THE CHARACTER Of the late Dr. Samuel Annesley. By way of ELEGY: WITH A PREFACE.  
Written by one of his Hearers.  
LONDON: Printed for E. Whitlock, near Stationers-Hall, 1697.   


Willm:: m Cole Coll: Regal: Cantab. A. M.    

The PREFACE.  
I Am very sensible, that the Characters of Clergymen are the most difficult in the World to be wrote, especially with Impartiality and Truth. Ministers are but Men as other Men are; and Men too, as St. Paul said of himself, of like Passions with ourselves: A Truth so sisibly made out now, that 'tis not every Minister's Life will bear a Character.  
Not that I design to make Reflections upon any, nor would I have my Character of one be a satire upon others; and when I say, that few or none does come up to the Character of Dr. Annesley, yet I would not be understood as if there were not a great many left whose Eminent Piety and Virtue deserved very great Respect.  
But if I must come to make Distinctions, I must say, That among the best, I neither know, nor have heard of one left, who can pretend to come up to his Degree in all Points; for I am not distinguishing between the Good and the Bad, but between the Good and the Best.  
Every Good Minister does not make a Good Man; there are thwart Lines in the Dispositions of some of the best, which even Grace itself has not the power to ohliterate: And the Effects of this are most visible in their relative Conversation. Not but that I believe a Man may be of a very ill Temper, and yet be a true Christian: But I could wish no such were to be Ministers. How Beautiful is it, to see a Man that is a Minister be also a Gentleman! For certainly Good Manners are the most consistent with Christianity of any thing in the World.  
Vanity and Self-esteem on one hand, Covetousness and Selfseeking on the other, are Things so frequent among our Teachers, that never was there more need for us to hear the Word of God without Respect of Persons. If this has no other effect, 'twill certainly raise the Value of such Men who keep themselves unspotted from the like.  
And, I do confess, this has raised my Esteem for the Memory of Dr. ANNESLEY, whose generous Soul had nothing in him that was little or mean; of whom, I am sure, one Line in the Elegy is most particularly true:  
He had no Priest-craft in him, nor no Pride.  
He had a native genuine Honesty; any thing that was selfish or narrow was really below him, as a Gentleman as well as Christian: His Temper was so good, and his Mind so calm, that the meanest Creature in the World might have the freest Conversation with him.  
I think I need make no Apology for the Character, as it refers to him, unless it be that I have said too little of him: what is weakly expressed is the Error of my Capacity, and may be mended by some body else; but I have diligently perused it, and cannot find that I have said any thing that is not really True of him. If I have taken any Poetic Licence, I desire to be understood in such a Latitude as such Expressions ought to be taken in: I do not where mean, that Dr. Annesley was not a Man subject to Frailties, or Infirmities, or that he was arrived to a Perfection in this Life; but this I must say, He is the only Man of whom I could never hear one Reflection, either by Friend or Adversary, either while living, or since dead. He had no Enemies while alive, nor has no Scandal or Slander on him now Dead. His Virtues we knew, his Infirmities none knew but God and himself. Nor do I say any where, that there have not been, or are not Men of more sublime Parts and general Learning; tho' he was extraordinary in both. For in Learning, men's Excellencies differ as their Genius leads; some are more Masters of Polite Language; some writ finer than they speak; some excel in Polemical Divinity, some in Controversal; some are greater Linguists, some greater Logicians; some have a soft persuasive Style, some a sublime, and some a majestic: But these are not Clauses in which I distinguish him so much; he had a needful measure of all. Practical Divinity was his Business, and Cases of Conscience his Study. But 'tis the Zeal, the Candour, and Sincerity of his Mind; the Largeness of his Charity, the Greatness of his Soul, the Sweetness of his Temper, and the Vastness of his Designs to propagate the Kingdom and Interest of his Master. These are the Virtues which I magnify to such a height in Dr. Annesley, and for which, I believe, no Man will think himself reflected on, by saying, He had no Equal.  
Parties might differ in Judgement, and yet all agreed, That he was a Good Man; whether Conformist or Nonconformist, All Loved him: and he comes under the woe of that Proverb, That all Men speak Well of him. He was one of those Good Men for which one would even dare to die, when for a Righteous Man there is no such Obligation. I shall run on no further in his Character here, after what has been said of him in the Pulpit; his Memory will live in the Minds of all that knew him, and those who did not, may read something of him in the following CHARACTER.  
D. F.  
vied a Character of him in Wood's AH●: Ox: Vol: 2. p. 966 where it is said histrue Name was Aneley.   

The CHARACTER Of the late Dr. Samuel Annesley. By way of ELEGY.  

'TWas spoke from Heaven, the Best of Men must Die,  
No Pattent's sealed for Immortality:  
Not God's own Favourites can shun the Stroke;  
Even God himself cannot the Law revoke;  
He can't, unless he should at once repeal  
The Eternal Laws of Nature: Change his Will;  
Declare his Works imperfect, Life restore  
To all that's Dead, and be a God no more.  
The World, whose Nature is to fade and die,  
Must change, and take up Immortality;  
And Time, which to Eternity rolls on,  
Must change, and be Eternity begun.  
All Things must ever live, or Man must die:  
The Law's Supreme, and Nature must obey.  
How vain then, and impertinent is Grief,  
Which nor to Dead nor Living gives Relief!  
Sighs for departed Friends are senseless things,  
Which them no Help, nor us no Comfort brings.  
Tears on the Graves, where Breathless Bodies lie,  
Our Ignorance, or Atheism, imply;  
Ashes and Sackcloth, Cries and renting ,  
Our Folly more than our Affection shows:  
For Grief is nothing, properly, but Rage,  
And God himself's the Object we engage.  
Fain we would live without his Negative;  
Which when we can't accomplish, than we grieve:  
The Passion's foolish, as it is profane;  
The Action, as 'tis fruitless, and in vain.  
But would you like a Man, or Christian, grieve  
When others die, be thankful you're alive;  
Improve the Great Examples you look on,  
And take their Deaths for Warnings of your own:  
For the best of Men cannot suspend their Fate;  
The Good die early, and the Bad die late.  
The Eternal Laws of Life are fixed and fast,  
And he who latest dies, yet dies at last.  
Tho' early Vice does early Death presage,  
Yet Piety can lengthen no Man's Age:  
The Stroke's promiscuous, and there's no suspense  
Beyond the stated Bounds of Providence;  
For if distinguished Piety could save,  
We had seen no Elegy, nor he no Grave.  
Stay then, and spend a Thought upon his Hearse,  
Whose Name is more immortal than my Verse:  
For tho' Death's Stroke, like an impetuous Flood,  
Involves in common Fate the Just and Good,  
And in one Grave there undistinguished lies  
The Ashes of the Foolish and the Wise,  
The Pious and Profane, the Mean, the Great,  
And Grace itself can be no Bribe to Fate;  
Yet Pious Works, like living Flowers, grow  
To a kind of Immortality below;  
And Characters of Worthies, like the Sun,  
Reflect a Lustre, tho' themselves are gone:  
Which do immortal Names to them create,  
For us to Honour and to Imitate.  
Then see what Characters to him belong;  
The best that Pen e'er wrote, or Poet sung.  
His Parents dedicated him, by Vow,  
To serve the Church, and early taught him how.  
As Hannah, when she for her Samuel prayed,  
The Welcome Loan with Thankfulness repaid;  
So they, foreseeing 'twould not be in vain,  
Asked him of God, and vowed him back again;  
And he again as early did prepare  
To list a willing Soldier in the Sacred War.  
His Pious Course with Childhood he began,  
And was his Maker's sooner than his own;  
As if designed by Instinct to be Great,  
His Judgement seemed to antedate his Wit;  
His Soul out-grew the natural rate of Years,  
And fullgrown Wit at half-grown Youth appears;  
Early the vigorous Combat he began,  
And was an elder Christian than a Man.  
The Sacred Study all his Thoughts confined;  
A sign what secret Hand prepared his Mind:  
The Heavenly Book he made his only School,  
In Youth his Study, and in Age his Rule.  
Thus he in blooming Years and Hopes began,  
Happy, Beloved, and Blest of God and Man;  
Solid, yet Vigorous too, both Grave and Young,  
A taking Aspect, and a charming Tongue,  
With David's Courage, and Josiah's Youth,  
All over Love, Sincerity, and Truth.  
The flattering World attacked him with her Charms,  
But he shook the gaudy Trifle from his Arms;  
When Fraud affaulted him, or Fame caressed,  
This he with Ease, and that with Scorn suppressed:  
Firm as the Rocks in rolling Seas abide,  
When Floods of Doubts and Dangers pass beside,  
When Griefs come threatening on, or Comfort flows,  
He was undepressed by these, unraised by those;  
And thus advancing with a just Applause,  
He grew a Champion in his Master's Cause;  
The Sacred Bow he so Divinely drew,  
That every shot both hit and overthrew;  
His native Candour, and familiar Style,  
Which did so oft his Hearers Hours beguile,  
Charmed us with Godliness, and while he spoke,  
We loved the Doctrine for the Teacher's sake.  
While he informed us what his Doctrines meant,  
By dint of Practice more than Argument,  
Strange were the Charms of his Sincerity,  
Which made his Actions and his Words agree  
At such a constant and exact a rate,  
As made a Harmony we wondered at.  
Honour be had by Birth, and not by Chance,  
And more by Merit than Inheritance;  
But both together joined, spell out his Name,  
For Honesty and Honour are the same,  
And show, when Merit's joined with Quality,  
The Gentleman and Christian may agree.  
Honour by Virtue only is upheld,  
And vain are all the Trophies Vice can build;  
For tho' by wicked Acts Men gain Applause,  
The Reputation's rotten, like the Cause:  
Vain too's the single Honour of Descent,  
Till Merit's added as a Supplement.  
But when to Virtue Grace infused is given,  
The Sacred Incense reaches up to Heaven;  
No Force, or Fraud, can such a Fame remove,  
It pleases Men below, and God above.  
His negative Virtues also have been tried,  
He had no Priest-craft in him, nor no Pride;  
No Fraud nor Wheedling Arts to be esteemed,  
But just the very Person that he seemed;  
Nor was he touched or tainted with a Bribe,  
That universal Blemish of the Tribe:  
For if to Gifts he ever was inclined,  
He laid none up, nor left us none behind.  
A Moses for Humility and Zeal,  
For Innocence a true Nathaniel;  
Faithful as Abraham, or the Truer Spies;  
No Man more Honest, and but few so Wise:  
Exemplar Virtue shone through every Part;  
For Grace had full possession of his Heart:  
Humility was his dear and darling Grace,  
And Honesty sat Regent in his Face;  
Meekness of Soul did in his Aspect shine,  
But in the Truth, resolved and masculine;  
A Pleasing Smile sat ever on his Brow,  
A sign that cheerful Peace was lodged below.  
If e'er his Duty forced him to contend,  
Calmness was all his Temper, Peace his End;  
And if just Censure followed the Debate,  
His Pity would his Zeal anticipate.  
A Heavenly Patience did his Mind possess,  
Cheerful in Pain, and Thankful in Distress;  
Mighty in Works of Sacred Charity,  
Which none knew better how to guide than he;  
Bounty, and generous Thoughts, took up his Mind  
Extensive, like his Maker's, to Mankind,  
With such a Soul, that (had he Mines in store)  
He would ne'er be Rich while any Man was Poor:  
A Heart so Great, that, had he had a Purse,  
Twoved have supplied the Poor o'th' Universe.  
Now he's above the Praises of my Pen,  
The Best of Ministers, and Best of Men!  
Then speak not of him with a mournful Voice;  
For why should we Repine, and he Rejoice?  
His Harvest has been full, his Season long,  
And long he charmed us with his Heavenly Song,  
The same, the very same, which flaming Love,  
Fired with Celestial Raptures, sings above;  
Touched with a Sacred Influence that's given  
From that Eternal Harmony in Heaven;  
The Chorus and the Consort ever last,  
A full Reward for all his Troubles past.  
For if there be a God, and future State,  
A Heaven, a Hell, a Good and Evil Fate;  
A Great first Cause, Immortal and Immense,  
That does Rewards and Punishments dispense;  
Then Pious Men, when they revolve to Dust,  
Do those Rewards partake, if Heaven be Just:  
For Death's a passive Notion; and the whole  
Is but a Transmutation of the Soul  
From an embodied Life, to a sublime,  
Prescribed no more to Circumstance and Time;  
For if no difference of States there be,  
How then do Vice and Virtue disagree?  
For here the Disadvantage plainly lies  
For Knaves and Fools, against the Just and Wise:  
By partial Fame the prosperous Fool's caressed,  
The Bad exalted, and the Good suppressed.  
The Good Man's Expectation then must be  
From Happiness with Immortality:  
Something which to sublimer virtue's due,  
Something substantial and eternal too,  
That can for all his Suffering satisfy,  
His Hopes support, and all his Wants supply:  
For if to future State we have no regard,  
How then can Virtue be its own Reward?  
Can but my happy Pen describe the Sense  
That seized his joyful Soul at parting hence;  
Such Contemplations would transform my Mind;  
For Thoughts reach Heaven, when Bodies stay behind:  
And he that thinks at so Divine a rate,  
May future Happiness anticipate.  
When his Heart leaped at the good News of Death,  
And Sacred Ecstasies employed his Breath,  
The blessed Rewards did to his Faith appear,  
The Passage easy, and the Prospect near;  
And firm Assurance, with a lofty Gale,  
Winged with Divinest Comfort, filled his Sail:  

He had the gladsome Regions in his view,  
His Hopes were constant, and his Comforts true:  
No wonder Balaam wished to die so too.   
And now Seraphic Joys furround his Soul,  
Which feel no diminution or control:  
But what they are, or how far they extend,  
No Pen can write, or Thought can comprehend,  
But he who at that happy Place arrives;  
For Heaven is only knownby Negatives.  
How much Celestial Vision comprehends;  
Whether to Humane Actions it extends,  
Whether he's now informed of Things below,  
Is needless as Impossible to know:  
For sight of Spirits is unprescribed by space.  
What see they not, who see the Eternal Face?  
The bright transforming Rays of Heavenly Light,  
Immense, Immortal, Pure, and Infinite,  
Does Likeness with its Light communicate,  
The Spirit exalt, and all its Frame dilate;  
Infusing with the bright Similitude  
An inexpressible Beatitude!  
And could he now, in his exalted State,  
His Thoughts by Sympathy communicate,  
Or some superior way 
 For Spirits converse  
Without the helps of Voice: 
 Can he rehearse  
To our Conception, what is Heaven above,  
'Twould be concisely thus, All Heaven is Love:  
Love Infinite, Magnificent, and True,  
Divine in Magnitude, and Object too:  
Love, Joy, and Glory, constitute the Place;  
The Exalted Triumphs of Victorious Grace!  
No Sorrow can be there, because no Sin;  
For all is Peace without, and Pure within.  
There all are Gods, and yet they all adore  
The One Supreme first Cause of Sovereign Power;  
And all that Adoration's mixed with Love,  
The great Essential of the Joys above:  
That Heavenborn Passion, which with purest Flame  
Burns only there: For here 'tis but a Name,  
An empty Name, by Interest limited,  
A Slave to Scandal, and by Fancy led.  
Friendship, unmixed with Sexes, reigns above  
The true Extreme of high superior Love;  
Emblem of Heaven, which it resembles so,  
It almost seems to make a Heaven below:  
For Love in Heaven, is God communicate;  
In Souls, Collateral; both supremely Great:  
The Enjoyment's as reciprocal as high;  
For Love's no Passion, but a Quality:  
Through it the Almighty Glory darts his Beams,  
Known only by unutterable Names;  
With Light and Splendour unapproached enthroned,  
Millions of fiery Spirits attending round,  
Who all, like Star●, have Brightness from his Rays,  
And they reflect it back again in Praise.  
Where e'er this blessed Society shall dwell,  
That Place is Heaven, and every where else is Hell.    
FINIS.