour: And that it was their Duty also to rejoice with Simeon in his Song, and say with him, That their eyes have also seen their salvation; for they have seen that salvation which was but prophesied till his time; and he then broke out in expressions of joy to see it: but they live to see it daily, in the History of it, and therefore ought daily to rejoice, and daily to offer up their Sacrifices of praise to their God, for that and all his mercies. A service, which is now the constant employment of that blessed Virgin, and Simeon, and all those blessed Saints that are possessed of Heaven; and where they are at this time interchangeably, and constantly singing, Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God, Glory be to God on High, and on Earth peace. And he taught them, that to do this, was an acceptable service to God, because the Prophet David says in his Psalms, He that praiseth the Lord, honoureth him.  
He made them to understand, how happy they be that are freed from the encumbrances of that Law which our Forefathers groaned under: namely; from the Legal Sacrifices; and from the many Ceremonies of the Levitical Law: freed from Circumcision, and from the strict observation of the Jewish Sabbath, and the like: And he made them know, that having received so many, and so great blessings, by being born since the days of our Saviour, it must be an acceptable Sacrifice to Almighty God, for them to acknowledge those blessings, and stand up and worship, and say as Zacharias did, Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he hath (in our days) visited and redeemed his people; and (he hath in our days) remembered, and showed that mercy which by the mouth of the Prophets, he promised to our Forefathers: and this he hath done, according to his holy Covenant made with them: And we live to see and enjoy the benefit of it, in his Birth, in his Life, his Passion, his Resurrection and Ascension into Heaven, where he now sits sensible of all our temptations and infirmities; and where he is at this present time making intercession for us, to his, and our Father, and therefore they ought daily to express their public gratulations, and say daily with Zacharias, Blessed be that Lord God of Israel that hath thus visited, and thus redeemed his people.— These were some of the reasons by which Mr. Herbert instructed his Congregation for the use of the Psalms, and the Hymns appointed to be daily sung or said in the Church-service.  
He informed them, when the Priest did pray only for the Congregation, and not for himself; and when they did only pray for him, as namely, after the repetition of the Creed, before he proceeds to pray the Lords prayer, or any of the appointed Collects, the Priest is directed to kneel down, and pray for them, saying— The Lord be with you— And then they pray for him, saying— And with thy spirit. and he assured them, that when there is such mutual love, and such joint prayers offered for each other, than the holy Angels look down from Heaven, and are ready to carry such charitable desires to God Almighty, and he as ready to receive them; and that a Christian Congregation calling thus upon God, with one heart, and one voice, and in one reverend and humble posture look as beautifully as Jerusalem, that is at peace with itself.  
He instructed them, why the prayer of our Lord was prayed often in every full service of the Church; namely, at the conclusion of the several parts of that Service; and prayed then, not only because it was composed and commanded by our Jesus that made it, but as a perfect pattern for our less perfect Forms of prayer, and therefore fittest to sum up and conclude all our imperfect Petitions.  
He instructed them, that as by the second Commandment we are required not to bow down, or worship an Idol, or false god; so, by the contrary Rule, we are to bow down and kneel, or stand up and worship the true God: And he instructed them, why the Church required the Congregation to stand up, at the repetition of the Creeds; namely, because they did thereby declare both their obedience to the Church, and an assent to that faith into which they had been baptised. And he taught them, that in that sho●ter Creed, or Doxology so often repeated daily; they also stood up to testify their belief to be, that, the God that they trusted in was one God, and three persons the Father the Son, and the Holy Ghost; to whom, the Priest gave glory: And because there had been Heretic ●s that had denied some of these three persons to be God, therefore the Congregation stood up and honoured him, by confessing and saying, It was so in the beginning is now so, and shall ever be so World without end. And as gave their assent to this belief, by saying Amen.  
He instructed them, what benefit they had, by the Churches appointing the ● elebration of Holidays, and the excellent use of them; namely, that they were set apart for particular Commemorations of particular mercies received from Almighty God; and (as Reverend Mr. Hooker says) to be the Land mar●s to distinguish times; for by them we are taught to take notice how the years pass by us; and, that we ought not to let them pass without a Celebration of praise for those mercies which they give us occasion to remember: and therefore the year is appointed to begin the 25th day of March; a day, in which we commemorate the Angels appearing to the B. Virgin, with the joyful tidings that she should conceive and bear a Son, that should be the redeemer of Mankind: and, she did so Forty weeks after this joyful salutation; namely, at our Christmas, a day in which we commemorate his Birth, with joy and praise; and that eight days after this happy Birth, we celebrate his Circumcision; namely, in that which we call New-year's day. And that upon that we call Twelfthday, we commemorate the manifestation of the unsearchable riches of Jesus to the Gentiles: And that day we also celebrate the memory of his goodness in sending a Star to guide the three wise men from the East to Bethlem, that they might there worship, and present him with their oblations of Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh. And he (Mr. Herbert) instructed them, that Jesus was Forty days after his Birth, presented by his blessed mother in the Temple; namely, on that day which we call, the Purification of the blessed Virgin, Saint Mary. And he instructed them, that by the Lent-fast, we imitate and commemorate our Saviour's humiliation in fasting Forty days; and, that we ought to endeavour to be like him in purity. And, that on Good friday we commemorate and condole his Crucifixion. And, at Easter, commemorate his glorious Resurrection. And he taught them, that after Jesus had manifested himself to his Disciples, to be that Christ that was crucified, dead and buried; that then by his appearing and conversing with them for the space of Forty days after his Resurrection, he then, and not till then, ascended into Heaven, in the sight of his Disciples, namely, on that day which we call the Ascension, or Holy Thursday. And that we then celebrate the performance of the promise which he made to his Disciples, at or before his Ascension; namely, that though he left them, yet he would send them the Holy Ghost to be their Comforter; and he did so on that day which the Church calls Whit sunday— Thus the Church keeps an Historical and circular Commemoration of times, as they pass by us; of such times, as aught to incline us to occasional praises, for the particular blessings which we do, or might receive at those holy times.  
He made them know, why the Church hath appointed Ember-weeks; and, to know the reason why the Commandments, and the Epistles and Gospels were to be read at the Altar, or Communion Table: why the Priest was to pray the Litany Kneeling; and, why to pray some Collects standing; and he gave them many other observations, fit for his plain Congregation, but not fit for me now to mention; for I must set limits to my Pen, and not make that a Treatise, which I intended to be a much shorter account than I have made it; but I have done, when I have told the Reader, that he was constant in Catechising every Sunday in the Afternoon, and that his Catechising was after his second lesson, and in the Pulpit, and that he never exceeded his half hour, and was always so happy as to have a full Congregation,  
But to this I must add, That if he were at any time too zealous in his Sermons, it was, in reproving the indecencies of the people's behaviour, in the time of Divine Service; and of those Ministers that huddled up the Church-prayers, without a visible reverence and affection; namely, such as seemed to say the Lords prayer, or a Collect in a breath; but for himself, his custom was, to stop betwixt every Collect, and give the people time to consider what they had prayed, and to force their desires affectionately to God, before he engaged them into new Petitions.  
And by this account of his diligence, to make his Parishioners understand what, and why they prayed, and praised, and adored their Creator. I hope I shall the more easily obtain the Readers belief to the following account of Mr. Herbert's own practice; which was, to appear constantly with his Wife, and three Nieces (the daughters of a deceased Sister) and his whole Family, twice a day at the Church-prayers, in the Chapel which does almost join so his Parsonage-house. And for the time of his appearing, it was strictly ●t the Canonical hours of Ten and Four; and then, and there, he lifted up pure and charitable hands to God in the midst of the Congregation. And he would joy to have spent that time in that place, where the honour of his Master Jesus dwelleth; and there, by that inward devotion which he testified constantly by an humble behaviour, and visible adoration, he, like David, brought not only his own Household thus to serve the Lord; but brought most of his Parishioners, and many Gentlemen in the Neighbourhood, constantly to make a part of his Congregation twice a day; and some of the meaner sort of his Parish, did so love and reverence Mr. Herbert, that they would let their Blow rest when Mr. Herbert's Saints-Bell rung to Prayers, that they might also offer their devotions to God with him, and would then return back to their Blow. And his most holy life was such, that it begot such reverence to God, and to him, that they thought themselves the happier, when they carried Mr. Herbert's blessing back with them to their labour. Thus powerful was his reason, and example, to persuade others to a practical piety.  
And his constant public Prayers did never make him to neglect his own private devotions, nor those prayers that he thought himself bound to perform with his Family; which always were a Set-form, and not long; and he did always conclude them with that Collect which the Church hath appointed for the day or week.— Thus he made every day's sanctity a step towards that Kingdom where Impurity cannot enter.  
His chiefest recreation was Music, in which heavenly Art he was a most excellent Master, and, composed many divine Hymns and Anthems, which he set and sung to his Lute or Viol.; and, though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love to Music was such, that he went usually twice every week on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; and at his return would say, That his time spent in Prayer, and Cathedral Music, elevated his Soul, and was his Heaven upon Earth: But before his return thence to Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his part, at an appointed private Music meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often say, Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates, and sets rules to it.  
And, as his desire to enjoy his Heaven upon Earth, drew him twice every week to Salisbury, so, his walks thither, were the occasion of many happy accidents to others, of which, I will mention some few.  
In one of his walks to Salisbury, he overtook a Gentleman that is still living in that City, and in their walk together, Mr. Herbert took a fair occasion to talk with him, and humbly begged to be excused, if he asked him some account of his faith; and said, I do this, the rather, because though you are not of my Parish, yet I receive Tithe from you by the hand of your Tenant; and, Sir, I am the bolder to do it, because I know there be some Sermon-hearers, that be like those Fishes, that always live in salt water, and yet are always fresh.  
After which expression, Mr. Herbert asked him some needful Questions, and having received his answer, gave him such Rules for the trial of his sincerity, and for a practical piety, and in so loving and meek a manner, that the Gentleman did so fall in love with him, and his discourse, that he would often contrive to meet him in his walk to Salisbury, or to attend him back to Bemerton; and still mentions the name of Mr. George Herbert with veneration, and still praises God that he knew him.  
In another of his Salisbury walks, he met with a Neighbour Minister, and after some friendly Discourse betwixt them, and some Condolement for the wickedness of the Times, and Contempt of the Clergy, Mr. Herbert took occasion to say,  
One Cure for these Distempers, would be for the Clergy themselves to keep the Ember-Weeks strictly, and beg of their Parishioners to join with him in Fasting and Prayers, for a more Religious Clergy.  
And another Cure would be, for them to restore the great and neglected duty of Catechising, on which the salvation of so many of the poor and ignorant Lay-people does depend; but principally, that the Clergy themselves would be sure to live unblamably; and that the dignified Clergy especially, which preach Temperance, would avoid Surfeiting, and take all occasions to express a visible humility, and charity in their lives; for this would force a love and an imitation, and an ●nfeigned reverence from all that knew them: (And for proof of this, we need no other Testimony, than the life and death of Dr. Lake, late Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells) This, (said Mr. Herbert) would be a Cure for the wickedness and growing Atheism of our Age. And, my dear Brother, till this be done by us, and done in earnest, let no man expect a reformation of the manners of the Laity: for 'tis not learning, but this, this only, that must do it; and till then, the fault must lie at our doors.  
In another walk to Salisbury, he saw a poor man, with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his Load; they were both in distress, and needed present help; which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his Canonical Coat, and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse: The poor man blest him for it; and he blest the poor man, and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, That if he loved himself, he should be merciful to his Beast. ●hus he left the poor man, and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion: And when one of the company told him, He had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment; his answer was, That the thought of what he had done, would prove Music to him at Midnight; and the omission of it, would have upbraided and made discord in his Conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place; for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure I am bound so far as it is in my power to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion every day yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life, without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy; and I praise God for this occasion: And now let's tune our Instruments.  
Thus, as our blessed Saviour after his Resurrection, did take occasion to interpret the Scripture to Cleopas, and that other Disciple which he met with and accompanied too in their journey to Emmaus; so Mr. Herbert, in his path toward Heaven, did daily take any fair occasion to instruct the ignorant, or comfort any that were in affliction; and did always confirm his precepts, by showing mercy.  
And he was most happy in his Wife's unforced compliance with his acts of Charity, whom he made his Almoner, and paid constantly into her hand, a tenth penny of what money he received for Tithe, and gave her a power to dispose that to the poor of his Parish, and with it a power to dispose a tenth part of the Corn that came yearly into his Barn; which trust she did most faithfully perform, and would often offer to him an account of her stewardship, and as often beg an enlargement of his bounty, for she rejoiced in the employment; and this was usually laid out by her in Blankets and Shoes, for some such poor people, as she knew to stand in most need of them. This, as to her Charity— And for his own, he set no limits to it; nor did ever turn his face from any that he saw in want; but would relieve them, especially his poor Neighbours, to the meanest of whose Houses, he would go and inform himself of their wants, and relieve them cheerfully if they were in distress; and would always praise God, as much for being willing, as for being able to do it. And, when he was advised by a friend to be more frugal, because he might have Children, his answer was, He would not see the danger of want so far off; but, being the Scripture does so commend Charity, as to tell us, that Charity is the top of Christian virtues, the covering of sins, the fulfilling of the Law, the life of Faith. And, that Charity hath a promise of the blessings of this life, and of a reward in that life which is to come; being these, and more excellent things are in Scripture spoken of thee O Charity; and being all my Tithes, and Church-dues, are a Deodate from thee O my God; make me, O my God, so far to trust thy promise, as to return them back to thee; and, by thy grace, I will do so, in distributing them to any of thy poor members that are in distress, or do but bear the image of Jesus my Master. Sir (said he to his friend) my Wife hath a competent maintenance secured her after my death, and therefore as this is my prayer, so this my resolution shall by God's grace be unalterable.  
This may be some account of the excellencies of the active part of his life, and thus he continued, till a Consumption so weakened him, as to confine him to his House, or to the Chapel, which does almost join to it; in which, he continued to read Prayers constantly twice every day, though he were very weak; in one of which times of his reading, his Wife observed him to read in pain, and told him so, and that it wasted his spirits, weakened him, and he confessed it, but said, His life could not be better spent, than in the service of his Master Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for him: But, he said, I will not be wilful, for Mr. Bostock shall be appointed to read Prayers for me to morrow, and I will now be only a hearer of them, till this mortal shall put on immortality. And Mr. Bostock did the next day undertake and continue this happy employment, till Mr. Herbert's death.— This Mr. Bostock was a learned and virtuous man, an old friend of Mr. Herbert's, and then his Cu●are to the Church of Fulston, which is a mile from Bemerton, to which Church, Bemerton is but a Chapel of ease.— And, this Mr. Bostock did also constantly supply the Church-service for Mr. Herbert in that Chapel, when the Musick-meeting at Salisbury, caused his absence from it.  
About one month before his death, his friend Mr. Farrer (for an account of whom I am by promise indebted to the Reader, and intent to make him sudden payment) sent Mr. Edmund Duncon (who is now Rector of Friar Barnet in the County of Middlesex) from his House of Gidden Hall, which is near to Huntingdon, to see Mr. Herbert, and to assure him, he wanted not his daily prayers for his recovery; and Mr. Duncon was to return back to Gidden, with an account of Mr. Herbert's condition. Mr. Duncon found him at that time lying on his Bed, or on a Pallet; but at his seeing Mr. Duncon, he raised himself vigorously, saluted him, and with some earnestness enquired the health of his brother Farrer, of which Mr. Duncon satisfied him; and after a conference of Mr. Farrers holy life and the manner of his constant serving God, he said to Mr. Duncon— Sir, I see by your habit that you are a Priest, and I desire you to pray with me; which being granted, Mr. Duncon asked him, what Prayers? to which, Mr. Herbert's answer was, O Sir, the Prayers of my Mother, the Church of England, no other Prayers are equal to them; but, at this time, I beg of you to pray only the Litany. for I am weak and faint, and Mr. Duncon did so After which, and some other discourse of Mr. Farrer, Mrs. Herbert provided Mr. Duncon a plain Supper, and a clean Lodging, and he betook himself to rest— This Mr. Duncon tells me; and, that at his first view of Mr. Herbert, he saw majesty and humility so reconciled in his looks and behaviour, as begot in him an awful reverence for his person, and says, his discourse was so pious, and his motion so gentile and meek, that after almost forty years, they remain still fresh in his memory.  
The next morning, Mr. Duncon left him, and betook himself to a Journey to Bath, but with a promise to return back to him within five days, and he did so; but before I shall say any thing of what discourse then fell betwixt them two, I will pay my promised account of Mr. Farrer.  
Mr. Nicholas Farrer (who got the reputation of being called Saint Nicholas, at the age of six years) was born in London, and doubtless had good education in his youth; but certainly, was at a fit age made Fellow of Clare-Hall in Cambridge, where he continued to be eminent for his temperance and learning. About the 26 th' year of his Age, he betook himself to Travel, in which he added to his Latin and Greek, a perfect knowledge of all the Languages spoken in the Western parts of our Christian world, and understood well the principles of their Religion, and their manner, and the reasons of their worship. In this his Travel, he met with many persuasions to come into a communion with that Church which calls itself Catholic, but he returned from his Travels as he went, eminent for his obedience to his Mother, the Church of England. In his absence from England, Mr. Farrers father (who was a Merchant) allowed him a liberal maintenance; and, not long after his return into England, he had by the death of his father, or an elder brother, an Estate left him, that enabled him to buy Land to the value of 500 l. a year, the greatest part of which Land was at Little Gidden, four or six miles from Huntingdon, and about 18 from Cambridge, which place he chose for the privacy of it, and the Hall, which had the Parish-Church, or Chappel belonging, and adjoining near to it; for Mr. Farrer having seen the manners and vanities of the World, and found them to be, as Mr. Herbert says, A nothing between two Dishes; he did so contemn the World, that he resolved to spend the remainder of his life in mortifications, and in devotion, and charity, and to be always prepared for Death.— And his Life was spent thus.  
He, and his Family, which were like a little College, and about Thirty in number, did most of them keep Lent, and all Ember-weeks strictly, both in fasting, and using all those prayers that the Church hath appointed to be then used; and he and they, did the like on Fridays, and on the Vigils, or Eves appointed to be fasted before the Saints days; and, this frugality and abstinence, turned to the relief of the Poor; but, this was but a part of his charity, none but God and he knew the rest.  
This Family, which I have said to be in number about Thirty, were a part of them his Kindred, and the rest chosen to be of a temper fit to be moulded into a devout life; and all of them were for their dispositions serviceable and quiet, and humble, and free from scandal. Having thus fitted himself for his Family, he did about the year 1630. betake himself to a constant and methodical service of God, and it was in this manner.— He did himself use to read the Common prayers (for he was a Deacon) every day, at the appointed hours of ten and four, in the Church which was very near his House, and which he had both repaired and adorned; for it was fallen into a great ruin, by reason of a depopulation of the Village before Mr. Farrer bought the Manor. And he did also constantly read the Matins every morning at the hour of six, either in the Church, or in an Oratory, which was within his own House: And many of the Family did there continue with him after the Prayers were ended, and there they spent some hours in singing Hymns, or Anthems, sometimes in the Church, and often to an Organ in the Oratory. And, they sometimes betook themselves to meditate, or to pray privately, or to read a part of the New Testament, or to continue their praying or reading the Psalms; and in case the Psalms were not all read in the day, than Mr. Farrer, and others of the Congregation, did at Night, at the ring of a Watchbell, repair to the Church or Oratory, and there betake themselves 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 Watchbell was rung, sometimes before, and sometimes after Midnight; and then a part of the Family rose, and maintained the Watch, sometimes by praying, or singing Lands to God, or reading the Psalms, and when after some hours they also grew we●●y or ●a●nt, than they rung the Watchbell, and were relieved by some of the former, or by a new part of the Society, which continue● their devotions (as hath been mentioned) until morning.— And it is to be noted, that in this continued serving of God, the Psalter, or whole Book of Psalms, was in every four and twenty hours, sung or read over, from the first to the last verse, and this done as constantly, as the Sun runs his Circle every day about the World, and then begins it again the same instant that it ended.  
Thus did Mr. Farrer and his happy Family, serve God day and night. Thus did they always behave themselves, as in his presence. And they did always eat and drink by the strictest rules of Temperance; eat and drink so, as to be ready to rise at Midnight, or at the call of a Watchbell, and perform their devotions to God.— And 'tis fit to tell the Reader, that many of the Clergy that were more inclined to practical pretty, and devotion, then to doub full and needless Disputations, did often come to Gidden Hall, and make themselves a part of that happy Society, and stay a week or more, and join with Mr. Farrer, and the Family in these Devotions, and assist and ease him or them in their Watch by Night; and these various Devotions, had neverless than two of the domestic Family in the Night; and the Watch was always kept in the Church or Oratory unless in extreme cold Winter-nights, and then it was maintained in a Parlour which had a fire in it, and the Parlour was fitted for that purpose; and this course of piety, and great liberality to his poor Neighbours, Mr. Farrer maintained till his death, which was in the year 1639.  
Mr. Farrers, and Mr. Herbert's devout lives, were both so noted, that the general report of their sanctity, gave them occasion to renew that slight acquaintance which was begun at their being Contemporaries in Cambridge; and, this new holy friendship was maintained without any interview, but only by loving and endearing Letters. And, one testimony of their friendship, and pious designs, may appear by Mr. Farrers commending the considerations of John Valdesso (a Book which he had met with in his Travels, and Translated out of Spanish into English) to be examined and censured by Mr. Herbert; which Book, Mr. Herbert did read, and return back with many marginal Notes, as they be now printed with that excellent Book; and with them, Mr. Herbert's affectionate Letter to Mr. Farrer.  
This John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was for his Learning and Virtue, much valued and loved by the great Emperor Charles the fifth, whom Valdesso had followed as a Cavalier all the time of his long and dangerous Wars; and when Valdesso grew old, and weary of the World, he took his fair opportunity to declare to the Emperor, that his resolution was to decline His Majesty's Service, and betake himself to a quiet and contemplative life, because there ought to be a vacancy of time, betwixt fight and dying.— The Emperor had himself, for the same, or other reasons, put on the same resolutions; but God and himself did then only know them; and he did for those, or other reasons, desire Valdesso to consider well of what he had said, but keep his purpose within his own breast, till they two had another like opportunity of a friendly Discourse, which Valdesso promised.  
In the mean time, the Emperor appoints privately a day for him and Valdesso to receive the Sacrament publicly, and appointed an eloquent and devout Friar, to preach a Sermon of contempt of the World, and of the happiness sand benefit of a quiet and contemplative life, which the Friar did most affectionately. After which Sermon, the Emperor declared openly, That the Preacher had begot in him a resolution to lay down his Dignities, to forsake the World, and betake himself to a Monastical life. And, he pretended, he had persuaded John Valdesso to do the like; but this is most certain, that after the Emperor had called his son Philip out of England, and resigned to him all his Kingdoms, that then the Emperor, and John Valdesso, did perform their resolutions.  
This account of John Valdesso, I received from a Friend, that had it from the mouth of Mr. Farrer: And, the Reader may note, that in this retirement, John Valdesso writ his 110 considerations, and many other Treatises of worth, which want a second Mr. Farrer to procure, and Translate them.  
After this account of Mr. Farrer, and John Valdesso, I proceed to my account of Mr. Herbert, and Mr. Duncon, who, according to his promise, returned the fifth day, and found Mr. Herbert much weaker than he left him, and therefore their Discourse could not be long; but at Mr. Duncons' parting with him, Mr. Herbert spoke to this purpose— Sir, I pray give my brother Farrer an account of my decaying condition, and tell him, I beg him to continue his prayers for me, and let him know, that I have considered, That God only is what he would be; and, that I am by his grace become now so like him, as to be pleased with what pleaseth him, and do not repine at my want of health; and tell him, my heart is fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found; and, that I long to be there, and will wait my appointed change with hope and patience. And having said this, he did with such a humility as seemed to exalt him, bow down to Mr. Duncon, and with a thoughtful and contented look, say to him, Sir, I pray deliver this little Book to my dear brother Farrer, and tell him, he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual Conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my Soul, before I could subject mine to the will of Jesus my Master, in whose service I have now found perfect freedom; desire him to read it. and then if he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor Soul, let it be made public; if not, let him burn it, for I and it, are less than the least of God's mercies.— Thus meanly did this humble man think of this excellent Book, which now bears the name of The TEMPLE: Or, Sacred Poems, and Private Ejaculations; of which, Mr. Farrer would say, There was the picture of a Divine Soul in every page; and, that the whole Book, was such a harmony of holy passions, as would enrich the World with pleasure and piety. And, it appears to have done so, for there have been Ten thousand of them sold since the first Impression.  
And this aught to be noted, that when Mr. Farrer sent this Book to Cambridge to be Licenced for the Press, the Vicechancellor would by no means allow the two so much noted Verses 
Religion stands a Tiptoe in our Land,  
Ready to pass to the American Strand.  to be printed; and, Mr. Farrer, would by no means allow the Book to be printed, and want them: But after some time, and some arguments for, and against their being made public, the Vicechancellor said, I knew Mr. Herbert well, and know that he had many heavenly Speculations, and was a Divine Poet; but, I hope the World will not take him to be an inspired Prophet, and therefore I Licence the whole Book: So that it came to be printed, without the diminution or addition of a syllable, since it was delivered into the hands of Mr. Duncon, save only, that Mr. Farrer hath added that excellent Preface that is printed before it.  
At the time of Mr. Duncons' leaving Mr. Herbert, which was about three Weeks before his death, his old and dear friend Mr. Woodnot, came from London to Bemerton, and never left him, till he had seen him draw his last breath, and closed his Eyes on his Deathbed. In this time of his decay, he was often visited and prayed for by all the Clergy that lived near to him, especially by the Bishop and prebend's of the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; but by none more devoutly, than his Wife, his three Nieces (than a part of his Family) and Mr. Woodnot, who were the sad Witnesses of his daily decay, to whom he would often speak to this purpose.— I now look back upon the pleasures of my life past, and see the content I have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and pleasant Conversation, how they are now all past by me, as a shadow that returns not, and are all become dead to me, or I to them; that as my father and generation hath done before me, so I shall now suddenly (with Job) make my Bed also in the dark; and, I praise God, I am prepared for it; and, that I am not to learn patience, now I stand in such need of it; and, that I have practised Mortification, and endeavoured to die daily, that I might not die eternally; and, my hope is, that I shall shortly leave this valley of tears, and be free from all fevers and pain; and which will be a more happy condition, I shall be free from sin, and all the temptations and anxieties that attend it; and this being past, I shall dwell in the new Jerusalem, dwell there with men made perfect; dwell, where these eyes shall see my Master and Saviour Jesus; and, with him, see my dear mother, and relations, and friends; but I must die, or not come to that happy place: And, this is my content, that I am going daily towards it; and, that every day that I have lived, hath taken a part of my appointed time from me; and, that I shall live the less time, for having lived this, and the day past.— These, and the like expressions, which he uttered often, may be said to be his enjoyment of Heaven, before he enjoyed it. The Sunday before his death, he rose Suddenly from his Bed or Couch, called for one of his Instruments, took it into hand, and said—  
My God, my God,  
My Music shall find thee,  
And every string  
Shall have his attribute to sing.  
And having tuned it, he played and sung: 
The Sundays of man's life,  
Thredded together on times string,  
Make Bracelets, to adorn the Wife  
Of the eternal glorious King:  
On Sundays, Heavens door stands open;  
Blessings are plentiful and rife,  
More plentiful than hope.   
Thus he sung on earth such Hymns and Anthems, as the Angels and he, and Mr. Farrer, now sing in Heaven.  
Thus he continued meditating and praying, and rejoicing, till the day of his death, and on that day said to Mr. Woodnot, My dear Friend, I am sorry I have nothing to present to my merciful God but sin and misery; but the first is pardoned, and a few hours will put a period to the latter. Upon which expression, Mr. Woodnot took occasion to remember him of the Re-edifying Layton Church, and his many Acts of mercy; to which he made answer, saying, They be good works, if they be sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and not otherwise. After this Discourse, he became more restless, and his Soul seemed to be weary of her earthly Tabernacle; and this uneasiness became so visible, that his Wife, his three Nieces, and Mr. Woodnot, stood constantly about his Bed, beholding him with sorrow, and an unwillingness to lose the sight of him whom they could not hope to see much longer. As they stood thus beholding him, his Wife observed him to breathe faintly, and with much trouble; and, observed him to fall into a sudden Agony; which so surprised her, that she fell into a sudden passion, and required of him to know how he did? to which his answer was, That he had past a Conflict with his last Enemy, and had overcome him, by the merits of his Master Jesus. After which answer, he looked up, and saw his Wife and Nieces weeping to an extremity, and charged them, If they loved him, to withdraw into the next Room, and there pray every one alone for him, for nothing but their lamentations could make his death uncomfortable. To which request, their sighs and tears would not suffer them to make any reply, but they yielded him a sad obedience, leaving only with him Mr. Woodnot, and Mr. Bostock. Immediately after they had left him, he said to Mr. Bostock, Pray Sir open that door, then lock into that Cabinet, in which you may easily find my last Will, and give it into my hand; which being done, he delivered it into the hand of Mr. Woodnot, and said, My old Friend, I here deliver you my last Will, in which you will find that I have made you my sole Executor for the good of my Wife and Nieces, and I desire you to show kindness to them, as they shall need it; I do not desire you to be just, for I know you will be so for your own sake; but I charge you, by the Religion of our friendship, to be careful of them And having obtained Mr. Woodnots promise to be so, he said, I am now ready to die; after which words he said, Lord, grant me mercy, for the merits of my Jesus, and now, Lord, receive my Soul. And with those words breathed forth his Divine Soul, without any apparent disturbance, Mr. Woodnot, and Mr. Bostock, attending his last breath, and closing his eyes.  
Thus he lived, and thus he died like a Saint, unspotted of the World, full of Alms-deeds, full of Humility, and all the examples of virtuous life; which I cannot conclude better, than with this borrowed observation: 
— All must to the cold Graves:  
But, the religious actions of the just,  
Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust.   
Mr. George herbert's have done so to this, and will doubtless do so to succeeding Generations.  
FINIS.   

THere is a Debt justly due to the memory of Mr. Herbert's virtuous Wife, a part of which I will endeavour to pay by a very short account of the remainder of her life, which shall follow.  
She continued his disconsolate Widow five years, bemoaning herself, and complaining, That she had lost the delight of her eyes; but more, that she had lost the spiritual guide for her poor soul; and would often say, O that I had like holy Mary, the Mother of Jesus, treasured up all his sayings in my heart; but since I have not been able to do that, I will labour to live like him, that where he now is, I may be also. And she would often say (as the Prophet David for his son Absalon) O that I had died for him. Thus she continued mourning, till time and conversation had so moderated her sorrows, that she became the happy life of Sir Robert Cook of Higham in the County of Gloucester Knight: And, though he put a high value on the excellent accomplishments of her mind and body; and was so like Mr. Herbert, as not to govern like a Master, but as an affectionate Husband; yet, she would even to him often take occasion to mention the name of Mr. George Herbert, and say, That name must live in her memory, till she put off mortality. By Sir Robert, she had only one Child, a Daughter, whose parts and plentiful estate make her happy in this world, and her well using of them, giveth a fair testimony, that she will be so in that which is to come.  
Mrs. Herbert was the Wife of Sir Robert eight years, and lived his Widow nine; all which time, she took a pleasure in mentioning, and commending the excellencies of Mr. George Herbert. She died in the year 1663. and lies buried at Higham, Mr. Herbert in his own Church, under the Altar, and covered with a Grave-stone without any inscription.  
This Lady Cook, had preserved many of Mr. Herbert's private Writings, which she intended to make public; but they, and Higham house, were burnt together, by the late Rebels; and by them was also burnt or destroyed a choice Library, which Mr. Herbert had fastened with Chains, in a sit room in Mountgomery Castle, being by him dedicated to the succeeding Epirotes, that should become the owners of it. He died without an Enemy, if Andrew Melvin died before him?  
FINIS.    

LETTERS WRITTEN BY Mr. GEORGE HERBERT, At his being in Cambridge:  
With others to his Mother, the Lady MAGDALEN HERBERT: WRITTEN BY  
John Donne, AFTERWARDS Dean of St. PAUL'S.  
LONDON, Printed by Tho: Newcomb, for Richard Marriott, Sold by most Booksellers. M. DC. LXX.   

Mr. GEORGE HERBERT to N. F. the TRANSLATOR of Valdesso.  
MY dear and deserving Brother, your Valdesso I now return with many thanks, and some notes, in which perhaps you will discover some care, which I forbear not in the midst of my griefs; First for your sake; because, I would do nothing negligently that you commit unto me; Secondly for the Author's ●ak●, whom I conceive to have been a true servant of God; and to such, and all that is theirs, I ●● d●● gence; Thirdly for the Church's sake, to ●● by Printing it, I would have you consecreate it. You owe the Church a debt, and God hath put this into your hands (as he sent the Fish with money to St. Peter) to discharge it: happily also with this (as his thoughts are fruitful) intending the honour of his servant the Author, who being obscured in his own Country, he would have to flourish in this land of light, and region of the Gospel, among his chosen. It is true, there are some things which I like not in him, as my fragments will express, when you read them; nevertheless I wish you by all means to publish it, for these three eminent things observable therein: First, that God in the midst of Popery should open the eyes of one to understand and express so clearly, and excellently the intent of the Gospel in the acceptation of Christ's righteousness: (as he showeth through all his Considerations,) a thing strangely buried, and darkened by the Adversaries, and their great stumbling block. Secondly, the great honour and reverence, which he everywhere bears towards our dear Master and Lord; concluding every Consideration almost with his holy Name, and setting his merit forth so piously; for which I do so love him, that were there nothing else, I would Print it, that with it the honour of my Lord might be published. Thirdly, the many pious rules of ordering our life, about Mortification, and observation of God's Kingdom within us, and the working thereof; of which he was a very diligent observer. These three things are very eminent in the Author, and overweigh the Defects (as I conceive) towards the publishing thereof.  
From his Parsonage of Bemerton, near Salisbury, Sept. 29. 1632.   

To Sir J. D.  
SIR,  
THough I had the best wit in the World, yet it would easily tire me, to find out variety of thanks for the diversity of your favours, if I sought to do so; but, I profess it not: And therefore let it be sufficient for me that the same heart, which you have won long since, is still true to you, and hath nothing else to answer your infinite kindnesses, but a constancy of obedience; only hereafter I will take heed how I propose my desires unto you, since I find you so willing to yield to my requests; for, since your favours come a Horseback, there is reason, that my desires should go a-fost: neither do I make any question, but that you have performed your kindness to the full, and that the Horse is every way fit for me, and I will strive to imitate the compleatness of your love, with being in some proportion, and after my manner,  
Your most obedient Servant, George Herbert.   

For my dear sick Sister.  
Most dear Sister,  
THink not my silence forgetfulness; or, that my love is as dumb as my papers, though businesses may stop my hand, yet my heart, a much better member, is always with you: and which is more, with our good and gracious God, incessantly begging some ease of your pains, with that earnestness, that becomes your griefs, and my love. God who knows and sees this Writing, knows also that my soliciting him has been much, and my tears many for you; judge me then by those waters, and not by my ink, and then you shall justly value  
Decem. 6. 1620. Trin: Coll. Your most truly, most heartily, affectionate Brother, and Servant, George Herbert.   

SIR,  
I Dare no longer be silent, lest while I think I am modest, I wrong both myself, and also the confidence my Friends have in me; wherefore I will open my case unto you, which I think deserves the reading at the least; and it is this, I want Books extremely; You know Sir, how I am now setting foot into Divinity, to lay the platform of my future life, and shall I then be fain always to borrow Books, and build on another's foundation? What Tradesman is there who will set up without his Tools? Pardon my boldness Sir, it is a most serious Case, nor can I write coldly in that, wherein consisteth the making good of my former education, of obeying that Spirit which hath guided me hitherto, and of achieving my (I dare say) holy ends. This also is aggravated, in that I apprehend what my Friends would have been forward to say, if I had taken ill courses, Follow your Book, and you shall want nothing: You know Sir, it is their ordinary speech, and now let them make it good; for, since, I hope, I have not deceived their expectation, let not them deceive mine: But perhaps they will say, you are sickly, you must not study too hard; it is true (God knows) I am weak, yet not so, but that every day, I may step one step towards my journey's end; and I love my friends so well, as that if all things proved not well, I had rather the fault should lie on me, than on them; but they will object again, What becomes of your Annuity? Sir, if there be any truth in me, I find it little enough to keep me in health. You know I was sick last Vacation, neither am I yet recovered, so that I am fain ever and anon, to buy somewhat tending towards my health; for infirmities are both painful and costly. Now this Lent I am forbid utterly to eat any Fish, so that I am fain to diet in my Chamber at mine own cost; for in our public Halls, you know, is nothing but Fish and Whit-meats: Out of Lent also, twice a Week, on Fridays and saturdays, I must do so, which yet sometimes I fast. Sometimes also I ride to Newmarket, and there lie a day or two for fresh Air; all which tend to avoiding of costlier matters, if I should fall absolutely sick: I protest and vow, I even study Thrift, and yet I am scarce able with much ado to make one half years allowance, shake hands with the other: And yet if a Book of four or five Shillings come in my way, I buy it, though I fast for it; yea, sometimes of Ten Shillings: But, alas Sir, what is that to those infinite Volumes of Divinity, which yet every day swell, and grow bigger. Noble Sir, pardon my boldness, and consider but these three things. First, the Bulk of Divinity. Secondly, the time when I desire this (which is now, when I must lay the foundation of my whole life.) Thirdly, what I desire, and to what end, not vain pleasures, nor to a vain end. If then, Sir, there be any course, either by engaging my future Annuity, or any other way, I desire you, Sir, to be my Mediator to them in my behalf.  
Now I write to you, Sir, because to you I have ever opened my heart; and have reason, by the Patents of your perpetual favour to do so still, for I am sure you love  
March 18. 1617. Trin: Coll. Your faithfullest Servant, George Herbert.   

SIR,  
THis Week hath loaded me with your Favours; I wish I could have come in person to thank you, but it is not possible; presently after Michaelmas, I am to make an Oration to the whole University of an hour long in Latin, and my Lincoln journey, hath set me much behind hand: neither can I so much as go to Bugden, and deliver your Letter, yet have I sent it thither by a faithful Messenger this day: I beseech you all, you and my dear Mother and Sister to pardon me, for my Cambridge necessities are stronger to tie me here, than yours to London: If I could possibly have come, none should have done my message to Sir Fr: Nethersole for me; he and I are ancient acquaintance, and I have a strong opinion of him, that if he can do me a courtesy, he will of himself; yet your appearing in it, affects me strangely. I have sent you here enclosed a Letter from our Master in my behalf, which if you can send to Sir Francis before his departure, it will do well, for it expresseth the Universities inclination to me; yet if you cannot send it with much convenience, it is no matter, for the Gentleman needs no incitation to love me.  
The Orator's place (that you may understand what it is) is the finest place in the University, though not the gainfullest; yet that will be about 30 l. per an. but the commodiousness is beyond the Revenue; for the Orator writes all the University Letters, makes all the Orations, be it to King, Prince, or whatever comes to the University; to requite these pains, he takes place next the Doctors, is at all their Assemblies and Meetings, and sits above the Proctors, is Regent or Non-regent at his pleasure, and such like Gaynesses, which will please a young man well.  
I long to hear from Sir Francis, I pray Sir send the Letter you receive from him to me as soon as you can, that I may work the heads to my purpose. I hope I shall get this place without all your London helps, of which I am very proud, not but that I joy in your favours, but that you may see, that if all fail, yet I am able to stand on mine own legs. Noble Sir, I thank you for your infinite favours, I fear only that I have omitted some fitting circumstance, yet you will pardon my haste, which is very great, though never so, but that I have both time and work to be  
Your extreme Servant, George Herbert.   

SIR,  
I Have received the things you sent me, safe; and now the only thing I long for, is to hear of my dear sick Sister; first, how her health fares, next, whether my peace be yet made with her concerning my unkind departure. Can I be so happy, as to hear of both these that they succeed well? Is it not too much for me? Good Sir, make it plain to her, that I loved her even in my departure, in looking to her Son, and my charge. I suppose she is not disposed to spend her eyesight on a piece of paper, or else I had wrote to her; when I shall understand that a Letter will be seasonable, my Pen is ready. Concerning the Orator's place all goes well yet, the next Friday it is tried, and accordingly you shall hear. I have forty businesses in my hands, your Courtesy will pardon the haste of  
Jan. 19 1619. Trin: Coll. Your humblest Servant, George Herbert.   

SIR,  
I Understand by Sir Francis Nethersols Letter, that he fears I have not fully resolved of the matter, since this place being civil may divert me too much from Divinity, at which, not without cause, he thinks, I aim; but, I have wrote him back, that this dignity, hath no such earthiness in it, but it may very well be joined with Heaven; or if it had to others; yet to me it should not, for aught I yet knew; and therefore I desire him to send me a direct answer in his next Letter. I pray Sir therefore, cause this enclosed to be carried to his brother's house of his own name (as I think) ●t the sign of the Pedlar and the Pack on London-bridge, for there he assigns me. I cannot yet find leisure to write to my Lord, or Sir Benjamin Ruddyard; but I hope I shall shortly, though for the reckoning of your favours, I shall never find time and paper enough, yet am I  
Octob. 6. 1619. Trin: Coll. Your readiest Servant, George Herbert.  
I remember my most humble duty to my Mother, who cannot think me lazy, since I road 200 mile to see a Sister, in a way I knew not, in the midst of much business, and all in a Fortnight, not long since.   

To the truly Noble Sir J. D.  
SIR,  
I Understand by a Letter from my Brother Henry, that he hath bought a parcel of Books for me, and that they are coming over. Now though they have hitherto traveled upon your charge, yet if my Sister were acquainted that they are ready, I dare say she would make good her promise of taking five or six pound upon her, which she hath hitherto deferred to do, not of herself, but upon the want of those Books which were not to be got in England; for that which surmounts, though your noble disposition is infinitely free, yet I had rather sly to my old ward, that if any course could be taken of doubling my Annuity now, upon condition that I should surcease from all title to it, after I entered into a Benefice, I should be most glad to entertain it, and both pay for the surplusage of these Books, and for ever after cease my clamorous and greedy bookish requests. It is high time now that I should be no more a burden to you, since I can never answer what I have already received; for your favours are so ancient, that they prevent my memory, and yet still grow upon  
Your humblest Servant, George Herbert.  
I remember my most humble duty to my Mother. I have wrote to my dear sick Sister this week already, and therefore now I hope may be excused.  
I pray Sir, pardon my boldness of enclosing my Brother's Letter in yours, for it was because I know your Lodging, but not his.   

To the worthiest Lady, Mrs. Magdalen Herbert.  
Madam,  
EVery excuse hath in it somewhat of accusation; and since I am innocent, and yet must excuse, how shall I do for that part of accusing. By my ●oth, as desperate and perplexed me● grow from thence bold; so must I take the boldness of accusing you, who would draw so dark a ●●●tain betwixt me and your purposes, as that I had no glimmering, neither of your goings, nor the way which my Letters might haunt. Yet, I have given this Licence to Travel, but I know not whether, nor it. It is therefore rather a Pinnace to discover; and the entire Colony of Letters, of Hundreds and Fifties, must follow; whose employment is more honourable, than that which our State meditates to Virginia, because you are worthier than all that Country, of which that is a wretched inch; for you have better treasure, and a harmlessness. If this sound like a flattery, tear it out. I am to my Letters as rigid a Puritan, as Caesar was to his Wife. I● can as ill endure a suspicious and misinterpretable word as a fault; but remember, that nothing is flattery which the Speaker believes; and of the grossest flatteries there is this good use, that they tell us what we should be. But, Madam, you are beyond instruction, and therefore there can belong to you only ●aise; of which, though you be no good hearer, yet allow all my Letters leave to have in them one part of it, which is thankfulness towards you.  
Michin, July 11. 1607. Your unworthiest Servant, Except your accepting have mended him, John Donne.   

To the worthiest Lady, Mrs. Magdalen Herbert.  
Madam,  
THis is my second Letter, in which though I cannot tell you what is good, yet this is the worst, that I must be a great part of it; yet to me, that is recompensed, because you must be mingled. After I knew you were gone (for I must, little less than accusingly tell you, I knew not you would go) I sent my first Letter, like a Bevis of Hampton, to seek Adventures. This day I came to Town, and to the best part of it, your House; for your memory, is a State-cloth and Presence; which I reverence, though you be away; though I need not seek that there, which I have about and within me. There, though I found my accusation, yet any thing to which your hand is, is a pardon; yet I would not burn my first Letter, because as in great destiny no small passage can be omitted or frustrated, so in my resolution of writing almost daily to you, I would have no link of the Chain broke by me, both because my Letters interpret one another, and because only their number can give them weight: If I had your Commission and Instructions to do you the service of a Legier Ambassador here, I could say something of the Countess of Devon: of the States, and such things. But since to you, who are not only a World alone, but the Monarchy of the World yourself, nothing can be added, especially by me; I will sustain myself with the honour of being  
London, July 23. 1607. Your Servant Extraordinary, And without place, John Donne.   

To the worthiest Lady, Mrs. Magdalen Herbert.  
Madam,  
AS we must die before we can have full glory and happiness, so before I can have this degree of it, as to see you by a Letter, I must almost die, that is, come to London, to plaguy London; a place full of danger, and vanity, and vice, though the Court be gone. And such it will be, till your return redeem it: Not that, the greatest virtue in the World, which is you, can be such a Marshal, as to defeat, or disperse all the vice of this place; but as higher bodies remove, or contract themselves when better come, so at your return we shall have one door open to innocence. Yet Madam, you are not such an Ireland, as produceth neither ill, nor good; no Spiders, nor Nightingales, which is a rare degree of perfection: But you have found and practised that experiment, That even nature, out of her detesting of emptiness, if we will make that our work, to remove bad, will fill us with good things. To abstain from it, was therefore but the Childhood, and Minority of your Soul, which hath been long exercised since, in your manlier active part, of doing good. Of which since I have been a witness and subject, not to tell you some times, that by your influence and example I have attained to such a step of goodness, as to be thankful, were both to accuse your power and judgement of impotency and infirmity.  
August 2d. 1607. Your Ladyships in all Services, John Donne.  
FINIS.   

On Mr. George Herbert's Book, Entitled, The Temple of Sacred Poems, sent to a Gentlewoman.  
KNow you Fair, on what you look?  
Divinest Love lies in this Book:  
Expecting Fire from your Eyes,  
To kindle this his Sacrifice.  
When your hands untie these strings,  
Think you've an Angel by the wings.  
One that gladly will be nigh,  
To wait upon each morning sigh.  
To flutter in the balmy Air,  
Of your well perfumed Prayer.  
These white Plumes of his he'll lend you,  
Which every day to Heaven will send you,  
To take acquaintance of the Sphere,  
And all the smooth-faced Kindred there.  
And though Herbert's Name do owe  
These Devotions, Fairest; know  
That while I lay them on the shrine  
Of your white Hand, they are mine:  
FINIS.