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Engraved by Maskoizle from the original Pee tr the Itbrary of Lincoln inn.
MA
Baba
Sor Matthew Hale. Kan
London: Published by R.Wilks, Chancery Lane, March 30.1805.
204
1
1
THE
7 zo
WORKS,
Moral and Religious,
Sir MATTHEW HALE, Knt.
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE COURT OF KING'S BENCH :
THE WHOLE NOW FIRST COLLECTED AND REVISZEM
TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED
HIS LIFE AND DEATH,
BY BISHOP BURNET, D.D.
AND
AN APPENDIX TO THE LIFE,
Including the ADDITIONAL NOTES of. RICHARD BAXTER.
BY THE REV. T. THIRLWALL, M.A.
EDITOR OF THE LATIN ANÔ ENGLISH DIATESSARONS.
IN TWO VOLUMES. ,
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR H. D. SYMONDS, PATERNOSTER-ROW;
J. WHITE, FLEET-STREET; RIVINGTONS, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH
YARD ; RICHARDSONS, ROYAL-EXCHANGE ; FAULDER,
BOND-STREET ; HATCHARD, PICCADILLY; AND
NUNN, GREAT QUEEN-STREET.
1805.
R. WILKS, PRINTER, CHANCERY-LANE.
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
JOH N, LORD E'L DON;
BARON ELDON,
OP ELDON, IN THB COUNTY PALATINE OF CHESTER,
Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain,
&c. &c.
cole
MY LORD,
,
I
The following Works are the production of
a Man of whom the Learned Profession
has reason to boast. His piety and virtue,
his ļearning and labors, reflected a lustre
ºn the exalted station he filled, and have
stamped on his memory the veneration and
esteem of impartial posterity. Your Lord-
ship
a 2
150558
iv
DEDICATION.
i
ship will not be unwilling that Your NAME
should be inscribed on the same roll with that-
of Sir MATTHEW HALE. Under a persua-
sion that he would, with reciprocal plea-
sure, acknowledge My.LORD ELDON, these
Works, with PERMISSION, are dedicated
to your Lordship,
By your Lordship’s most humble,
.-.And obedient Servant,
THOMAS THIRLWALL,
Mile-End, March 30, 1805.
CON
CONTENTS.
VOL. I.
PAGE
vii
1
76
85
88
115
PREFACE -
The Life and Death of Sir Matthew Hạle,
by Bishop Burnet
A Catalogue of Sir Matthew Hale's Works
An Appendix to the Life and Death of Sir
Matthew Hale, by the Editor
Additional Notes on the Life and Death of Sir
Matthew Hale, Knt, written by Richard
Baxter, at the request of Edward Stephensy
Esq. Publisher of his Contemplations, and
his familiar Friend
A Continuation of the Appendix, by the Editor
Four Letters of Sir Matthew Hale to his Chil-
dren, viz.
Letter I. Directions touching the Keeping
of the Lord's Day
Letter II. Directions touching Religion
Letter III. Concerning their Speech
Letter IV. To one of his Sons after his Re-
covery from the Small-pox
A brief Abstract of the Christian Religion
Considerations seasonable at all Times for
cleansing the Heart and Life
A Discourse of Religion, in Three Parts :
Part 1. The Ends and Uses of it, and the
Errors of Men touching it
a 3
194
205
212
1
223
247
259
288
Part
vi
CONT EN Í S:
PAGE
308
318
.
331
343
365
Part II. The Life of Religion, and Super-
additions to it
Part III The Superstructions upon Reli-
gion, and Animosities about them.
A Discourse on Life and Immortality
On the Day of Pentecost
Concerning the Works of God
Of doing as we would be done unto
The Life and Death of Pomponius Atticus,
written by his Contemporary and Acquaint-
ance, Cornelius Nepos; translated out of his
Fragments : together with Observations,
political and moral, thereupon
A Discourse touching Provision for the Poor
377
417
515
ERRATA.
Vol.I.p. 91, read as a Note - Even the party whom he decided against
were satisfied with the equity of his decision.
p. 106, line 8, for do, read does.
9, for render, read renders.
p. 167, 8, for intelligencer, read intelligence.
p. 304, -15, see note, vol. ii. p. 138.
Vol. II. p. 141,
6, after God, see note.
+
PRE-
P R E F A C E.
>
THE
he public are now presented, for the
first time, with a Collection of the Moral
and Religious Treatises of Sir MATTHEW
HALE, whose professional learning, indefa-
tigable labors, and exemplary piety, ranked
him amongst the brightest ornaments of his
time. It may afford matter for surprise,
that the productions of an author so justly
celebrated, should have been so long per-
mitted to lie in a scattered and neglected
state. The veneration and estcem in which
the Learned Profession deservedly holds the
memory of this renowned · Judge, has in-
duced it to publish those works which
fall within its peculiar province. It is
high time for the Friends of Religion to fol-
low this example, and rescue from obli-
vion those memorials of practical piety and
sound morality, which he has left behind.
All which remain of this description will
be found in the two following volumes, with
the exception of two Works; the one entitled
“ A Discourse of the Knowledge of God,
and
a 4
viii
PREFACE.
/
and Ourselves ;" the other “ The Primitive
Origination of Mankind.” The omission of
these arises not either from an unfavour-
able opinion of their intrinsic worth, or an
unwillingness to add them to the present
Collection. Should the public express a
wish for their appearance, they shall be
published at a future opportunity, in a
separate volume, which will render the
pre-
sent undertaking uniform and complete.
To prepare the reader for the full benefit
he may expect to receive from their perusa),
I have introduced him to an acquaint-
ance with the life and character of Hale,
from the pen of Bishop Burnet, who has
drawn the portrait of the venerable Judge,
in the colours of truth and simplicity.
66 1 In the life of Sir Matthew Hale, we do
not merely see a character improved and
adorned by the Christian graces and vir-
tues, but we behold Christianity itself sub-
stantially exemplified. We see its power to
“ convert the soul,” in that radical change
which it effects in the youth; while every
subsequent action of the man concurs to
prove
that the ideal character of wisdom,
2
1
See the Preface to “ Burnet's Lives and Characters," &c.
printed at Dublin, 1804.
which
PREFACE.
is
which some ancient philosophers described
as the mark to be aimed at, though without
any hope of attainment, is, in all its valu-
able features, actually realized in the true
Christian,
“ What but Christianity could have given
to Judge Hale that uniform ascendancy
over every thing selfish and secular, by.
means of which he so undeviatingly kept
the path of pure heroic virtue, as to be
alike looked up to and revered by parties
and interests the most opposite to each
other? Is there in human history any fact
more extraordinary, than that the Advocate
of Strafford and Laud, and of King Charles,
(had leave been given for pleading) should
be raised to the Bench by Cromwell; and
again, that a Judge of Cromwell's, should
be not only reinstated by Charles II.
but compelled by him, against his own will,
to accept of the very highest judicial trust?
Such is the triumph of genuine Christi-
anity!-a triumph which is in some degree
rewarded, whenever the name of Hale is
even professionally repeated; since the ap-
peal is evidently made not more to the
authority of the Judge, than to the inte-
grity of the man. If Burnet had never
written
X
PREFACE.
1
written more than the life of Sir Matthew
Hale, this alone would have entitled him
to the gratitude of the Christian world;
there being no work of the kind better
worth the study, whether of the profes-
sional or private man--of all who would
truly learn how to live, or how to die.”
Though Burnet has furnished a large
proportion of useful information and agree-
able entertainment, he has not exha
his subject, but left unnoticed many
important events and curious incidents
which diversify the life of this extraor-
dinary man. The “Additional Notes of
Richard Baxter,' whom he honoured with
his intimate friendship and affectionate
Fegard, will still heighten those senti, .
ments which the pages of Burnet are cal-
culated to excite. The Judge will there be
contemplated in the interesting scene of
literary ease and unrestrained friendship;
and a near and intimate view will be dis-
covered of his natural disposition, and
the peculiar bent of his mind, adapted to
exalt our opinion of his learning, his abili-
ties, his industry, and his piety.
Short potices of some distinguished cha-
macters, incidentally mentioned by Burnet
and
PREFACE.
xi
A
and Baxter, are subjoined, for amusement,
or illustration of the subject.
In undertaking a work of this, impor-
tance, it might be expected of me to look
round and inquire for such further materials
as could be found, to convey a still clearer
and more distinct representation of the life
and character of Hale. I have endea-
voured to answer this natural expectation,
nor have my researches been unsuccessful.
The materials which I have been able to
collect, I have digested and arranged under
the title of “ an Appendix to his Life and
Death, by Burnet.” It will appear that the
diligent inquiries of Burnet were not re-
warded with a full discovery of the chan-
nels of information, I have taken up the
links which he dropped, and connected the
chain of the narrative; or, if I might bor-
row an allusion of the illustrious Judge,
have added 6.certain lines and strokes"
which are intended at least to give a greater
finish to the picture. This part of the
work, for the execution of which I am
responsible, whatever may be its imperfec-
tions, is submitted to the candor and indul-
gence of the reader. Permit me to assure
him, my exertions have not been spared to
com-
--
1
xii
PREFACE.
communicate both pleasure and instruc-
tion, whilst I have religiously kept in view
a regard to historical truth. How large a
portion of time and pains the collection of
these comparatively few materials has cost
me, it is useless to detail. If I may have
the good fortune to merit his approbation,
I shall consider myself to have received an
ample recompense.
The distinct and independent subjects
upon which the treatises of the first volume
are written, rendered it a point of less solici-
tude in what precise order they should be
arranged. That which I deemed the most
important is allowed its claim to prece-
dence.
The Contents will be found to exhibit a
pleasing and interesting specimen of the
versatility of talents, the activity of mind,
and the warmth of devotion, which so emi-
nently characterized our author. Whatever
fell within the sphere of a Christian, he
caught with ardour, and explored with per-
severance. With a simplicity of style, a
perspicuity of ideas, and a luminous ar-
rangement of the subject, peculiar to him-
self, Hale evolves its difficulties, enlightens
the understanding, and improves the heart.
His
4
--
PREFACE,
xiii
man.
His firm conviction of the truth of reli-
gion, and his inextinguishable zeal for its
interests, formed the active principle of his
life. It was this master-spring which guid-
ed his pen and animated every sentence.
Hence will be found that evangelical seri-
ousness which breathes through every page ;
hence the immediate consecration of his sub-
jects to the advancement of his Redeemer's
Kingdom, and the immortal happiness of
.
Under all the variety and discrimi-
nation of characters, in which he recom-
mends himself to our notice, whether as
the subtle dialectician; the enlightened
philosopher; the affectionate parent; the
blessed peace-maker; the prudent citizen;
or the ardent philanthropist; he still main-
tains the pre-eminence of the Christian,
and sheds over each the warmth and efful-
gence of evangelical piety.
1 Most of his writings, of a religious kind,
were not originally intended for publica-
tion. His primary motive for committing
his thoughts to paper, was the promotion of
his own spiritual advantage. He possessed
the rare and happy talent of performing
* For some of the following circumstances, I am indebted to the
original Prefaces,
much
xiv
PREFACE.
much in a small compass of time ; and yet
perhaps' no man was more economical of
that precious talent.
He usually spent that part of the Lord's
Day, which intervened between the evening
sermonandsupper-time, in pious meditations;
and, being remarkably expert in writing, it
was his wonted method to peñi his thoughts,
that he might fix them more intently upon
his subject, and restrain their unprofitable
"excursions. It
It may be supposed, however,
this was not his only motive: the review of
what he wrote in times past would en-
able him to ascertain his progress in Chris-
'tian knowledge and practice; nor could he
but hope that they would prove of essential
benefit to his family and domestics: Most
of his smaller tracts were found in the
hands of his children and servants, in a
neglected state, and in danger of being
irretrievably lost; till they were happily
rescued from their impending fate, by the
care and assiduity of his friend, who dis-
covered their value. His usual method of
writing them had something peculiar and
deserving of notice. When he had deter-
mined upon a subject, he first drew a
scheme
PREFACE.
ху
1
scheme of his whole discourse, or as much
of it as he intended to consider at the time,
upon some loose piece of paper, and some-
times upon a corner or the margin of the
paper on which he wrote. He then tapped
his thoughts, and let them run, to use his
own expression ; and they usually ran as
fast as his hand, though a very ready one,
could trace them. In this quick pace he
often wrote two sheets, at other times be-
tween one and two, and has been known to
write in this proportion for hours together.
His writings may be considered a species
of extemporary meditations, the production
of a head and heart fraught with a rich
treasure of human and divine knowledge,
which the famous legislator Justinian makes
the necessary qualification of a complete
lawyer. It ought however to be observed,
that his larger tracts, which could not be
finished at one time, were written at great
intervals, from the interposition of business
of a différent nature, which usually inter-
rüpts the thread of ideas...
But whatever share of honour his great
industry, learning, and abilities, acquired
him, yet, were the venerable Judge to rise
froin his grave, he would pronounce this of
small
xvi
PREFACE.
+
small importance, when brought in compe-
tition with the principles which gave birth
to his writings, and stimulated him to those
great and generous acts which immortalized
his name. If his mind had not been strongly
imbued with the principles of religion,
and influenced by the prospects of iminor-
tality, it is scarcely credible that one, whose
time was devoted to pursuits of so different
a complexion for six days together, could,
upon the seventh, have withdrawn his mind
from his professional, and applied it so de-
voutly to theological labors.
The studies which he commenced in his
early days, he prosecuted to the latest period
at which his infirmities would permit him
to hold his pen, within a fortnight or three
weeks before he died. In exploring the
difficult points of religion, as of the law, he
spared neither pains nor cost, upon any
means which conduced to the discovery
, and
manifestation of the admirable Providence
of God, whether in the composure, powers,
and course of nature, or in the government
of the actions of men. As much time as
he dedicated to the study and" practice of
the law, and business not of an ordinary
Judge, but of a Chief Baron and Chief Jus-
tice,
PREFACE.
xvii
tice, yet the time he employed in the
prosecution of his theological studies would
be found, upon a just computation, to
exceed it.
The effect which they produced on the
mind of Hale himself was truly beneficial.
A frequent and pious contemplation of the
wisdom, the power, and goodness of God,
discernible in his creatures, and in the
providential government of men, especially
that stupendous mystery of our Redemp.
tion by Jesus Christ, imprinted on his soul
an enlarged apprehension and deep sense
of the glorious excellence and majesty of
God, and his abundant goodness to men.
This filled his comprehensive mind with
awful reverence and devout affection to
Him; inspired a constancy, a faithfulness,
and readiness in His service, and converted
his secular into the nature of religious em-
ployments. With a heart ever disposed to
receive the benign influences of the spirit,
he maintained a full confidence in his God;
and, by constant habit, made it natural to
him to retire into himself with secret aspira-
tions to heaven, in the midst of his civil avo-
cations. By this course of devotion, his life
b
acquired
VOL. I.
1
Xvill
PREFACE.
as
acquired the character of holy and heavenly,
and yielded him that portion of comfort
which the wicked are strangers to, and
can neither give nor take away.
The fruits of his studies are almost
incredible , for which
for which he was, admira-
bly qualified by a happy combination of
natural endowments. But yet the Chris-
tian believer will attribute the success
which crowned his labours to an extraor-
dinary blessing from heaven, the
reward of exemplary piety, and an ha-
bitual address to the Throne of Grace;
of a religious observance and employment
of times set apart for sacred uses ; of a
conscientious application to his learned and
honourable profession, and its uniform sub-
serviency to the interests of religion, and
the promotion of human happiness.
Of the two Discourses which begin this
yolume, the Brief Extract, of the Chris
tian Religion was one of his later writ-
1
1
s. When I came," says Mr. Erskine, « to see all the ma-
nuscripts of my Lord Hale, (whose name will live to all time)
which I was favoured with by a learned gentleman at the bar,
Mr. Hardinge, it is astonishing what his manuscripts are in his
own hand, scarcely legible, yet containing the most valuable re-
marks upon the law of England." See Hardy's Trial. .
ings;
PREFACE.
xix
ings; The Cleansing of the Heart, one of
his more ancient; neither of which was
finished by the author.
His Letters, for the first time, are collected
and printed together.
The Three Discourses of Religion were
published by his friend
friend - and admirer,
Richard Baxter, who dedicated them to the
“ Honourable the Judges.” Baxter annexed
to this treatise the Judgment of Sir Francis
Bacon, and an extract from Dr. Barrow on the
subject. It is proper to remark, that these
Discourses have been printed under à dif-
ferent title, which led Wood i to conclude
they were two distinct works. In Baxter's
edition, it is distinguished by the title of
“His Judgment of the Nature of True Reli-
gion, the Causes of its Corruption, and 'the
Church's Calamity by Men's Additions and
Violences, with the desired Cure.”
The tract of Doing as we would be done
unto, though sufficiently distinct, seems to
have been intended for the continuation of
another work; and might, with propriety,
be joined to his Discourse of the Knowledge
of God and Ourselves.
?
Wood's Athen, Oxon,
b 2
His
PREFACE.
His own Prefaces will best explain the.
purport and use of the two Treatises which
conclude the volume. Perhaps the last, viz.
Provision for the Poor, will be thought the
least interesting. It is, however, but short,
and though upon a local subject, and
adapted to the particular circumstances of
his native spot, is founded in principles
which have engaged the attention and ex-
ercised the abilities of the philanthropist in
all
ages, and cannot fail to gratify the curi-
osity of those who wish to learn the senti-
ments of so great a man upon a topic which
involves the happiness of a large portion of
suffering humanity.
Some of the Tracts in the First Volume were
written for the press; but the Contempla-
tions, Moral and Divine, which compose the
Second Volume, were published not only
in their native primogenial simplicity, but
even without his knowledge : these, accord-
ingly, never received the finishing touches
of the judicious author. This fact accounts
for the inaccuracies which abound in the
copies that are already extant. Every ex-
ertion has been used, and it is presumed
with success, to ascertain the genuine read-
ing, and convey the true meaning of the
author.
PŘEPÁČE.
xxi
as
author. The subjects are common themes,
but such as are acknowledged to be of
the greatest moment in the life of man :
as it may be said of things in the natural
world, those which are of the greatest be-
nefit, are the most obvious and familiar.
The matter, however, of his Meditations
does not partake of this character;
for,
he was a man who thought
closely and deeply upon every subject, so
his writings, and especially those which
cost him the least effort, discover a genius,
an energy, and an originality, superior to
common writers. Though, as it lias been
suggested, he wrote these without effort, yet
he had maturely digested the subject,
“ which, as a scribe instructed unto the
kingdom of Heaven!”, he treasured up in his
heart, and produced out of this treasure' of
his heart and the abundance of it. His style
is admirably adapted to the matter 2. It
is significant, perspicuous, and manly; his
words are spirit and life, and carry with
* Matt. xii. 52.
My Lord Hale was one of the greatest Judges that ever
sat in Westminster Hall, who was as competent to express as
he was able to conceive." Lord Ellenborough.
East's Rep. vol. 5th, p. 17.
}
b 3
thom
xxii
PREFACE.
them evidence and demonstration. These
writings are indeed invaluable, they are a
transcript of the soul of Hale himself,
They furnish a lively and striking represen:
tation of his learning, wisdom, piety, and
virtue, which shone in his life with such
transcendant lustre, and raised him to the
highest eminence. If I might select one
part in preference to another, it would be
perhaps the subject of the Great Audit,
where, in drawing the picture of the Good
Steward, he is describing himself passing
his solemn and awful accounts.
In this volume will be found two trea-
tises written upon the same subject; viz.
Afflictions. There is, however, little room
for apprehension, lest the latter treatise may
prove tedious to the pious reader who has
perused the former.
His Meditations upon the Lord's Prayer
are truly excellent, and must leave a deep
impression upon every mind which enter-
tains a relish for sincere religion, piety, and
devotion.
His shorter Meditations were written when
the author was upon his journeys, and at
seasons in which he was much interrupted
by the society of those about him.
Hale
>
1
PREFACE.
xxiii
Hale would always reserve to himself
“ his hore sacra," his portions of leisure,
for suitable and profitable meditation; from
which he permitted neither his company
nor any of those occurrences to divert him,
by which we are too apt to excuse ourselves
from performing the duties of religion and
piety.
The writings of Hale are ill calculated
to satisfy the expectations of the proud dis-
putant, and bigoted polemic. The acrimony
and invective of party had inspired him with
an invincible aversion to religious contro-
versy. An impatience of opposition, and
a contest for victory on speculative and
indifferent points of doctrine, had extin-
guished the spirit of. Christian charity,
sunk religion itself into disgrace, and ex-
posed it to the reproach or ridicule of its
enemies. The doctrines of our blessed Re-
deemer, when attacked, ought to be de-
fended, but this should be done in the
temper of meekness and moderation.
It is not every combatant that is qualified
to wield his weapon and contend for the
truth. A cause may suffer more from an
indiscreet friend, thạn an open foe. -
b 4
It
xxiv
PREFACE.
It is lamentable to observe what a spirit
of animosity is kindled in the Christian
Church, by the revival of a controversy
which has, from the most remote ages,
been agitated with more or less vehe-
mence, and which is never likely to be de-
cided. This, at least, I may venture to as-
sert, that what cannot be gained by.calm
and dispassionate argument, it will be
in vain to expect from dogmatical asser-
tion and loud anathemas. The disciples of
Calvin and Arminius are entreated to re-
collect, that the maintenance of their po-
sitions is not inconsistent with the profesa
sion and the practice of the Gospel. The
brightest ornaments of the Christian reli-
gion, and the most exemplary patterns of
every Christian grace, have ranged on oppo-
site sides. Whatever be the consequences
deducible from these doctrines, they are
not fraught with half the injury which reli-
gion suffers from the intemperate zeal with.
which the discussion of this and every other
question in religion is generally, managed.
May the rage of controversy subside, and the
mild spirit of Christianity triumph, and con-
tinue to adorn and beautify the life and
conversation of its professors! May the
faithful
3
PREFACE.
XXV
3
faithful labourer' in the vineyard of his
blessed Master, employ his zeal and talents,
in clearing it of the weeds of sin, in prepar-
the soil of the human heart for the re-
ception of the Divine seed, and encouraging
the growth of righteousness and true
holiness! This employment will yield
him the reward of conscious approbation ;
when heated prejudices, and clamorous
conflicts, in the support of a speculative
tenet, will disappoint the expectations of
the polemic, and end in painful and un-
profitable regret.
It has been considered as no small ad-
vantage to the cause of the Christian reli-
gion, that she has found, among her ablest
and most zealous defènders, those who can-
not be supposed to have espoused her in-
terest, but from a conviction of her truth.
Whenever the deist ventures to impute to the
clergyman motives of selfishness, he is con-
founded and silenced by the' names of New-
ton, Boyle and Locke. The learning, ge-
nius, independence, and disinterestedness,
of these laymen, have always furnished a
decisive answer to the objections of the
infidel. May it not be esteemed a con-
siderable advantage to the cause, to include
the
ххуі
PREFACE.
the name of Hale in the list of these
illustrious champions ? His admirable
sagacity, and strict impartiality in the
search and discovery of truth, his care and
diligence in considering and examining the
reason and evidences of religion, all conspire
to attach a peculiar importance to his tes-
timony, and enhance its value, to give an
additional confirmation of the truth to the
believer, and check the rash presumptio
of the sceptic. Men who might peruse with
a prejudiced eye, the writings of those
whose profession immediately enjoins them
to exert their abilities in the defence of the
Gospel, may be prevailed on to pay
them a
serioụs attention, merely by the authority of
one, whose natural constitution, learned, pro-
fession, and worldly interest, raised him
above suspicion; by the respect which the
fame of his solid judgment and discriminat-
ing powers must command; and, above all,
by the constant strain of piețy, virtue, and
usefulness, for which his life and literary,
labors were so eminently distinguished.
The few words which by course of time
have become obsolete, or seldom occur, I
have explained, for the satisfaction of those
who may not understand their meaning.
The
3
I
PREFACE.
xxvii
>
The translations of the Latin expressions
which are ịnterspersed in the work, are sub-
joined also for the same reason.
I hope it will be thought an improvement
to remove from the text to the foot of the
page, the numerous references of Scripture,
which, from their frequent occurrence, in-
terrupt the narration, and give a less pleas-
ing effect to the eye.
.
I have adopted the modern orthography,
with a view to render the Work more read-
able and invịțing.
The reader may be assured, however, no
liberties have been taken with the language
of the text. In sitting down to the following
volumes, he will have the satisfaction of con-
versing only with Hale. I envy not the taste
of the architect who thinks the venerable
simplicity of the Gothic receives any im-
provement from its transformation into the
style of a Grecian edifice.
His Poems conclude the Second Volume.
If there be any part of the Works of Hale,
the loss of which I should least regret, I
confess it is this. If, however, they want
the characters which constitute legitimate
poetry, let the vein of piety which runs
througli
2
xxviii
$
PREFACE.
1
gar
through them, and the dignity of the sub-
ject, deprecate the severity of criticism.
May I be permitted to conclude with my
fervent prayer, that this feeble attempt
to do justice to the memory of Sir MAT-
THEW HALE, and to serve the cause of
piety and virtue, may be attended with the
blessing of Heaven, and be a means of pro-
moting amongst men, the imitation of this
excellent pattern, and the cultivation of all
those graces and good dispositions which
rendered him amiable and estimable in
the sight of men, and recommended him,
we trust, through the merits of Christ, to the
favour of God, and a place in the realms of
eternal bliss !
Since these volumes were printed, it has
afforded me no small gratification to ob-
serve that a Prelate', not less conspicuous for
his learning and abilities than his primitive
zeal in the diffusion of practical Christianity;
has included the “Contemplations Moral and
Divine, of Sir Matthew Hale,' in the short
list of Books which he recommends as
deserving a place in every Christian's
Dr. Burgess, Bishop of St. David.--See part the third. An Easter
Catechism.
66
36 closet,
PREFACE.
xxix
1
66 closet, for their truly Scriptural princi-
“ ples of vital and spiritual Religion.” It
is a circumstance peculiarly important
to the cause of religion, and consolatory
to her friends, when Men are advanced
to eminent stations in the Church, who
feel themselves called upon to employ their
talents and exert their influence in spread-
ing the knowledge of Christ amongst the
ignorant and illiterate, and instilling into
babes the milk of the word! Whilst the
Church of England can look up to those for
her guardians and examples, who “take up
* the mantles” of Andrews, Beveridge, and
Horne, we humbly trust, she will ever
fourish under God, and maintain her asen
cendancy in this favoured land.
-
1
4
THE
LIFE AND DEATH
OF
Sir MATTHEW HALE, Knt.
3
LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE COURT OF KING'S BENCH.
BY GILBERT BURNET,
LORD BISHOP OF SARUM.
THE PRETACE.
7
No part of Hiſtory is more inftru&ive and delight-
ing, than the Lives of Great and Worthy Men: the
ſhortneſs of them invites?:many readers; and there are
ſuch little, and yet remarkable paſſages in them, tooin-
conſiderable to be put-in a general hiſtory of the agețin
which they lived, that all people are very deſiroustokąow
them. This makes Plutarch's Lives be more generally
read, than any of all the books which the ancient
Greeks or Romans writ.
But the lives of Heroes and Princes are commonly
filled with the account of the great things done by them,
which do rather belong to a general, tham qoparticular
hiſtory; and do rather amuſe the reader's fancy with a
ſplendid ſhew of greatneſs, than offer him what is really
ſo uſeful to himſelf; and indeed the lives of princes
are either writ with ſo much flattery, by thoſe who,
intended to merit by it at their own hands, or others con-
cerned in them; or with ſo much fpite; by. thoſe who,
being ill uſed by them, have revenged: themfelyes
on their memory, that there is not much to be built
on them: And though the ill nature of many makes
what is ſatirically writ to be generally more read and
believed, than when the flattery
, is viſible and coarſe ;
yet certainly reſentment may make the writer corrupt
the truth of hiſtory, as much as intereſt. And ſince
all men have their blind. fides, and commit errors, he
that will induſtriouſly lạy theſe together, leaving out,
or but ſlightly touching what ſhould be, fet againſt
them, to balance them, may make a very good man
appear in bad colours: So, upon the whole matter,
there is not that reaſon to expect either much truth,
or great inſtruction, from what is written concerning
Heroes or Princes; for few have been able to imitate
VOL. I.'
the
1
2
1
PREFACE:
the patterns Suetonius ſet the world in writing the :
Lives of the Roman Emperors, with the ſame freedom
that they had led them : But the lives of private men,
though they ſeldom entertain the reader with ſuch a
variety of paſſages as the other do; yet certainly they
offer him things that are more imitable, and do preſent
wiſdom and virtue to him, not only in a fair idea,
which is often looked on as a piece of invention or
fancy of the writer, but in ſuch plain and familiar in-
ſtances, as do both direct him better, and perfuade
him more; and there are not ſuch temptations to
bias thoſe who writ them, ſo that we may generally
depend more on the truth of ſuch relations as are
given in them.
In the age in which we live, religion and virtue
have been propoſed and defended with ſuch ad-
vantages with that great force of reaſon, and thoſe
perfuafions, that they can hardly be matched in for-
mer times; yet after all this, there are but few much
wrought on by them, which perhaps flows from this,
among other reaſons, that thereare not fomanyexcellent
patterns ſet out, as might both in a ſhorter, and more
effectual manner recommend that to the world, which
diſcourſes do but coldly; the wit and ſtyle of the
writer being more confidered than the argument which
they handle; and therefore the propoſing virtue and re-
ligion in ſuch a model, may perhaps operate more
than the perſpective of it can do: and for the Hiſtory
of Learning, nothing does ſo preſerve and improve
it, as the writing of the lives of thoſe who have been
eminent in it.
There is no book the Ancients have left us, which
might have informed us more than Diogenes Laertius's
Lives of the Philoſophers, if he had had the art of
writing equal to that great fubject which he under-
took; for if he had given the world ſuch an account
of them as Gafſendus has done of Peireſk, how great
a ſtock of knowledge might we have had, which by
his unſkilfulneſs is in a great meaſure loſt: ſince we
muſt
PREFACE.
muſt now depend only on him, becauſe we have no
other, or better author, that has written on that
argument.
For many ages there were no lives writ but by
Monks, through whoſe writings there runs ſuch an
incurable humour, of telling incredible and inimitable
paſſages, that little in them can be believed or pro-
poſed as a pattern: Sulpitius Severus and Jerome
ſhewed too much credulity in the lives they writ, and
raiſed Martin and Hilarion, beyond what can be rea-
ſonably believed. After them, Socrates, Theodoret, So-
zomen, and Palladius, took a pleaſure to tell uncouth
ſtories of the Monks of Thebais, and Nitria ; and
thoſe who came after them, fcorned to fall ſhort of
them, but raiſed their ſaints above thoſe of former
ages; ſo that one would have thought that indecent
way of writing could riſe no higher*: and this hu-
mour infected even thoſe who had otherwiſe a good
fenſe of things, and a juſt apprehenſion of mankind,
as may appear in Matthew Paris, who, though he was
a writer of great judgment and fidelity, yet he has
corrupted his hiſtory with much of that alloy. But
when emulation and envy roſe among the ſeveral
orders, or houſes, then they improved in that art of
making romances, inſtead of writing lives, to that
pitch, that the world became generally much fcanda-
lized with them : the Franciſcans and Dominicans
tried who could ſay the moſt extravagant things of the
founders, or other ſaints of their orders; and the Be-
nedictines, who thought themſelves pofleft of the be.
lief of the world, as well as of its wealth, endea-
voured all that was poſſible ſtill to keep up the dignity
of their order, by out-lying the others all they could;
and whereas here or there, a miracle, a viſion, a trance,
might have occurred in the lives of fornier faints;
now every page was full of thoſe wonderful things.
Nor has the humour of writing in ſuch a manner
been quite laid down in this age, though more
awakened, and better enlightened, as appears in the
Ro 2
Life
4
PREFACE.
in this age
3
Life of Philip Nerius, and a great many more : and
the Jeſuits at Antwerp are now taking care to load the
world with vaſt and voluminous collections of all thoſe
Lives that have already ſwelled in eleven volumes of
folio, in a ſmall print; and yet being digeſted accord-
ing to the kalender, they have yet but ended the
month of April. The Life of Monſieur Renty iš
writ in another manner, where there are ſo many, ex-
cellent paſſages, that he is juſtly to be reckoned
ainongſt the greate ft patterns that France has afforded
.
But while ſome have nouriſhed infidelity, and a
fcorn of all facird things, by writing of thoſe good
imen in ſuch a ſtrain, as makes not only what is ſo
related to be diſbelieved, but creates a diftruft of the
authentical writings of our moſt holy faith others
have fallen into another extreme in writing Lives too
jejuntiy, ſwelling them up with trifling accounts, of
the childhood and education, and the domeſtic or pri-
vate affairs of thoſe perſons of whom they write, in
which the world is little concerned : by theſe they
become ſo flat åthat few care to read them for icer-
tainly thoſe tranſactions are only fit to be delivered to
pofterity, that may carry with them fome uſeful piece
of knowledge to after-times.
I have now an argument before me, which will af-
ford indeed only a ſhort hiſtory, but will contain in it
as great a character as perhaps can be given of any
in this age; fince there are few inſtances of more
knowledge, and greater virtues meeting in one perſon.
I am upon one account (beſide many more), unfit to
undertake it, becauſe I was not at all known to him,
ſo I can ſay nothing from my own obfervation?;; but
upon ſecond thoughts, I do not know whether this may
not qualify me to write more impartially, though per-
haps more defectively, for the knowledge of extraor-
dinary perſons does moſt commonly bias thoſe who
were much wrought on, by the tenderneſs of their-
friendſhip for them, to raiſe their ſtyle a little too high
when
V
PREFACE.
5
when they write concerning them: I confeſs I knew
him as much as the looking often upon him could
amount to. The laſt year of his being in London, he
came always on Sundays (when he could go abroad)
to the Chapel of the Rolls, where I then preached.
In my life I never ſaw fo much gravity tempered with
that ſweetneſs, and ſet off with ſo much vivacity, as
appeared in his looks and behaviour, which diſpoſed
me to a veneration for him which I never had for
any with whom I was not acquainted : I was ſeeking
an opportunity of being admitted to his converſation;
but I underſtood, that between a great want of health,
and a multiplicity of bufineſs, which his employment
brought upon him, he was maſter of fo little of his
time, that I ſtood in doubt whether I might preſume
to rob him of any of it; and ſo he left the town be-
fore I could reſolve on defiring to be known to him.
My ignorance of the law of England made me
alſo unfit to write of a man, a great part of whole
character, as to his learning, is to be taken from his
ſkill in the Common Law, and his performance in
that. But I ſhall leave that to thoſe of the fame robe;
fince, if I engaged much in it, I muſt needs coinnit
many errors, writing of a ſubject that is foreign to
The occaſion of my undertaking this, was given me
firſt by the earneſt deſires of ſome that have great
power over me; who having been much obliged by
him, and holding his memory in high eftiination,
thought it might do it fome right by writing his Life:
I was then engaged in the Hiſtory of the Reformation,
ſo I promiſed that as ſoon as that was over, I ſhould
make the beſt uſe I could of ſuch informations and
memorials as ſhould be brought me.
This I have now performed in the beſt manner I
could, and have brought into method all the parcels
of his Life, or the branches of his character, which
I could either gather fræin the informations that were
brought me, or from thoſe that were familiarly ac-
BE
quainted
me.
1
+
6
PREFACES
1
quainted with him, or from his writings: I have not
applied any of the falſe colours, with which art, or
ſome forced eloquence might furniſh me, in writing
concerhing him; but have endeavoured to ſet him out
in the fame ſimplicity in which he lived: I have ſaid
little of his domeſtic concerns; ſince though in theſe
he was a great example, yet it fignifies nothing to
the world, to know any particular exerciſes that
might be given to his patience; and therefore I ſhal!
draw a veil over all theſe, and ſhall avoid ſaying any
thing of him, but what-may afford the reader ſome
profitable inſtruction. I am under no temptations of
ſaying any thing but what I am perſuaded is exactly
true; for where there is ſo much excellent truth to
be told, it were an inexcuſable fault to corrupt that,
or prejudice the reader againſt it by the mixture of
falſhoods with it.
In ſhort, as he was a great example while he lived,
fo I wilh the ſetting him thus out to pofterity, in his
own true and native colours, may have its due influ.
ence on all perſons; but more particularly on thoſe
of that profeſſion whom it more immediately cone
çerms, whether on the Bench, or at the Bar,
THE
THE LIFE AND DEATH
SIR MATTHEW HALE, KNIGHT,
LATE LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF ENGLAND,
Matthew HALE was born at Alderly in Gloucef-
terſhire, the firſt of November, 1609. His grand-
father was Robert Hale, an eminent clothier in Wot-
ton-under-Edge, in that county, where he and his an-
ceſtors had lived for many deſcents; and they had
given ſeveral parcels of land for the uſe of the poor,
which are enjoyed by them to this day. This Robert
acquired an eftate of ten thouſand pounds, which he
divided almoſt equally amongſt his five fons ; beſides
the portions he gave his daughters, from whom a nu-
merous poſterity has ſprung. His ſecond fon was
Robert Hale, a barriſter of Lincoln's Inn; he mar-
ried Joan the daughter of Matthew Poyntz, of Alderly,
Eſquire, who was deſcended from that noble family of
the Poyntz's of Acton: of this marriage there was.no
other iffue but this one ſon. His grandfather by his
mother was his godfather, and gave him his own
name at his baptiſm. His father was a man of that
ſtrictneſs of conſcience, that he gave over the practice
of the law, becauſe he could not underſtand the reaſon
of giving colour in pleadings, which as he thought was
to tell a lie, and that, with fome other things com-
monly practiſed, ſeemed to him contrary to that exact,
neſs of truth and juſtice which became a Chriftian, ſo
that he withdrew himſelf from the Inns of Court to live
on his eſtate in the country. Of this I was informed
by an ancient gentleman, that lived in a friendſhip with
his ſon for fifty years, and heheardłudge Jones, that was
Mr. Hale's contemporary, declare this in the King's
Bench. But as the care he had to ſave his ſoul, made
him abandon a profeſſion in which he might have
raiſed his family much higher, fo his charity to his
POON
The Life and Death of
1
;
poor neighbours, made him not only deal his alms
largely among them while he lived, but at his death he
left (out of his ſmall eſtate, which was a 100l. a year)
201. a year to the poor of Wotton, which his ſon con-
firmed to them with ſome addition, and with this regu-
lation, that it ſhould be diſtributed among ſuch poor
houſekeepers, as did not receive the alms of the pariſh;
for to give it to thoſe, was only, as he uſed to ſay, to
fave ſo much money to the rich, who by law were
bound to relieve the poor of the pariſh.
Thus he was deſcended rather from a good than a
noble family, and yet what was wanting in the inſignifi-
cant titles of high birth, and noble blood, was more than.
made up in the true worth of his anceſtors. But he
was foon deprived of the happineſs of his father's care.
and inſtruction, for as he loſt his mother before he was
three years old, fo his father died before he was five;
ſo early was he caſt on the Providence of God. But
that unhappineſs was in a great meaſure made up to
him: for after ſome oppoſition made by Mr. Thomas
Poyntz, his uncle by his mother, he was committed
to the care of Anthony Kingſcot, of Kingſcot, Eſq. who
was his next kinſman, after his uncles, by his mother.
Great care was taken of his education, and his
guardian intended to breed him to be a Divine, and
being inclined to the way of thoſe then called Puritans,
put him to ſome ſchools that were taught by thoſe of
that party, and in the 17th year of his age, ſent him,
to Magdalen-hall in Oxford, where Obadiah Sedg-
wick * was his tutor. He was an extraordinary profi.
cient
* This violent puritan was born at Marlborough, in Wilts, and there re.
ceived the rudiments of his education. In 1616 he was entered at Queen's
College, Oxford, at the age of sixteen, from which he shortly removed to
Magdalen-hall, where he took his degrees in arts, entered into holy orders,
and became chaplain to Sir Horatio Vere Brown, of Tilbury, whom he ac-
companied into the Low Countries. : On his return he retired to Oxford, and
was admitted to the reading of the sentences in the latter end of 1629. He
was afterwards preacher of St. Mildred, Bread-street, London, which he
quitted before the Rebellion, for a reason which did not redound to his credit,
and became the scandalous and seditious minister of Coggeshall, Essex, At
the breaking out of the civil war, he soon returned to London, and being a
voluble preacher, be distinguished himself not only in his former parish, but
also before both houses o? parliament, and was appointed one of the assembly
of diyincs. In the paroxysm of his zeal and acrimony against. Foyalty and
episcopacy,
}
Sir Matthew Hale.
cient at ſchool, and for ſome time at Oxford. But the
ſtage-players coming thither, he was ſo much corrupted
by ſeeing many plays, that he almoſt wholly forlook
his ſtudies. By this, he not only loſt much time, but.
found that his head came to be thereby filled with ſuch
vain images of things, that they were at beſt unprofit-
able, if not hurtful to him ; and being afterwards ſenſi-
ble of the miſchief of this, he reſolved, upon his coming
to London (where he knew the opportunities of ſuch
fights would be more frequent and inviting), never to
ſee a play again, to which he conſtantly adhered.
The corruption of a young man's mind in one parti-
cular, generally draws:on a great many more after it,
ſo he being now taken off from following his ſtudies,
and from the gravity of his deportment, that was for-
merly eminent in him, far beyond his years, fet him-
ſelf to many of the vanities incident to youth, but ſtill
preſerved his purity, and a great probity of mind. He
loved fine clothes, and delighted much in company s
and being of a ſtrong robuſt body, he was a great mal-
ter at all thoſe exerciſes that required much ſtrength.
He alſo learned to fence, and handle his weapons, in
which he became ſo expert, that he worſted many of .
the maſters of thoſe arts : but as he was exerciſing of
himſelf in them, an inſtance appeared, that ſhewed a
good judgment, and gave ſome hopes of better things.
One of his maſters told him he could teach him no
more, for he was now better at his own trade than
himſelf was. This Mr. Hale looked on as flattery; fo.
to make the maſter diſcover himſelf, he promiſed
him the houſe he lived in, for he was his tenant, if he
could hit him a blow on the head ; and bad him do his
1
eri:: opacy, it was usual with him, especially in hot weather, to unbutton
duis doublit in the pulpit, that his breath might be longer, and his voice
mno.e audible. He was afterwards, about 1646, minister of St. Paul's, Coventa
garden, supporting the cause of the presbyterians. In 1663, he was ap-
pointed one of the triers or examiners of ministers, appointed by parliament;
and the year after an assistant to the commissioners of London for the ejection
of such, whom they thien called scandalous and ignorant ministers ană school-
masters. About two years before his death, he resigned his charge in Covent-
garden and retired 10 Marlborough, where he died in great aitluence, being
lord of the inanor of Ashmansworth in Hampshits, cod's then. 0.1017
fol.ii. p. 338,
best,
1
The Life and Death of
1
beſt, for he would be as good as his word: fo after a
little engagement, his maſter being really ſaperior to
him, hit him on the head, and he performed his pros
miſe.; for he gave him the houſe freely: and was not
unwilling at that rate to learn ſo early to diſtinguiſka
flattery from plain and fimple truth.
He now was ſo taken up with martial matters, that
inſtead of going on in his deſign of being a ſcholar, or
a divine, he reſolved to be a ſoldier: and his tutor
Sedgwick going into the Low Countries, chaplain to
the renowned Lord Vere, he reſolved to go along with
him, and to trail a pike in the Prince of Orange's
army; but a happy ſtop was put to this reſolution,
which might have proved fo fatal to himfelf, and
þave deprived the age of the great example he gave,
and the uſeful ſervices he afterwards did his country,
He was engaged in a fuit of law with Sir William
Whitmore, who laid claim to ſome part of his eftate,
and his guardian being a man of a retired temper, and
not made for buſineſs, he was forced to leave the uni.
verſity, after he had been three years in it, and go to Lon.
don to folicit his own buſineſs. Being recommended to
Serjeant Glanvill for his counfellor, and he obſerving in
him a clear apprehenſion of things, and a ſolid judg.
ment, and a great fitneſs for the ſtudy of the law, took
pains upon him to perſuade him to forfake his thoughts
of being a foldier, and to apply himſelf to the ſtudy of
the law; and this had ſo good an effect on him, that
on the 8th of November, 1629, when he was paſt the
20th year of his age, he was admitted into Lincoln's-
Inn; and being then deeply ſenſible how much time
he had loſt, and that idle and vain things had over-run
and almoſt corrupted his mind, he reſolved to redeem
the time he had loſt, and followed his studies with a
diligence that could ſcarce be believed, if the ſignal
effects of it did not gain it credit. He ftudied for many
years at the rate of 16 hours a day: he threw aſide all
fine clothes, and betook himſelf to a plain faſhion,
which he continued to uſe in many points to his dying day,
Rut
I
Sir Matthew Hole.
But ſince the honour of reclaiming him from the
idleneſs of his former courſe of life, is due to the me-
mory of that eminent lawyer Serjeant Glanvill, and
ſince my deſign in writing is to propoſe a pattern of
heroic virtue to the world, I ſhall mention one paſſage
of the Serjeant which ought never to be forgotten.
His father had a fair eſtate, which he intended to ſettle
on his elder brother, but he being a vicious young man,
and there appearing no hopes of his recovery, he
ſettled
it on him that was his ſecond fon. Upon his death,
his eldeſt ſon finding that what he had before looked
on, as the threatnings of an angry father, was now but
too certain, became melancholy, and that by degrees
wrought ſo great a change on him, that what his father
could not prevail in while he lived, was now effected
by the ſeverity of his laſt will, ſo that it was now too
late for him to change in hopes of any eſtate that was
gone from him. But his brother obſerving the reality
of the change, reſolved within himſelf what to do : So
he called him, with many of his friends together to a
feaſt, and after other diſhes had been ſerved up to the
dinner, he ordered one that was covered to be ſet be-
fore his brother, and deſired him to uncover it; which
he doing, the company was ſurpriſed to find it full of
writings. So he told them that he was now to do,
what he was ſure his father would have done, if he
had lived to ſee that happy change, which they now
all faw in his brother: and therefore he freely re-
ſtored to him the whole eſtate. This is ſo great an in-
ſtance of a generous and juſt diſpoſition, that I hope
the reader will eaſily pardon this digreſſion, and that
the rather, ſince that worthy Serjeant was ſo inſtrumen-
tal in the happy chance that followed in the courſe of
Mr. Hale's life.
Yet he did not at firſt break off from keeping too
much company with ſome vain people, till a fad acci-
dent drove him from it; for he with fome other young
ſtudents, being invited to be merry out of town, one
of the company called for ſo much wine, that not-
withſtanding all that Mr. Hale could do to prevent it,
he
12
I
The Life and Death of
he went on in his excefs till he fell down as dead before
them, ſo that all that were preſent were not a little
affrighted at it, who did what they could to bring him
to himſelf again. This did particularly affect Mr.
Hale, who thereupon went into another room, and
fhutting the door, fell on his knees, and prayed ear-
neſtly to God, both for his friend, that he might be
reſtored to life again ; and that himfelf might be for-
given for giving ſuch countenance to ſo much exceſs:
and he vowed to God, that he would never again keep
companyin that manner,nardrink a health while he lived.
His friend recovered, and he moſt religiouſly obſerved
his vow, till his dying day. And though he was after-
wards preſſed to drink healths, particularly the King's,
which was ſet up by too many as a diſtinguiſhing mark
of loyalty, and drew many into great exceſs after his
Majeſty's happy Reſtoration; but he would never diſ-
penſe with his vow, though he was ſometimes roughly
treated for this, which ſome hot and indiſcreet men
called obſtinacy.
This wrought an entire change on him. Now he
forſook all vain company, and divided himſelf between
the duties of religion, and the ftudies of his profeſſion;
in the former he was ſo reguldr; that for ſix and thirty
years time, he never once failed going to church on the
Lord's day; this obſervation he made when an ague
firſt interrupted that conſtant courſe, and he reffected
on it, as an acknowledgment of God's great goodneſs
to him, in fo long a continuance of his health
He took a ſtrict account of his time, of which the
Teader will beſt judge, by the ſcheme he drew for a
diary, which I ſhall infert, copied from the original, but
I am not certain when he made it; it is fet down in
the ſame fimplicity in which he writ it for his own pri-
vate uſe.
MORNING.
1. To lift up the heart to God in thankfulneſs for re-
newing my life.
H. To renew my covenant with God in Chrift, H. By
renewed Acts of Faith, receiving Chriſt, and rejoic-
ing
Sir Matthew Hale.
13
1
ing in the height of that relation. 2. Reſolution
of being one of his people doing him allegiance.
III. Adoration and Prayer.
IV. Setting a watch over my own Infirmities and Paſ-
fions, over theSnares laid in our way. Perimus licitis".
DAY EMPLOYMENT.
4
There muſt be an employment, two kinds.
1. Our ordinary calling, to ſerve God in it. It is a
ſervice to Chriſt though never ſo mean. Colof. iii.
Here Faithfulneſs, Diligence, Cheerfulneſs. Not to
over-lay myſelf with more buſineſs than I can bear.
II. Our Spiritual. employments, mingle fomewhat of
God's immediate ſervice in this day.
REFRESHMENTS.
1. Meat and drink, moderation ſeaſoned with ſome
what of God.
II. Recreations. 1. Not our buſineſs. 2. Suitable.
No games, if given to covetouſneſs or paſſion.
11
IF ALONE.
I. Beware of wandering, vain, luftful thoughts, fly from
thyſelf rather than entertain theſe.
11. Let thy folitary thoughts be profitable, view the
evidences of thy Salvation, the ſtate of thy Soul, the
coming of Chriſt, thy own Mortality, it will make
thee humble and watchful.
COMPANY.
Do good to them. Uſe God's name reverently. Be-
ware of leaving an ill impreſſion of ill example.
Receive good from them if more knowing.
EVENING,
Caſt up the accounts of the day. If ought amiſs, beg
pardon. Gather reſolution of more vigilance. If
well, bleſs the Mercy and Grace of God that hath
ſupported thee.
We are ruined by indulgence.
Theſe
1
14
The Life and Death of
Theſe Notes have an imperfection in the wording of
them, which ſhews they were only intended for his
privacies. No wonder a man who ſet ſuch rules to
himſelf, became quickly very eminent and remark-
able:
Noy, the attorney-general, being then one of the
greateſt men of the profeſſion, took early notice of
him, and called often for him, and directed him in his
ſtudy, and grew to have ſuch friendſhip for him, that
he came to be called young Noy. He paſſing from the
extreme of vanity in his apparel, to: that of neglecting
himſelf too much, was once taken when there was a
preſs for the King's ſervice, as a fit perſon for it; for
he was a ſtrong and well-built man: but ſome that knew
him coming by, and giving notice who he was, the
preſs-men let him go. This made him return to more
decency in his clothes, but never to any fuperfluity oř
vanity in them.
Once as he was buying ſome cloth for a new ſuit,
the draper, with whom he differed about the price,
told him he ſhould have its for nothing, if he would
promiſe him an hundred pound when he came to be
lord chief juſtice of England ;, to which he anſwered,
that he could not with a good conſcience wear any
man's cloth, unleſs he payed for it ; ſo he ſatisfied the
draper and carried away the cloth. Yet the ſame dra-
per lived to ſee him advanced to that ſame dignity.
While he was thus improving himſelf in the ſtudy
of the law, he not only kept the hours of the hall
conſtantly in term time, but ſeldom put himſelf out of
commons in vacation time, and continued then to fol-
low his ſtudies with an unwearied diligence; and not
being ſatisfied with the books writ about it, or to take
things upon truſt, was very diligent in ſearching all re-
cords: then did he make divers collections out of the
books he had read, and mixing them with his own ob-
fervations, digeſted them into a common-place book ģ
· which he did with ſo much induſtry and judgment,
that an eminent judge of the king's-bench, borrowed
it
Sir Matthew Hale.
it of him when he was lord chief baron: he unwil
lingly lent it, becauſe it had been writ by him before
he was called to the bar, and had never been thoroughly
reviſed by him ſince that time, only what alterations
had been made in the law by ſubſequent ſtatutes, and
judgments, were added by him as they had happened:
but the judge having peruſed it,, ſaid, that though it
was compoſed by him ſo early, he did not think any
lawyer in England could do it better, except he himſef
would again ſet about it.
He was ſoon found out by that great and leamed
antiquary Mr. Selden, who though much fuperior
to him in years, yet came to have fuch a liking of him,
and of Mr. Vaughan, who was afterwards lord chief
juſtice of the common-pleas, that as he continued in
cloſe friendſhip with them while ke lived, ſo he left
them at his death, two of his four executors.
It was this acquaintance that firſt fet Mr. Hale on
a more enlarged purſuit of learning, which he had
before confined to his own profeſſion; but becoming
as great a maſter in it, as ever any was, very ſoon,
he who could never let any of his time go away un-
profitably, found leiſure to attain to as great a variety
of knowledge, in as comprehenſive a manner as moſt
men have done in any age.
He fet himſelf much to the ſtudy of the Roman
law, and though he liked the way of judicature in
England by juries, much better than that of the civil
law, where ſo much was truſted to the judge; yet he
often ſaid, that the true grounds and reaſons of law
were ſo well delivered in the digeſts, that a man could
never underſtand law as a ſcience ſo well as by ſeeking
it there, and therefore lamented much that it was ſo
little ſtudied in England.
He looked on readineſs in arithmetic, as a thing
which might be uſeful to him in his own employment,
and acquired it to ſuch a degree, that he would often
on the ſudden, and afterwards on the bench, reſolve
very
16
The Life and Death of
. very hard queſtions, which had puzzled the beſt act
comptants about town. He reſted not here, but ſtu-
died the algebra both ſpecioſa and numeroſa, and went
through all the other mathematical ſciences, and made
a great collection of very excellent inſtruments, ſpar-
ing no coſt to have them as exact as art could make
them. He was alſo very converſant in philoſophical
learning, and in all the curious experiments and rare
diſcoveries of this age: and had the new books written
on thoſe ſubjects ſent from all parts, which he both
read and examined ſo critically, that if the principles
and hypotheſes which he took firſt up, did any way
prepoſſeſs him, yet thoſe who have differed moſt from
him, have acknowledged, that in what he has writ
concerning the Torricellian Experiment, and of the
Rarefaction and Condenſation of the Air, he ſhews as
great an exactneſs, and as much fubtilty in the reaſon-
ing he bụilds on them, as theſe principles to which he
adhered could bear. But indeed it will ſeem ſcarce
credible, that a man ſo much employed, and of fo fe-
vere a temper of mind, could find leiſure to read, ob-
ferve and write ſo much of theſe ſubjects as he did.
He called them his diverſions, for he often ſaid, when
he was weary with the ſtudy of the law, or divinity,
he uſed to recreate himſelf with philofophy or the ma-
thematics; to this he added great ſkill in phyſic,
anatomy and chirurgery: and he uſed to ſay, "No
man could be abſolutely a maſter in any profeſſion,
without having ſome ſkill in other ſciences;' for be-
fides the ſatisfačtion he had in the knowledge of theſe
things, he inade uſe of them often in his employments.
In fome examinations he would put ſuch queſtions to
phyſicians or chirurgeons, that they have profeſſed,
the college of phyficians could not do it more ex-
actly ; by which he diſcovered great judgment, as
well as much knowlege in theſe things: and in his
fickneſs he uſed to argue with his doctors about his
diſtempers, and the methods they took with them, like
!
one
i
Sir Matthew Hale.
17
V
one of their own profeffion; which one of them told
me he underſtood, as far as ſpeculation without prac-
tice could carry him,
To this he added great ſearches into ancient hiſtory,
and particularly into the rougheſt and leaſt delightful
part of it, Chronology. He was well acquainted with
the ancient Greek philoſophers; but want of occa-
fion to uſe it, wore out his knowledge of the Greek
tongue; and though he never ſtudied the Hebrew
tongue, yet by his great converſation with Selden, he
underſtood the moſt curious things in the Rabbinical
learning.
But above all theſe he ſeemed to have made the
ſtudy of Divinity the chief of all others; to which he
not only directed every thing elſe, but alſo arrived at
that pitch in it, that thoſe who have read what he has
written on theſe ſubjects, will think they muſt have
had moſt of his time and thoughts. It may ſeem ex-
travagant, and almoſt incredible, that one man, in ro
great compaſs of years, ſhould have acquired ſuch a
variety of knowledge, and that in ſciences that re-
quire much leiſure and application. But as his parts
were quick, and his apprehenſions lively, his memory,
great, and his judgments ſtrong; ſo his induſtry was
almoſt indefatigable. He rofe always betimes in the
morning ; was never idle; fcarce ever held any dil-
courſe about news, except with fome few in whom he
confided entirely. He entered into no correſpondence
by letters, except about neceſſary buſineſs, or matters
of learning, and ſpent very little time in eating or
drinking ; for as he never went to public feaſts, fo he
gave no entertainments but to the poor ; for he fol-
lowed our Saviour's directions of feaſting none but
theſe) literally. And in eating and drinking, he oba
ſerved not only great plainneſs and moderation, but
lived fo philoſophically, that he always ended his meal
with an appetite; fo that he loft little time at it (that
being the only portion which he grudged himſelf), and
was diſpoſed to any exerciſe of mind, to which he
thought
VOL. I,
с
18
The Life and Death of
)
/
1
thought fit to apply himſelf, immediately after he had
dined. By theſe means he gained much time, that is
otherwiſe unprofitably waſted.
He had alſo an admirable equality in the temper of
his mind, which diſpoſed him for whatever ſtudies he
thought fit to turn himſelf to ; and ſome very uneaſy
things which he lay under for many years, did rather
engage him to, than diſtract him from his ſtudies.
When he was called to the Bar, and began to make
a figure in the world, the late unhappy wars broke out,
in which it was no eaſy thing for a man to preſerve his
integrity, and to live ſecurely free from great danger
and trouble. He had read the life of Pomponius At-
ticus, writ by Nepos; and having, obſerved, that he
had paſſed through a time of as much diſtraction, as
ever was in any age or ſtate, from the wars of Marius
and Sylla, to the beginning of Auguſtus's reign, with-
out the leaſt blemiſh on his reputation, and free from
any conſiderable danger, being held in great eſteem
by all parties, and courted and favoured by them, he
ſet him as a pattern to himſelf; and obſerving, that be-
fides thoſe virtues which are neceſſary to all men, and
at all times, there were two things that chiefly preſerved
Atticus ; the one was, his engaging in no faction, and
meddling in no public buſineſs ; the other was, the conſtant
favouring and receiving thoſe that were loweſt, which
was aſcribed by ſuch as prevailed to the generoſity of
his temper, and procured him much kindneſs from
thoſe on whom he had exerciſed his bounty, when it.
caine to their turn to govern ; he reſolved to guide
himſelf by thoſe rules as much as was poſſible for him
to do.
He not only avoided all public employment, but
the very talking of news, and was always both favour-
able and charitable to thoſe who were depreſt, and
was ſure never to provoke any in particular, by cenſur-
ing or reflecting on their actions ; for many that have
converſed much with him, have told me they never
heard him once ſpeak ill of any perſon.
He
Sir Matthew Hale.
19
banned
He was employed in his practice by all the king's
party; he was aſſigned counſel to the earl of Straf-
ford, and archbiſhop Laud, and afterwards to the bleff-
ed King himſelf, when brought to the infamous pa-
geantry of a mock-trial, and, offered to plead for him
with all the courage that ſo glorious a cauſe ought to
have inſpired him with ; but was not ſuffered to ap-
pear, becauſe the king refuſing, as he had good reaſon,
to ſubmit to the court, it was pretended none could be
admitted to ſpeak for him. He was alſo counſel for
the duke of Hamilton, the earl of Holland, and the
lord Capel. His plea for the former of theſe, I have
publiſhed in the memoirs of that duke's life. After-
wards alſo being counſel for the lord Craven, he plead-
ed with that force of argument, that the then attorney-
general, threatened him for appearing againſt the go-
vernment; to whom he anſwered, He was pleading
“ in defence of thoſe laws, which they declared they
would maintain and preſerve, and he was doing his
duty to his client, ſo that he was not to be daunted
with threatnings.'
Upon all theſe occaſions he had diſcharged himſelf
with ſo much learning, fidelity, and courage, that he
came to be generally employed for all that party ; nor
was he ſatisfied to appear for their juſt defence in the
way of his profeſſion, but he alſo relieved them often
in their neceſſities; which he did in a way that was
no leſs prudent than charitable, conſidering the dan-
gers of that time : for he did often depoſit conſider-
able ſums in the hands of a worthy gentleman of the
king's party, who knew their neceſſities well, and was
to diſtribute his charity according to his own diſcre
tion, without either letting them know from whence
it came, or giving himſelf any account to whom he
had given it,
Cromwell ſeeing him poffeſt of ſo much practice,
and he being one of the eminenteſt men of the law,
who was not at all afraid of doing his duty in thoſe
critical
6
6
C 2
20
The Life and Death of
1
1
critical times, reſolved to take him off from it, and
raiſe him to the bench.
Mr. Hale ſaw well enough the fnare laid for him ;
and though he did not much conſider the prejudice it
would be to himſelf, to exchange the eaſy and ſafer
profits he had by his practice, for a judge's place in
the Common-pleas, which he was required to accept
of, yet he did deliberate more on the lawfulneſs of
taking a commiſſion from uſurpers; but having con-
fidered well of this, he came to be of opinion, - That
• it being abſolutely neceſſary, to have juſtice and pro-
perty kept up at all times, it was no fin to take a
commiſſion from uſurpers, if he made no declaration
of his acknowledging their authority,' which he ne-
ver did: he was much urged to accept of it by ſome
eminent men of his own profeſſion, who were of the
king's party; as Sir Orlando Bridgeman, and Sir
Geoffry Palmer; and was alſo fatisfied concerning
the lawfulneſs of it, by the reſolution of famous di-
vines, in particular Dr. Sheldon, and Dr. Henchman,
who were afterwards promoted to the fees of Canter-
bury and London.
To theſe were added the importunities of all his
friends, who thought that in a time of ſo much dan-
ger and oppreſſion, it might be no ſmall ſecurity to the
nation, to have a man of his integrity and abilities on
the bench: and the uſurpers themſelves held him in
that eſtimation, that they were glad to have him give
a countenance to their courts, and by promoting one
that was known to have different principles from them,
affected the reputation of honouring and truſting men
of eminent virtues, of what perſuaſion ſoever they
might be, in relation to public matters.
But he had greater ſcruples concerning the proceed-
ing againſt felons, and putting offenders to death by
that commiſſion, ſince he thought the ſword of juſtice
belonging only by right to the lawful prince, it ſeemed
not warrantable to proceed to a capital ſentence by an
authority derived from ufurpers ; yet at firſt he made a
diſtinction
I
Sir Matthew Hale.
21
1
the year 1653, when he went the circuit, a trial was
diſtinction between common and ordinary felonies, and
offences againſt the ſtate; for the laſt he would never
meddle in them; for he thought theſe might be often
legal and warrantable actions, and that the putting
men to death on that account was murder ; but, for
the ordinary felonies, he at firſt was of opinion, that
it was as neceſſary, even in times of ufurpation, to exe-
cute juſtice in thoſe caſes, as in matters of property:
but, after the king was murdered, he laid by all his
collections of the pleas to the crown; and that they
might not fall into ill hands, he hid them behind the
wainſcotting of his ſtudy, for he ſaid, “There was no
. more occaſion to uſe them, till the king ſhould again
o be reſtored to his right;' and ſo, upon his majeſty's
reſtoration, he took them out, and went on in his de-
ſign to perfect that great work.
Yet for fome time after he was made a judge, when
he went the circuit, he did fit on the crown-ſide, and
judged criminals: but, having conſidered farther of
it, he came to think that it was at leaſt better not to
do it; and ſo, after the ſecond or third circuit, he re-
fuſed to fit any more on the crown-ſide, and told plainly
the reaſon ; for, in matters of blood, he was always to
chooſe the ſafer ſide: and, indeed, he had ſo carried
himſelf in ſome trials, that they were not unwilling he
fhould withdraw from meddling farther in them ; of
which I ſhall give ſome inſtances.
Not long after he was made a judge, which was in
brought before him at Lincoln, concerning the murder
of one of the townſmen, who had been of the king's
party, and was killed by a ſoldier of the garrilon
there. He was in the fields with a fowling-piece on
his ſhoulder, which the ſoldier ſeeing, he came to him,
and ſaid, it was contrary to an order which the Protec-
tor had made, That none who had been of the king's
party ſhould carry arms;' and ſo he would have
forced it from hini: but as the other did not re-
gard the order, ſo being ſtronger than the foldier, he
C 3
threw
6
22
The Life and Death of
6
threw him down, and having beat him, he left him.
The foldier went into the town, and told one of his
fellow-foldiers how he had been uſed, and got him to
go with him, and lie in wait for the man, that he
might be revenged on him. They both watched his
coming to town, and one of them went to him to de-
mand his gun; which he refuſing, the ſoldier ſtruck
at him; and, as they were ſtruggling, the other came
behind, and ran his ſword into his body, of which he
preſently died. It was in the time of the aſſizes, fo
they were both tried : againſt the one there was no
evidence of forethought felony, ſo he was only found
guilty of manſlaughter, and burnt on the hand; but
the other was found guilty of murder. And though
Colonel Whaley, that commanded the garriſon, came
into the court, and urged, “ That the man was killed
only for diſobeying the Protector's order, and that the
foldier was but doing his duty;' yet the judge re-
garded both his reaſons and threatnings very little;
and therefore he not only gave fentence againſt him,
but ordered the execution to be ſo ſuddenly done,
that it might not be poſſible to procure a reprieve;
which he believed would have been obtained, if there
had been time enough granted for it.
Another occaſion was given him, of ſhewing both
his juſtice and courage, when he was in another cir-
cuit; he underſtood that the Protector had ordered a
jury to be returned for a trial, in which he was more
than ordinarily concerned. Upon this information, he
examined the ſheriff about it, who knew nothing of
it, for he ſaid he referred all ſuch things to the under-
ſheriff; and, having next aſked the underaſheriff con-
cerning it, he found the jury had been returned by
order from Cromwell; upon which he ſhewed the ſta-
tute, that all juries ought to be returned by the ſhe-
riff, or his lawful officer; and this not being done ac-
cording to law, he diſmiſſed the jury, and would not
try the cauſe : upon which the Protector was highly
diſpleaſed with him, and at his return from the circuit,
he
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
23
he told him in anger, He was not fit to be a judge; to
which all the anſwer he made was, That it was very
true.
Another thing met him in the circuit, upon which
he reſolved to have proceeded ſeverely : fome anabap-
tiſts had ruſhed into a church, and had diſturbed a
congregation while they were receiving the facrament,
not without ſome violence. At this he was highly
offended, for he ſaid, it was intolerable for men, who
pretended ſo highly for liberty of conſcience, to
go and diſturb others, eſpecially thoſe who had the
encouragement of the law on their ſide.' But theſe
were ſo ſupported by ſome great' magiſtrates and offi-
cers, that a ſtop was put to his proceedings; upoi
which he declared he would meddle no more with
• the trials on the crown-fide.'
When Penruddock's trial was brought on, there was
ſpecial meſſenger ſent to him, requiring him to affiſt
at it. It was in vacation-time, and he was at his coun-
try - houſe at Alderly. He plainly refuſed to go,
and ſaid, “The four terms, and two circuits, were
enough; and the little interval that was between, was
" little enough for their private affairs ;' and ſo he ex-
cuſed himſelf. He thought it was not neceſſary to
ſpeak more clearly; but if he had been urged to it,
he would not have been afraid of doing it.
He was at that time choſen a parliament-man (for
there being then no Houſe of Lords, judges might have
been choſen to ſit in the houſe of commons), and he
went to it on deſign to obſtruct the inad and wicked
projects then on foot, by two parties that had very dif-
ferent principles and ends.
On the one hand, fome that were, perhaps, more
fincere, yet were really brain-ſick, deſigned they knew
not what, being reſolved to pull down a ſtending minif
try of the law and property of England, and all the
ancient rules of this government, and ſet up in its room
an indigeſted enthuſiaſtical ſcheme, which they called
the Kingdom of Chriſt, or of his faints ; many of thera
being
Ç. 4
24
The Life and Death of
being really in expectation, that one day or another
Chriſt would come down and fit among them, and at
leaſt they thought to begin the glorious thouſand years
mentioned in the Revelation.
Others at the ſame time, taking advantages from the
fears and apprehenſions that all the ſober men of the
nation were in, left they ſhould fall under the tyranny
of a diſtracted fort of people, who, to all their other ill
principles, added great cruelty, which they had copied
from thoſe at Munſter in the former
age,
intended to
improve that opportunity to raiſe their own fortunes
and families. Amidſt theſe, Judge Hale ſteered a mid-
dle courſe ; for, as he would engage for neither ſide,
ſo he, with a great many more worthy men, came to
parliaments more out of a deſign to binder miſchief,
than to do much good; wiſely foreſeeing that 'the in-
clinations for the royal family were daily growing ſo
much, that in time the diſorders then in agitation,
would ferment to that happy reſolution, in which they
determined in May 1660. And therefore all that
could be then done, was to oppoſe the ill deſigns of
both parties, the enthuſiaſts as well as the uſurpers.
Among the other extravagant motions made in this
parliament, one was to deſtroy all the records in the
Tower, and to ſettle the nation on a new foundation; ſo
he took his province to himſelf to ſhew the madneſs
of this propoſition, the injuſtice of it, and the miſchiefs
that would follow on it, and did it with ſuch clear-
neſs and ſtrength of reaſon, as not only ſatisfied all
ſober perſons (for it may be ſuppoſed that was ſoon
done), but ſtopped even the mouths of the frantic
peod
ple themſelves.
Thus he continued adminiſtring juſtice till the Protec-
tor died; but then he both refuſed the mournings that
were ſent to him and his ſervants for the funeral, and
likewiſe to accept of the new commiſſion that was of-
fered him by Richard; and, when the reſt of the judges
urged it upon him, and employed others to preſs hiin
to accept of it, he rejected all their importunities,
and
Sir Matthew Hale. .
25
thority.'
and ſaid, "He could act no longer under ſuch au-
He lived a private man till the parliament met that
called home the king, to which he was returned knight
of the ſhire from the county of Glouceſter. It appeared
at that time how much he was beloved and eſteemed
in his neighbourhood; for though another, who ſtood
in competition with him, had ſpent near a thouſand
pounds to procure voices, a great fum to be employed
that
way in thoſe days, and he had been at no coſt,
and was ſo far from ſoliciting it, that he had ſtood out
long againſt thoſe who prefled him to appear; and he
did not promiſe to appear till three days before the
election, yet he was preferred. He was brought thi-
ther almoſt by violence, by the lord (now earl of)
Berkeley, who bore all the charge of the entertain-
ments on the day of his election, which was con-
ſiderable, and had engaged all his friends and intereſt
for him. And whereas by the writ, the knight of a
ſhire muſt be Miles gladio cinetus!, and he had no
ſword, that noble lord girt him with his own ſword
during the election; but he was foon weary of it, for
the embroidery of the belt did not ſuit well with the
plainneſs of his clothes : and, indeed, the election did
not hold long; for, as ſoon as ever he came into the
field, he was choſen by much the greater number,
though the poll continued for three or four days.
In that parliament he bore his ihare in the happy
period then put to the confuſions that threatened the
utter ruin of the nation, which, contrary to the ex-
pectations of the moſt fanguine, fettled 'in ſo ſerene
and quiet a manner, that thoſe who had formerly
built ſo much on their ſucceſs, calling it an anſwer
from heaven to their folemn appeals to the providence
of God, were now not a little confounded to ſee all
this turned againſt themſelves, in an inſtance much
more extraordinary than any of thoſe were upon
which they had built fo much. His great prudence
' a soldier girt with a sword.
and
26
The Life and Death of
and excellent temper led him to think, that the ſooner
an act of indemnity were paffed, and the fuller it were
of graces and favours, it would ſooner ſettle the na-
tion, and quiet the minds of the people; and there-
fore he applied himſelf with a particular care to the
framing and carrying it on; in which it was viſible he
had no concern of his own, but merely his love of the
public that ſet him on to it.
: . Soon after this, when the courts in Weſtminſter-ball
came to be fettled, he was made Lord Chief Baron; and
when the earl of Clarendon (then lord chancellor) de-
livered him his commiſſion, in the ſpeech he made,
according to the cuſtom on ſuch occaſions, he ex-
preſſed his eſteem of him in a very ſingular manner,
telling him, among other things, " That if the king
could have found out an honefter and fitter man for
e that employment, he would not have advanced him
to it; and that he had therefore preferred him, be-
cauſe he knew none that deſerved it ſo well.' . It is
ordinary for perſons fo promoted to be knighted; but
he deſired to avoid having that honour done him, and
therefore, for a conſiderable time, declined all oppor-
tunities of waiting on the king; which the lord chan-
cellor obſerving ſent for him upon buſineſs one day
when the king was at his houſe, and told his majeſty
there was his modeſt chief baron ; upon which he was
unexpectedly knighted.
He continued eleven years in that place, managing
the court, and all proceedings in it, with ſingular
juſtice. It was obſerved by the whole nation, how.
rauch he raiſed the reputation and practice of it; and
thafe who held places and offices in it, can all declare,
not only the impartiality of his juſtice, for that is but
a common virtue, but his generoſity, his vaſt diligence,
and his great exactneſs in trials. This gave occaſion
to the only complaint that ever was made of him,
* That he did not diſpatch matters quick enough:
but the great care he uſed to put ſuits. to a final end,
6
as
1
27
Sir Matthew Hale.
as it made him flower in deciding them, ſo it had
this good effect, that cauſes tried before him, were
feldom, if ever, tried again.
Nor did his adminiſtration of juſtice lie only in that
court: he was one of the principal judges that fate in
Clifford's-inn, about ſettling the difference between
landlord and tenant, after the dreadful fire of London ;
he being the firſt that offered his ſervice to the city
for accommodating all the differences that might have
riſen about the rebuilding of it, in which he behaved
himſelf to the fatisfaction of all perſons concerned;
ſo that the ſudden and quiet building of the city, which
is juſtly to be reckoned one of the wonders of the agen
is in no ſmall meaſure due to the great care which he
and Sir Orlando Bridgeman (then lord chief juſtice of
the common-pleas, afterwards lord-keeper of the great
ſealof England) uſed, and to the judgment they ſhewed
in that affair; ſince, without the rules then laid down,
there might have otherwiſe followed ſuch an endleſs
train of vexatious ſuits, as might have been little leſs
chargeable than the fire itſelf had been. But, with-
out detracting from the labours of the other judges,
it muſt be acknowledged that he was the moſt inftru-
mental in that great work; for he firſt, by way of
ſcheme, contrived the rules upon which he and the
reſt proceeded afterwards ; in which his readineſs at
arithmetic, and his fkill in architecture, were of great
uſe to him.
But it will not ſeem ſtrange that a judge behaved
himſelf as he did, who, at the entry into his employ-
ment, fet ſuch excellent rules to himſelf, which will
appear in the following paper, copied from the origi-
nal under his own hand.
THINGS
28
The Life and Death of
THINGS NECESSARY TO BE CONTINUALLY HAD
IN REMEMBRANCE.
!
1. That, in the Adminiſtration of Juſtice, I am en-
truſted for God, the King, and Country; and
therefore,
II. That it be done; 1. Uprightly; 2. Deliberately;
3. Refolutely
III. That I reft not upon my own Underſtanding or
Strength, but implore and reſt upon the Direc-
tion and Strength of God.
IV. That, in the Execution of Juſtice, I carefully lay
afide my own Paffions, and not give way to them,
however provoked.
V. That I be wholly intent upon the Buſineſs that I
am about, remitting all other Cares and Thoughts,
as unſeaſonable, and Interruptions.
VI. That I ſuffer not myſelf to be prepofſeffed with any
Judgment at all, till the whole Buſineſs and both
parties be heard.
VII. That I never engage myſelf in the beginning of
any Cauſe, but reſerve myſelf unprejudiced till the
whole be heard.
VIII. That in Buſineſs Capital, though my Nature prompt
me to Pity, yet to conſider that there is alſo a Pity
due to the Country.
IX. That I be not too rigid in Matters purely Confci-
entious, where all the harm is Diverfity of Judg-
ment.
X. That I be not biaffed with Compaſſion to the Poor,
or Favour to the Rich, in point of Juſtice.
XI. That Popular, or Court Applauſe, or Diftaſte, have
no influence into any thing I do in point of Dif-
tribution of Juſtice.
XII. Not to be ſolicitous what men will ſay or think, fo
long as I keep myſelf exactly according to the
Rules of Juſtice.
XIII. If in Criminals it-be a meaſuring caſt, to incline
to Mercy and Acquittal,
XIV. In
I
29
Sir Matthew Hale.
XIV. In Criminals that conſiſt merely in Words, when
no more harm enſues, Moderation is no Injuf-
tice,
XV. In Criminals of Blood, if the fact be evident, Se-
verity is Juſtice.
XVI. To abhor all private Solicitations, of what kind fo-
ever, and by whomſoever, in Matters Depend-
ing.
XVII. To Charge my Servants: 1. Not to interpoſe in
any Buſineſs whatſoever. 2. Not to take more
than their known Fees. 3. Not to give any un-
due Precedence to Cauſes. 4. Not to recommend
Counſel.
XVIII. To be ſhort and ſparing at Meals, that I may be
the fitter for Buſineſs.
He would never receive private addreſſes or recom-
mendations from the greateſt perſons in any matter,
in which juſtice was concerned. One of the firſt
peers of England went once to his chamber, and told
him, that having a ſuit in law to be tried before
him, he was then to acquaint him with it, that he
might the better underſtand it, when it ſhould come
* to be heard in court.' Upon which the lord chief
baron interrupted him, and ſaid, "He did not deal
fairly to come to his chamber about ſuch affairs, for
"he never received any information of cauſes but in
open court, where both parties were to be heard
alike;' ſo he would not ſuffer him to go on.
Whereupon his grace (for he was a duke) went
away not a little diffatisfied, and complained of it to
the king, as a rudeneſs that was not to be endured.
But his majeſty bid him 'content himſelf that he was no
worſe uſed, and ſaid, 'he verily believed he would
- have uſed himſelf no better, if he had gone to folicit
• him in any of his own cauſes.'
Another paſſage fell out in one of his circuits,
which was fomewhat cenfured as an affectation of an
unreaſonable ſtrictneſs ; but it filowed from his exact-
nefs
}
SO
The Life and Death of
neſs to the rules he had ſet himſelf. A gentleman
had ſent him a buck for his table, that had a trial
at the aſſizes ; ſo when he heard his name, he aſked
if he was not the fante perſon that had ſent him
veniſon ?' and finding he was the fame, he told
him, he could not ſuffer the trial to go on, till
- he had paid him for his buck.' To which the gentle-
man anſwered, that he never fold his veniſon, and
that he had done nothing to him, which he did
not do to every judge that had gone that circuit,'
which was confirmed by ſeveral gentlemen then preſent:
but all would not do, for the lord chief baron had
learned from Solomon, that a gift pcrverteth the ways of
judgment; and therefore he would not fụffer the
trial to go on, till he had paid for the preſent; upon
which the gentleman withdrew the record. And at
Saliſbury the Dean and Chapter having, according to
the cuſtom, preſented him with fix ſugar loaves in
his circuit, he made his ſervants pay for the ſugar
before he would try their cauſe.
It was not ſo eaſy for him to throw off the impor-
tunities of the poor, for whom his compaſſion wrought
more powerfully than his regard to wealth and
great-
neſs; yet when juſtice was concerned, even that
did not turn him out of the way.
out of the way. There was one
that had been put out of a place, for ſome ill behaviour,
who urged the lord chief baron to ſet his hand to a
certificate to reſtore him to it, or provide him with
another; but he told him plainly, his fault was ſuch
that he could not do it; the other preſſed him vehe-
mently, and fell down on his knees, and begged it
of him with many tears; but finding that could not
prevail, he ſaid, he ſhould be utterly ruined if he
did it not; and he ſhould curſe him for it every day:
But that having no effect, then he fell out into all
the reproachful words that paſſion and deſpair could
inſpire him with ; to which all the anſwer the lord
chief baron made was, “ that he could very well
6 bear
Sir Matthew Hale.
* bear all his reproaches; but he could not for all that
6 let his hand to his certificate.' He ſaw he was poor,
ſo he gave him a large charity, and ſent him away.
But now he was to go on after his pattern, Pompc-
nius Atticus, ſtill to favour and relieve them that were
loweſt. So beſides great charities to the Nonconformiſting
who were then, as he thought, too hardly uſed, he
took
great care to cover them all he could, from the
ſeverities fome deſigned againſt them, and diſcouraged
thoſe who were inclined to ſtretch the laws too much
againſt them: He lamented the differences that were
raiſed in this church very much, and, according to the
impartiality of his juſtice, he blamed ſome things on
both ſides, which I ſhall fet down with the ſame
freedom that he fpake them. He thought many of the
Nonconformiſts had merited highly in the buſineſs of
the king's reſtoration, and at leaſt deſerved that the terms
of Conformity ſhould not have been made ſtricter
than they were before the war. There was not then
that dreadful proſpect of Popery that has appeared
ſince. But that which afflicted him moſt was, that
he ſaw the heats and contentions which followed
upon thoſe different parties and intereſts, did take
people off from the indiſpenſable things of religion,
and lackened the zeal of (other ways) good men for
the ſubſtance of it, ſo much being ſpent about ex-
ternal and indifferent things. It alſo gave advantages
to Atheiſts, to treat the moſt facred points of our
holy faith as ridiculous, when they ſaw the profeſſors
of it contend ſo fiercely, and with ſuch bitterneſs,
about lefſer matters. He was much offended at all
thoſe books that were written to expoſe the contrary
Jeet to the ſcorn and contempt of the age, in a wanton
and petulant ſtyle; he thought ſuch writers wounded
the Chriſtian religion through the ſides of thoſe who
differed from them: while a ſort of lewd people, who
having afſumed to themſelves the title of the Wits
(though but a very few of them have a right to it)
took
32
1
The Life and Death of
1
took up from both hands what they had ſaid, to make
one another ſhew ridiculous, and from thence per-
fuaded the world to laugh at both, and at all religion
for their fakes. And therefore he often wiſhed there
might be ſome law, to make all fcurrility or bitterneſs
in diſputes about religion puniſhable. But as he
kamented the proceedings too rigorouſly againſt the
Nonconformiſts, fo he declared himſelf always of the
fide of the Church of England, and ſaid, thoſe of the
feparation were good men, but they had narrow fouls,
who would break the peace of the church about ſuch
inconſiderable matters as the points in difference
were.
He ſcarce ever meddled in ſtate-intrigues ; yet upon
a propoſition that was ſet on foot by the lord keeper
Bridgeman, for a comprehenſion of the more · moderate
diffenters, and a limited indulgence towards ſuch as
could not be brought within the comprehenſion, he
diſpenſed with his maximn, of avoiding to engage in mat-
ters of State. There were ſeveral meetings upon that
occaſion. The divine of the Church' of England that
appeared moſt conſiderably for it, was Dr. Wilkins,
afterwards promoted to the biſhopric of Cheſter,
a man of as great a mind, as true a judgment, as
eminent virtues, and of as good a ſoul, as any I ever
knew. He being determined, as well by his excellent
temper, as by his foreſight and prudence, by which
he early perceived the great prejudices that religion
received, and the vaſt dangers the reformation was
like to fall under by thoſe diviſions ; fet about that
project with the magnanimity that was indeed peculiar
to himſelf; for though he was much cenſured by
many of his own fide, and ſeconded by very few, yet
he puſhed it as far he could. After ſeveral conferences
with two of the eminenteſt of the Preſbyterian divines,
heads were agreed on, ſome abatements were to be
made, and explanations were to be accepted of. The
particulars of that project being thus concerted, they
were
1
1
Sir Mattbere Hale.
33
were brought to the lord chief baron, who
put
them
in form of a bill, to be preſented to the next ſeſſion
of parliament.
But two parties appeared vigorouſly againſt this
deſign; the one was of ſome zealous clergymen; who
thought it below the dignity of the church to alter
laws, and change ſettlements, for the ſake of ſome
whom they eſteemed Schiſmatics. They alſo believed,
it was better to keep them out of the church, than
bring them into it, ſince a faction upon that would
ariſe in the church which they thought might be more
dangerous than the ſchiſm itſelf was.
Beſides they
ſaid, if ſome things were now to be changed in com-
pliance with the humour of a party, as ſoon as that
was done, another party might demand other conceſ-
ſions, and there might be as good reaſons invented
for theſe as for thoſe: many ſuch conceſſions might
alſo ſhake thoſe of our own communion, and tempt
them to forſake us, and go over to the church of
Rome, pretending that we changed fo often, that
they were thereby inclined to be of a church that
was conſtant and true to herſelf. Theſe were the
reaſons brought, and chiefly inſiſted on againſt all
comprehenſion, and they wrought upon the greater
part of the Houſe of Commons, ſo that they paſſed a
vote againſt the receiving of any bill for that effect.
There were others that oppoſed it upon very dif-
.
ferent ends: They deſigned to ſhelter the Papiſts from
the execution of the law, and faw clearly that nothing
could bring in Popery ſo well as a toleration. But
to tolerate Popery bare-faced, would have ſtartled
the nation too much; ſo it was neceſſary to hinder
all the propoſitions for Union, ſince the keeping up
the differences was the beſt colour they could find,
for getting the toleration to paſs, only as a ſlackening
the laws againſt Diffenters, whoſe nuinbers and
wealth made it adviſeable to have ſome regard to
them; and under this pretence Popery might have
crept in more covered, and leſs regarded : So theſe
VOL. I.
councils
1
D
94
1
The Life and Death of
1
councils being more acceptable to ſome concealed
Papiſts then in great power, as has ſince appeared but
too evidently, the whole project for Comprehenſion
was let fall, and thoſe who had ſet it on foot, came
to be looked on with an ill eye, as ſecret favourers
of the Diſſenters, underminers of the Church, and
every thing elſe that jealouſy and diſtaſte could caſt
on them.
But upon this occaſion, the lord chief baron,
and Dr. Wilkins, came to contract a firm and fami-
Tíar friendſhip; and the lord chief baron having
much buſineſs, and little time to ſpare, did to enjoy
the other the more, what he had ſcarce ever done be-
fore, he went ſometimes to dine with him. And
though he lived in great friendſhip with ſome other
eminent clergymen, as Dr. Ward, biſhop of Saliſbury;
Dr. Barlow, biſhop of Lincoln; Dr. Barrow, late
maſter of Trinity-College ; Dr Tillotſon, dean of
Canterbury; and Dr. Stillingfleet, dean of St. Paul's,
(men ſo well known, and ſo much eſteemed, that as
it was no wonder the lord chief baron valued their
converſation highly, ſo thoſe of them that are yet alive
will think it no leſſening of the character they are
ſo deſervedly in, that they are reckoned among Judge
Hale's friends) yet there was an intimacy and free-
dom in his converfe with Biſhop Wilkins, that was
ſingular to him alone: He had, during the late wars,
lived in a long and entire friendſhip with the apoſtoli-
cal primate of Ireland, Biſhop Ufher : their curious
ſearches into antiquity, and the ſympathy of both
their tempers, led them to a great agreement almoſt in
every thing. He held alſo great converſation with
Mr. Baxter, who was his neighbour at Acton, on
whom he looked as a perſon of great devotion and
piety, and of a very ſubtile and quick apprehenſion:
their converſation lay moſt in metaphyſical and ab-
ſtracted ideas and ſchemes.
He looked with great forrow on the impiety, and
atheiſm of the age, and ſo he ſet himſelf to oppoſe
1
it,
: Sir Matthew Hale.
35
it, not only by the ſhining example of his own life,
but by engaging in a cauſe, that indeed could hardly
fall into better hands; and as he could not find a
ſubject more worthy of himſelf, ſo there were few in
the age that underſtood it ſo well, and could manage
it more ſkilfully. The occaſion that firſt led him to
write about it, was this. He was a ſtrict obſerver of
the Lord's-day, in which, beſides his conſtancy in
the public worſhip of God, he uſed to call all his
family together, and repeat to them the heads of the
ſermons, with ſome additions of his own, which he
fitted for their capacities and circumſtances; and that
being done, he had a cuſtom of ſhutting himſelf up
for two or three hours, which he either ſpent in his
fecret devotions, or on ſuch profitable meditations as
did then occur to his thoughts : he writ them with
the ſame ſimplicity that he formed them in his mind,
without any art, or ſo much as a thought to let them
be publiſhed: he never corrected them, but laid them
by, when he had finiſhed them, having intended only
to fix and preſerve his own reflections in them; ſo
that he uſed no fort of care to poliſh them, or make
the firſt draught perfecter than when they fell from his
pen. Theſe fell into the hands of a worthy perſon,
and he judging, as well he might, that the communi-
cating them to the world, might be a public ſervice,
printed two volumes of them in octavo, a little before
the author's death, containing his
CONTEMPLATIONS :.
I. Of our latter End.
II. Of Wisdom and the Fear of God.
III. Of the Knowledge of Christ Crucified.
IV. The Victory of Faith over the World.
V. Of Humility.
VI. Jacob's Vow.
VII. Of Contentation.
VIII. Of AMictions,
IX. A good Method to entertain unstable and troublesome Times.
· These compose the second volume of the present work, excepting
the Letter to his Children, which is printed in the first volume.
D 2
X. Changes
96
1
>
The Life and Death of
V
X. Changes and Troubles : A Poem.
XI. Of the Redemption of Time.
XII. The great Audit.
XIII. Directions touching keeping the Lord's-Day: In a Letter
to his Children.
XIV. Poems written upon Christmas-day.
In the 2d Volume.
1. An Enquiry touching Happiness.
II. Of the Chief End of Man.
III. Upon Eccles. xii. 1. Remember thy Creator.
IV. Upon Psalm. li. 10. Create a clean Heart in me': With
a Poem,
V. The Folly and Mischief of Sin.
VI. Of Self-Denial.
VII. Motives to Watchfulness, in reference to the Good and
Evil Angels.
VIII. Of Moderation of the Affections.
IX. Of Worldly Hope and Expectation,
X. Upon Heb. xiii. 14. We have here no continuing City.
XI. Of Contentedness and Patience.
XII. Of Moderation of Anger.
XIII. A Preparative against Afflictions,
XIV. Of Submission, Prayer, and Thanksgiving.
XV. Of Prayer and Thanksgiving, on Psalm cxvi. 12.
XVI. Meditations on the Lord's Prayer, with a Paraphrase upon it.
>
· In them there appears a generous and true ſpirit
of religion, mixt with moſt ſerious and fervent devo-
tion ; and perhaps with the more advantage, that
the ſtyle wants fome correction, which ſhews they
were the genuine production of an excellent mind,
entertaining itſelf in ſecret with ſuch contemplations.
The ſtyle is clear and maſculine, in a due temper,
between flatneſs and affectation, in which he expreffes
his thoughts both eaſily and decently. In writing
theſe diſcourſes, having run over moſt of the ſubjects
that his own circumſtances led him chiefly to conſider,
he began to be in ſome pain to chooſe new argu-
ments; and therefore reſolved to fix on a theme
that ſhould hold him longer.
He was ſoon determined in his choice, by the immo-
ral and irreligious principles and practices, that had ſo
long vexed his righteous foul: and therefore began a
-great deſign againſt Atheiſm, the firſt part of which is
only
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
1
37
1
only printed, of the Origination of Mankind, deſigned
to prove the Creation of the World, and the truth of
the Mofaical Hiſtory.
The Second Part was of the Nature of the Soul, and
of a future State.
The Third Part was concerning the Attributes of
God, both from the abſtracted ideas of him, and the
light of nature; the evidence of Providence ; the notions
of morality, and the voice of conſcience.
And the Fourth Part was concerning the Truth and
authority, of the Scriptures, with anſwers to the objections
againſt them.
On writing theſe, he ſpent ſeven years.
He wrote them with ſo much conſideration, that one
who peruſed the original under his own hand, which
was the firſt draught of it, told me, he did not remem-
ber any.conſiderable alteration : perhaps not of twenty
words in the whole work.
The way of his writing them, only on the evenings
of the Lord's-day when he was in town, and not
much oftener, when he was in the country, made,
that they are not ſo contracted, as it is very likely
he would have writ them, if he had been inore at
leiſure to have brought his thoughts into a narrower
compaſs, and fewer words.
But making ſome allowance for the largeneſs of the
ſtyle, that volume that is printed, is generally acknow-
ledged to be one of the perfecteſt pieces, both of learn-
ing and reaſoning, that has been writ on that ſubject.
And he who read a great part of the other volumes,
told me, they were all of a piece with the firſt.
When he had finiſhed' this work, he ſent it by an
unknown hand to Biſhop Wilkins, to deſire his judg-
ment of it; but he that brought it, would give no other
account of the author, but that he was not a clergyman.
The Biſhop and his worthy friend Dr. Tillotſon, read a
great deal of it with much pleaſure, but could not
imagine who could be the author; and how a man that
was maſter of ſo much reafan, and ſo great a variety of
knowledge, ſhould be ſo unknown to them, that they
could not find him out by thoſe characters, which are
D 3
la
38
The Life and Death of
!
+
ſo little common. At laſt Dr. Tillotſon gueſſed it
muſt be the Lord Chief Baron; to which the other
preſently agreed, wondering he had been ſo long in
finding it out. So they went immediately to him, and
the Biſhop thanking him for the entertainment he had
received from his works, he bluſhed extremely, not
without ſome diſpleaſure, apprehending that the per-
ſon he had truſted had diſcovered him: but the Biſhop
ſoon cleared that, and told him, "He had diſcovered
himſelf; for the learning of that book was ſo various,
" that none but he could be the author of it.' And
that Biſhop having a freedom in delivering his opinion
of things and perſons, which perhaps few ever managed
both with ſo much plainneſs and prudence, told him,
. There was nothing could be better ſaid on theſe ar-
guments, if he could bring it into a leſs compaſs;
"but if he had not leiſure for that, he thought it much
better to have it come out, though a little too large,
e than that the world ſhould be deprived of the good
which it muſt needs do.' But our Judge had never
opportunities of reviſing it ; fo a little before his
death, he ſent the firſt part of it to the preſs.
In the beginning of it, he gives an Eſay of his ex-
cellent
way of methodiſing things; in which he was ſo
great a maſter, that whatever he undertook, he would
preſently caſt into ſo perfect a ſcheme, that he could
never afterwards correct it. He runs out copiouſly upon
the argument of the Impoſibility of an Eternal Succeſſion
of Time, to ſhew that Time and Eternity are incon-
ſiſtent one with another; and that therefore all dura-
rion that was paſt, and defined by Time, could not be
from Eternity; and he ſhews the difference between
fucceffive Eternity already paſt, and one to come ; fo
that though the latter is poſſible, the former is not fo;
for all the parts of the former have actually been, and
therefore being defined by Time, cannot be Eternal ;
whereas the other are ſtill future to all Eternity ; ſo that
this reaſoning cannot be turned to prove the poſibility
of eternal fucceffions that have been, as well as eternal
ſucceſſions
3
39
Sir Matthew Hale.
fucceſſions that ſhall be. This he follows with a ſtrength
I never met with in any that managed it before him.
He brings next all thoſe moral arguments, to prove,
that the world had a beginning; agreeing to the account
Moſes gives of it; as that no Hiſtory riſes higher than
near the time of the Deluge ; and that the firſt foun-
dation of kingdoms, the invention of arts, the beginnings
of all religions, the gradual plantation of the world,
and increaſe of mankind, and the conſent of nations do
agree with it. In managing theſe, as he ſhews profound
ſkill both in hiſtorical and philoſophical learning; fo he
gives a noble diſcovery of his great candour and
pro.
bity, that he would not impofe on the reader with a
falſe ſhew of reaſoning, by arguments that he knew had
flaws in them, and therefore upon every one of theſe
he adds ſuch allays, as in a great meaſure leffened and
took off their force, with as much exactneſs of judg-
ment, and ſtrictneſs of cenſure, as if he had been fet
to plead for the other ſide: and indeed ſums up the
whole evidence for religion, as impartially as ever he
did on a trial for life or death to the jury ; which how
equally and judiciouſly he always did, the whole nation
well knows.
After that he examines the ancient opinions of the
philoſophers, and enlarges with a great variety of curious
reflections in anſwering that only argument that has
any appearance of ſtrength for the caſual productions
of man, from the origination of infeEts out of putrified
matter, as is commonly ſuppoſed; and he concluded
the book, ſhewing how rational and philoſophical the
account which Mofes gives of it is. There is in it all
a fagacity and quickneſs of thought, mixed with great
and curious learning, that I canfeſs I never met toge-
ther in any other book on that ſubject. Among other
conjectures, one he gives concerning the Deluge is :
" That he did not think the face of the Earth and the
'Waters, were altogether the fame before the univer-
'fal Deluge, and after ; byt poſſibly the face of the
Earth was more even than now it is. The Seas pofa
R4
fibly
i
0
G
<
40
The Life and Death of
>
G
fibly more dilated and extended, and not ſo deep as
'now.' And a little after : Poſſibly the Seas have
undermined much of the appearing Continent of
• Earth. This I the rather take notice of, becauſe it
hath been ſince his death made out in a moft ingénious
and moſt elegantly writ book, by Mr. Burnet of Chriſt's.
College, in Cambridge, who has given ſuch an Eſſay
towards the proving the poſſibility of an Univerſal De-
luge ; and from thence has collected, with great faga-
city, what Paradiſe was before it, ás has not been of-
fered by any philofopher before him.
While the Judge was thus employing his time, the
Lord Chief Juſtice Keyling dying, he was on the 18th
of May, 1671, promoted to be Lord Chief Juſtice of
England. He had made the Pleas of the Crown one of
his chief Itudies; and by much ſearch and long obſer-
vation, had compoſed that great work concerning
them, formerly mentioned; he that holds the high
office of Juſticiary in that court, being the chief truſtee
and affertor of the liberties of his country. All people
applauded this choice, and thought their liberties could
-not be better depoſited, than in the hands of one, that
as he underſtood them well, ſo he had all the juſtice
and courage that ſo ſacred a truſt required. One
thing was much obſerved and commended in him, that
when there was a great inequality in the ability and
, learning of the counſellors that were to plead one
againſt another, he thought it became him, as the judge,
to ſupply that; ſo he would enforce what the weaker
counſel managed but indifferently, and not ſuffer the
more learned to carry the buſineſs by the advantage
they had over the others, in their quickneſs and ſkill
in law, and 'readineſs in pleading, till all things were
cleared, in which the merits and ſtrength of the ill-de-
fended cauſe lay. He was not ſatisfied barely to give
his judgment in cauſes; but did, eſpecially in all in-
tricate ones, give ſuch an account of the reaſons that
prevailed with him, that the counſel did not only ac-
quieſce in his authority, but were ſo convinced by his
reaſons,
1
N
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
41
great dili-
1
reaſons, that I have heard many profeſs that he brought
them often to change their opinions ; ſo that his giving
of judgment was really a learned lecture upon that
point of taw.. and which was get more, the parties
themſelves, though intereſt does too commonly corrupt
the judgment, were generally ſatisfied with the juf-
tice of his deciſions, even when they were made
againſt them. His impartial juſtice, and
gence, drew the chief practice after him, into what-
loever court he came. Since, though the Courts of
the Common-pleas, the Exchequer, and the King's-
bench, are appointed for the trial of cauſes of dif-
ferent natures, yet it is eaſy to bring moſt cauſes into
any of them, as the counſel or attorneys pleaſe; ſo as
he had drawn the buſineſs much after him, both into
the Common-pleas and the Exchequer, it now fol-
lowed him into the King's-bench; and many cauſes
that were depending in the Exchequer, and not deter-
mined, were let fall there, and brought again before
him in the court to which he was now removed. And
here did he ſpend the reſt of his public life and employ-
ment. But about four years and a half after this ad-
vancement, he who had hitherto enjoyed a firm and
vigorous health, to which his great temperance, and
the equality of his mind, did not a little conduce, was
on a ſudden brought very low by an inflammation in
his midriff, which
in two days time broke the conſtitu-
tion of his health to ſuch a degree, that he never re-
covered it. He became ſo afthmatical, that with great
difficulty he could fetch his breath ; that determined in
a dropſy, of which he afterwards died. He under-
ſtood phyſic ſo well, that conſidering his age, he con-
cluded his diſtemper muſt carry him off in a little time;
and therefore he reſolved to have ſome of the laſt months
of his life reſerved to himſelf; that, being freed of all
worldly cares, he might be preparing for his change.
He was alſo ſo much diſabled in his body, that he
could hardly, though ſupported by his ſervants, walk
through Weſtminſter-hall, or endure the toil of buſi-
nefs :
The Life and Death of
meſs: he had been a long time wearied with the diſtrace
tions that his employment had brought on him, and his
profeſſion was become ungrateful to him: he loved to
apply himſelf wholly to better purpoſes, as will appear
by a paper that he wrote on this ſubject, which I ſhall
here infert.
* Firſt, If I conſider the buſineſs of my profeſſion,
& whether as an Advocate or as a Judge, it is true, 1
* do acknowledge, by the inſtitution of Almighty God,
and the diſpenſation of his Providence, I am bound to
induſtry and fidelity in it: and as it is an Act of Obe-
dience unto his Will, it carries with it ſome things of
religious duty, and I may and do take comfort in it,
6 and expect a reward of my obedience to him, and
the good that I do to mankind therein, from the
Bounty and beneficence, and promiſe of Almighty
& God; and it is true alſo, that without ſuch employ-
ments, Civil Societies cannot be ſupported, and great
good redounds to mankind from them; and in theſe
reſpects, the conſcience of my own induſtry, fidelity,
and integrity in them, is a great comfort and ſatisfac-
€ tion to me.
But yet this I muſt ſay concerning theſe
employments, conſidered fimply in themſelves, that
e they are very full of cares, anxieties, and perturbations,
Secondly, Thatthough they are beneficial to others,
yet they are of the leaſt benefit to him that is employ-
ked in them.
Thirdly, That they do neceſſarily involve the party,
"whole office it is, in great dangers, difficulties, and
calumnies.
Fourthly, That they only ſerve for the meridian of
*this life, which is ſhort and uncertain.
Fifthly, That though it be my duty, faithfully to
ſerve in them, while I am called to them, and till I
e am duly called from them, yet they are great con-
fumers of that little time we have here; which, as it
' ſeems to me, might be better ſpent in a pious contem-
"plative
€
1
C
Sir Matthew Hale
4
plative life, and a due proviſion for Eternity. I do
not know a better temporal employment than Martha
. had, in teſtifying her love and duty to our Saviour,
by making proviſion for him ; yet our Lord tells her,
* That though ſhe was troubled about many things,
there was only one thing neceſſary, and Mary had
• choſen the better part,
'
G
::
By this the reader will ſee that he continued in this
ſtation upon no other conſideration, but that being ſet
in it by the Providence of God, he judged he could
not abandon that poſt which was aſſigned him, with-
out preferring his own private inclination to the choice
God hath made for him ; but now that ſame Providence
having by this great diſtemper diſengaged him from the
obligation of holding a place, which he was no longer
able to diſcharge, he reſolved to reſign it. This was na
ſooner furmiſed abroad, than it drew upon him the
importunities of all his friends, and the clamour of the
whole town to divert him from it, but all was to no
purpoſe; there was but one argument that could move
him, which was, · That he was obliged to continue in
the employment God had put him in for the good
• of the public. But to this he had ſuch an anſwer,
that even thoſe who were moſt concerned in his with
drawing, could not but fee, that the reaſons inducing
him to it, were but too ſtrong; ſo he made applica-
tion to his majeſty for his Writ of Eaſe, which the
King was very unwilling to grant him, and offered to
let him hold his place ſtill, he doing what bufiaefs he
could in his chamber ; but he ſaid, He could not with
a good conſcience continue in it, ſince he was no
longer able to diſcharge the duty belonging to it.'
But yet ſuch was the general ſatisfaction which all
the kingdom received by his excellent adminiſtration of
juſtice, that the King, though he could not well deny
his requeſt, yet he deferred the granting of it as long
as was poſſible; nor could the lord chancellor be
prevailed
f
6
1
The Life and Death of
prevailed with to move the
King to haſten his diſcharge,
though the chief juſtice often preſſed him to it.
At laſt having wearied himſelf and all his friends
with his importunate deſires, and growing ſenſibly
weaker in body, he did, upon the 21ſt day of Febru-
ary, 28 Car. II. Anno Dom. 1675-6, go before a maf-
ter of chancery, with a little parchment deed, drawn
by himfelf, and written all with his own hand, and
there ſealed and delivered it, and acknowledged it to be
enrolled ; and afterwards he brought the original deed
to the lord chancellor, and did formally ſurrender his
office in theſe words :
Omnibus Christi fidelibus ad quos præsens Scriptura pervenerit,
Mattheus Hale, Miles, capitalis justiciarius Domini Regis ad placite
€oxam ipso rege tenenda assignatus, salutem in Domino-sempiternam:
---Noveritis me præfatum Matthieum Hale, Militem, jam senem factunz
&* variis corporis mei senilis mortis & infirmitatibus dire laboran-
ten ég adhuc detentum, hâc chartâ mea resignare & sursuno
reddere serenissimo Domino nostro Carolo Secundo Dei gratià. An-
gliæ, Scotiæ, Franciæ, & Hiberniæ, Regi, Fidei Defensori, & Co
Predictum officium capitalis justiciarii ad placita coram ipso wege
tenenda, humillime petens quod hoc scriptum irrotaletur de recordo,
in cujus rei testimonium huic charlæ meæ resignationis sigillum
meum upposui. Dat vicesimo primo die Februarii, anno regra
dict. Dom. Regis nunc vicesimo octavo'.
- TRANSLATION.
To all persons in Christ to whom these presents shall come, MAT-
THEW HALE, knight, Chief Justice of our Lord the King, assigned to
hold pleas before the King, greeting: Know ye that I the said Mat-
thew Hale, knight, having now become advanced in years, and by rea-
son of my age being now severely afficted with various diseases and
infirmities, and still confined thereby, do by this instrument l'esign
and render up to our most gracious Lord Charles the Second, by the
Grace of God, of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, King, Defena
éler of the Faith, &c. the said office of chief justice; most humbly
beseeching that this deed may be enrolled. In witness whereof I
have set my seal to this deed of my resignation.
Given the 21st day of February, in the twenty-eighth year of the
Jeign of our said Lord the King.
>
Не
1
45
Sir Matthew Hale.
6
He made this inſtrument, as he told the lord chan-
cellor, for two ends; the one was to ſhow the world
his own free concurrence to his removal : another was
to obviate the objection heretofore made, “That a
chief juſtice, being placed by writ, was not remov-
able at pleaſure, as judges by patent were ;' which
opinion, as he ſaid, was once held by his predeceſſor
the lord chief juſtice Keyling; and though he him-
ſelf was always of another opinion, yet he thought it
reaſonable to prevent ſuch a fcruple.
He had the day before ſurrendered to the King in
perſon, who parted from him with great grace, wiſhing
him moſt heartily the return of his health ; and afſur-
ing him, That he would ſtill look upon him as one
6 of his judges, and have recourſe to his advice when
his health would permit; and in the mean time
swould continue his penſion during his life.
The good man thought this bounty too great, and
an ill precedent for the King; and therefore writ a
letter to the lord treaſurer, earneſtly deſiring that his
penfion might be only during pleaſure; but the King
would grant it for life, and make it payable quarterly.
And yet for a whole month together, he would not
ſuffer his ſervant to ſue out his patent for his penſion;
and when the firſt payment was received, he ordered
a great part of it to charitable uſes; and ſaid, he in-
tended moſt of it ſhould be ſo employed as long as it
was paid him.
At laſt he happened to die upon - the quarter-day
which was Chriſtmas-day; and though this migiit
have given fome occaſion to a diſpute, whether the pen-
fion for that quarter were recoverable, yet the King
was pleaſed to decide that matter againſt himſelf, and
ordered the penſion to be paid to his executors.
A's foon as he was diſcharged from his great place,
he returned home with as much cheerfulneſs as his
want of health would admit of, being now eafed of a
burden he had been of late groaning under, and ſo
made more capable of enjoying that which, he had
much
46
The Life and Death of
1
much wiſhed for, according to his elegant tranſlation
of, or rather paraphrafe upon, thoſe excellent lines in
Seneca's Thyeſtes, A&t. 2.
Stet quicunque volet pol'ense
.
Aulæ culmine lubrico :
Me dulcis saturet quies.
Obscuro positus loco,
Leni perfruur otio :
Nullis nota Quiritibus,
Ætas per tacitum fluat.
Sic cum transierint mei
Nullo çum strepitu dies,
Plebeius moriar senex.
Illi mors gravis inculat,
Qui notus nimis omnibus.
Ignotus moritur sibi.
Let him that will ascend the tottering seat
Of courtly grandeur, and become as great
As are his mounting wishes: As for me,
Let sweet repose and rest my portion be.
Give me some mean obscure recess; a sphere
Out of the road of business, or the fear
Of falling lower; where I sweetly may
Myself and dear retirement still enjoy :
Let not my life or name be known unto
The grandees of time, tost to and fro
By censures or applause ; but let my age
Slide gently by not overthwart the stage
Of public action, unheard, unseen.
And unconcern'd, as if I ne'er had been.
And thus, while I shall pass my silent days
In shady privacy, free from the noise
And bustles of the mad world, then shall I
A good old innocent plebeian die.
Death is a mere surprise, a very snare
To him that makes it his life's greatest care,
To be a public pageant, known to all,
But unacquainted with himself doth fall.
Having now attained to that privacy which he had
no leſs ſeriouſly than piouſly wiſhed for, he called all
his ſervants that had belonged to his office together,
and told them," He had now laid down his place, and
4 fo their employments were determined. Upon that
he adviſed them to fee for themſelves, and gave to
fome
2
Sir Matthew Hale.
47
1
fome of them very conſiderable preſents, and to every
one of them a token, and ſo diſmiſſed all thoſe that
were not his domeſtics. He was diſcharged the 15th of
February, 1675-6, and lived till the Chriſtmas follow-
ing; but all the while was in fo ill a ſtate of health, that
there was no hopes of his recovery: he continued ſtill
to retire often, both for his devotions and ſtudies; and
as long as he could go, went conſtantly to his cloſet;
and when his infirmities increaſed on him, ſo that he
was not able to go thither himſelf, he made his fer-
vants carry him thither in a chair. At laſt, as the
winter came on, he ſaw, with great joy, his deliverance
approaching ; for beſides his being weary of the
world, and his longings for the bleſſedneſs of another
ſtate, his pains encreaſed fo on him, that no patience
inferior to his could have borne them without a great
uneaſineſs of mind; yet he expreſſed to the laſt fuch
fubmiſſion to the will of God, and fo equal a temper
under them, that it was viſible then what mighty ef-
fects his philoſophy and Chriſtianity had on him, in
ſupporting him under ſuch a heavy load.
He could not lie down in bed above a year before
his death, by reaſon of the aſthma; but fat rather than
lay in it.
riſh;
He was attended on in his ſickneſs by a pious and
worthy divine, Mr. Evan Griffith, miniſter of the pa-
and it was obſerved, that in all the extremities
of his pain, whenever he prayed by him, he forbore
all complaints or groans, but with his hands and eyes
lifted up, was fixed in his devotions. Not long before
his death the miniſter told him, " There was to be a
ſacrament next Sunday at church, but he believed he
could not come and partake with the reſt; therefore
'he would give it to him in his own houſe:' But he
anſwered, ' No; his heavenly Father had prepared a
* feaſt for him, and he would go to his Father's Houſe
to partake of it.' So he inade himſelf be carried
thither in his chair, where he received the facrament
on his knees, with great devotion; which it may be
ſuppoſed
!
The Life and Death of
fuppoſed was the greater, becauſe he apprehended it
was to be his laſt, and ſo took it as his vigticum, and
proviſion for his jaurney. He had ſome ſecret unac-
countable prefages of his death; for he ſaid, " That
* if he did not die on ſuch a day (which fell to be
k the 25th of November), he believed he ſhould live
" a month longer ;' and he died that very day month.
He continued to enjoy the free uſe of his reaſon and
fenſe to the laſt, moment, which he had often and
earneſtly prayed for, during his fickneſs: and when
his voice was ſo funk, that he could not be heard,
they perceived by the almoſt conſtant lifting up of his
eyes and hands, that he was ſtill aſpiring towards that
bleſſed ſtate, of which he was now ſpeedily to be poſ-
fefled.
He had for many years a particular devotion for
Chriſtmas-day; and after he had received the facra-
ment, and been in the performance of the public
worſhip of that day, he commonly wrote a copy of
verſes on the honour of his Saviour, as a fit expreſſion
of the joy he felt in his ſoul, at the return of that
glorious anniverſary. There are ſeventeen of thoſe
copies printed, which he wrote on ſeventeen ſeveral
Cbriſtmas-days, by which the world has a taſte of his
poetical genius ; in which, if he had thought it
worth his time to have excelled, he might have been
eminent as well as in other things; but he wrote them
rather to entertain himſelf, than to merit the laurel.
I ſhall here add one which has not been yet printed,
and it is not unlikely it was the laſt he writ; it is a
paraphraſe on Simeon's ſong. I take it from his blotted
copy, not at all finiſhed; fo the reader is to make
allowance for any imperfection he may find in it:
BLESSED Creator, who before the birth
Of Time, or e'er the pillars of the Earth,
Were fixt or form'd, didst lay that great design
Of Man's Redemption, and didst define
In thine eternal council and all the scene
Of that stupendous business, and when
-
It
Sir. Matthew Hale.
49
1
It should appear ; and though the very day
Of its epiphany concealed lay
Within Thy mind, yet Thou wert pleas'd to show
Some glimpses of it, unto men below,
In visions, types, and prophecies, as we
Things at a distance in perspective see:
But Thou wert pleas'd to let thy servant know
That that blest hour, that seem'd to more so slow
Through former ages, should at last attain
Its time, e'er my few sands that yet remain
Are spent : and that these aged eyes
Should see the day, when Jacob's star should rise.
And now Thou hast fulfill'd it, blessed Lord,
Dismiss me now, according to Thy word;
And let my aged body now return
To rest, and dust, and drop into an urn;
For I have livid enough, mine eyes have seen
Thy much desired Salvation, that hath been
So long, so dearly wish'd, the joy, the hope
Of all the ancient Patriarchs, the scope
Of all the prophecies, and mysteries,
Of all the types unveil'd, the histories
Of Jewish church unriddl'd, and the bright
And orient sun arisen to give light
To Gentiles, and the joy of Israel,
The World's Redeemer, blest Emanuel.
Let this sight close mine eyes ;- 'tis lost to see,
After this vision, any sight but Thee.
Thus he uſed to ſing on the former Chriſtmas-days,
but now he was to be admitted to bear his part in the
new ſongs above; ſo that day which he had ſpent in
ſo much fpiritual joy, proved to be indeed the day of
his jubilee and deliverance; for between two and three
in the afternoon he breathed out his righteous and
pious ſoul. His end was peace; he had no ſtruggling,
nor ſeemed to be in any pangs in his laſt moments.
He was buried on the 4th of January, Mr. Griffith
preaching the funeral ſermon; his text was the 57th
of Iſaiah, verſe 1. “The righteous periſheth, and no
' man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken
away, none conſidering that the righteous is taken
away from the evil to come;' which how fitly it was
applicable upon this occaſion, all that conſider the
courſe of his life will eaſily conclude. He was in-
terred in the church-yard of Alderly, among his an-
VOL. I.
ceſtors
;
6
50
The Life ana Death of
ceſtors. He did not much approve of burying in
churches, and uſed to ſay, " The churches were for
the living, and the church-yards for the dead.' His
monument was, like himſelf, decent and plain, the
tomb-ſtone was black marble, and the ſides were black
and white marble ; upon which he himſelf had ordered
this bare and humble inſcription to be made :
&
1
1
h
HIC INHUMATUR CORPUS
MATTHEI HALE, MILITIS ;
ROBERTI HALE, ET JOANNÆ,
UXORIS EJUS, FILII UNICI.
NATI IN HAC PAROCHIA DE
ALDERLY, PRIMO DIE NOVEM-
BRIS ANNO DOM. , 1609.
DENATI VERO IBIDEM VICESIMO
QUINTO DIE DECEMBRIS,
ANNO DOM. 1676,
ÆTATIS SUB, LXVII. 1
HAVING thus given an account of the moſt re-
markable things of his Life, I am now to preſent his
reader with ſuch a Character of him, as the laying his
ſeveral virtues together will amount to: in which I
know how difficult a taſk I undertake; for to write
defectively of him, were to injure him, and lefſen the
memory of one to whom I intend to do all the right
that is in my power. On the other hånd, there is ſo
much here to be commended, and propoſed for the
imitation of others, that I am afraid ſome may imagine
I am rather making a picture of him, from an ab-
ſtracted idea of great virtues and perfections, than fet-
ting him out as he truly was: but there is great en-
couragement in this, that I write concerning a man ſo
· Here is buried the body of Matthew Hale, knight, the only son
of Robert Hale, and Joanna his wife; born in this parish of Alderly,
on the 1st day of November, in the year of our Lord 1609; and died
in the sanie place on the 26th day of December, in the year of our
Lord 1676; in the 67th year of his age.
freſh
Å
Sir Matthew Hale.
51
freſh in all peoples remembrance, that is ſo lately dead,
and was ſo much and ſo well known, that I ſhall have
many vouchers, who will be ready to juſtify me in all
that I am to relate, and to add a great deal to what I
can ſay
It has appeared in the account of his various learn-
ing, how great his capacities were, and how much they
were improved by conſtant ſtudy. He roſe always
early in the morning ; he loved to walk much abroad,
not only for his health, but he thought it opened his
mind and enlarged his thoughts to have the creation
of God before his eyes. When he ſet himſelf to any
ſtudy, he uſed to caſt his deſign into a ſcheme, which he
did with a great exactneſs of method; he took no-
thing on truſt, but purſued his enquiries as far as they
could go; and as he was humble enough to confeſs
his ignorance, and ſubmit to myſteries which he could
not comprehend, ſo he was not eaſily impoſed on by
any ſhews of reaſon, or the bugbears of vulgar opi-
nions : He brought all his knowledge as much to ſci-
entifical principles as he poſſibly could, which made
him neglect the ſtudy of tongues, for the bent of his
mind lay another way. Diſcourſing once of this to
ſome, they ſaid, “They looked on the Common Law
as a ſtudy that could not be brought into a ſcheme,
nor formed into a rational ſcience, by reaſon of the
indigeſtedneſs of it, and the multiplicity of the caſes
in it, which rendered it very hard to be underſtood,
or reduced into a method ;' but he ſaid · He was
not of their mind;' and ſo quickly after he drew
with his own hand a ſcheme of the whole order and
parts of it, in a large ſheet of paper, to the great fa-
tisfaction of thoſe to whom he ſent it. Upon this
hint, ſome preſſed him to compile a body of the Eng-
liſh Law. It could hardly ever be done by a man who
knew it better, and would with more judgment and
induſtry have put it into method. But he ſaid, “ As it
' was a great and noble deſign, which would be of vaſt
,
advantage to the nation, ſo it was too much for a
“private
<
C
6
E2
52
The Life and Death of
private man to undertake: it was not to be entered
upon but by the command of a Prince, and with
the communicated endeavours of ſome of the moſt
eminent of the profeſſion.'
He had great vivacity in his fancy, as may appear
by his inclination to Poetry, and the lively illuſtrations
and many tender ſtrains in his Contemplations ; but he
looked on eloquence and wit as things to be uſed
very chaſtely in ſerious matters, which ſhould come
under a ſeverer inquiry: Therefore he was both,
when at the bar and on the bench, a great enemy to
all eloquence or rhetoric in pleading : He ſaid, If
the judge, or jury, had a right underſtanding, it
fignified nothing, but a waſte of time, and loſs of
' words; and if they were weak, and eaſily wrought
on, it was a more decent way of corrupting them,
by bribing their fancies and biasing their affections ;'
and wondered much at that affectation of the French
lawyers, in imitating the Roman orators in their plead-
ings: for the oratory of the Romans was occaſioned
by their popular government, and the factions of the
city: ſo that thoſe who intended to excell in the
pleading of cauſes, were trained up in the ſchools of
the rhetors, till they became ready and expert in that
lufcious way of diſcourſe.
of diſcourſe. It is true, the compoſures
of ſuch a man as Tully was, who mixed an extraor-
dinary quickneſs, an exact judgment, and a juſt de-
corum with his ſkill in rhetoric, do ſtill entertain
the readers of them with great pleaſure; but at the
ſame time, it muſt be acknowledged, that there is not
that chaſtity of ſtyle, that cloſeneſs of reaſoning, nor
that juſtneſs of figures in his Orations, that is in his
other writings; ſo that a great deal was ſaid by him,
rather becauſe he knew it would be acceptable to his
auditors, than that it was approved of by himſelf; and
all who read them will acknowledge, they are better
pleaſed with them as effays of wit and ſtyle, than as
pleadings, by which ſuch a judge as ours was, would
not be much wrought on. And if there are ſuch
grounds
Sir Matthew Hale.
53
1
1
grounds to cenſure the performances of the greateſt
maſter in eloquence, we may eaſily infer what
nauſeous diſcourſes the other orators made; ſince in ora-
tory as well as in poetry, none can do indifferently. So
our judge wondered to find the French, that live
under a Monarchy, fo fond of imitating that which
was an ill effect of the popular government of Rome:
He therefore pleaded himſelf always in few words,
and home to the point: and when he was a judge, he
held thoſe who pleaded before him to the main hinge
of the buſineſs, and cut them ſhort when they made
excurſions about circumſtances of no moment, by
which he ſaved much time, and made the chief diffi-
culties be well ſtated and cleared.
There was another cuſtom among the Romans,
which he as much admired as he deſpiſed their rhe-
toric, which was, that the juris-confults were the men
of the higheſt quality, who were bred to be capable
of the chief employment in the ſtate, and became the
great maſters of their law. Theſe
gave
their opinions
of all caſes that were put to them freely, judging it
below them to take any preſent for it; and indeed they
were the only true lawyers among them, whoſe re-
ſolutions were of that authority that they made one
claffis of thoſe materials, out of which Trebonian com-
piled the digeſts under Juſtinian; for the orators, or
cauſidici, that pleaded cauſes, knew little of the law,
and only employed their mercenary tongues to
work on the affections of the people and ſenate, or the
pretors : even in moſt of Tully's Orations there is little
of law; and that little which they might ſprinkle in
their declamations, they had not from their own
knowledge, but the reſolution of ſome juris-conſult.
According to that famous ſtory of Servius Sulpitius,
who was a celebrated orator; and being to receive
the reſolution of one of thoſe that were learned in the
law, was ſo ignorant, that he could not underſtand it;
upon which the juris-conſult reproached him, and ſaid,
It was a ſhame for him that was a Nobleman, a Se-
E
a
nator,
54
The Life and Dedth of
1
A
nator, and a Pleader of Cauſes, to be thus ignorant
of Law. This touched him to ſenſibly, that he
ſet about the ſtưdy of it, and became one of the moſt
eminent juris-conſults that ever were at Rome. Our
judge thought it might become the greatneſs of a
prince, to encourage fuch fort of men, and of ſtudies;
in which none in the age he lived in was equal to
the great Selden, who was truly in our Engliſh law,
what the old Roman juris-conſults were in theirs.
But where a decent eloquence was allowable,
Judge Hale knew how to have excelled as much as
any, either in illuſtrating his reaſonings by proper
and well purſued fimilies, or by ſuch tender ex-
preſſions as might work moft on the affections; fo
that the preſent lord chancellor has often ſaid of
him, ſince his death, That he was the greateſt
orator he had known for though his words came
not fluently from him, yet when they were out,
they were the moſt ſignificant and expreſſive that
the matter could bear. Of this ſort there are many
in his Contemplations made to quicken his own devo-
tion, which have a life in them becoming him that
uſed them, and a ſoftneſs fit to melt even the harſheſt
tempers, accommodated to the gravity of the ſubject,
and apt to exçite warm thoughts in the readers; that
as they ſhew his excellent temper that brought them
out, and applied them to himſelf; ſo they are of
great uſe to all who would both inform and quicken
their minds. Of his illuſtrations of things by proper
fimilies, I fhall give a large inſtance out of his book
of the Origination of Manşind, deſigned to expoſe the
ſeveral different hypotheſes the Philoſophers fell on
concerning the eternity and original of the univerſe,
and to prefer the account given by Moſes to all their
conjectures) in which, if my taſte does not miſguide
me, the reader will find a rare and very agreeable
mixture both of fine wit and ſolid learning and
judgment.
4 That
1
1
Sir Matthew Hade.
55
6
$
6
That which may illuſtrate my meaning, in this
preference of the revealed light of the Holy Scripures,
touching this matter, above the eſſay of philoſophical
s imagination, may be this. Suppoſe that Greece being
unacquainted with the curioſity of mechanical en-
gines, though known in ſome remote region of the
world; and that an excellent artiſt had ſecretly
brought and depoſited in ſome field or foreſt, ſome
* excellent watch or clock, which had been ſo formed,
* that the original of its motion were hidden, and in-
'volved in ſome clofe contrived piece of mechaniſm,
that this watch was ſo framed, that the motion thereof
might have laſted a year, or ſome ſuch time, as might
give a reaſonable period for their philoſophical de-
ſcanting concerning it; and that in the plain table there
had been not only the deſcription and indication of
hours, but the configurations and indications of the va-
‘rious phaſes of the moon, the motion and place of the
' fun in the ecliptic, and divers other curious indica-
« tions of celeſtial motions; and that the ſcholars of
the ſeveral ſchools of Epicurus, of Ariſtotle, of Plato,
. and the reſt of thoſe philoſophical fects, had caſually
in their walk, found this admirable automaton ;
what kind of work would there have been made by
every fect in giving an account of this phenomenon?
We ſhould have had the Epicurean fect have told
'the by-ſtanders, according to their preconceived
hypotheſis, . That this was nothing elſe but an ac-
cidental concretion of atoms, that happily falling to-
gether, had made up the index, the wheels, and
'the balance; and that being happily fallen into
' this poſture, they were put into mation. Then
the Carteſian falls in with him, as to the main of
their ſuppoſition; but tells him, “That he doth
' not fufficiently explicate how the engine is put into
4motion; and therefore to furniſh this motion, there
is a certain materia ſubtilis that pervades this engine,
and the movable parts, conſiſting of certain globular
atoms apt for motion ; they are thereby, and by
E 4
the
6
6
56
The Life and Death of
the mobility of the globular atoms, put into motion.'
• A third finding fault with the two former, becauſe
· thoſe motions are ſo regular, and do expreſs the
« various phenomena of the diſtribution of time, and
the heavenly motions; therefore it ſeems to him,
6 that this engine, and motion alſo, fo analogical to
« the motions of the heavens, were wrought by ſome
« admirable conjunction of the heavenly bodies, which
« formed this inſtrument and its motions in ſuch an
admirable correſpondency to its own exiſtence.
• A fourth, diſliking the ſuppoſitions of the three
• former, tells the reft, ' That he hath a more plain
« and evident folution of the phenomenon, namely,
the univerſal foul of the world, or ſpirit of nature,
+ that formed ſo many ſorts of inſects with ſo many
- organs, faculties, and ſuch congruity of their whole
compoſition, and ſuch curious and various motions,
- as we may obſerve in them, hath formed and ſet
« into motion this admirable automaton, and regulated
6 and ordered it, with all thoſe congruities we ſee in
it.' Then ſteps in an Ariſtotelian ; and being dil-
6 ſatisfied with all the former folutions, tells them,
" Gentlemen, you are all miſtaken ; your folutions
· are inexplicable and unſatisfactory; you have taken
up certain precarious hypotheſes, and being pre-
poſſeſſed with theſe creatures of your own fancies,
6 and in love with them, right or wrong you form all
your conceptions of things according to thoſe fancied.
and preconceived imaginations. The ſhort of the
• buſineſs is, this machina is eternal, and ſo are all the
« motions of it; and inaſmuch as a circular motion
hath no beginning or end, this motion that you ſee
s both in the wheels and index, and the ſucceſſive
indications of the celeſtial motions, is eternal, and
without beginning. And this is a ready and expe-
* dite way of ſolving the phenomeną, without ſo much
" ado as you have made about it.'
And whilſt all the maſters were thus contriving
- the ſolution of the phenomenon, in the hearing of
the
©
6
Sir Mattbere Hale.
57
}
)
C
" the artiſt that made it; and when they had all ſpent
their philoſophizing upon it, the artiſt that made
this engine, and all this while liſtened to their ad-
* miral fancies, tells them, Gentlemen, you have
• diſcovered very much excellency of invention, touch-
ing this piece of work that is before you; but you
are all miſerably miſtaken; for it was I that made
" this watch, and brought it hither, and I will ſhew
you how I made it. Firſt, I wrought the ſpring,
4 and the fuſee, and the wheels, and the balance, and
* the caſe and the table; I fitted them one to another,
placed theſe ſeveral axes that are to direct the
motions of the index, to diſcover the hour of the
day, of the figure that diſcovers the phaſes of the
moon, and the other various motions that you ſee;
6 and then I put it together, and wound up the ſpring,
which hath given all theſe motions that you
ſee in
* this curious piece of work, and that you may be ſure
“ I tell you true, I will tell you the whole order and
progreſs of my making, difpofing, and ordering of
* this piece of work; the ſeveral materials of it; the
manner of the forming of every individual part of
* it, and how long I was about it. This plain and
evident diſcovery renders all theſe excogitated hy-
potheſes of theſe philoſophical enthuſiaſts vain and
ridiculous, without any great help of rhetorical
s flouriſhes, or logical confutations. And much of
the ſame nature is that diſparity of the hypotheſes
e of the learned philoſophers, in relation to the origi-
nation of the world and man, after a great deal of
* duſt raiſed, and fanciful explications, and unintelligi-
ble hypotheſes. The plain, but Divine Narrative by
the hand of Mofes, full of ſenſe, and congruity, and
clearneſs, and reaſonableneſs in itſelf, does at the
lame moment give us a true and clear diſcovery of
' this great myſtery, and renders all the eſſays of the
generality of the heathen philoſophers to be vain,
' inevident, and, indeed, inexplicable theories, the
creatures of phantaſy and imagination, and nothing
elſe.
As
6
6
6
6
>
58
The Life and Death of
As for his Virtues, they have appeared fo confpi-
cuous in all the ſeveral tranſactions and turns of his
life, that it may ſeem needleſs to add any more of
them than has been already related; but there are
many particular inſtances which I knew not how to fit
to the ſeveral years of his life, which will give us a
clearer and better view of him.
He was a devout Chriſtian, a fincere proteſtant, and
a true ſon of the church of England; moderate towards
diffenters, and juſt even with thoſe from whom he dif-
fered moſt; which appeared fignally in the care he
took in a caſe of the Quakers, wherein he was very cau-
tious in declaring their marriages void, and ſo baſtard-
izing their children; but he confidered marriage and
fucceſſion as a right of nature, from which none ought
to be barred, what miſtake foever they might be under
in the points of revealed religion.
And therefore, in a trial that was before him, ,
when a Quaker was fued for ſome debts owing by his
wife before he married her, and the Quaker's counſel.
pretended,' that it was no marriage that had paſt be-
tween them, ſince it was not ſolemnized according
to the rules of the church of England ;' he declared
that he was not willing, on his own opinion, to make
their children baſtards, and gave directions to the jury
to find it ſpecial, which they did. It was a reflection
on the whole party, that one of them, to avoid an
inconvenience he had fallen into, thought to have
preſerved himſelf by a defence, that if it had been
allowed in law, muſt have made their whole iſſue
baſtards, and incapable of ſucceſſion; and for all
their pretended friendthip to one another, if this judge
had not been more their friend than one of thoſe they
ſo called, their poſterity had been little beholding to
them. But he governed himſelf, indeed, by the law of
the Goſpel, of doing to others what he would have
others do to him; and therefore becauſe he would have
thought it a hardſhip not without a cruelty, if amongſt
Papiſts all marriages were nulled which had not been
made with all the ceremonies in the Roman ritual ;
fo
he,
Sir Matthew Hele.
he, applying this to the caſe of the ſectaries, thought
all marriages made according to the ſeveral perſuaſions
of men, ought to have their effects in law.
He uſed conſtantly to worſhip God in his family,
performing it always himſelf, if there was no clergy-
man preſent. But as to his private exerciſes in devo-
tion, he took that extraordinary care to keep what he
did ſecret, that this part of his character muſt be de-
fective, except it be acknowledged that his humility
in covering it, commends him much more than the
higheſt expreſſions of devotion could have done.
From the firſt time that the impreſſions of religion
ſettled deeply in his mind, he uſed great caution to
conceal it, not only in obedience to the rules given
by our Saviour, of faſting, praying, and giving alms
in ſecret, but from a particular diſtruſt he had of him-
felf; for he ſaid he was afraid he ſhould at ſome time
or other do fome enormous thing, which, if he were
looked on as a very religious man, might cait a re-
proach on the profeſſion of it, and give great advan-
tages to impious men to blafpheme the name of God:
but a tree is known by its fruits ; and he lived not only
free of blemiſhes, or ſcandal, but ſhined in all the
parts of his converſation : and, perhaps, the diſtruſt he
was in of himſelf contributed not a little to the purity
of his life; for he being thereby obliged to be more
watchful over himſelf, and to depend more on the
aids of the Spirit of God, no wonder if that humble
temper produced thoſe excellent effects in him.
He had a ſoul enlarged and raiſed above that mean
appetite of loving money, which is generally the root of
all evil. He did not take the profits that he might
have had by his practice; for, in common caſes, when
thoſe who came to aſk his counſel gave him a piece,
he uſed to give back the half, and ſo made ten ſhillings
his fee, in ordinary matters that did not require much
time or ſtudy. If he ſaw a cauſe was unjuſt, he, for
- a great while, would not meddle any further in it,
but to give his advice that it was ſo; if the parties
after
60
The Life and Death of
Oll.
after that would go on, they were to ſeek another
counſellor, for he would aſſiſt none in acts of injuf-
tice: if he found the cauſe doubtful or weak in point
of law, he always adviſed his clients to agree their
buſineſs. Yet afterwards he abated much of the ſcru.
puloſity he had about cauſes that appeared at firſt view
unjuſt, upon this occaſion: There were two cauſes
brought to him, which, by the ignorance of the party,
or their attorney, were fo ill repreſented to him, that
they ſeemed to be very bad ; but he enquiring more
narrowly into thein, found they were really very good
and juſt: ſo after this he ſlackened much of his former
ftrictneſs, of refuſing to meddle in cauſes' upon the ill
circumſtances that appeared in them at firſt.
In his pleading he abhorred thoſe too common
faults of mis-reciting evidences, quoting precedents or
books falſely, or aſſerting things confidently; by which
ignorant juries, or weak judges, are too often wrought
He pleaded with the fame ſincerity that he uſed
in the other parts of his life; and uſed to ſay, “It
was as great a diſhonour as a man was capable of,
* that for a little money he was to be hired to ſay or
do otherwiſe than as he thought.' All this he aſcribed
to the unmeaſurable defire of heaping up wealth, which
corrupted the ſouls of fome that ſeemed otherwiſe born
and made for great things.
When he was a practitioner, differences were often
referred to him, which he ſettled, but would accept of
no reward for his pains, though offered by both par-
ties together, after the agreement was made ; for he
ſaid, " In thoſe caſes he was made a judge, and a judge
ought to take no money. If they told him, He
loſt much of his time in conſidering their buſineſs,
' and ſo ought to be acknowledged for it,' his anſwer
was (as one that heard it told me) Can I ſpend my
time better than to make people friends ? Muſt I have
' no time allowed me to do good in ?'
He was naturally a quick man; yet by much praça
tice on himſelf, he fubdued that to ſuch a degree,
that
1
Sir Matthew Hale,
c
5
that he would never run ſuddenly into any conclu-
fion concerning any matter of importance. Feſtina
lente 1 was his beloved motto, which he ordered to be
engraven on the head of his ſtaff; and was often heard
to ſay, “That he had obſerved many witty men run into
great errors, becauſe they did not give themſelves
time to think; but the heat of imagination making
* fome notions appear in good colours to them, they,
without ſtaying till that cooled, were violently led
by the impulſes it made on them ; whereas calm and
'flow men, who paſs for dull in the common eſtima-
tion, could ſearch for truth, and find it out, as with
* more deliberation, ſo with greater certainty."
He laid aſide the tenth-penny of all he got for the
poor; and took great care to be well informed of pro-
per objects for his charities. And after he was a judge,
many of the perquiſites of his place, as his dividend of
the rule and box-money, were ſent by him to the
jails to diſcharge poor priſoners, who never knew from
whoſe hands their relief came. It is alſo a cuſtom for
the marſhal of the King's-bench to preſent the judges
of that court with a piece of plate for a new-year's-
gift, that for the chief juſtice being larger than the
reſt. This he intended to have refuſed; but the other
judges told him it belonged to his office, and the re-
fuſing it would be a prejudice to his fucceffors, fo he
was perſuaded to take it; but he fent word to the mar-
fhal, “That inſtead of plate, he ſhould bring him the va-
lue of it in money;' and when he received it, he in-
mediately ſent it to the priſons for the relief and dis-
charge of the poor there. He uſually invited his poor
neighbours to dine with him, and made them ſit at
table with himſelf. And if
And if any of them were ſick, ſo
that they could not come, he would ſend meat warm
to them from his table. And he did not only relieve
the poor in his own pariſh, but fent ſupplies to the
neighbouring pariſhes, as there was occaſion for it.
And he treated them all with the tenderneſs and fami-
liarity that became one who conſidered they were of
The more haste the worse speed.
the
62
The Life and Death of
c
6
1
the ſame nature with himſelf, and were reduced to no
other neceſſities but ſuch as he himſelf might be brought
to. But for common beggars, if any of theſe came to
him as he was in his walks, when he lived in the coun-
try, he would aſkſuch as were capable of working, 'Why
they went about ſo idly?' If they anſwered, " It was
becauſe they could find no work,' he often fent them
to ſome field to gather all the ſtones in it, and lay
them on a 'heap, and then would pay them liberally
for their pains. This being done, he uſed to ſend his
carts, and cauſed them to be carried to ſuch places of
the highway as needed- mending.
But when he was in town he dealt his charities
very
liberally, even among the ſtreet-beggars; and when
fome told him, " That he thereby encouraged idleneſs,
cand that moſt of thoſe were notorious cheats,' he
uſed to anſwer, “That he believed moſt of them were
* ſuch; but among them there were ſome that were great
objects of charity, and preſſed with grievous neceſſi-
ties, and that he had rather give his alms to twenty
who might be, perhaps, rogues, than that one of the
* other fort ſhould periſh for want of that ſmall relief
which he gave them.?
He loved building much, which he affected chiefly,
becauſe it employed many poor people: but one thing
was obſerved in all his buildings, that the changes he
made in his houſes, were always from magnificence to
uſefulneſs, for he avoided every thing that looked like
pomp or vanity, even in the walls of his houſes ; he
had good judgment in architecture, and an excellent
faculty in contriving well.
He was a gentle landlord to all his tenants; and was
ever ready, upon any reaſonable complaints, to make
abatements; for he was merciful as well as righteous.
One inſtance of this was ofawidow that lived in London,
and had a ſmall eſtate near his houſe in the country,
from which her rents were ill returned to her, and at
a coft which ſhe could not well bear; fo lhe bemoaned
herſelf to him; and he, according to his readineſs to
affiſt
Sir Matthero Hale.
alliſt all poor people, told her, 'He would order his
* ſteward to take up her rents, and the returning them
ſhould coſt her nothing. But, after that, when
there was a falling of rents in that country, ſo that it
was neceſſary to make abatements to the tenant, yet
he would have it lie on himſelf, and made the widow
be paid her rent as formerly.
Another remarkable inſtance of his juſtice and good.
neſs was, that when he found ill money had been put
into his hands, he would never ſuffer it to be vented
again ; for he thought it was no excuſe for him to put
falſe money in other peoples' hands, becauſe fome had
put it in his. A great heap of this he had gathered
together, for many had ſo far abuſed his goodneſs as
to mix baſe money among the fees that were given
him. It is like he intended to have deſtroyed it; but
fome thieves, who had obſerved it, broke into his
chamber and ſtole it, thinking they had got a prize;
which he uſed to tell with ſome pleaſure, imagining
how they found themſelves deceived, when they per-
ceived what ſort of booty they had fallen on.
After he was made a judge, he would needs pay
more for every purchaſe he made than it was worth.
If it had been a horſe he was to buy, he would
have outbid the price: and when ſome repreſented to
him that he made ill bargains, he ſaid, "It became,
judges to pay more for what they bought than the
true value; that fo thoſe with whom they dealt
might not think they had any right to their favour,
by having ſold fuch things to them at an eaſy rate;
and ſaid it was ſuitable to the reputation which a judge
ought to preſerve, to make ſuch bargains that the world
might ſee they were not too well ufed upon ſome fecret
account,
In ſum, his eſtate did fhèw how little he had minded
the raiſing a great fortune ; for, from a hundred pounds
a year, he raiſed it not quite to nine hundred, and of
this a very conſiderable part came in by his ſhare of Mr.
Selden's eſtate; yet this, conſidering his greai practice
while
C
5
64
The Life and Death of
1
1
while a counſellor, and his conſtant, frugal, and modeſt
way of living, was but a ſmall fortune. In the ſhare
that fell to him by Mr. Selden's will, one memorable
thing was done by him with the other executors, by
which they both ſhewed their regard to their dead
friend, and their love of the public. His library was
valued at ſome thouſands of pounds, and was believed
to be one of the moſt curious collections in Europe; ſo
they reſolved to keep this entire for the honour of Sel-
den's memory, and gave it to the univerſity of Oxford,
where a noble room was added to the former library
for its reception; and all due reſpects have been ſince
fhewed by that great and learned body to thoſe their
worthy benefactors, who not only parted ſo generouſly
with this great treaſure, but were a little put to it how
to oblige them, without croſſing the will of their dead
friend. Mr. Selden had once intended to give his li-
brary to that univerſity, and had left it fo by his will
but having occaſion for a manuſcript which belonged
to their library, they aſked of him a bond of a thouſand
pounds for its reſtitution ; this he took ſo ill at their
hands, that he ſtruck out that part of his will by which
he had given them his library, and with ſome paſſion
declared, they ſhould never have it. The executors
ſtuck at this a little; but having, conſidered better of
it, came to this reſolution, that they were to be the
executors of Mr. Selden's will, and not of his paſſion;
ſo they made good what he had intended in cold
blood, and paſt over what his paſſion had ſuggeſted
to him.
The parting with ſo many excellent books would
have been as uneaſy to our judge, as any thing of that
nature could be, if a pious regard to his friend's me.,
mory had not prevailed over him ; for he valued books
and manuſcripts above all things in the world. He
himſelf had made a great and rare collection of manu-
ſcripts belonging to the law of England; he was forty
years in gathering it. He himſelf faid, it coſt him
above fifteen hundred pounds,' and calls it in his
1
will
Sir Matthere Halei
65
will, ( a treaſure worth having and keeping, and not
fit for every man's view.' Theſe all he left to Lin-
coln's-inn; and, for the information of thoſe who are
curious to ſearch into ſuch things, there ſhall be a
catalogue of them added at the end of this book.
By all theſe inſtances it does appear how much he
was raiſed above the world, or the love of it. But
having thus maſtered things without him, his next
ſtudy was to overcome his own inclinations: he was,
as he ſaid himſelf, naturally paſſionate; I add, as he
faid himſelf, for that appeared by no other evidence,
fave that ſometimes his colour would riſe a little ;
but he fo governed himſelf, that thoſe who lived long
about him, have told me they never ſaw him diſor-
dered with anger, though he met with ſome trials
that the nature of man is as little able to bear as aný
whatſoever. There was one who did him a great
injury, which is not neceſſary to mention, who com-
ing afterwards to him for his advice in the ſettlement
of his eſtate, he gave it very frankly to him, but
would accept of no fee for it, and thereby ſhewed
both that he could forgive as a Chriſtian, and that he
had the ſoul of a gentlemari in him, not to take mo-
ney of one that wronged him ſo heinouſly. And
when he was aſked by one, How he could uſe a man
• ſo kindly, that had wronged him ſo much, his
He thanked God he had learned to
- forget injuries. And beſides the great temper he
expreſſed in all his public employments, in his family
he was a very gentle maſter : he was tender of all his
ſervants, he never turned any awáy, except they were
fo faulty, that there was no hope of reclaiming them:
when any of them had been long out of the way, or
had neglected any part of their duty, he would not
ſee them at their firſt coming home, and ſometimes
not till the next day, left when his diſpleaſure was
quick upon him, he might have chid them indecently;
and when he did reprove them, he did it with that
ſweetneſs and gravity, that it appeared he was more
6.
concerned
anſwer was,
F
I
l
66
The Life and Death of
I
concerned for their having done a fault, than for the
offence given by it to himſelf: but if they became
immoral or unruly, he then turned them away, for
he ſaid, ' he that by his place ought to puniſh diſorders
' in other people, muſt by no means ſuffer them in
· his own houſe.” He advanced his ſervants according
to the time they had been about him, and would
never give occaſion to envy amongſt them, by raiſing
the younger clerks above thoſe who had been longer
with him. He treated them all with great affection,
rather as a friend than a maſter, giving them often
good advice and inſtruction. He made thoſe who had
good places under him, give ſome of their profits to
the other ſervants who had nothing but their wages.
When he made his will, he left legacies to every one
of them ; but he expreſſed a more particular kindneſs
for one of them, Robert Gibbon, of the Middle Tem-
ple, Eſq. in whom he had that confidence, that he left
him one of his executors. I the rather mention him
becauſe of his noble gratitude to his worthy benefac-
tor and maſter, for he has been ſo careful to preſerve
his memory, that as he ſet thoſe on me, at whoſe de-
fire I undertook to write his Life, ſo he has procured
for me a great part of thoſe memorials and informa-
-tions, out of which I have compoſed it.
The Judge was of a moſt tender and compaſſionate
nature; this did eminently appear in his trying and
giving ſentence upon criminals, in which he was
ſtrictly careful, that not a circumſtance frould be
neglected, which might any way clear the fact. He be-
haved himſelf with that regard to the priſoners, which
became both the gravity of a judge, and the pity that
was due to men whoſe lives lay at ſtake, ſo that no-
thing of jeering or unreaſonable ſeverity fell from
him. He alſo examined the witneſſes in the fofteſt
manner, taking care that they ſhould be put under no
confuſion, which might diſorder their memory: and
hę ſumined all the evidence ſo equally when he
charged the jury, that the criminals themſelves never
complained
Sir Matthew Hale.
67
complained of him. When it came to him to give
ſentence, he did it with that compofedneſs and de-
cency, and his ſpeeches to the priſoners, directing them
to prepare for death, were ſo weighty, fo free of all
affectation, and ſo ſerious and devout, that many loved
to go to the trials when he fat judge, to be edified
by his ſpeeches and behaviour in them, and uſed to
fay, they heard very few ſuch fermons.'
But though the pronouncing the ſentence of death
was the piece of his employment that went moſt
againſt the grain with him ; yet in that he could
never be mollified to any tenderneſs which hindered
juſtice. When he was once preſſed to recommend
fome (whom he had condemned) to his majeſty's mer-
cy and pardon, he anſwered, He could not think
they deſerved a pardon whom he himſelf adjudged
to die ' ſo that all he would do in that kind was to
give the king a true account of the circumſtances of
the fact, after which, his majeſty was to conſider whe-
ther he would interpoſe his mercy, or let juſtice take
-
place.
His mercifulneſs extended even to his beaſts; for
when the horſes that he had kept long grew old, he
would not ſuffer them to be fold, or much wrought,
but ordered his men to turn them looſe on his
grounds, and put them only to eaſy work, ſuch as go-
ing to market, and the like; he uſed old dogs alſo with
the ſame care: his ſhepherd having one that was be-
come blind with age, he intended to have killed or lost.
him, but the judge coming to hear of it, made one of
his ſervants bring him home and feed him till he died:
and he was ſcarce ever ſeen more angry than'with one
of his fervants for neglecting a bird that he kept, ſo
that it died for want of food.
He was a great encourager of all young perſons
that he ſaw followed their books diligently, to whom
he uſed to give directions concerning the method of
their ſtudy, with a humanity and ſweetneſs that
wrought much on all that came near him : and in a
F 2
ſmiling
V
68
The Life and Death of
{
ſmiling pleaſant way he would admoniſh them if he
ſaw any thing amiſs in them : particularly if they went
too fine in their clothes, he would tell them, it did
"not become their profeſſion.' He was not pleaſed to
ſee ſtudents wear long perriwigs, or attornies go with
ſwords; fo that ſuch young men as would not be per-
fuaded to part with thoſe vanities, when they went to
him laid them aſide, and went as plain as they could,
to avoid the reproof which they knew they might
otherwiſe expect.
He was very free and communicative in his diſcourſe,
which he moſt commonly fixed on ſome good and
uſeful ſubject, and loved, for an hour or two at night,
to be viſited by ſome of his friends. He neither faid
nor did any thing with affectation, but uſed a ſimpli-
city, that was both natural to himſelf, and very eaſy
to others; and though he never ſtudied the modes
of civility or court breeding, yet he knew not what it
was to be rude or harſh with any, except he were
impertinently addreſſed to in matters of juſtice, then
he would raiſe his voice a little, and ſo fhake off thoſe
importunities.
In his furniture, and the ſervice of his table, and
way of living, he liked the old plainneſs ſo well, that
as he would ſet up none of the new faſhions, fo he
rather affected a coarſeneſs in the uſe of the old ones;
which was more the effect of his philofophy than diſ-
pofition, for he loved fine things too much at firſt.
He was always of an equal temper, rather chearful
than merry. Many wondered to ſee the evenneſs of
his deportment in ſome very ſad paſſages of his life.
Having loſt one of his fons, the manner of whoſe
death had ſome grievous circumſtances in it, one
coming to ſee him and condole, he ſaid to him,
* Thoſe were the effects of living long, ſuch muſt look
• to ſee many fad and unacceptable things;' and hav-
ing ſaid that, he went to other diſcourſes, with his
ordinary freedom of mind; for though he had a
temper ſo tender, that ſad things were apt enough to
make
!
Sir Maithew Hale.
69
make deep impreſſions upon him, yet the regard he
had to the wiſdom and providence of God, and the
juſt eſtimate he made of external things, did to admira-
tion maintain the tranquillity of his mind; and he gave
no occaſion, by idleneſs, or melancholy, to corrupt his
{pirit, but by the perpetual bent of his thoughts, he
knew well how to divert them from being oppreſſed
with the exceffes of ſorrow.
He had a generous and noble idea of God in his
mind, and this he found did above all other conſi-
derations preſerve his quiet. And indeed that was
ſo well eſtabliſhed in him, that no accidents, how ſuda
den foever, were obſerved to diſcompoſe him ; of
which an eminent man of that profeſſion gave me this
inſtance. In the year 1666, an opinion did run through
the nation, that the end of the world would come
* that year. This, whether ſet on by aſtrologers, or
advanced by thoſe who thought it might have ſome
relation to the number of the Beaſt in the Revelation,
or promoted by men of ill deſigns to diſturb the pub-
lic peace, had {pread mightily among the people;
and Judge Hale going that year the weſtern circuit,
ịt happened, that as he was on the bench at the aſſizes,
à molt terrible ſtorm fell out very unexpectedly, ac-
companied with ſuch flaſhes of lightning and claps
of thunder, that the like will hardly fall out in an
age; upon which a whiſper or rumour run through
the crowd, that now the world was to end, and the
day of judgment to begin,' and at this there follow-
ed a general conſternation in the whole aſſembly, and
all men forgot the buſineſs they were met about, and
betook themſelves to their prayers ; This, added to
the horror raiſed by the ſtorm, looked very difmally;
inſomuch that my author, a man of no ordinary re-
folution and firmneſs of mind, confeffed it made
a great impreſſion on himſelf. But he told me, that
he did obſerve the judge was not a whit affected, and
was going on with the buſineſs of the court in his or-
dinary manner; from which he made this concluſion,
F 3
that
1
770
The Life and Death of
that his thoughts were ſo well fixed, that he believed
if the world had been really to end, it would have
given him no conſiderable diſturbance.
But I ſhall now conclude all that I ſhall ſay con-
cerning him, with what one of the greateſt men of
the profeſſion of the law fent me as an abſtract of the
character he had made of him, upon long obſervation,
and much converſe with him: It was ſent me, that
from thence with the other materials, I might make
ſuch a repreſentation of him to the world, as he in-
deed deſerved, but I reſolved not to ſhred it out in
parcels, but to ſet it down entirely as it was ſent me,
hoping, that as the reader will be much delighted with
it, ſo the noble perſon that ſent it, will not be offended
with me for keeping it intire, and ſetting it in the
beſt light I could: It begins abruptly, being deſigned
to ſupply the defects of others, from whom I had
earlier and more copious information.
“He would never be brought to diſcourſe of public
matters in private converſation, but in queſtions of law,
when any young lawyer put a caſe to him, he was
very communicative, eſpecially while he was at the
bar: but when he came to the bench, he grew more
reſerved, and would never ſuffer his opinion in any
cafe to be known, till he was obliged to declare it
judicially; and he concealed his opinion in great caſes
ſo carefully, that the reſt of the judges in the ſame
court could never perceive it : his reaſon was, becauſe
every judge ought to give ſentence according to his
own perfuafion and confcience, and not to be ſwayed
by any reſpect or deference to another man's opinion:
and by this means it happened ſometimes, that when
all the barons of the Exchequer delivered their opi-
nions, and agreed in their reaſons and arguments ;
yet he coming to ſpeak laſt, and differing in judgment
from them, hath expreſt himſelf with ſo much weight
and ſolidity, that the barons have immediately rea
tracted their votes, and concurred with him. He hath
fat
1
71
Sir Matthew Hale.
!
i
fat as a judge in all the courts of law, and in two of
them as chief, but ſtill wherever he fat all buſineſs
of conſequence followed him, and no man was con-
tent to ſit down by the judgment of any other court,
till the caſe was brought before him, to ſee whether
he were of the fame mind; and his opinion being
once known, men did readily acquieſce in it; and it
was very rarely ſeen, that any man attempted to
bring it about again, and he that did fo, did it upon
great diſadvantages, and was always looked upon as a
very contentious perſon; ſo that what Cicero ſays of
Brutus, did very often happen to him, Etiam quos
contra ftatuit æquos placatoſque dimiſit 1.
· Nor did men reverence his judgment and opinion
in courts of law only, but his authority was as great
in courts of equity, and the ſame reſpect and ſubmiſ-
fion was paid him there too; and this appeared not
only in his own court of equity in the Exchequer
Chamber, but in the Chancery too, for thither he
was often called to adviſe and affiſt the lord chan-
cellor, or lord keeper, for the time being; and if the
cauſe were of difficult examination, or intricated and
entangled with variety of ſettlements, no man ever
ſhewed a more clear and diſcerning judgment: If it
were of great value, and great perſons intereſted in it,
no man ſhewed greater courage and integrity in laying
afide all reſpect of perſons. When he came to deliver
his opinion, he always put his diſcourſe into ſuch a
method, that one part of it gave light to the other,
and where the proceedings of chancery might prove
inconvenient to the ſubject, he never ſpared to obſerve
and reprove them: And from his obſervations and diſ-
courſes, the Chancery hath taken occaſion to eſtabliſh
iany of thoſe rules by which it governs itſelf at this day.
He did look upon Equity as a part of the com-
imon law, and one of the grounds of it; and there .
fore as near as he could he did always reduce it
to certain rules and principles, that men might ſtudy
it as a ſcience, and not think the adminiſtration of it
F 4
had
72
The Life and Death of
i
had any thing arbitrary in it. Thus eminent was this
man in every ſtation, and into what court ſoever he
was called, he quickly made it appear, that he dea.
ſerved the chief feat there.
As great a lawyer as he was, he would never
ſuffer the ſtrictneſs of law to prevail againſt con-
fcience; as great a chancellor as he was, he would
make uſe of all the niceties and ſubtilties iņ law, when
it tended to ſupport right and equity. But nothing
was more admirable in him than his patience: he did
not affect the reputation of quickneſs and diſpatch, by
a haſty and captious hearing of the counſel : he would
bear with the meaneſt, and give every man his full
ſcope, thinking it much better to loſe time than pa-
țience. In ſurnming up of an evidence to a jury, he
would always require the bar to interrupt him if he
did miſtake, and to put him in mind of it if he
did forget the leaſt circumſtance. Some judges have
been diſturbed at this as a rudeneſs, which he always
looked upon as a ſervice and reſpect done to him.
His whole life was nothing elſe but a continual
courſe of labour and induſtry, and when he could
borrow any time from the public ſervice, it was wholly
employed either in philofophical or divine meditations,
and even that was a public ſervice too as it hath proved;
for they have occaſioned his writing of ſuch treatiſes,
as are become the choiceſt entertainment of wiſe and
good men, and the world hath, reaſon to wiſh that
more of then were printed. He that conſiders the active
part of his life, and with what unwearied diligence and
application of mind, be diſpatched all men's buſineſs
which came under his care, will wonder how he could
find any time for contemplation : he that conſiders
again the various ſtudies he paſt through, and the
many collections and obſervations he hath made, may
as juſtly wonder how he could find any time for action
but no man can wonder at the exemplary piety and
innocence of ſuch a life ſo ſpent as this was, wherein
as he was careful to avoid every idle word, ſo it is ma-
nifeſt
}
Sir Matthew Hale.
73
nifeſt he never ſpent an idle day. They who come
far ſhort of this great man, will be apt enough to
think that this is a panegyric, which indeed is a
hiſtory, and but a little part of that hiſtory which was
with great truth to be related of him : men who def-
pair of attaining ſuch perfection, are not willing to be
lieve that any man elfe did ever arrive at ſuch a height.
He was the greateſt lawyer of the age, and might
have had what practice he pleaſed, but though he did
moſt conſcientiouſly affect the labours of his profeſſion,
yet at the ſame time he deſpiſed the gain of it; and of
thoſe profits which he would allow himſelf to receive, he
always ſet apart a tenth penny for the poor, which he
ever diſpenſed with that fecrecy, that they who were re-
Hieved, feldom or never knew their benefactor. He took
more pains to avoid the honours and preferments of the
gown, than others do to compaſs them. His modefty was
beyond all example, for where ſome men, who never
attained to half his knowledge, have been puffed up with
a high conceit of themſelves, and have affected all occaſi-
ons of raiſing their own eſteem by depreciating other
men; he on the contrary was the moſt obliging man that
ever practiſed: if a young gentleman happened to be
retained to argue a point in law, where he was on the
contrary ſide, he would very often mend the objections
when he came to repeat them, and always commend
the gentleman if there were room for it, and one good
word of his was of more advantage to a young man,
than all the favour of the Court could be.'
1
Having thus far purſued his Hiſtory and Character,
in the public and exemplary parts of his life, without
interrupting the thread of the relation with what was
private and domeſtic, I ſhall conclude with a ſhort
account of theſe
He was twice married; his firſt wife was Anne,
daughter of Sir Henry Moore, of Faly, in Berkſhire,
grandchild to Sir Francis Moore, ferjeant at law; by
her he had ten children, the four firſt died young, the
other
.
!
* 4
The Life and Death of
A
I
other ſix lived to be ail married'; and he outlived them
all except his eldeit daughter and his youngeſt fon,
who are yet alive.
His eldeſt ſon Robert married Frances the daugh-
ter of Sir Francis Chock, of Avington in Berkſhire ;
and they both dying in a little time one after another,
leff five children, two fons, Matthew and Gabriel,
and three daughters, Ann, Mary, and Frances; and by
the Judge's advice, they both made him their executor;
fo he took his grandchildren into his own care, and
among them he left his eſtate.
His ſecond fon Matthew inarried Anne the
daughter of Mr. Matthew Simmonds, of Hilfley, in
Glouceſterſhire, who died ſoon after, and left one fon
behind him, named Matthew.
His third fon Thomas married Rebecca the daugh-
ter of Chriſtian le Brune, a Dutch merchant, and died
without iſſue.
His fourth ſon Edward married - Mary the daughter
of Edmund Goodyere, Eſq. of Heythorp, in Oxford-
fhire, and ſtill lives; he has two fons, and three
daughters.
His eldeſt daughter Mary was married to Edward Al-
derly, ſon of Edward Alderly, of Innifhannon, in the
county of Cork, in Ireland ; who dying, left her with
two ſons and three daughters; ſhe is ſince married to
Edward Stephens, ſon to Edward Stephens, Eſq. of
Cherington, in Glouceſterfhire. His youngeſt daughter
Elizabteh was married to Edward Webb, Eſq. barriſter
at law; ſhe died, leavingtwochildren,afonandădaughter.
His ſecond wife. was Anne, the daughter of Mr.
Joſeph Biſhop, of Faly, in Berkſhire, by whom he
had no children; he gives her a great character in his
will, as a moſt dutiful, faithful, and loving wife,
and therefore truſted the breeding of his grandchildren
to her care, and left her one of his executors, to whom
he joined Sir Robert Jenkinſon and Mr. Gibbon. Sa
much may ſuffice of thoſe deſcended from him.
In after-times, it is not to be doubted, but it will
be
Sir Matthew Hale.
1
1
6
6
6
be reckoned no ſmall honour to derive from him ;
and 'this has made me more particular in reckoning up
his iſſue. I ſhall next give an account of the iſſues of
his mind, his Books, that are either printed, or remain
in manuſcript; for the laſt of theſe by his will he has
forbid the printing of any of them after his death, ex-
cept ſuch as he ſhould give order for in his life : but
he ſeems to have changed his mind afterwards, and
to have left it to the diſcretion of his executors which
of them might be printed; for though he does not
expreſs that, yet he ordered by a codicil, - that if
any book of his writing, as well touching the com-
mon law, as other ſubjects, ſhould be printed, then
what ſhould be given for the conſideration of
the copy, ſhould be divided into ten ſhares, of
' which he appointed ſeven to go among his fer-
' vants, and three to thoſe who had copied them
out, and were to look after the impreſſions.' The
reaſon, as I have underſtood it, that made him fo
unwilling to have any of his works printed after
his death, was, that he apprehended in the licenſing
" them,' (which was neceffary before any book could
be lawfully printed, by a law then in force, but ſince
his death determined) ſome things might have been
ftruck out, or altered;" which he had obſerved, not
without ſome indignation, had been done to a part of
the reports of one whom he had much eſteemed.
- This, in matters of law, he ſaid, "might prove
' to be of ſuch miſchievous conſequence, that he
thereupon reſolved none of his writings ſhould be
' at the mercy of licenſers ;' and therefore becauſe
he was not ſure that they ſhould be publiſhed without
expurgations or interpolations, he 'forbade the printing
any of them ;' in which he afterwards made fome
alteration, at leaſt he gave occaſion by his codicil
to infer that he had altered his mind.
This I have the more fully explained, that his laſt
will may be no way miſunderſtood, and that his wor-
thy executors, and his hopeful grandchildren, may not
conclude
6
than 6
The Life and Death of
conclude themſelves to be under an indiſpenſable
obligation, of depriving the public of his excellent
writings.
A
A Catalogue of all his Books that are Printed, and are to be solat
by William Shrowsbury, at the sign of the Bible, in Duke-
Lane
1
1. HE Primitive Origination of Mankind, considered and ex-
amined according to the Light of Nature. Fol.
2. Contemplations Moral and Divine, Part 1. Octavo.
3. Contemplations Moral and Divine, Part 2.
4. Difficiles Nugæ, or Observations touching the Torricellian
Experiment, and the various Solutions of the same, especially
touching the Weight and Elasticity of Air. Octavo.
5. An Essay touching the Gravitation, or Non-Gravitation, of
fuid Bodies, and the Reasons thereof. Octavo.
6. Observations touching the Principles of Natural Motions, and,
especially touching Rarefaction and Condensation; together
with a reply to certain remarks. touching the. Gravitation of
Fluids. Octavo.
7. The Life and Death of Pomponius Atticus, written by his
Contemporary and Acquaintance, Cornelius Nepos, translated
out of his Fragments; together with Observations, Political
and Moral, thereupon. Octavo.
8. Pleas of the Crown, or a Methodical Summary of the Pring
cipal Matters relating to that subject, Octavo.
1
/
MANUSCRIPTS OF HIS NOT YET PUBLISHED.
f. Concerning the Secondary Origination of Mankind. Fol.
2. Concerning Religion, 5 vol. in Fol. viz.
1. De Deo. Vox Metaphysica, pars 1. & 2.
2. Pars 3. Vox Naturæ, Providentiæ, Ethicæ, Conscientiæ.
3. Liber sextus, septimus, octavus.
4. Pars 9. Concerning the Holy Scriptures, their Evidence
and Authority.
5. Concerning the truth of the H. Scriptures, and the Evia.
dences thereof.
3 Of Policy in Matters of Religion. Fol.
4. De Anima, to- Mr. B. Fol.
5. De Anima, Transactions between him and Mr. B. Fol.
6. Tentamina, de Ortu, Natura & Immortalitate Animæ. Fol.
7. Mag.co.
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
77
17. Magnetismus Magneticus. Fol.
3. Magnetismus Physicus. Fol.
9. Magnetismus Divinus.
10. De Generatione Animalium & Vegetabilium. Fol. Lat.
11. Of the Law of Nature. Fol.
12. A Letter of Advice to his Grandchildren. Quarto.
13. Placita Coronæ. 7 vol. Fol.
14. Preparatory Notes concerning the Right of the Crown. Fol.
15. Incepta de Juribus Coronæ. Fol.
16. De Prerogativa Regis. Fol.
17. Preparatory Notes touching Parliamentary Proceedings, 2 vol.
Quarto.
18. Of the Jurisdiction of the House of Lords. Quarto.
19. Of the Jurisdiction of the Admiralty.
20. Touching Ports and Customs. Fol.
21. Of the Right of the Sea, and the Arms thereof, and Custon.
Fol.
22. Cncerning the Advancement of Trade. Quarto.
23. Of Sheriffs Accounts. Fol.
24. Copies of Evidences. Fol.
25. Mr. Selden's Discourses, Octavo,
26. Excerpta ex Schedis Seldenianis.
27. Journal of the 18 and 21 Jacobi Regis. Quarto,
28. Great Common place Book of Reports or Cases in the Law,
in Law French. Fol.
In Bundles.
1
On Quod tibi fieri, &c. Matth. vii. 12.
Touching Punishments, in relation to the Socinian Controversy:
Policies of the Church of Rome.
Concerning the Laws of England.
Of the Amendment of the Laws of England,
Touching Provision for the Poor.
Upon Mr. Hobbs his Manuscript.
Concerning the Time of the Abolition of the Jewish Laws,
In Quarto,
Quod sit Deus,
Of the State and Condition of the Soul and Body after Death.
Notes concerning Matters of Law.
To
78
The Life and Death of
To these I shall
. add the Catalogue of the Manuscripts, which he
Left to the Honourable Society of Lincoln’s-Inn, with that part
of his Will that concerns them.
ITEM, As a testimony of my honour and respect to the Society
of Lincoln's Inn, where I had the greatest part of my education,
1 give and bequeath to that honourable society the several manu-
script books, contained in a schedule annexed to my will: they
are a treasure worth having and keeping, which I have been near
forty years in gathering, with very great industry and expence. My
desire is, that they be kept safe, and all together, in remembrance
of me: They were fit to be bound in leather and chained, and kept
in archives: I desire they may not be lent out, or disposed of:
only if I happen hereafter to have any of my posterity of that
Society, that desires to transcribe any book, and give very good
caution to restore it again in a prefixed time, such as the Bench-
ers of that Society in council shall approve of; then, and not
otherwise, only one book at one time may be lent out to them
by the society; so that there be no more but one book of those
books abroad out of the library at one time. They are a treasure
that are not fit for every man's view ; nor is every man capable of
making use of them : Only I would have nothing of these books
printed, but intirely preserved together, for the use of the indus-
trious learned members of that Society.
A Catalogue of the Books given by him to Lincoln's-Inn, according
to the Schedule annexed to his lill:
PLACITA de tempore Regis Johannis, 1 vol. stiched.
Placita coram Rege E. 1. 2 volumes.
Placita coram Rege E. II. 3 vol.
Placita coram Rege E. III. 3 vol.
Placita coram Rege R. II. 1 vol.
Placita coram Rege H. IV. H. V, 1 vol.
Placita de Banco, E. I. ab anno 1. ad annum 21, 1 vol.
Transcripts of many Pleas; coram Rege & de Banco E. I. one
vol.
The Pleas in the Exchequer, styled Communia, from 1 E. III. to
46 E. JII 5 vol.
Close Polls of King John, verbatim, of the most material things,
1 vol.
The principal Matters in the Close and Patent Rolls, of H. III.
Transcribed verbatim, from 9 H. III. to 56 H. III. 5 vol.
vellum, marked K. L.
The principal Matters in the Close and Patent-Rolls, E. I. with
several Copies and Abstracts of Records, 1 vol, marked F.
A long
1
1
+
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
79
!
A long Book of Abstracts of Records, by me.
Close and Patent Rolls, from 1 to 10 E. III. and other Records or
the time of H. III. 1 vol. marked W.
Close Rolls of 15 E. III. with other Records, 1 vol. marked N.
Close Rolls from 17 to 38 E. III. 2 vol.
Close and Patent-Rolls, from 40 E. III. to 50 E. III. 1 vol.
marked B.
Close Rolls of E. II. with other Records, 1 vol. R.
Close and Patent-Rolls, and Charter-Rolls in the time of King
John, for the Clergy, 1 vol.
A great Volume of Records of several natures, G.
The Leagues of the Kings of England, tempore E.I. E. II. E. III.
I vol.
A Book of ancient Leagues and Military Provisions, 1 vol.
The Reports of Iters, of Derby, Nottingham and Bedford, tranz-
scribed; 1 vol.
Itinera Forest de Pickering & Lancaster, transcript ex Originali,
1 vol.
An ancient Reading, very large upon Charta de Foresta, and of
the Forest-Laws.
The Transcript of the Iter Foresta de Dean, 1 vol.
Quo Worranto and Liberties of the County of Gloucester, with
the Pleas of the Chace of Kingswood, 1 vol.
Transcript of the Black Book of the Admiralty, Laws of the
Army, Impositions and several Honours, 1 vol.
Records of Patents, Inquisitions,' &c. of the County of Leicester,
1 vol.
Muster and Military Provisions of all sorts, extracted from the
Records, 1 vol.
Gervasius Tilburiensis, or the Black Book of the Exchequer,
1 vol.
The King's Title to the Pre-emption of Tin, a thin vol.
Calendar of the Records in the Tower, a sniall vol.
A Miscellany of divers Records, Orders, and other things of va-
rious natures, marked E. 1 vol.
Another of the like nature in leather cover, I vol.
A Book of divers Records and Things relating to the Chancery,
I vol.
Titles of Honour and Pedigrees, especially touching Clifford,
1 vol.
History of the Marches of Wales, collected by me, 1 vol.
Certain Collections touching Titles of Honour, 1 vol.
Copies of several Records touching Premunire, 1 vol.
Extract of Commissions tempore H.VII. H. VIII. R. and the Pro-
ceedings in the Court Military, between Ray and Ramsey,
l-vol.
Petitions in Parliament tempore, E. I. E. II. E. III. H. IV. 3 vol.
Summons of Parliament, from 49 H. III. to 22 E. IV. 3 vol.
The Parliament-Rolls, from the beginning of E. I. to the end
of R. III. in 19 rolumes, yiz, one of E. I, one of E. II. with
the
:
1
)
80
The Life and Death of
i
the Ordinations; two of E. III. three of R. II. two of H. IV:
two of H. V. four of H. VI. three of E. IV. one of R. III.
all transcribed at large.
Mr. Elsing's Book, touching Proceedings in Parliament, 1 vol.
Noy's Collection, touching the King's Supplies, 1 vol. stitched.
A Book of various Collections out of Records and Register of
Canterbury, and Claims at the Coronation of R. II. 1 vol.
Transcript of Bishop Usher's Notes, principally concerning Chro:
nology, 3 large vol.
A Transcript out of Doomsday Book of Gloucestershire and Here's
fordshire, and of some Pipe-Rolls, and old Accompts of the
Customs, 1 vol.
Extracts and Collections out of Records, touching Titles of Ho-
Extracts of Pleas; Patents and Close Rolls, tempore H. III. E. I.
E. II. E. III. and some old antiquities of England, 1 vol.
Collections and Memorials of many Records aſid Antiquities;
I vol. Seldeni.
Calendar of Charters and Records in the Tower, touching Glou-
cestershire.
Collection of Notes and Records of various natures, marked M.
I vol. Seldeni.
Transcript of the Iters of London, Kent, Cornwall, 1 vol.
Extracts out of the Leger-Books of Battell, Evesham, Winton;
&c. 1 vol. Seldeni.
Copies of the principal Records in the Red-Book, in the Exchea
nour, I vol.
1
1
1
quer, 1 vol.
1
Extracts of Records and Treaties, relating to Sea-Affairs, 1 vol.
Records touching Customs, Ports, Partition of the Lands of
Gil. De Clare, &c.
Extract of Pleas in the Time R. I, king John, E. I. &c. 1 vol.
Chartă Antiquæ in the Tower, transcribed, in 2 vol.
Chronological Remembrances, extracted out of the Notes of
Bishop Usher; 1 vol. stitched.
Inquisitionibus de Legibus Walliæ, 1 vol.
Collections, or Records, touching Knighthood.
Titles of Honour. Seldeni. I vol.
Mathematicks and Fortifications, 1 vol.
Processus Curiæ Militaris, 1 vol.
A Book of Honour, stitched, 1 vol.
Extracts out of the Registry of Canterbury:
Copies of several Records touching Proceedings in the Military-
Court, 1 vol.
Abstracts of Summons and Rolls of Parliament, out of the book
of Dunnelm, and some Records alphabetically digested, 1 vol.
Abstracts of divers Records in the office of First Fruits, 1 vol.
stitched.
Mathematical and Astrological Calculation, 1 vol.
A Book
Sir Matthew Hale.
81
A Book of Divinity.
Two large Repositories of Records, marked A. and B.
[All those above are in folio.]
The Proceedings of the Forests of Windsor, Dean and Essex, in
quarto, 1 vol.
[Those that follow, are most of them in vellum, or parchment.]
Two Books of old Statutes, one ending H. VII. the other
2 H. V. with the sums, 2 vol.
Five last years of E. II. 1 vol.
Reports tempore E. II. 1 vol.
The Year-Book of R. II. and some others, 1 vol.
An old Chronicle, from the Creation, to E. III. 1 vol.
A Mathematical Book, especially, of Optiques, 1 vol.
A Dutch Book of Geometry and Fortification.
Murti Benevenlani Geometrica, 1 vol.
Reports tempore E. I. under titles, 1 voi.
An old Register, and some Pleas, 1 vol.
Bernardi Bratrack Peregrinatio, 1 vol.
Iter Çantii and London, and some Reports, 'tempore E. II. 1 vol.
Reports tempore E. I. & E. II. 1 vol.
Leger-Book, Abbatiæ De Bello.
Isidori Opera.
Liber Altercationis, & Christianæ Philosophiæ, contra Paganos.
Historia Petri Manducatorii.
Hornii Astronomica.
Historia Ecclesiae Dunnelmensis.
Holandi Chymica.
}
!
3
>
The Black-Book of the New-Law, collected by me, 'and digested.
into alphabetical titles, written with my own hand, which is
the original copy.
MATTHEW HALE.
1
1
VOL, Fc
82
The Life and Death of
1
THE CONCLUSION.
1
Thus lived and died Sir Matthew Hale, the renown-
ed Lord Chief Juſtice of England : he had one of
the bleſſings of virtue in the higheſt meaſure of any
of the age, that does not always follow it, which
was, that he was univerſally much valued and ad-
mired by men of all ſides and perſuaſions : for as
none could hate him but for his juſtice and virtues,
ſo the great eſtimation he was generally in, made
that few durſt undertake to defend ſo ungrateful a
paradox, as any thing ſaid to leſſen him would have
appeared to be. His name is ſcarce ever mentioned
ſince his death without particular accents of ſingular
reſpect. His opinion in points of Law generally paſſes
as an uncontroulable authority, and is often pleaded
in all the courts of juſtice: and all that knew him
well, do ſtill ſpeak of him as one of the perfecteſt
patterns of religion and virtue they ever faw.
The commendations given him by all ſorts of peos
ple are ſuch, that I can hardly come under the
cenſures of this age for any thing I have ſaid con-
cerning him ; yet if this book lives to after-times, it
will be looked on perhaps as a picture, drawn more
according to fancy and invention, than after the life;
if it were not that thoſe who knew him well, elta-
bliſhing its credit in the preſent age, will make it
paſs down to the next with a clearer authority.
I ſhall purſue his praiſe no further in my own
words, but ſhall add what the preſent lord chan-
cellor of England ſaid concerning him, when he
delivered the commiſſion to the lord chief juſtice
Rainsford, who ſucceeded him in that office, which
he began in this manner :
• The vacancy of the ſeat of the chief juſtice of
this court, and that by a way and means fo unuſual,
as
Sir Matthew Hale.
83
6
.
6
€ as the reſignation of him that lately held it; and
* this too proceeding from ſo deplorable a cauſe, as
the infirmity of that body which began to forſake
'the ableſt mind that ever preſided here, hath filled
' the kingdom with lamentations, and given the King
many and penſive thoughts how to ſupply that
' vacancy again. And a little after, ſpeaking to his
ſucceffor, he ſaid, the very labours of the place,
and that weight and fatigue of buſineſs which at-
• tends it, are no ſmall diſcouragements; for what
' ſhoulders may not juſtly fear that burthen, which
' made him ſtoop that went before you ? Yet, I con-
· feſs you have a greater diſcouragement than the
'mere burthen of your place, and that is the inimit-
· able example of your laſt predeceſſor: Oneroſum ef
fuccedere bono principi 1, was the ſaying of him in the
panegyric: and you will find it fo too, that are to
· fucceed ſuch a 'chief juſtice, of ſo indefatigable an
induſtry, ſo invincible a patience, ſo exemplary
- an integrity, and ſo magnanimous a contempt of
worldly things, without which no man can be truly
great; and to all this, a man that was ſo abſolute a
maſter of the ſcience of the law, and even of the moſt
* abftrufe and hidden parts of it, that one may truly
ſay of his knowledge in the law, what St. Auſtin ſaid
of St. Hierome's knowledge in divinity, Quod Hiera-
nimus neſcivit, nullus mortalium unquam ſcivit2. And
* therefore the king would not ſuffer himſelf to part
' with ſo great a man, till he had placed upon him all
the marks of bounty and eſteem which his retired
* and weak condition was capable of.'
To this high character, in which the expreſſions, as
they well become the eloquence of him who pronounc-
ed them, ſo they do agree exactly to the ſubject, with.
out the abatements that are often to be made for rhe-
toric. I ſhall add that part of the lord chief juſtice's
anſwer, in which he ſpeaks of his predeceſſor.
A perſon in whom his eminent virtues and
deep learning have long managed a conteſt for the
1 It is a troublesome task to succeed a virtuous prince.
? What Jerome was ignorant of, no man ever knew.
G
ſupe-
6
84
The Life and Death of Sir Matthew Haie.
C
!
- fuperiority, which is not decided to this day; nor
• will it ever be determined, I ſuppoſe, which ſhall
get the upper hand: A perſon that has fate in this
'court theſe many years, of whoſe actions there I
have been an eye and ear-witneſs, that by the great-
neſs of his learning always charmed his auditors to
“ reverence and attention : A perſon of whom I think
"I may boldly fay, that as former times cannot ſhew
any ſuperior to him, ſo I am confident fucceed-
ing and future times will never ſhew any equal.
· Theſe conſiderations, heightened by what I have
heard from your lordſhip concerning him, made me
'anxious and doubtful, and put me to a ſtand, how
'I ſhould ſucceed fo able, ſo good, and ſo great a
man: It doth very much trouble me, that I, who in
' compariſon of him am but like a candle lighted
* in the ſun-ſhine, or like a glow-worm at mid-day,
'fhould ſucceed fo great a perfon, that is and will
be fo eminently famous to all poſterity: and I
'muſt ever wear this motto in my breaſt to comfort
me, and in my actions to excuſe me:
Sequitur, quamvis non passibus æquis '.'
Thus were panegyrics made upon him while yet
alive, in that ſame court of juſtice which he had fo
worthily governed. As he was honoured while he
lived, ſo he was much lamented when he died : and,
this will ſtill be acknowledged as a juſt inſcription for
his memory, though his modeſty forbid any ſuch to
be put on his tombſtone :
C
6
A
THAT HE WAS ONE OF THE GREATEST PATTERNS
THIS AGE HAS AFFORDED, WHETHER IN HIS PRI-
VATE DEPORTMENT AS A CHRISTIAN, OR IN HIS
PUBLIÇ EMPLOYMENTS, EITHER AT THE BAR ON
+
ON THE BENCH.
He follows his steps, though at a distance.
End of Burnet's Life of Sir Matthew Hale.
AN
( 85 )
AN APPENDIX
TO THE
5
LIFE AND DEATH
OF
+
SIR MATTHEW HALE, KNIGHT.
1
Every circumſtance which the records of antiquity
can furniſh to develope the life and character of Sir
MATTHEW HALE, muſt be a welcome contribution
to him, whoſe mind loves to dwell on images of tran-
ſcendant piety and unſullied virtue. This ſhining or-
nament of his age had cultivated, in the latter period
of his life, a cloſe intimacy with Richard Baxter, a
perſon who ranked high amongſt thoſe who refuſed
to comply with the Act of Conformity. Though our
learned judge was by principle firmly attached to the
doctrines and diſcipline of the Church of England, he
confidered it no inconſiſtency to allow, a place in his
eſteem to this divine, who, to an ardent and affection-
ate regard for the intereſts of practical religion, united
profound and extenſive learning, and an extraordi-
nary penetration and acuteneſs of underſtanding. The
ſame ſpirit of Chriſtian courteſy which ſhone in his de-
portment through life, taught him, in his ſocial inter-
courſe with this gentleman, carefully to avoid thoſe
topics which were likely, go excite a colliſion of ar.
guments without producing a change of ſentiment ;
and ſelect fuch only as might be fafely diſcuſſed, and,
inſtead of weakening, were calculated to ſtrengthen
the bonds of friendſhip, and yield reciprocal pleaſure
and inſtruction.
G 3
The
4
:
1
1
86
Appendix to the Life and Death of
The Editor flatters himſelf, the peruſal of the fol-
lowing Notes will not only prove intereſting to the
reader, as they elucidate the character of Sir Mat-
thew Hale, but will ſuggeſt to him one of the moſt
uſeful and important maxims in the life of a Chriſtian.
The example of this great man will be found, in an
eminent degree, to inculcate the ſpirit of moderation,
charity, and forbearance; and furniſh a practical com-
ment on the text of the Apoſtle, who exhorts us To
'honour all men, and love the brotherhood.' The
reader will learn to abjure and abhor the maxims of
bigotry and intolerance which then ſo powerfully pre-
vailed. Firm, indeed, to his own principles, he will
be ever ready to thew a tenderneſs for the prejudices
of others. Inſtead of widening, he will endeavour
rather to heal the wounds of religious diſcord.
Whoever peruſes the hiſtory of the Church in the
time of the Ufurpation, and contemplates the unhappy
confequences which flowed from her diviſions, will
find abundant reaſon to deplore the intemperate zeal
of the oppoſite parties, by which it unfortunately hap-
pened, in their indiſcriminate hoſtility to each other,
that thoſe, who were the moſt diſtinguiſhed for talents,
learning, and piety, were often the greateſt ſufferers.
The retaliations for the injuries which the friends of
the Eſtabliſhed Church had received, were deeply felt
and juſtly lamented in the perſon of Baxter, whoſe
eſtimable qualities and rare endowments muſt make
every good man with he had eſcaped the rod of per-
ſecution.
The Church of England, indeed, revolts at the
principle. Her weapons are fpiritual. Thoſe whom
ſhe cannot convince by argument, ſhe diſdains to
fubdue by violence. Let us hope the age of perſecu.
tion is fed for ever ; that' our eyes are open not
more to its impiety than its impolicy. We live in
times when the real friends of religion and virtue
have more reafon than ever to overlook their differ-
ences in ſpeculative opinions, and unite together in
Itemming
Sir Matthew Hale.
87
ſtemming the torrent of vice and infidelity which is
ready to overwhelm us. Our political ſituation more-
over demands of every true patriot theſe facrifices,
and the promotion of Chriſtian unity, love, and con-
cord.
May the bright example and inſtructive writings of
this pattern of Chriſtian moderation produce, amongſt
the profeſſors of Chriſtianity, the happy effect of ex-
tirpating from their hearts the paſſions of religious ran-
cour and animoſity, and diffuſing the ſpirit of univer-
fal peace and comprehenſive good-will to men.
1
ADDIS
88
Appendix to the Life and Death of
ADDITIONAL NOTES
OF THE
LIFE AND DEATH
OV
SİR MATTHEW HALE, KNIGHT.
WRITTEN BY
RICHARD BAXTER,
At the request of EDWARD STEPHENS, Esq. Publisher of his
Contemplations, and his familiar Friend.
TO THE READER.
Since the hiſtory of Judge Hale's life is publiſhed
(written by Dr. Burnet very well) ſome men have
thought, that becauſe my familiarity with him was
known, and the laſt time of a man's life is ſuppoſed to
contain his matureſt judgment, time, ſtudy, and ex-
perience correcting former over-fights; and this great
man, who was moſt diligently and thirſtily learning
to the laſt, was like to be ſtill wiſer, the notice that I
had of him in the latter years of his life ſhould not
be omitted
I was never acquainted with him till 1667, and
therefore have nothing to ſay of the former part of
his life; nor of the latter, as to any public affairs, but
only of what our familiar converſe acquainted me : but
the viſible effects made me wonder at the induſtry
and unwearied labours of his former life. Beſides the
four volumes againſt Atheiſm and Infidelity, in folio,
which
+
Sir Matthew Hale.
!
which I after mention, when I was deſired to borrow
à manuſcript of his law collections, he ſhewed me, as
I remember, about two and thirty folios, and told me
he had no other, on that 'ſubject, (collections out of
the Tower records, &c.) and that the amanuenſis' work
that wrote them, coſt him a thouſand pounds. He
was ſo ſet on ſtudy, that he reſolvedly avoided all
neceſſary diverſions, and ſo little valued either gran-
deur, wealth, or any worldly vanity, that he avoided
them to thạt notable degree, which incompetent
judges took to be an exceſs. His habit was ſo coarſe
and plain, that I, who am thought guilty of a culpa-
ble neglect therein, have been bold to deſire him to
lay by ſome things which ſeemed too homely. The
houſe which I ſurrendered to him, and wherein he
lived at Acton, was indeed well fituated, but very
ſmall, and ſo far below the ordinary dwellings of men
of his rank, as that divers farmers thereabouts had.
better ; but it pleaſed him. Many cenſured him for
chooſing his laſt wife below his quality: but the good
man more regarded his own daily comfort than men's
thoughts and talk. As far as I could diſcern, he
choſe one very ſuitable to his ends; one of his own
judgment and temper, prudent and loving, and fit to
pleaſe, him, and that would not draw on him the
trouble of much acquaintance and relations. His
houſekeeping was according to the reſt, like his eſtate
and mind, but not like his place and honour: for he
reſolved never to graſp at riches, nor take great fees,
but would refuſe what many others thought too little.
I wondered when he told me how ſmall his eſtate
was, after ſuch ways of getting as were before him :
but as he had little, and deſired little, ſo he was con-
tent with little, and ſuited his dwelling, table, and re-
tinue thereto. He greatly-ſhunned the viſits of many,
or great perſons, that came not to him on neceſſary
buſineſs, becauſe all his hours were precious to him,
and therefore he contrived the avoiding of them, and
the free enjoyment of his beloved privacy.
I muſt
+
1
90 Appendix to the Life and Death of
I muſt with a glad remembrance acknowledge, that
while we were ſo unſuitable in places and worth, yet
ſome ſuitableneſs of judgment and diſpoſition made
our frequent converſe pleaſing to us both. The laſt
time but one that I was at his houſe, he made me
lodge there, and in the morning inviting me to more
frequent viſits, faid, No man ſhall be more welcome ;
and he was no diſſembler. To fignify his love, he
put my name as a legatee in his will, bequeathing me
forty ſhillings. Mr. Stephens gave me two manu
fcripts, as appointed by him for me, declaring his
judgment of our Church contentions and their cure
(aftermentioned). Though they are imperfect, as
written on the ſame queſtion at ſeveral times, I had a
great mind to print them, to try whether the common
reverence of the author would cool any of our con-
tentious clergy: but hearing that there was a reſtraint
in his will, I took out part of a copy, in which I find
theſe words, 'I do expreſsly declare, that I will have
nothing of my writings printed after my death,
.but only ſuch as I ſhall in my life-time deliver out
• to be printed.' And not having received this in
his life-time, nor to be printed in expreſs terms, I am
afraid of croſſing the will of the dead, though he ora
dered them for me.
It ſhewed his mean eſtate as to riches, that in his
will he is put to diſtribute the profits of a book or two,
when printed, among his friends and fervants. Alas!
we that are great loſers by printing, know that it
muſt be a ſmall gain that muſt thus accrue to them.
Doubtleſs, if the lord chief juſtice Hale had gathered
money as other lawyers do that had leſs advantage, as
he wanted not will, ſo he would not have wanted
power to have left them far greater legacies. But
the ſervants of a ſelf-denying mortified maſter, muſt
be content to ſuffer by his virtues, which yet, if they
imitate him, will turn to their final gain.
God made him a public good, which is more than
to get riches. His great judgment and known inte
grity,
Sir Matthew Hale.
grity, commanded reſpect from thoſe that knew him;
To that I verily think, that no one ſubject fince the
days that hiſtory hath notified the affairs of England
to us, went off the ſtage with greater and more uni-
verfal love and honour (and what honour without
love is, I underſtand not). I remember when his
ſucceſſor, the lord chief juſtice Rainsford, falling
into fome melancholy, came and ſent to me for ſome
advice; he did it as he ſaid becauſe Judge Hale deſired
him fo to do; and expreſſed fo great reſpect to his
judgment and writings, as I perceived much prevailed
with him. And many have profited by his Contem-
plations, who would never have read them had they
been written by ſuch a one as I. Yet among all his
books and diſcourſes, I never knew of theſe until he
was dead.
His reſolution for juſtice was ſo great, that I am
perſuaded, that no wealth nor honour would have hired
him knowingly to do one unjuſt act.
And though he left us in forrow, I cannot but
acknowledge it a great mercy to him to be taken
away when he was. Alas! what would the good
man have done, if he had been put by plotters, and
traitors, and ſwearers, and forſwearers, upon all that
his fucceffors have been put 'to? In likelihood, even
all his great wiſdom and ſincerity could never have
got him through ſuch a wilderneſs of thorns, and
briars, and wild beaſts, without tearing in pieces his
entire reputation, if he had never ſo well ſecured his
conſcience. O! how ſeaſonably did he avoid the tem-
peſt, and go to Chriſt.
And ſo have ſo many excellent perſons ſince then,
and eſpecially within the ſpace of one year, as may
well make England tremble at the prognoſtic, that
the righteous are taken as from the evil to come.
And alas! what an evil is it like to be? We feel our
loſs. We fear the common danger. But what be-
liever can chooſe but acknowledge God's mercy to
them,
2 Appendix to the Life and Death of
them, in taking them up to the world of light, love,
peace, and order, when confufion is coming upon
this world, by darkneſs, malignity, perfidiouſneſs and
cruelty. Some think that the laſt conflagration ſhall
turn this earth into hell. If ſo, who would not firſt
be taken from it? And when it is ſo like to hell ala
ready, who would not rather be in heaven?
Though ſome miſtook this man for a mere philo-
ſopher or humaniſt, that knew him not within ; yet
his moſt ſerious deſcription of the ſufferings of Chriſt,
and his copious volumes to prove the truth of the
Scripture, Chriſtianity, our Immortality, and the Deity,
do prove ſo much reality in his faith and devotion,
as makes us paſt doubt of the reality of his reward
and glory.
When he found his belly ſwell, his breath and
ſtrength much abate, and his face and fleſh decay, he
cheerfully received the ſentence of death: and though
Dr. Gliffon, by mere oximel ſquilliticum, ſeemed
awhile, to eaſe him, yet that alſo foon failed him
and he told me he was prepared and contented com-
fortably to receive his change. And accordingly he
left us, and went into his native country of Glouceſ-
terſhire to die, as the hiſtory tells you.
Mr. Edward Stephens, being moſt familiar with him,
told me his purpoſe to write his life, and deſired me
to draw up the mere narrative of my ſhort familiarity
with him ; which I did, as followeth : by hearing no
more of him, caſt it by; but others defiring it, upon
the fight of the publiſhed hiſtory of his life by Dr.
Burnet, I have left it to the diſcretion of ſome of them,
to do with it what they will.
And being half dead already in thoſe deareſt friends
who were half myſelf, am much the more willing to
leave this mole-hill and priſon of earth, to be with
that wife and bleſſed ſociety, who being united to their
Head in glory, do not envy, bate, or perfecute each
other,
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
93
other, nor forſake God, nor ſhall ever be forſaken
by him.
R. B.
}
Note, That this narrative was written two years
before Dr. Burnet's; and it is not to be doubted
but that he had better information of his manu-
ſcripts, and ſome other circumſtances, than I.
But of thoſe manuſcripts, directed to me, about
the Soul's Immortality, of which I have the ori-
ginals under his hand, and alſo of his thoughts
of the ſubjects mentioned by me, from 1671,
till he went to die at Glouceſterſhire, I had the
fulleſt notice.
ADDI-
94
Appendix to the Life and Deaths of
ADDITIONAL NOTES
ON THE
LIFE AND DEATH
1
OF
1
SIR MATTHEW HALE, KNIGHT.
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. STEPAENS, THE PUB-
LISHER OF JUDGE HALE'S CONTEMPLATIONS.
SIR,
You deſired me to give you notice of what I knew
in my perſonal converſe of the great lord chief juſtice
of England, Sir Matthew Hale. You have partly
made any thing of mine unmeet for the fight of any
but yourſelf and his private friends (to whom it is uſe-
leſs), by your divulging thoſe words of his extraordi-
náry favour to me, which will make it thought that I
am partial in his praiſes. And, indeed, that exceſſive
efteem of his, which you have told men of, is a di-
vulging of his imperfection, who did over-value ſo un-
worthy a perſon as I know myſelf to be.
I will promiſe you to ſay nothing but the truth;
and judge of it and uſe it as you pleaſe.
My acquaintance with him was not long: and I
looked on him as an excellent perſon ſtudied in his
own way, which I hoped I ſhould never have occaſion
to make much uſe of; but I thought not ſo verſed in our
matters as ourſelves. I was confirmed in this conceit
by the firſt report I had from him, which was his wiſh
that Dr. Reignolds, Mr. Calamy, and I, would have
taken biſhoprics, when they were offered us by the
lord
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
95
lord chancellor, as from the king, in 1660 (as one
did); I thought he underſtood not our caſe, or the true
ftate of Engliſh prelacy. Many years after, when I
lived at Acton, he, being lord chief baron of the Ex-
chequer, ſuddenly took a houſe in the village. We
ſat next ſeats together at church many weeks; but
neither did he ever ſpeak to me, or I to him. At
laſt, my extraordinary friend (to whom I was more
beholding than I muſt here expreſs) ſerjeant Foun-
tain, aſked me why I did not viſit the lord chief ba-
ron? I told him, becauſe I had no reaſon for it, be-
ing a ſtranger to him, and had ſome againſt it, viz.
that a judge, whoſe reputation was neceſſary to the
ends of his office, ſhould not be brought under court
ſuſpicion or diſgrace, by his familiarity with a perſon
whom the intereſt and diligence of ſome prelates had
rendered ſo odious (as I knew myſelf to be with
ſuch), I durſt not be fo injurious to him. The ferjeant
anfwered, it is not meet for him to come firſt to you;
I know why I ſpeak it; let me entreat you to go firſt
to him. In obedience to which requeſt I did it; and
ſo we entered into neighbourly familiarity. I lived
then in a ſmall houſe, but it had a pleaſant gar-
den and backſide, which the honeſt landlord had a
deſire to ſell. The judge had a mind to the houſe;
but he would not meddle with it till he got a ſtranger
to me to come and enquire of me whether I was wil.
ling to leave it? I told him I was not only willing but
deſirous, not for my own ends, but for my
landlord's
fake, who muſt needs ſell it: and ſo he bought it, and
lived in that poor houſe till his mortal ſickneſs ſent him
to the place of his interment.
I will truly tell you the matter and the manner of
our converſe. We were oft together, and almoſt all
our diſcourſe was philoſophical, and eſpecially about
the nature of ſpirits and fuperior regions; and the na-
ture, operations, and immortality of man's ſoul. And
our diſpoſition and courſe of thoughts were in ſuch
things
96 Appendix to the Life and Death of
N
things ſo like, that I did not much croſs the bent of
his conference. He ſtudied phyſics, and got all new
or old books of philofophy that he could meet with,
as eagerly as if he had been a boy at the univerſity.
Mouſnerius and Honoratus Faber he deſervedly much
eſteemed; but yet took not the latter to be without
ſome miſtakes. Mathematics he ſtudied more than I
did, it being a knowledge which he much more eſteem-
ed than I did, who valued all knowledge by the great-
neſs of the benefit and neceſſity of the uſe; and my
unſkilfulneſs in them I acknowledge my great defect,
in which he much excelled. But we were both much
addicted to know and read all the pretenders to more
than ordinary in phyſics ; the Platoniſts, the
Peripa-
tetics, the Epicureans (and eſpecially their Gaſſendus),
Teleius, Campanella, Patricius, Lullius, White,' and
every fect that made us any encouraging promiſe.
We neither of us approved of all in Ariſtotle ; but he
valued him more than I did. We both greatly diſ-
liked the principles of Carteſius and Gaſſendus (much
more of the Bruitiſts, Hobbs, and Spinoſa); eſpecially
their doctrine de motu, and their obſcuring or denying
nature itſelf, even the principia motus, the virtutes fora
males, which are the cauſes of operations.
Whenever we were together he was the ſpring of
our diſcourſe (as chooſing the ſubject); and moſt of
it ſtill was of the nature of ſpirits, and the immor.
tality, ſtate, and operations of ſeparated fouls. We
both were conſcious of human darkneſs, and how much
of our underſtandings, quiet in ſuch matters, muſt be
fetched from our implicit truſt in the goodneſs and
promiſes of God, rather than from a clear and ſatisa
fying conception of the mode of ſeparated ſouls' open
rations; and how great uſe we have herein of our faith
in Jeſus Chriſt, as he is the undertaker, mediator, the
Lord and lover of fouls, and the actual pofſefſor of
that glory. But yet we thought that it greatly con
cerned us to ſearch, as faro as God allowed us, into a
matter
.
-
Sir Marther Hale.
97
}
matter of fo great moment; and that even little and
obfcure proſpects into the heavenly ſtate, are more ex-
cellent than much and applauded knowledge of tran-
fitory things.
He was much in urging difficulties and objections ;
but you could not tell by them what was his own
judgment; for, when he was able to anſwer them
himſelf, he would draw out another's anſwer.
He was but of a flow ſpeech, and ſometimes fo he-
Jitating, that a ſtranger would have thought him a
man of low parts, that knew not readily what to ſay,
though ready at other times. But I never ſaw Ci-
cero's doctrine de Oratore more verified in any man,
that furniſhing the mind with all ſorts of knowledge,
is the chief thing to make an excellent orator; for,
when there is abundance and clearnefs of knowledge
in the mind, it will furniſh even a ſlow tongue to ſpeak
that which, by its congruence and verity, ſhall prevail.
Such a one never wants moving matter, nor an anſwer
to vain objectors.
The manner of our converſe was as ſuitable to my
inclination as the matter; for, whereas many bred in
univerſities, and called ſcholars, have not the wit,
manners, or patience to hear thoſe that they diſcourſe
with ſpeak to the end, but through liſt and impotency
cannot hold, but cut off a man's ſpeech when they
hear
any thing that urgeth them, before the latter part
make the former intelligible or ſtrong (when oft the
proof and uſe is reſerved to the end), liker fcolds than
ſcholars ; as if they commanded filence at the end of
each ſentence to him that ſpeaketh, or elſe would have
two talk at once.. I do not remember that ever he
and I did interrupt each other in any diſcourſe. His
wiſdom and accuſtomed patience cauſed him ſtill to
ſtay for the end. And though my diſpoſition have
too much forwardneſs to ſpeak, I had not ſo little wit
or manners as to interrupt him; whereby we far better
underſtood each other than we could have done in
chopping and maimed diſcourſe.
He
و
VOL. I.
H
1
98 Appendix to the Life and Death of
He was much for coming to philoſophical know.
ledge by the help of experiments : but he thought that
our new philoſophers, as ſome call the Carteſians, had
taken up many fallacies as experiments, and had made
as unhappy a uſe of their trials, as many empirics
and mountebanks do in medicine; and that Ariſtotle
was a man of far greater experience, as well as ſtudy,
than they. He was wont to ſay, that lads at the uni.
verſities had found it a way to be thought wifer than
others, to join with boaſters that cried down the an-
cients before they underſtood them; for he thought
that few of theſe contemners of Ariſtole had ever fo
-far ſtudied him as to know his doctrine, but ſpoke
againſt they knew not what; even as ſome fecular
theologues take it to be the way to be thought wiſe
men and orthodox, to cant againſt ſome party or fect
which they have advantage to contemn. It muſt coſt
a man many years ſtudy to know what Ariſtotle held.
But to read over Magirus (and perhaps the Conim-
bricenſes or Zabarell) and then prate againſt Ariſtotle,
requireth but a little time and labour. He could well
bear it, when one that had thoroughly ſtudied
Ariſtotle, diffented from him in any particular upon
reaſon; but he loathed it in ignorant men, that were
carried to it by ſhameful vanity of mind.
His many hard queſtions, doubts, and objections to
me, occafioned me to draw up a ſmall tract of the
nature and immortality of man's foul, as proved by
natural light alone (by way of queſtions and anſwers);
in which I had not baulked the hardeſt objections and
difficulties that I could think of, (conceiving that Athe-
ifts and Sadduces are fo unhappily witty, and Satan
ſuch a tutor, that they are as like to think of them as I).
But the good man, when I ſent it to him, was wiſer
than I, and fent me word in his return, that he would
not have me publiſh it in Engħſh, nor without ſome
alterations of the method, becauſe, though he thought I
had ſufficiently anſwered all the objections, yet ordinary
readers would take deeper into their minds ſuch hard
objections
!
Sir Matthew Hale.
O
obječtions as they nevër heard before, than the anſwer
(how full fóéver) would be able to overcome; wherea
upons not having leiſure to tranſlate and alter it, I cäft
!
it by.
He feemed to reverence and believe the opinion of
Dr. Willis, and ſuch others, de animis, brutorum, aš
being not fpiritual ſubſtances. But when I ſent him
a confutation of them, he ſeemed to acquieſce, and, as
far as I could judge, did change his mind; and had
higher thoughts of fenfitive natures, than they that
fake them to be fomé èvanid qualities, proceeding
from contexture, attemperation, and motion.
Yet he and I did think that the notion of imma.
teriality had little ſatisfactory to acquaint us with the
nature of a ſpirit, not telling us any thing what it is,
but what it is not. And we thought that the old
Greek and Latin doctors (cited by Fauſtus Rhegiculus,
whom Mamertus anſwereth) did mean by a body or
matter of which they ſaid ſpirits did confiſt, the ſame
thing as we now mean by the ſubftance of ſpirits, dif-
tinguiſhing them from mere accidents. And we thought
- it a matter of fome moment, and no ſmall difficulty, to
tell what men mean here by the word ſubſtance, if it
be b'ut a relative notion, becauſe it doth ſubſtare acci
dentibus & fubfiftere per ſel; relation is not proper fub-
ſtance. It is ſubſtance that doth ſo fubfift: it is fome.
what, and not nothing, nor an accident; therefore if
more than relation muſt be meant, it will prove hard
to diſtinguiſh fubſtance from fubftance by the notioni
of immateriality. Souls have no ſhadows; they are
not palpable and grofs, but they are SUBSTANTIAL
LIFE, às VIRTUES. And it is hard to conceive how
a created vis vel virtus ſhould be the adequate cort-
ceptus of a ſpirit, and not rather an inadequate, fup-
poſing the conceptus of fubftantia fundamentalis (as Dr.
Gliſſon éalls it dé vita naturæ), ſeeing omnis virtus eft
Fei alien: virtus 2.
* It subsists to accidents, and subsists of itself.
* Every virtue is the virtue of a thing foreign to it.
H 2
- -
A
Yet
100 Appendix to the Life and Death of
}
;
Yet he yielded to me, that virtus feu vis vitalis, is
not animæ accidens, but the conceptus formalis fpiritus,
ſuppoſing ſubſtantia to be the conceptus fundamentalis
and both together expreſs the eſſence of a ſpirit.
Every created being is paſſive; for recipit in ſe fluxum
caufæ primel. God tranſcendeth our defining ſkill: but
where there is receptivity, many ancients thought there
were ſome pure fort of materiality; and we ſay, there
is receptive ſubſtantiality, and who can deſcribe the
difference (laying aſide the formal virtues that difference
things) between the higheſt material ſubſtance, and the
loweſt ſubſtance, called immaterial ?
We were neither of us ſatisfied with the notions of
penetrability and indiviſibility, as fufficient differences.
But the virtutes ſpecificæ plainly difference.
What latter thoughts, a year before he died, he had
of theſe things, I know not; but ſome ſay, that a trea-
tiſe of this ſubject, the Soul's Immortality, was his laſt
finiſhed work (promiſed in the end of his treatiſe of
Man's Origination); and if we have the fight of that,
it will fuller tell us his judgment.
One thing I muſt notify to you, and to thoſe that
have his manuſcripts, that when I ſent him a ſcheme,
with ſome elucidations, he wrote me on that, and my
treatiſe of the ſoul, almoſt a quire of
paper
of animado
verſions, by which you muſt not conclude at all of his
own judgment; for he profeſſed to me, that he wrote
them to me not as his judgment, but (as his way was)
as the hardeſt objections which he would have fatis.
faction in. And when I had written him a full an.
ſwer to all, and have been oft fince with him, he ſeem-
ed ſatisfied. You will wrong him, therefore, if you
ſhould print that written to me as his judgment.
As to his judgment about religion, our diſcourſe
was very ſparing about controverſies; he thought not
fit to begin with me about them, nor I with him; and
as it was in me, ſo it ſeemed to be in him, from a con-
"It receives a supply from the First Cause.
ceit
1
1
it
101
Sir Matthew Halt.
to ine.
(
ceit that we were not fit to pretend to add much to
one another.
About matters of conformity, I could gladly have
known his mind more fully; but I thought it unmeet
to put ſuch queſtions to a judge who must not ſpeak
ágainſt the laws; and he never offered his judgment
And I knew, that as I was to reverence him
in his own profeſſion, ſo in matters of my profeſſion
and concernment, he expected not that I ſhould think
as he, beyond the reaſons which he gave.
I muſt ſay that he was of opinion, that the wealth
and honour of the biſhops was convenient, to enable
them the better to relieve the poor, and reſcue the
inferior clergy from oppreſſion, and to keep up the
honour of religion in the world. But all this on ſup-
pofition, that it would be in the hands of wiſe and good
men, or elſe it would do as much harm. But when
I aſked him, whether great wealth and honour would
not be moſt earneſtly deſired and ſought by the worſt
of men, while good men would not ſeek them? And
whether he that was the only fervent ſeeker, was not
likelieſt to obtain (except under ſome rare extraordi-
nary prince)? And ſo whether it was not like to entail
the office on the worſt, and to arm Chriſt's enemies
againſt him to the end of the world (which a proviſion
that had neither alluring nor much diſcouraging
temptation, might prevent), he gave me no anſwer. I
have heard ſome ſay, if the Pope were a good mang
what a deal of good might he do? But have Popes,
therefore, bleft the world?
I can truly fay, that he greatly lamented the neg-
ligence, and ill lives, and violence of ſome of the
clergy; and would oft fay, What have they their cal-
ling, honour and maintenance for, but to ſeek the
inſtructing and ſaving of men's fouls.
He much lamented, that ſo many worthy miniſters
were filenced, the church weakened, Papiſts ſtrength-
ened, the cauſe of love and piety greatly wronged and
hindered by the preſent differences about conformity.
H 3
And
A
102 Appendix to the Life-ænd Death of
1
And he hath told me his judgment, that the only means
to heal us was, a new aět of uniformity, which ſhould
neither leave all at liberty, nor impoſe any thing un-
neceſſary.
I had once a full opportunity to try his judgment
far in this. It pleaſed the lord keeper Bridgman to
invite Dr. Mantonand myſelf (to whom Dr. Bates, at
our deſire, was added), to treat with Dr. Wilkins ? and
Dr.
1 Dr. Manton was the son of Thomas Manton, of Wimpole, in Devonshire,
and born at Lawrence Lyddiard, in Somersetshire. At the age of fifteen,
1635, was entered a servitor in Wadham College, from whence he removed,
in 1639, to Hart Hall, and took the degree of Bachelor of Arts. During his
residence in this hall he had the reputation of being a hot-headed person.
Afterwards, upon the turn of the times, he assumed the office of lay, preacher
ať Culliton, in Devonshire; from which place, ħaving made himself obą
poxious to his diocesan and the royal party, he repaired to London, where
hę embraced the Presbyterian principles, and joined himself to that party;
The boldness of his manner, and the Apridness of his style, recommended
him, after he had taken the covenant, to the situation of minister of Stoke
Newington, in Middlesex, and in 1647 to that of preacher before the mem-
bers of the Long Parliament. When the Independents became the populaç
party he joined them, took the oath called the engagement, and made a flat
tering speech to Oliver, who appointed him his chaplain and one of the triers
för, as they have been with great propriéty termed, the Spanish Inquisitorsh
for the approbation of godly preachers.
- In the beginning of 1654, he took his degree of Bachelor of Divinity, and
succeeded his father-in-law, Obadiah Sedgwick, as Rector of St. Paul, Covento
Garden, where he distinguished himself as a preacher among the sectariáns,
In the year 1638, upon the 'inauguration, of Richard, Manton officiated as
chaplain, and pronounced a blessing on his council, armies and people. In
1659, he was constituted by parliament one of the triers of Presbyterian
ministers, and in the year following took holy orders from Thomas bishop of
Galloway. Upon the restoration of Charles he wished the credit of having
contributed to it; and it is probable from the pliancy of his temper might have
shewn a leaning towards monarchy when the tide began to turn in its favour.
He was appointed chaplain in ordinary to the king, and in that quality, by
virtue of his majesty's letters, was created a Doctor of Divinity, amongst
several royalists who had suffered in the cause of their master. It was curious
to observe, as they sat in the Convocation-house, the jolly round appearance
of Manton, contrasted with the lean and emaciated looks of the royalists.
He refused the Liturgy in his church, for which his parishioners complained
to the bishop of London. In the mean time, as it was thought he would
readily conform, the king designed to confer on him a valuable deanery, as
he hai conferred the see of Norwich upon Dr. Reynolds, alluded to by Baxx
ter.) After mature deliberation, however, whatever were his real motives,
he both refused the deanery, and resigned his living after the Act of Uniformity
was published, though his majesty had appointed him a commissioner in the
Savoy conference respecting the Liturgy, in the discharge of which duty he
had taken considerable pains. He afterwards set up a meeting 'in Covent-
Gạrden, and suffered imprisonment in the Gate-house. After having passed
through a variety of scenes, and experienced many vicissitudes, he died in
1677, and was buried in the church of Stoke Newington. Dr, Bates, the
same person who is mentioned by Baxter, and was offered also a deanery,
preached his funeral sermon. Wood's sthen. Oxon. vol. ii. p. 446.
2 He was the son of Walter Wilkiŋs, goldsmith, of Oxford, born at Fawlesly,
in Nósthamptonshire, and educated in a private school in All-Saints parish,
Oxford,
Fir Mattbew. Hale.
109
1
Dr. Burton 1 about the terms of our reconciliation and
reſtoration to our miniſterial. liberty. After ſome days
conference, we came to agreement in all things, as
to the neceffary terms. And becauſe Dr. Wilkins and
I had fpecial intimacy with Judge Hale, we defired
him to draw it up in the form of an act, which he wil.
lingly did, and we agreed to every word. But it
pleaſed the Houſe of Commons, hearing of it, to begin
their next ſeſſion with a vote, that no luch bill feould
be brought in; and ſo it died.
Query. 1. Whether after this and other ſuch agree,
ment, it be ingenuity, or fomewhat elſe, that hath
ever ſince faid, We know not what they would have ?
And that at once call out to us, and yet ſtriąly forbid
us to tell them what it is we take for fin, and what we
deſire.
Oxford. He entered in New Inn in 1927, at thirteen, but soon removed to
Magdalen Hall, where he took his degrees in Arts. Afterwards he entered
holy orders, became chaplain to Lord Say, and afterwards to Charles Count
Palatine of the Rhine, and Prince elector of the Empire, with whom he con,
tinued for some time. At length upon breaking out of the rebellion, he
espoused the Presbyterian party, and took the covenant. In 1648 was created
Bachelor of Divinity, and put into possession of the wardenship of Wadham
College, by the committee for the reformation of the university, in the room
of a loyal person whom they had ejected. In the next year he was created
Doctor of Divinity, and took the engagement, that is to be faithful to the
Commonwealth of England, as it was then estallished without a King, or House
of Lords. In 1656. he married the widow of Peter French, sometimes Canon
of Christ Church, and sister to Cromwell; this marriage, however, being
contrary to the statutes of that college, he obtained a dispensation from the
Protector. In the year 1659 Richard, who suceeeded Oliver, gave him the
headship of Trinity College, Cambridge. Upon the Restoration he was ejected
from this valuable preferment, became preacher to the society of Gray's Inn,
and minister of St. Lawrence in the Jewry, in London ; took again the oaths,
entered into the ministry, and became a member of the Royal Society.
Soon after he was made Dean of Rippon, and through the interest of the
Duke of Buckingham was collated to the see of Chester. He died of the
stone in.167%, in Chancery-lane, in Der. Tillotson's house, and was buried.
in St. Lawrence's church, in the Jewry. The character which Burnet gives
of him is perhaps correet ; were it in our power to exculpate his memory
from the charge of inconstaney of mind and unsteadiness of prin'ciples : nor
have we to object to the following portrait of him ;-mHis universal insight
into all parts of learning, his solid judgment, rare prudence, and dexterity in.
the management of worldly affairs and transactions, universal charity, inge-
nuity, temper and moderation of spirit, have left behind hin few equals."
Woad's .then. Oxon. vol. ii. p. 369.
He was Master of Arts, and Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford ;. aftera
wards Doctor of Divinitý, chaplain to Şir Orlando Bridgman, lord keeper of
the great seal, rector of St. George, Southwark, prebend of Norwich in 1667,-
and at length rector of Barnes, Surry. He died in 1687, and left some dis-
yourses, which were published by Dr. Tillotson, archbishop of Canterbury:
H 4
2. Whether
1
104
Appendix to the Life and Death of
2. Whether it be likely, that ſuch 'men as Biſhop
Wilkins, and Dr. Burton, and Judge Hale, would
conſent to ſuch terms of our concord, as fhould be
worſe than our preſent condition of diviſion and com-
pulfion is ? And whether the maintainers of our di-
viding impoſitions, be all wiſer and better men than
this judge and that biſhop were ?
3. And whether it be any diſtance of opinion, or
difficulty of bringing us to agreement, that keepeth
England in its fad diviſions, or rather fome men's
opinion, that our unity itfelf is not deſirable, leſt it
Itrengthen us? The caſe is plain.
His behaviour in the church was conformable, but
prudent. He conſtantly heard a curate, too low for
ſuch an auditor.
In common-prayer he behaved
himſelf as others, ſaving that, to avoid the differencing
of the goſpels from the epiſtles, and the bowing at
the name of Jeſus, from the names, Chriſt, Saviour,
God, &c. he would uſe fome equality in his geſtures,
and ſtand up at the reading of all God's Word alike.
I had but one fear or fufpicion concerning him,
which fince I am aſſured was groundleſs: I was
afraid left he had been too little for the practical part
of religion, as to the working of the ſoul towards God,
in
prayer, meditation, &c. becauſe he' ſeldom ſpake
to me of ſuch ſubjects, nor of practical books, or
ſermons; but was ſtill ſpeaking of philoſophy, or of
fpirits, fouls, the future ſtate, and the nature of God.
But at laſt I underſtood that his averſeneſs to hypocriſy
made him purpoſely conceal the moſt of ſuch of his
practical thoughts and works, as the world now findeth
by his Contemplations, and other writings.
He told me once, how God brought him to a fixed
honour and obſervation of the Lord's-day: that when
he was young, being in the weſt, the ſickneſs or death
of ſome relation at London, made ſome matter of eſtate
to become his concernment, which required his
haftning to London from the weſt, and he was com-
manded to travel on the Lord's-day : but I canno
welt
2.
Sir Matthew Hale.
105
}
well remember how many croſs accidents befell him in
his journey, one horſe fell lame, another died, and
much more; which ſtruck him with ſuch a ſenſe of
Divine rebuke, as he never forgot.
When I went out of the houſe in which he ſuc-
ceeded me, I went into a greater, over-againſt the
church-door. The town having great need of 'help
for their ſouls, I preached between the public ſermons
in my houſe, taking the people with me to the church
(to common prayer and ſermon) morning and evening.
The judge told me that he thought my courfe did the
church much ſervice; and would carry it ſo refpect-
fully to me at my door, that all the people might per-
ceive his approbation. But Dr. Reeves could not
bear it, but complained againſt me; and the Biſhop
of London cauſed one Mr. Rofſe; of Brainford, and
Mr. Philips, two juſtices of the peace, to ſend their
warrants to apprehend me. I told the judge of the
warrant, but aſked him no counſel, nor he gave me
none; but with tears ſhowed his forrow (the only
time that ever I ſaw him weep). So I was ſent to the
common gaol for ſix months, by theſe two juſtices,
by the procurement of the faid Dr. Reeves 1 (his Ma-
jeſty's
His name was Bruno Reeves, a native of Dorsetshire, made one of the
clerks.in New College, Oxford, in 1610, where he took the degree of Bachelor
of Arts, and became one of the chaplains of Magdalen College, in 1616; soon
after he took his degree of Master of Arts, became a noteil and fiorid preacher,
was vicar of Stanwell in Middlesex, rector of St. Martins Vintry, London,
chaplain to Charles I. and in 1639 took the degree of Doctor of Divinity.
At the breaking out of the rebellion his rectory was sequestered by the
Presbyterians, and himself plundered and forced to fly. At length he was
deprived of his vicarage, and obliged to shift from place to place. The king
gave him the deanery of Chichester, and the mastership of the hospital there,
though he derived little or no emolument from these situations till the restora-
tion. About this time he was appointed chaplain in ordinary to Charles II,
and dean of Windsor, to which was annexed the deanery of Wolverhampton.
Afterwards he became rector of Acton, scribe of the Order of the Garter, and
rector of Henley in Oxfordshire, which Wood thinks was annexed to the
ccanery of Windsor, as the deanery of Wolverhampton is. The rigour which
Reeves thought proper to exercise against Baxter, cannot be justified on any
solid ground; may it not, however, be pleaded, as some extenuation of his
conduct, the oppression and violence with which he had himself been treased
by that party to which Baxter belonged ? It is to be lamented that Reeve: W-3
not endowed with a greater portion of Christian forbearance; but he who has
not experienced the wanton provocations and grievous injuries, which the
Sector of Acton had recejyed, is but ill qualified to sit in judgment upon him.
Lut
1
1
1
}
1
100 Appendix to the Life and Death of
$
1
jeſty's chaplain, dean of Windſor, dean of Wolvera
hampton, parſon of Horſeley, parfon of Acton). When
I came to move for
my
releaſe upon a habeas corpus
(by the counſel of my great friend ferjeant Fountain)
I found that the character which Judge Hale had given
of me, ſtood me in ſome ſtead; and every one of the
four judges of the Common-pleas did not only acquit
me, but ſaid more for me than my counſel, (viz.
Judge Wild, Judge Archer, Judge Tyrrel, and the
lord chief juſtice Vaughan), and made me fenfible
how great a part of the honour of his Majeſty's go-
vernment, and the peace of the kingdom, conſiſted in
the juſtice of the judges.
And indeed Judge Hale would tell me, that Biſhop
Uſher was much prejudiced againſt lawyers, becauſe
the worſt cauſes find their advocates; but that he and
Mr. Selden had convinced him of the reaſons of it, to
his fatisfaction: and that he did by acquaintance with
them, believe that there were. as many honeſt men
among lawyers, proportionably, as among any pro-
feffion of men in England (not excepting biſhops or
divines.)
And I muſt needs ſay, that the improvement of
reaſon, the diverting men from ſenſuality and idleneſs,
the maintaining of propriety and juſtice, and conſe-
quently the peace and welfare of the kingdom, is very
much to be aſcribed to the judges and lawyers.
But this impriſonment brought me the great loſs of
converſe with Judge Hale: for the parliament, in the
next, act againſt conventicles, put into it divers clauſes
fuited to my caſe; by which I was obliged to go dwell
in another county, and to forfake both London and
my former habitation; and yet the juſtices of another
county were partly enabled to purſue mę.
Let us pray for that spirit of meekness, charity, and forgiveness, of which he
stood in so much need at the recollection of his past sufferings. One is sorry
to see Baxter himself, instead of making some allowances that were certainly
due, exhibiting an affected catalogue of his ecclesiastical honours and emolum
ments, to excite the greater indignation against his memory, as if they were
separate and independent benefices, when he probably knew that many were
comprehended in one, and were merely, nominal.
Before
Sir Matthew Hale.
107
Before I went, the judge had put into my hand four
volumes (in folio), which he had written, to prove
the Being and Providence of God, the Immortality of
the Soul, and Life to come, the Truth of Chriſtianity,
and of every book of the Scripture by itſelf, beſides
the common proofs of the whole. Three of the four
volumes
. I had read over, and was ſent to the gaol
before I read the fourth. I turned down a few leaves
for ſome ſmall animadverſions, but had no time to
give them him. I could not then perſuade hiin to
review them for the preſs. The only, fault I found
with them of any moment, was-that great copiouſneſs,
the effect of his fulneſs and patience, which will be
called tediouſneſs by impatient readers.
When we were ſeparated, he (that would receive
no letters from any man, about any matters which he
was to judge) was deſirous of letter-converſe about
our philofophical and ſpiritual ſubjects. I having then
begun a Latin methodus theologiæ, fent him one of
the ſchemes (before mentioned), containing the gene-
rals of the philofophical part, with ſome notes upon
it; which he ſo over-valued, that he urged me to pro-
ceed in the ſame way, I objected againſt putting fo
much philoſophy (though moſtly but de bomine:) in
a method of theology: but he rejected my objections,
and reſolved me to go on.
At laſt it pleaſed God to viſit him with his mortal
ſickneſs. Having had the ſtone before (which he
found thick pond water better eaſe him of than the
gravel ſpring-water), in a cold journey, an extraordi-
nary flux of urine took him firſt, and then ſuch a
pain in his fide, as forced him to let much blood,
more than once, to ſave him from fudden fuffocation
or oppreſſion. Ever after which he had death in his
lapſed countenance, fleſh and ſtrength, with ſhortneſs
of breath. Dr. Willis, in his life-time, wrote his caſe
without his name, in an obſervation in his Pharmaceut,
&c. which was ſhortly. printed, after his own death,
and
108 Appendix to the Life and Death of
A
1
and before his patient's : but I dare ſay it, ſo crudely
as is no honour to that book.
When he had ſtriven awhile under his diſeaſe, he
gave up his place, not ſo much from the apprehenſion
of the nearneſs of his death (for he could have died
comfortably in his public work), but from the ſenſe of
his diſability to diſcharge his part: but he ceaſed not
his ſtudies, and that upon points which I could have
wiſhed him to let go (being confident that he was not
far from his end).
I ſent him a book which I newly publiſhed, for
reconciling the controverſies about predeſtination, re-
demption, grace, free-will, but deſired him not to
beſtow too much of his precious time upon it: but
(before he left his place) I found him at it ſo oft that
Ì took the boldneſs to tell him, that I thought more
practical writings were more ſuitable to his caſe, who.
was going from this contentious world. He gave me
but little anſwer ; but I after found that he plied pracy
ticals and contemplatives in their ſeaſon; which he
never thought meet to give me any account of. Only
in general he oft told me, that the reaſon and ſeaſon
of his writings (againſt atheiſm, &c. aforeſaid) were,
both in his circuit and at home, to ſet apart ſome
time for meditation, efpecially after the evening public
worſhip every Lord's-day; and that he could not ſo
profitably keep his thoughts in connection and method
otherwiſe, as by writing them down; and withal,
that if there were any thing in them uſeful, it was
the way to keep it for after-uſe: and therefore for the
better management, for the accountableneſs and the
after-uſe, he had long accuſtomed to pen his medita-
tions; which gave us all of that nature that he hathi
left us.
Notwithſtanding his own great furniture of know.
ledge, and he was accounted by ſome ſomewhat tena,
cious of his conceptions (for men that know much,
cannot eaſily yield to the expectations of leſs knowing
men),
/
1
Sir Matthew Hole:
103
1
men), yet I muſt ſay, that I remember not that ever I
converſed with a man that was readier to receive and
learn. He would hear as patiently, and recollect all
lo diſtinctly, and then try it ſo judiciouſly (not diſdain-
ing to learn of an inferior in ſome things, who in
more had need to learn of him), that he would pres
ſently take what ſome ſtand wrangling againſt many
years. I never more perceived in any man, how
much great knowledge and wiſdom facilitate addi-
tions, and the reception of any thing not before
known. Such a one preſently perceiveth that evidence
which another is incapable of.
For inſtance, the laſt time but one that I ſaw him
(in his weakneſs at Acton), he engaged me to expli-
cate the doctrine of divine government and decree),
as conſiſtent with the fin of man. And when I had
diſtinctly told him, 1. What God did, as the author
of nature, phyſically: 2. What he did as legiſlator,
morally: And 3. What he did, as benefactor, and
by ſpecial grace : 4. And where permiſſion came in,
and where actual operation : 5. And ſo, how cer-
tainly God might cauſe the effects, and not cauſe the
volitions, as determinate to evil [though the volition
and effect being called by one name (as theft, murder,
adultery, lying, &c.) oft deceive men]: he took up
all that I had ſaid in order, and diſtinctly twice over
repeated each part in its proper place, and with its
reaſon; and when he had done, ſaid, that I had given
him fatisfaction.
Before I knew what he did himſelf in Contempla-
tions, I took it not well, that he more than once told
me,
Mr. Baxter, I am more beholden to you than
you are aware of; and I thank you for all, but eſpe-
cially for your ſcheme, and your Catholic theology.'
For I was forry, that a man (that I thought) ſo near
death, ſhould ſpend much of his time on ſuch contro-
verſies (though tending to end them). But he conti-
nued after, near a year, and had leiſure for Contempla-
tions which I knew not of.
When
1
C
110 Appendix to the Life and Death of
When I párted with him, I doubted which of us
would be firſt at heaven: but he is gone before, and
I am at the door, and ſomewhat the willinger to go,
when I think ſuch fouls as his are there.
When he was gone to Glouceſterſhire, and his Con
templations were publiſhed by you, I ſent him the
confeſſion of my cenſures of him, how I had feared
that he had allowed too great a ſhare of his time and
thoughts to ſpeculation, and too little to practicals;
but rejoiced to ſee the conviction of my error: and
he returned me a very kind letter, which was the laſt
Some cenſured him for living under ſuch a curate
at Acton, thinking it was in his power to have got Dr.
Reeves, the parſon, to provide a better. Of which I
can ſay that I once took the liberty to tell him, that
I feared too much tepidity in him, by reaſon of that
thing; not that he needed himſelf a better teacher,
who knew more, and could overlook ſcandals; but
for the ſake of the poor ignorant people, who greatly
needed better help. He anſwered me, that if money
would do it, he would willingly have done it.; but the
doctor was a man not to be dealt with ; which was the
hardeſt word that I remember I ever heard him uſe of
any; for I never knew any man more free from
ſpeaking evil of others behind their backs. When
ever the diſcourſe came up to the faultineſs of any
individuals, he would be filent: but the forts of faulty
perſons he would blame with cautelous freedom, éſ-
pecially idle, proud, fcandalous, contentious, and fac-
tious clergymen. We agreed in nothing more than
that which he oft repeateth in the papers
which
you
gave me, and which he oft expreſſed, viz. that true
religion confifteth in great, plain, neceffary things, the
life of faith and hope, the love of God and man,
an humble felf-denying mind, with mortification of
worldly affection, carnal luſt, &c. And that the
calamity of the church, and withering of religioni,
hath come from proud and buſy men's additions, that
cannot give peace to themſelves and others, by living
1
in
Sir Matthew Hale.
111
in love and quietneſs on this Chriſtian ſimplicity of
faith and practice, but vex and turmoil the church
with theſe needleſs and hurtful fuperfluities ; fome by
their deciſions of words, or unneceffary controverſies ;
and ſome by their reſtleſs reaching after their own
worldly intereſt, and corrupting the church, on pre-
tence of raiſing and defending it; fome by their need-
leſs ceremonies, and ſome by their ſuperſtitious and
caufeleſs ſcruples. But he was eſpecially angry at
them that would fo manage their differences about
ſuch things, as to ſhew, that they had a greater zeal
for their own additions, than for the common ſaving
truths and duties which we were all agreed th; and
that did ſo manage their ſeveral little and ſelfiſh cauſes
as wounded or injured the common cauſe of the
Chriſtian and reformed churches. He had a great dif.
taſte of the books called, A Friendly Debate, &c. and
Eccleſiaſtical Polity I, as from an evil ſpirit, injuring
ſcripture phraſe, and tempting the atheiſts to contemn
all religion, ſo they might but vent their ſpleen, and
be thought to have the better of their adverſaries; and
would ſay, how eaſy is it to requite ſuch men, and all
parties to expoſe each other to contempt? (Indeed,
how many pariſhes in England afford too plenteous
matter of reply to one that took that for his part, and
of tears to ſerious obſervers ?)
His main defire was, that as men ſhould not be
peeviſhly quarrelſome againſt any lawful circum-
ſtances, forms or orders in religion, much leſs think
themſelves godly men, becauſe they can fly from other
men's circumſtances, or ſettled lawful orders, as ſin ; ſo
eſpecially, that no human additions of opinion, order,
modes, ceremonies, profeſſions, or promiſes, ſhould
-
? It may be proper to remark by way of caution, lest the book here
alluded to should be understood of Hooker's immortal work, that he
here alludes to a discourse of ecclesiastical policy, written by Samuel
Parker, a papist, afterwards bishop of Oxford, and appointed presi-
dent of Magdalen College, by James, to the exclusion of Hough.
Wood's Athen. Oxon.
EDITORA
eve
!
112 Appendix to the Life and Death of
1
ever be managed to the hindering of Chriſtian love
and peace, nor of the preaching of the Goſpel, nor
the wrong of our common cauſe, or the ſtrengthning
of atheiſm, infidelity, prophaneneſs, or popery; but
that Chriſtian verity and piety, the love of God and
man, and a good life, and our common peace in theſe,
might be firſt reſolved on and ſecured, and all our ad-
ditions might be uſed, but in due ſubordination to
theſe, and not to any injury of any of them; nor fects,
parties, or narrow intereſts be ſet up againſt the com.
mon duty, and the public intereſt and peace.
I know you are acquainted how greatly he valued
Mr. Selden, being one of his executors; his books and
picture being ſtill near him. I think it meet therefore
to remember, that becauſe many Hobbiſts do report,
that Mr. Selden was at the heart an infidel, and in-
clined to the opinions of Hobbs, I deſired him to tell
me the truth herein : and he' oft profefſed to me, that
Mr. Selden was a reſolved ſerious Chriſtian; and that
he was a great adverſary to Hobbs's errors; and that
he had ſeen him openly oppoſe him ſo earneſtly as
either to depart from him, or drive him out of the
.
And as Mr. Selden was one of thoſe called
Eraſtians (as his book de Synedriis, and others ſhew),
yet owned the office properly miniſterial; fo moſt
lawyers that ever I was acquainted with, taking, the
word juriſdiction to ſignify ſomething more than the
mere doctoral, prieſtly power, and power over their
own facramental communion in the church which they
guide, do uſe to ſay, that it is primarily in the magif-
trate (as no doubt all power of corporal coercion, by
mulets and penalties, is). And as to the accidentals to
the proper power of prieſthood, or the keys, they truly
fay with Dr. Stillingfleet, that God hath ſettled no one
form.
Indeed, the lord chief juſtice thought, that the power
of the word and ſacraments in the miniſterial office,
was of God's inſtitution; and that they were the pro-
per judges appointed by Chriſt, to whom they them-
ſelves
room.
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
113
ſelves ſhould apply ſacraments, and to whom they
ſhould deny them. But that the power of chancellors
courts, and many modal additions, which are not to
the effence of the prieſtly office, floweth from the king,
and may be fitted to the ſtate of the kingdom. Which
is true, if it be limited by God's laws, and exerciſed
on things only allowed them to deal in, and contradick
not the orders and powers ſettled on by Chriſt and his
apoſtles.
On this account he thought well of the form of
government in the church of England (lamenting
the miſcarriages of many perſons), and the want of
parochial reformation; but he was greatly for uniting
in love and peace, upon ſo much as is neceſſary to find
vation, with all good, fober, peaceable men.
And he was much againſt the corrupting of the
Chriſtian religion (whoſe fimplicity and purity he juſtly
took to be much of its excellency), by men's buſy ad
ditions, by wit, policy, ambition, or any thing elſe
which ſophiſticated it, and maketh it another thing,
and cauſeth the lamentable contentions of the world.
What he was as a lawyer, a judge, a Chriſtian, is ſo
well known, that I think for me to pretend that my
teſtimony is of any uſe, were vain. I will only tell
you what I have written by his picture, in the front of
the great Bible which I bought-with his legacy, in me-
mory of his love and name; viz. “ Sir Matthew Hale,
• that unwearied ſtudent, that prudent man, that folid
philoſopher, that famous lawyer, that pillar and baſis
6 of juſtice, (who would not have done an unjuſt act for
any worldly price or motive), the ornament of his ma-
jeſty's government, and honour of England; the
higheſt faculty of the ſoul of Weſtminſter-hall, and
pattern to all the reverend and honourable judges;
* that godly, ſerious, practical Chriſtian, the lover of
goodneſs and all good men; a lamenter of the clergy's
6 felfiſhneſs, and unfaithfulneſs, and diſcord, and of the
fad diviſions following hereupon; an earneſt deſirer of
* their reformation, concord, and the church's peace,
c
$
1
VOI.. I.
6 and
114 Appendix to the Life and Death, &c.
and of a reformed act of uniformity, as the beſt and
' neceſſary means thereto; that great contemner of the
riches, pomp and vanity of the world; that pattern of
'honeſt plainneſs and humility, who while he fled from
the honours that purſued him, was yet Lord Chief Juſ-
6 tice of the King's Bench, after his beinglong Lord Chief
· Baron of the Exchequer; living and dying, entering
on, uſing, and voluntarily ſurrending his place of ju.
* dicature, with the moſt univerſal love, and honour,
' and praiſe, that ever did Engliſh ſubject in this age, or
any that juſt hiſtory doth acquaint us with, &c. &c. &c.
“This man, ſo wiſe, ſo good, ſo great, bequeathing me
in his teſtament the legacy of forty ſhillings, merely
e as a teſtimony of his reſpect and love, I thought this
book, the teſtament of Chriſt, the meeteſt purchaſe
by that price, to remain in memorial of the faithful
love which he bare and long expreſſed to his inferior
' and unworthy, but honouring friend, who thought to
have been with Chriſt before him, and waiteth for the
day of his perfect conjunction with the ſpirits of the
* juſt made perfect.'
RICHARD BAXTER.
ç
C
[ 115. ]
À
CONTINUATION OF THE APPENDIX.
(BY THE EDITOR.)
What paſſed during the infancy and boyiſh
days of Hale, till he entered at the Univerſity,
nothing is known beyond whrat Burnet has told.
But the charge, which his biographer alleges againſt
hiin, that he neglected his ſtudies in the latter part
of his reſidence at College, is poſitively denied by
Mr. Stephens, who publiſhed his. Contemplations.
This gentleman, who profeſſes to have occupied a
diſtinguiſhed place in his eſteem and friendſhip,
and poſſeſſed a correct knowledge of his early
habits, expreſſes himſelf with a degree of warmth
at this imputation on the memory of his honored
friend. It is, however, but a tribute of juſtice that is
due to Burnet, to acquit him of an intention to miſ-
repreſent a fact to the prejudice of Hale, on whom he
laviſhes, at every opportunity, the warmeſt encomiums
for his diligence and aſſiduity, no leſs than his piety
and virtue.
The natural gaiety of his diſpoſition and ſprightli-
neſs of his imagination, too eaſily inclined the inex-
perienced youth to indulge in the levities of the times,
and partake of the pleaſures which preſented them-
ſelves. It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that
on the arrival of the players at Oxford, the exhibi-
tions of the ſtage ſhould prove a ſpecies of amuſe-
ment too captivating to withſtand; and overpower
by a temporary violence the dietates of his prudence
and better judgment. It was not long, however,
before he diſcovered that in proportion as theſe en-
tertainments gained upon his affections, his habits of
feriouſ
I 2
116 Appendix to the Life and Death of
ſeriouſneſs relaxed, and his plans of ſtudy were dif-
concerted. He ſaw his temporal proſpects were in
imminent danger of being intercepted, and, above all,
his religious principles of being looſened and eradi.
cated. Before, therefore, his paſſion for theſe vanities ac-
quired ſtrength, he courageouſly reſolved upon its imme-
diate conqueſt. It redounds to the honor of Hale, that
he never through the courſe of his life violated the
folemn vow which he then felt himſelf called upon
to make, “ That he would never ſee a play more."
He accordingly reſumed his habits of vigilance and
ſelf-denial, proſecuted his ſtudies with increaſed ardor
and aſſiduity, and availed himſelf of the invaluable
opportunity, which he had nearly miffed, of enriching
his capacious mind with ſtores of learning, and fixing
thoſe virtuous and religious principles which formed
the ground-work of his future fame and fortune.
Hale had reaſon to congratulate himſelf on his for-
tunate eſcape from a ſnare, in which thouſands of both
ſexes have been entangled and ruined.' His example
cannot be too earneſtly recommended to the imitation
of the young and inexperienced, who wiſh to preſerve
the principles of chaſtity, modeſty, and ſobriety, which
they have imbibed in their education, pure and un-
tainted. Though I am fully aware of the tender
ground on which I venture, I hold it an imperious
duty to warn every parent, who wiſhes to promote
the preſent peace and future happineſs of his children,
to diſcourage by his example and advice, a propenſity
for dramatic entertainments. Allow theſe exhibitions
all their boaſted advantages ; concede to their ad-
vocates the rational and harmleſs fatisfactions which
are to be found in the charns of muſic, poetry
and
painting ; in the ſpecimens of brilliant wit and refined
ſentiment, the graces of elocution, the delineation of
the paſſions, and the exhibition of human nature under
all her forms, and even in her moſt amiable dreſs;
yet will it not at the ſame time be allowed, that the
gratification ariſing from theſe fources is purchaſed at
much
Sir Matthew Hale.
117
much too dear a price, when they court an alliance
with profaneneſs and immorality, and the path to theſe
pleaſures is strewed with temptations to vice of the
moſt bewitching and alluring nature? If, by chance;
the character and moral of the dramatic compofition
itſelf be free from objection, yet when the circum-
ſtances, which are inſeparably connected with the red
preſentation of a modern playhouſe, are gravely con-
ſidered, is it not at leaſt unſafe for the ſober youth
and unſpotted virgin to viſit it? Is not the danger of
corrupting the morals and inflaming the paſſions too
great to juſtify a participation in theſe amuſements?
It is poſſible indeed to imagine ſuch a regulated
theatre, as ſhall be exempt from the evils which are
the ground of complaint; but until ſuch a theatre can
be realized, it will be difficult to prove, that theſe
evils are not interwoven in the very conſtitution of a
dramatic exhibition, and vitally eſſential to its fucceſs
and popularity.
There is implanted in our nature a veneration and
reſpect for the majeſty of virtue. Even vice ſtrives
to hide her own deformity under her garb. Hence
the patrons of theatrical repreſentations have been stu-
dious to deny, or, at leaſt, to extenuate the miſchiefs
which are imputed to them. Some perſons will gravely
contend for their utility, will extol them as fchools of
morality, and will recommend them for the leſſons
they teach, and the powerful incentives they propoſe
to the cultivation of good and amiable qualities, or the
performance of brave and benevolent actions.
It is a conſolatory reflection that this homage is
still paid to virtue, that this honourable ſuffrage is
univerſally acknowledged to be her due, and both can-
dour and juſtice claim of us the perſuaſion that the
warmeſt patrons, and moſt ſtrenuous advocates of
theſe exhibitions want only to be convinced of their
fatal conſequences, to acknowledge, their error and
ſubſcribe their recantation.
Names do not alter the nature of good and evil.
The
I 3
i
118 Appendix to the Life and Death of
Did we
The boundaries of virtue and vice, of religion and -
prophaneneſs, are marked by a clear and broad line of
diſtinction, amidſt all the fluctuations of faſhion, and
varieties of human opinion. Were our opinion even
alked of the morality of our modern dramatic pieces,
we do not fcruple to declare our pointed reprobation.
They are calculated to corrupt the morals, and inſtil
the moſt dangerous and criminal maxims.
wiſh to root up every religious and moral principle
from the heart, to tempt our daughters to barter away
the brighteſt jewel of their ſex; to inflame the paſſions
of our fons, and abandon them to their lawleſs empire;
did we wiſh our children to become familiar with crime,
to blunt and deaden thoſe delicate ſenſibilities which
ſhrink at the touch of vice; did we wiſh to harden
and inure them to ſcenes of blaſphemy, cruelty, re-
venge, and proſtitution, we would invite them to the
fight of the moſt popular plays which are now per-
formed on our ſtage; we would ſend them for inſtruc-
tion to the German School, where by the moſt fubtle
and malicious contrivance, vice is decked out in the air
of virtue, and the deluded youth is ſeduced to the road
of ruin, while he believes that he indulges in the no-
bleſt feelings of his nature'; where a caſual act of
generoſity is applauded, whilſt obvious and com-
manded duties are trampled on, and a fit of cha-
rity, is made the fponge of every ſin, and the ſubſti-
tute of every virtue. We would invite them to the
plays of Pizarro, the Stranger, and John Bull, where
the ſpurious virtues are blazoned out, and the genuine
are thrown in the back ground and degraded. In the
one is a bold and ſentimental ſtrumpet, whom the
paſſions of luſt and jealouſy prompt to follow the ad-
ventures of her paramour.
In the other an adul-
treſs, who had forſaken her amiable huſband, and lived
in criminal commerce with her feducer. In the laſt
is the daughter of an humble tradeſman: ſhe fuffers
herſelf to be ſeduced by the ſon of a baronet, flies
from the roof of her fond and moſt affectionate father,
and
2
Sir Matthew Hale.
119
1
!
1
1
and afterwards is united in marriage to the deſpoiler
of her virtue. And, to the ſhame and diſgrace of the
ſtage, and the age we live in, theſe three ladies are
the prominent characters of the reſpective pieces, and
inſtead of being held up inſtructive warnings to others,
are contrived to be made the objects of our ſympathy,
eſteem and admiration.
And ſurely it is no recommendation of our modern
dramas, no proof of our ſuperior refinement and deli-
cate feelings, when we not only tolerate, but openly
encourage the immodeſt alluſions which abound in
our favourite comedies, and tinge with bluſhes the
virgin cheek of innocence; when the ears are ſhocked
with thoſe equivocal expreſſions, which the moſt pro-
fligate rake dares not repeat in the drawing-room, with-
out incurring the danger of being ſhewn to the door by
the father of a virtuous family, and wher, to this is
added the unpardonable privilege which the performers
themſelves aſſume, of improving, as they imagine,
upon the author, by additions from their own prolific
genius. Their coarſe profaneneſs and ſhameleſs blaf-
phemies with which they interlard their ſpeeches, and
ſupply the imperfections of their memory, are too no-
torious to be denied, and too revolting to the moral
feelings to enlarge upon.
Hale had received the advantage of a religious edu-
cation from his childhood, and at a very early age made
his religion, the religion not merely of his education but
of his judgment and choice. He peruſed the Holy
Scriptures to digeſt and underſtand them, and then
proceeded to the ſtudy of the works of Creation,
Providence, and the moral evidences of the Chriſtian
religion, to be convinced of its truth. Having laid
this deep and folid foundation, he ever after raiſed
upon it his ſuperſtructures of piety and learn-
ing. Theſe ſtudies he commenced at a very early
period. His friend who publiſhed his “ Diſcourſes of
the knowledge of God and ourſelves," which was
written at the age of thirty, fays, that Hale was engaged
4
in
120
Appendix tò the Life and Death of
in them at Oxford, for upon his firſt peruſing the
book, he concluded the ſchoolmeil had occupied his
attention; and conſidering the time in which it was
written, and how ſevere a ſtudent of the law he had
been till that time, was deſirous to know when he could
have found leiſure for thoſe ſtudies, and what authors he
had read ; to which Hale replied, “At Oxford; and
that he there read Aquinas, Scotus, Suarez," and
others whom he particularly named.
Hale carried with him thefe habits and diſpofitions
to Lincoln's-Inn, where he entered upon a courſe of
long and intricate ſtudy, to qualify him for that pro-
feſſion, of which he afterwards became . fo illuſtrious
an ornament. Before he began his practice, he had pe-
Fuſed and abridged all the old and all the new law then
extant, in two volumes folio; had read over a great part
of the Records, had looked into the Canon and Civil
Law as far as it contributed to the knowledge of the
Common Law; and, in ſhort, had read whatever was
to be found in law; hiſtory, or other books, whether
in print or manuſcript, which he thought would ad-
vance him in the ſkill and knowledge of his profeſſion,
“ The juriſprudence of his own country,” in the
language of Mr. Serjeant Runnington!, “ was by no
means the fole object of his attention. He applied
himſelf with great avidity to the contemplation of the
Roman law; and though he preferred our mode of
deciſion by jury to that of the Civilians, who entruſt
too much to the Judge; yet he often affirmed, that
the principles of juriſprudence were ſo well delivered
in the Digeſts, that law could not be underſtood as a
ſcience without firſt reſorting to them for information.
This may in fome degree be diſputable; it is not,
however, ſo felf-evident, but it may with deference be
doubted. Admitting that the knowledge of the Civil
Law has defervedly been conſidered as no ſmall acqui-
ſition to the Engliſh ſtudent; yet is it in reality effen-
tial to the underſtanding of our own municipal ſyſtem,
which, fanctified as it is, requires not affiſtance from
An account of Hale, prefixed to his History of the Common Law.
any
Sir Matthew Hale.
121
any foreign code, however admirable, or however juft?"
" We muſt not,” ſays the learned and elegant
commentator, carry our veneration ſo far as to facri-
fice our Alfred and Edward to the manes of Theo.
doſius and Juſtinian; we muſt not prefer the edict of
the prætor, or the refcript of the Roman Emperor, to
our own immemorial cuſtoms, or the ſanctions of an
Engliſh Parliament; unleſs we can prefer the deſpotic
monarchy of Rome and Byzantium, for whoſe meri-
dian the former were calculated, to the free conſtitu.
tion of Britain, which the latter are adapted to per-
petuate 1!"
Wood has ventured to affirm, that at the com-
mencement of the civil war, Hale was influenced
by the principles of puritaniſm, which he had early
imbibed from Sedgwick, to ſide with the Preſbyterians.
The accuracy of this aſſertion there is great reaſon 'ta
call in queſtion. Whoever, indeed, peruſes the works
of this hiſtorian, will feel himſelf under the neceſſity
of ſubſcribing to the obſervation of a diſtinguiſhed
writer, that “ to Wood every lover of antiquity and
literary hiſtory has very high obligations, and in all
matters of fact he may be very fafely relied on; but
his opinion of men and things, is of little value.
His ſerious deportment, and the ſtrict obſervance of
his religious duties, might probably expoſe him to the
reproach of a cenforious world. Men who endeavour
to ſupport the conſiſtency of their chriſtian profeſſion,
and regulate their conduct and converſation by the
ſtandard of the Goſpel, fhould prepare their minds for
the charge of puritaniſm, which the thoughtleſs and
diſſipated are ready to fix upon them. But in appeal-
ing from the authority of Wood to the writings and
actions of Hale himſelf, there will not appear the
leaſt foundation for this cenſure. It may rather be
preſumed he had early relinquiſhed, if he had ever
imbibed theſe tenets. The extravagant notions and
violent prejudices of Sedgwick had inſpired an aver-
fion for the principles of that party, and indaced him
Blac, Comin. 80. Vol. I. p. $.
the
122 Appendix to the Life and Death of
the more readily to embrace thoſe of the Church of
England, for whoſe conſtitution and liturgy he en-
tertained the ſtrongeſt predilection, and gave, on
various occaſions, unequivocal proofs of his high
eſteem and veneration. It appears evident, however,
that his notions of Epiſcopacy did not amount to a
conviction of its indiſpenſable' neceſſity to the con-
Atitution of a viſible church of Chriſt, however he
might be clear as to its apoſtolical authority. Although
he was able to trace this form of government by an
unbroken ſucceſſion, to the primitive ages of the
Church, and the recognition of our Saviour himſelf ;
yet he probably concluded, that what our Saviour and
his Apoſtles had not preſcribed by an expreſs injunc-
tion, as fundamental and essential, their example and
the conſtant uſage of antiquity were
not alone
fufficient to impreſs on it this ſolemn ſtamp. He,
however, choſe the ſafe ſide himſelf, and ear-
neſtly recommended to his children and the world
a communion with the Church of England; of whoſe
venerable ſtructure, the juriſdiction of the Biſhop con-
{titutes the corner-ſtone.
Nor is it with leſs injuſtice attributed to him, that
he approved of their political principles. His attachment
to monarchy was unqueſtionably ſincere and warm,
though he might feel a juſt diſpleaſure at the violent
and arbitrary meaſures which ſullied the commence-
ment of Charles's reign. They furniſhed him with too
many opportunities to declaim againſt their encroach-
ment on the rights and liberties of the ſubject. The
fevereſt condemnation of the abuſes, however, is by
no means incompatible with the warmeſt admiration
of the principles of a kingly government. Though he
probably withdrew himſelf from public ſcenes, yet his
high profeſſional character would often lay him under
a neceſſity of declaring the principles of the conſtitu-
tion, whilſt his unſhaken integrity would reprove
their violations without being ſolicitous to enquire who
were the authors.
Yut
Sir Matthew Hale.
123
Yet when he diſcovered the views of the leading
patriots, and the extremities to which the aſpiring
fanatics were urging the nation, when inſtead of a
redreſs of grievances by conſtitutional means, they
aimed at nothing leſs than the diffolution of monarchy,
and the life of their ſovereign; his pure and honor-
able mind muſt have not leſs ſhuddered at their
wicked projects, and with equal courage and honeſty
borne an unqualified teſtimony againſt their legality.
Hence by purſuing this ſober and conſiſtent line of
conduct, and refuſing to enliſt himſelf under the
banners of either party, he acquired the confidence
of both; and the client, whatever was the complexion
of his politics, did not ſcruple to intruſt his cauſe to
the tried integrity and ſplendid abilities of Hale.
In the year 1641, the Earl of Strafford was brought
to his trial and condemned. Burnet affirms that Hale
was retained for his. Lordſhip, this, however, as is re-
marked by Serjeant Runnington, does not appear
from the report of his trial, which mentions the names
only of Mr. Lane, Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Loe, and Mr..
Lightfoot l. Nor is it improbable that Burnet was
miſtaken, when the youth of Hale is conſidered,
which affords a reaſonable preſumption againſt his
being retained as counſel in a cauſe of ſuch national
magnitude.
A few months after this event had taken place,
when the ſpirit of diſaffection, incited by the intrigues
of Pym and other leaders of the faction, began to
diffuſe itſelf among the people, and even to expoſe
the perſon of the King to danger, the young gentlemen
of the Inns of Court proceeded in a body to White-
hall, and offered their ſervices to his Majeſty, who
received them graciouſly, and ordered them to be
handſomely entertained at tables provided for them.
the Houſe of Commons reſenting this mark of their
Thie following expression of Hale on the trial of Christopher
Love, leads, however, to the supposition that, Burnet was cor-
rect: “ I have been commanded to be of counsel with persons that
have been impeached of Treason hy, the Parliament," and then men.
tions the cases of Strafford and Laudi. State Trials, vol. i. p. 759.
loyalty
)
of framing it had devolved on Hale 1.
124 Appendix to the Life and Death of
loyalty, ſent for theſe gentlemen, and examined them
on the ſubject of a rumour, that they had received
orders to hold themſelves in readineſs the fourth of
January. The members of Lincoln's Inn returned
for anſwer, “ That laſt week they went to Whitehall
to offer their ſervice to the King, upon hearing that his
perſon was in danger: that yeſternight they had received
a meſſage from his Majeſty by Sir William Killegrew
and Sir William Flemming, that they ſhould keep
within to-morrow, and be ready at an hour's warn-
ing if the King ſhould have occaſion to uſe them :
that they brought to them likewiſe a paper of articles of
accuſation againſt Lord Kimbolton, and five members
of the Houſe of Commons: that they had only an
intent to defend the King's perſon, and would do
their utmoſt alſo to defend the Parlianient; being not
able to make any diſtinction between the King and
his Parliament.”. The gentlemen of the other Inns
returned an anſwer to the ſame effect. Thoſe of the
Middle Temple had the courage to tell the Commons,
“ That their intention to defend the King's perſon,
was no more than they were bound to by the oath of
allegiance.” At this time Hale was about thirty-one
years of age, when his character and influence may be
ſuppoſed to have been very conſiderable at Lincoln's-
inn. What ſhare he had in this important tranſaction,
muſt be left to conjecture; but the ſpirit of moderation
and prudence which dictated the anſwer of the gentle-
men of his Inn, would lead one to ſuppoſe the taſk
In 1643, after the flames of civil war had broken
out, and the King and the Parliament had made an
appeal to the ſword, the latter publiſhed an ordinance,
calling an aſſembly of divines and laymen to be held
at Weſtminſter, to be conſulted by both Houſes, for
fettling the government and liturgy of the Church of
England. This meaſure was adopted for the purpoſe
of ſmoothing the way for the reception of the com-
miſſioners from the general aſſembly of Scotland, and
| Rapin, vol i. p. 713.
treating
1
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
125
1
,
Creating upon the ſubject of an union of the two
churches. The two nations entered into a mutual
League and Covenant, and the aſſembly of divines were
ordered by both Houſes to frame an exhortation to the
faking of the covenant, to be publicly read in every
church. It was ordered to be printed and publiſhed,
and appointed to be taken by all the members of par-
liament, and the 'aſſembly of divines, which was pera
formed with great folemnity. This inſtrument, which
marked the complexion of the times, and the religious
principles of the predominant party, is ſo extraordi-
influence, as to induce me to tranſcribe it at length,
for the ſatisfaction of thoſe who have not had an
opportunity of meeting with it.
A ſolemn League and Covenant for Reformation and
Defence of Religion, the Honour and Happineſs-
of the King, and the Peace and Safety of the three
Kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland:
“We, noblemen, barons, knights, gentlemen, citi-
zens, burgefles, miniſters of the goſpel, and com-
móns of all ſorts, in the kingdoms of England, Scot-
land, and Ireland, by the providence of God, living
under one king, and being of one reformed religion,
having before our eyes the glory of God, and the
advancement of the kingdom of our Lord and Saviour
Jeſus Chriſt, the honour and happineſs of the king's
majeſty, and his poſterity, and the true public liberty,
ſafety, and peace of the kingdoms, wherein every
one's private condition is included; and calling to
inind the treacherous and bloody plöts, conſpiracies,
attempts, and practices of the enemy of God, againſt
the true religion, and profeſſors thereof, in all places,
eſpecially in theſe three kingdoms, ever ſince the re-
formation of religion; and how much their rage,
power, and preſumption, are of late and at this tima
increaſed and exerciſed'; whereof the deplorable eſtate
of the church and kingdom of Ireland, the diſtreſſed
eſtate of the church and kingdom of England, and the
dan-
126 Appendix to the Life and Death of
dangerous eſtate of the church and kingdom of Scot-
land, are preſent and public teſtimonies: we have
(now at laſt) after other means of ſupplication, remon-
ſtrance, proteſtations, and ſufferings for the preſer-
vation of ourſelves and our religion from utter ruin
and deſtruction, according to the commendable prac-
tice of theſe kingdoms in former times, and the
example of God's people in other nations, after a
mature deliberation, reſolved and determined to enter
into a mutual and folemn league and covenant, wherein
we all ſubſcribe, and each one of us for himſelf, with
our hands lifted up to the moſt high God, do ſwear:
“1. That we ſhall ſincerely, really, and conſtantly,
through the grace of God, endeavour in our ſeveral
places and callings, the preſervation of the reformed
religion in the church of Scotland, in doctrine, wor-
ſhip, diſcipline, and government, againſt our com-
mon enemies, the reformation of religion in the king-
doms of England and Ireland, in doctrine, worſhip,
diſcipline, and government, according to the word of
God, and the example of the beſt reformed churches;
and we ſhall endeavour to bring the churches of God
in the three kingdoms to the neareſt conjunction and
uniformity in religion; confeſſing of faith, form of
church government, directory for worſhip and cate-
chiſing, that we, and our pofterity after us, may as
brethren live in faith and love, and the Lord may
delight to dwell in the midſt of us.
« II. That we ſhall in like manner, without reſpect
of perſons, endeavour the extirpation of popery,
prelacy (that is, church-government by archbiſhops,
biſhops, their chancellors and commiffaries, deans,
deans and chapters, archdeacons, and all other eccle-
fiaftical officers depending on that hierarchy), ſuper-
Ntition, hereſy, ſchiſm, profaneneſs, and whatſoever
ſhall be found to be contrary to found doctrine, and
the power of godlineſs, leſt we partake in other men's
fins, and thereby be in danger to receive of their
plagues, and that the Lord may be one, and his name
one, in the three kingdoms.
« III. We
>
Sir Matthew Hale.
127
}
--
* III. We ſhall with the fame fincerity, reality, and
conſtancy in our ſeveral vocations, endeavour with
our eſtates and lives mutually to preſerve the rights
and privileges of the parliaments, and the liberties of
the kingdoms; and to preſerve and defend the King's
Majeſty's perſon and authority, in the preſervation
and defence of the true religion and liberties of the
kingdom, that the world may bear witneſs with our
conſciences of our loyalty; and that we have no
thoughts or intention to diminiſh his Majeſty's juſt
power and greatneſs.
“ IV. We ſhall alſo, with all faithfulneſs endeavour
the diſcovery of all ſuch as have been or ſhall be in-
cendiaries, malignants, or evil inſtruments, by hinder-
ing the reformation of religion, dividing the King
from his people, or one of the kingdoms from another,
or making factions or parties among the people, con-
trary to this league and covenant, that they may be
brought to public trial, and receive condign puniſh-
ment, as the degree of their offences ſhall require or
deſerve, or the ſupreme judicatories of both kingdoms
reſpectively, or others having power from them for
that effect, ſhall judge convenient.
“V. And whereas the happineſs of a bleſſed peace
between theſe kingdoms, defired in former times to
our progenitors, is by the good providence of God
granted unto us, and hath been lately concluded and
ſettled by both parliaments; we ſhall each one of us,
according to our place and intereſts, endeavour that
they may remain conjoined in a firm peace and union
to all poſterity, and that juſtice may be done upon the
wilful oppofers thereof, in manner expreſſed in the
precedent articles.
“ VI. We ſhall alſo, according to our places and
callings in this common cauſe of religion, liberty and
peace of the kingdoms, affiſt and defend all thoſe who
enter into this league and covenant, in maintainíng
and purſuing thereof; and ſhall not ſuffer ourſelves
directly or indirectly, by whatſover combination, per-
fuafion
1
mamma
128
Appendix to the Life and Death of
1
fuafion or terror, to be divided and withdrawn from
this bleſſed union and conjunction, whether to make i
defection on the contrary part, or, to give ourſelves
to a deteſtable indifferency or neutrality in this cauſe,
which ſo much concernethi the glory of God, the
good of the kingdom, and the honor of the King, but
thall all the days of our lives, zealouſly and conſtantly
continué therein againſt all oppoſition, and promote
the ſame according to our power againſt all lets and
impediments whatſoever; and what we ourſelves are
not able to ſuppreſs or overcome, we ſhall reveal and
make it known, that it may be timely prevented or
removed; all which we ſhall do, as in the fight of
God.
“ And becauſe theſe kingdoms are guilty of many
fins and provocations againſt God, and his ſon Jeſus
Chriſt, as is too manifeſt by our preſent diſtreſſes and
dangers, and the fruits whereof, we profeſs and declare
before God and the world, our unfeigned deſire to
be humbled for our fins, and for the fins of theſe
kingdoms eſpecially ; that we have not as we ought
valued the ineſtimable benefit of the goſpel, that we
have not laboured for the purity and power thereof, and
that we have not endeavoured to receive Chriſt in our
hearts, nor to walk worthy of him in our lives, which
are the cauſes of other fins and tranſgreſſions, ſo much
abounding among us; and our true and unfeigned
purpoſe, deſire and endeavour for ourſelves, and all
others under our power and charge both in public
and in private, and in all duties we owe to God and
man to amend our lives, and each one to go before
another in the example of a real reformation, that the
Lord may turn away his wrath and heavy indignation,
and eſtabliſh theſe churches and kingdoms in truth
and peace. - And this covenant we make in the pre-
fence of Almighty God the ſearcher of all hearts,
with a true intention to perform the ſame, as we ſhall
anſwer at that great day when the fecrets of all hearts
Ihall be diſcloſed; moſt humbly beſeeching the Lord
1
1
to
Sir Matthew Hale:
129
to ſtrengthen us by his holy ſpirit to this end, and to
bleſs our deſires and proceedings with ſuch ſucceſs as
may be deliverance and ſafety to his people, and en-
couragement to other Chriſtian churches groaning
under, or in danger of the yoke of Anti-chriſtian
tyranny, to join in the fame or like aſſociation or cove-
nant; to the glory of God, the enlargement of the
kingdom of Jeſus Chriſt, and the peace and tranquillity
of Chriſtian kingdoms and commonwealths."
!
If we credit the teſtimony of Wood, Hale ſub
fcribed to this memorable League and Covenant, and,
as he had been told, appeared ſeveral times with other
laymen among the aſſembly of divines. At the firſt
view of this part of his conduct, it might ſeem difficult
to explain the motives which impelled him to purſue
a courſe ſo totally repugnant to his principles as
a Churchman, and his feelings as a Chriſtian. It
might be urged, that in ſolemnly ſwearing to exert 'his
endeavours for the extirpation of prelacý, he profeff-
edly abjured this form of church government, and
ſurrendered his pretenſions to that ſpirit of toleration
and candour in religion, which pervades his writings
and adorns his character This was a public and
authentic teſt, by which the religious principles
of thoſe who ſubſcribed were to be fully re-
cogniſed. He became therefore no longer a filent
ſpectator, and paſſive inſtrument of the times, but
an avowed and decided partiſan of the Preſbyterian
faction. If it were an act of injuſtice to impeach the
memory of Hale for this inſtance of ſervile compliance
and facrifice of his religious principles ; upon what
ground are the names of Ridley, Latimer, and Cranmer,
embalmed in our memory, or even of Charles himſelf,
as martyrs in the cauſe of religion? If it be no crime
to ſwear the deſtruction of a fabric, which has Chriſt.
and his Apoſtles for its builders, the conduct of our
Reformers, who ſealed with their blood the truths
they maintained, partakes no longer the character of
primitive zeal and apoſtolical firmneſs, but of obſtinate
bigotry and childiſh ſuperſtition.
Thoſe
1
VOL. I.
K
130
Appendix to the Life and Death of
1
Thoſe, however, who are jealous of the reputation
of Hale, might offer in exculpation of his conduct,
that before cenſure is paſſed upon him, it would be
proper to take a ſober and diſpaſſionate ſurvey of the
times and circumſtances in which he was called upon
to ſubſcribe to the Covenant. If he refuſed he was
deprived of the privilege of exerciſing his pro-
feſſion, in which he was advancing to fortune and
celebrity by rapid ſtrides. He could not, therefore,
be ſuppoſed to take his meaſures, without revolving in
his mind the very ferious alternative which was pre-
ſented to his choice. He was not unwilling to abridge
the prerogative of the king, and reconcile it with the li-
berties of the people; he could feel no difficulty
in joining with parliament to a limited extent; and
whilit they ſtill proclaimed their allegiance to the king,
and reſpect for his perſon and authority, he conſoled
himſelf with the proſpect of an anicable adjuſtment be.
tween the Crown and parliament, and the eſtabliſhment
of a conſtitution, that would balance the juſt rights of
the king, with the inalienable privileges of the ſubject.
Of this the Covenant afforded a ſatisfactory pledge. He
ſaw in it an expreſs acknowledgement of the ſovereign's
rights, and the elements of national peace and concord.
His love for his country, loyalty to the king, and at-
tachment to a free conſtitution, would diſpoſe him
to give the moſt favourable conſtruction to an in-
ſtrument which apparently led to ſuch important and
happy conſequences. The mere form and outward
ſtructure of the church, always appeared to him
an object of a ſecondary nature. He affirmed, that a
people were left at liberty to chooſe for themſelves
ſuch a model as was beſt adapted to their genius,
their manners, and their temper. Neither the letter "
nor the ſpirit of the Covenant forced upon him a ſubs
fcription to unſcriptural articles of faith, nor even pro-
fcribed the ufe of the common-prayer and the liturgy
of the Church of England. Though it was not with-
out a degree of violence to his conſcience, he re-
nounced the juriſdiction of the bihop, yet he could
diſcover
Şir Matthew Hale.
191
diſcover ingrafted upon the primitive conſtitution,
ſuperadılitions of human policy, which moderated -in
a conſiderable degree his admiration of its excellency
and purity. But in examining this article of the Cove-
nant more critically, his mind found a further relief
from obſerving, that the extirpation of prelacy' was
connected with, and qualified by a ſubſequent fen-
tence, which was evidently inſerted for the purpoſe of
removing the ſcruples, and ſatisfying the conſciences of
the moderate churchman. The obligation to renounce
only “ what was contrary to found doctrine and the
power of godlineſs," allowed him a latitude of con-
ſtruction, which juſtified the moſt ſatisfactory con-
cluſions in favour of his ſubſcription to the solemn
League and Covenant. This public act inveſted him
with the privilege of attending the aſſembly of Di-
vines, and taking an active part in their proceedings :
he was no doubt prevailed upon to alliſt, by the hope
of moderating the paſſions, and ſetting bounds to the
extravagant projects of the violent zealots. Whilſt
he entertained this hope, he would occaſionally at-
tend; but when he found his endeavours were un-
availing, and the temper of the aſſembly would admit
of no control, he no longer ſhared with them in the
reſponfibility for the wiſdom or policy of their meaſures,
In the trial of Archbiſhop Laud, in 1644, Hale was
aſſigned counſel to his Grace, and in the conduct of that
important caufe was aſſiſted by Mr. Hern and Mr.
Gerard. Mr. Hern, as ſenior counſel, took the lead,
and in defence of his client delivered his argument
very freely and ſtoutly, proving, that nothing which
his client had either ſaid or done, according to the
charge, was treaſon by any known eſtabliſhed law of
the kingdom.
The Lord Chancellor Finch has informed us, that
this argument was not Mr. Hern's, though he pro-
nounced it, for he could not argue, but Mr. Hale's.
Finch was then a young lawyer, and ſtood behind
Mr. Hern when he ſpoke at the bar of the Lords
houſe,
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182 Appendix to the Life and Death of
Notwithſtanding, however, theſe conſpicuous ex.
ertions of his zeal and talents in oppoſition to the
parliament, he ſtill continued to enjoy the confidence
of its members, who employed him. on various occa-
fions in his profeſſional capacity. There could not be
a ſtronger proof of the eſtimation in which he was
held, than to be appointed counſel to aſſiſt the com-
miſſioners of parliament to treat with thoſe appointed
by the king. In this capacity he appears to have been
of important ſervice in the advice he gave upon the
fubje& of-reducing Oxford. All the emotions of
gratitude and affection for that ancient ſeat of piety and
learning, to which he was indebted for the foundation
of his increafing celebrity, kindled in his bofom, and
powerfully urged him to plead in behalf of its preſerva-
tion. Hale could not but cheriſh a filial awe and facred
reverence for her ſtately turrets riſing to his view, and
he would be at no lois for arguments to prevail on
Fairfax to extend his forbearance, and prevent the
venerable edifices from being levelled with the
ground.
In 1647, after the king was delivered over by the
Scots into the power of the parliament, and he became
no longer a ſubject of apprehenfion, the army and
the commons ſoon began to fow the ſeeds of mutual
jealouſy, which ripened into ſerious complaints and
open diſtruſt
. The army were graſping at ſupreme
power. The houſe of commons contained members
of diſtinguiſhed abilities, whoſe ſuperior fagacity pe-
netrated the views of Cromwell and his aſſociates,
then directing the ſprings of the Independent
intereſt, and endeavoured to defeat their artful
projects. The daring and enterpriſing mind of Crom-
well reſolved at one ſtroke to diſappoint their party,
by ſtimulating the army to prefer à charge againſt
eleven members whoſe hoſtile influence in the houſe
was the moſt active and extenſive.
Hale was counſel for theſe members. The reſult
was, that the parties ſhould of their own accord de-
mand leave to abſent themſelves from the houſe, and
be
i
}
Sir Matthew Hale
133
1
be permitted to go beyond ſea for ſix months. The
parliament however, ceaſing to be intimidated by the
menaces of the army, afterwards reſcinded this 'refo-
lution, and voted that they ſhould be received into the
houſe.
It has already been ſtated by Burnet, that Hale had
the honour to be employed as counſel for king
Charles. His majeſty, however, refuſing to ſubmit
to the juriſdiction which aſſumed the power of trying
him, was not permitted to plead. In a tranſac-
tion which forms in our hiſtory fo prominent a fea-
ture, I cannot reſiſt the pleaſure of tranſcribing the
elegant and intereſting deſcription which the deiſtical
hiſtorian has given with his uſual preciſion and dig-
nity of language; fince I am willing to perſuade
myſelf the brief recital of the trial of a ſovereign,
to adopt the prefatory remark of Mr. Serjeant Run-
nington, in whoſe defence it may rationally be fup-
poſed Hale was from principle intereſted, added to
' a conjecture.not altogether improbable, that he fur-
niſhed the objections which Charles fo pointedly
urged, will neither obtrude on the attention nor
weary the patience of the reader.'
· The dignity of this tranſaction,' ſays Hume, 'cor-
é reſponded to the greateſt conception that is ſug-
geſted in the annals of human kind; the delegates
of a great people ſitting in judgment upon their ſu-
preme magiſtrate, and trying him for his miſgovern-
. The ſolicitor, in the name of the commons,
' repreſented that, Charles Stuart, being admitted
king of England, and truſted with a limited power,
yet, out of a wicked deſign to erect an unlimited
government, had traitorouſly levied war againſt the
parliament and the people whom they repreſented,
and was therefore impeached as a public and impla-
cable enemy to the commonwealth. After the
charge was finiſhed, the preſident (Serjeant Brad-
s ſhaw) directed his diſcourſe to the king, and told
* him that the court expected his anſwer.
« The
6
ment.
6
6
6
6
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134 Appendix to the Life and Death of
6
6
;
6
6
“The king, though long detained a priſoner, and
now produced as a criminal, fuſtained the majeſty of
a monarch.
With great dignity he declined the
s authority of the court; and refuſed to ſubmit him-
• ſelf to its juriſdiction. He repreſented that, having
been engaged in treaty with his parliament, and
having finiſhed almoſt every article, he had expected
to be brought to his capital in another manner, and
to have been reſtored to his power as well as to his
liberty : that he could not perceive any appearance
of the upper houſe, fo effential a member of the
conſtitution; and had learned that even the com-
.mons, whoſe authority was pretended, were fubdued
by lawleſs force, and were bereaved of their liberty :
that he himſelf was their native hereditary king, nor
was the whole authority of the ſtate, though free
and united, entitled to try him, who derived his dig-
nity from the Supreme Majeſty of Heaven:. that,
admitting theſe extravagant principles, which levelled
all orders of men, the court could plead no power
delegated by the people, unleſs the conſent of every
individual, down to the meaneſt and moſt ignorant
peaſant had been firſt obtained: that he acknow-
·ledged without ſcruple that he had a truſt committed
to him, a truſt moſt ſacred and inviolable ; he was
* entruſted with the liberties of the people, and would
* not betray them by recogniſing a power founded on
the moſt atrocious uſurpation : that, having taken
'arms, and frequently expoſed his life in the defence
of the conſtitution, he was willing, in this laſt and
moſt folemn ſcene, to ſeal with his blood thoſe
pre-
cious rights for which, though in vain, he had ſo
long contended : that thoſe who had arrogated a
title to fit as his judges, were born his ſubjects, and
born ſubjects to thoſe laws which determined that
the king can do no wrong: that, he was not re-
- duced to the neceſſity of ſheltering himſelf under
that general maxim which guards" every Engliſh
monarch, even the leaſt deſerving, but was able; by
6
6
. the
A
)
Sir Matthew Hale.
135
-
" the moſt ſatisfa&ory reaſons, to juſtify thoſe meaſures
* in which he had been engaged; that, to the whole
world, and even to them his pretended judges, he
I was deſirous, if called upon in another manner, to
' prove the integrity of his conduct, and aſſert the
* juſtice of thoſe defenſive arms to which, unwillingly
* and unfortunately, he had recourſe; but that,
in order to preſerve a uniformity of conduct, he
• muſt at preſent forego the apology of his innocence,
- leſt by ratifying an authority no better founded than
* that of robbers and pirates, he be juſtly branded as
the betrayer, inſtead of being applauded as the
martyr, of the conſtitution.'
His judges were not to be moved by this unanſwer-
able plea, but ſtill pırſevered in their fatal purpoſe.
Inflamed with republican and puritanical rage, in ſpite
of every law human and divine, they brought their
ſovereign to the ſcaffold; and afterwards, with the
ſame levelling hand, laid the peerage, the church, the
parliament, and the law itſelf in the .duit. – May our
conſtitution, the admiration of foreign countries, and
the glory of our own, be equally cheriſhed and re-
vered by the prince and the ſubject! May they be
taught by this memorable example, neither by a
ítretch of prerogative on the one hand, nor licentious
outrage on the other, to exceed thoſe juſt bounds
within which the privileges, of the people, and the
rights of the monarch, reflect a mutual luſtre, arid con-
ſpire to their mutual happineſs!
I cannot, however, ſuppreſs my ſuſpicion, that Bur-
net has been in this circumſtance alſo miſtaken.
His-teſtimony, as far as I can diſcover, is unconfirmed.
It is difficult to ſuppoſe, if Hale had been employed
as counſel to Charles, a profound filence would have
been obſerved by contemporary writers. It does not
appear even thật the king called in any lawyer to
his aſſiſtance; nor is it neceſſary to draw this inference,
from the admirable argument he delivered, who has
left behind ſuch ſpecimens of his ſuperior abilities,
and
K 4
136 Appendix to the Life and Death of
and profound knowledge of the laws and conffitution
of England. Wood, though it fell directly in his
way, does not venture to aſſert this fact. Roger
North, it may be preſumed, would have ſcarcely paſſed
it over without ſome remark; and it would have been
too extraordinary an anecdote to eſcape at leaſt an
incidental mention or diſtant alluſion from the bar or
the bench, amidſt the frequent opportunities which
the uſe of his great authority afforded. How far this
negative evidence may outweigh the ſolitary aſſertion
of his biographer, is a queſtion which appears entitled
at leaſt to ſome conſideration.
The death of his lawful ſovereign penetrated his
mind with unfeigned forrow. Hale did not, however,
ſhrink from manfully diſcharging his profeſſional
duty in defence of thoſe noblemen whoſe loyalty to
their king had expoſed them to the vindictive reſent,
ment of parliament. In the trial of the duke of Ha-
milton (Dr. Walker refuſing to be one of his Grace's
counſel), of the four who were aſſigned, Mr. Heron
ſpoke curſorily and elegantly, but not very materially;
Mr. Parſons, a young man, ſpoke boldly, and to good
purpoſe; Mr. Chute, the civilian, ſpoke learnedly,
and home; and Mr. Hale, elaborately, and at length.
It could not, however, be expected before ſuch a court
of judicature, with Bradſhaw for their preſident, that
he and the reſt of his noble colleagues would ſucceed
better than their royal Maſter.
The commons, after the death of Charles, aſſumed
the name of parliament, voted, and afterwards en
acted, that the regal office ſhould be aboliſhed, as un-
neceſſary, burdenſome, and dangerous; and that the
ſtate ſhould be governed by the people's repreſenta:
tives in a houſe of commons, without a king or lords,
and under a republican form. This important change
introduced many others. Inſtead of the oaths of al-
legiance and ſupremacy, a new oath was prepared,
State Trials,
which
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
137
6
$
which they ſtyled the Engagement 1, by which every
man ſwore that he would be true and faithful to the
parliament eſtabliſhed, without a king or houſe of
peers.'
Upon the trial of Chriſtopher Love, 1651, who
was charged with high treaſon, legal exceptions were
tendered by Mr. Hale, Mr. Archer, and Mr. Waller,
who were ready to ſpeak to them. But when the two
latter gentlemen were aſked by the court, whether or
no they would ſubſcribe to the Engagement, they
anſwered, that they deſired time to conſider of it, and
ſo withdrew. After they had withdrawn, Mr. Love
moved the court, that Mr. Hale, another of his coun-
fel, might be ſent for ; upon which the lord preſident
(Mr. Keble) addreſſed him : ' You come as counſel
for Mr. Love; the gentlemen that were here are
brought into an incapacity of doing him ſervice that
way, we aſked them whether they had engaged ;
"we doubt not you, but tell you the reaſon why we
s did it.'
Mr. Hale.- My Lord, I have done it.'
Lord Preſident. Therefore you are aſſigned.'
Mr. Hale.--I had very late notice of this buſi-
neſs; it was Saturday night late before I had notice
of it, and the next day was not a day to think of
" those things. Yeſterday was Monday, and the moſt
ş
part of that day I ſpent in looking over thoſe things
that had been, I think, preſented to your lord hip
?, and the court; we did not know what command
6 your lord ſhip would put upon us,
put upon us, whether you would
s admit us to speak, and to what you would admit us to
speak, and when you would admit us to speak. It is
impoſſibe, my lord-I muſt deal plainly; I profeſs it
is impoſſible for me, in a buſineſs of this great con.
$
6
1 Upon the restoration of Charles, 1661, 20th May, the two houses
of parliament ordered, that the writing called the Solemn League and
Covenant should be burned by the common hangman, (which was
performed with great rejoicings) and this act for subscribing the En-
gagement against a king and house of peers. RAPIN.
fequence,
1
138 Appendix to the Life and Death of
و
<
ſequence, to undertake to ſpeak any thing for the
preſent, till ſuch time as I know your lordſhip's di-
rections; and this was that we acquainted the gen-
"tleman with, as foon as ever I ſaw him, and the
firſt time that ever I ſaw him, which was but this
day.'
The warmeſt admirer of Hale muſt admit that his
ſubſcription to an inſtrument of this complexion is
a ground upon which his principles of attachment to
a regal government may reaſonably bé queſtioned.
For though it be true that Charles I. was no more,
yet Hale was too enlightened and intelligent to con-
clude that there was an end of monarchy. The
prince was alive, and unſubdued, who it might be ra-
tionally ſuppoſed, would make an effort to afçend his
father's throne, and aſſert his legitimate rights. The
tenor of this Engagement was a direct contradiction
to the letter and ſpirit of the Covenant which he had
taken. If then there be any meaning attached to
words, and any fanction and value to the folemnity
of an oath, by what train of reaſoning can the con-
duct of Hale be juſtified? What elſe is implied in
this Engagement than a folemn recognition of thoſe
principles upon which Charles was arraigned and
condemned? What elſe than an unqualified rejection
of a regal form of government, and an unfeigned appro-
bation and indelible ſeal of fidelity to a parliament efta-
bliſhed without a king or houſe of lords? If oaths
are things which men may allow themſelves to take
upon the aſcendancy of a party, and conſidered only
binding ſo long as intereſt or violence ſhall preſcribe,
then indeed the conduct of Hale will admit of an
apology. I confeſs, with all my admiration of his
character, and full conviction of his integrity, I feel
myſelf at a loſs for reaſons to exculpate him in this
inſtance from the charge of pufillanimity, ſelfiſhneſs,
or verſatility of principle. How much brighter would
his character have ſhone, if he had followed the ex.
ample of his learned friends, and with the ſame form-
neſs
Sir Matthew Hale.
139
neſs returned the judge their anſwer! He would, in-
deed, have ſacrificed his intereſt to his principles, but
he would have diſplayed the virtues of ſuffering
loyalty, and tranſmitted his name with unſullied luſtre
to an admiring poſterity.
It is with extreme reluctance, and the greateſt
deference, I have felt myſelf obliged to offer this
opinion ſo unfavourable to his memory. - For though
it would betray in the biographer an unpardonable.
ignorance of human
human nature, and reprehenſible
partiality for his ſubject, to hold him up an
image of unſpotted innocence, and unerring recti-
tude, yet the uniform tenor and general complexion
of Hale's character, his acknowledged reputation för
learning, integrity, and piety, of which he gave an
inſtance in the exordium I have tranſcribed, all for-
bid us to ſuppoſe he was not tremblingly alive to the
ſanctity of an oath, and rather than wound the peace
of his conſcience, would not ſubmit to the bittereſt
privations. That he acted from motives which acquitted
him at the tribunal of his own conſcience, it is reaſonable
to preſume, though we have the misfortune to be unac-
quainted with them. Nor can this apology, with juſ-
tice, be placed to an exceſs of candour, or an undue
bias in favour of one who had the firmneſs very ſoon
after to refuſe the offer of a feat on the bench, and
to tell Cromwell, when he aſked his reaſons, that he
was not ſatisfied about his authority, and therefore
fcrupled to accept the commiſſion.'
To which the uſurper is ſaid to have made this re-
markable reply: “That as he had gotten poſſeſſion
of the government, he was reſolved to maintain it.
' I will not be argued out of it. It is my deſire to
rulę according to the laws of the land, for which
* purpoſe I have pitched upon you ;
but if
' let me govern by red gowns, I am reſolved to go,
vern by red coats !:'
you won't
It
Mr. Serjeant Runnington expresses a doubt whether at that time
the army had any regular uniforms; and if they had, whether it was
scarlet.
.
1
140 Appendix to the Life and Death of
>
It is poſſible he had been prevailed on, by a ſenti-
ment of exalted patriotiſm, to take the Engagement :
poſſibly by the hope of being in a capacity to meliorate
the deplorable ſituation of his country, or at leaſt to
oppoſe the ſubverſion of the eſtabliſhed laws, and by
ſtepping forward in the breach to prevent the entire diſ-
ſolution of the machine of government. For it appears
by the journals of the commons, that in Jan. 1651, a
number of perſons, of whom Mr. Hale is firſt named,
were appointed by the parliament to conſider of the re-
formation of the law,andwere aſſigned the room, which
had been the houſe of lords, to hold their delibera-
tions. The reſt of the committee were : William
Steel, Eſq. the Recorder of London, Charles George
Cock, Eſq. Mr. Manby, Mr. Sadler, Colonel Blount,
Sir Henry Blount, Knt. Mr. Berners, Major General
Deſborough, Mr. Mayer, Colonel Tomlinſon, John
Fountain, Eſq. Alderman Fowk, Hugh Peters, clerk,
Major Packer, Sir William Roberts, Mr. Millwood,
Mr. Manſell, John Ruſhworth of Lincoln's-inn, Mr.
Sparrow, and Sir Anthony Aſhley Cooper, Bart. They
were to take into their conſideration what inconve-
niences there were in the law; how the miſchiefs
which grew from delays, the chargeableneſs and irre-
gularities in the proceedings of the law, might be pre-
vented, and the ſpeedieſt way to prevent the fame,
and to preſent their opinions to the committee of par-
liament appointed for that purpoſe ;, and they, or any
ſeven of them, had power to ſend for any perſons to
scarlet. It has escaped the recollection of the learned and respect-
able gentleman, that red cuats are expressly mentioned in the State
Trials, upon the noted Hugh Peters, and Daniel Axtel, against whom
Sir Purbeck Temple gives this evidence : “My lord, another passage
he puts into iny memory; when I did observe a thousand of sad
faces, I saw none laughing but yourself, as if you had been carous-
ing and entertaining the soldiers. I do not charge you that you
commanded these halberdiers, but those red coats ; you were all in
red : I saw you cane those four or five soldiers I mentioned, till they
cried justice, justice with you; and that with the powder in the palms
of their hands, they forced the king to rise out of his chair, which you
were much pleased with, and laughed."
confer
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
141
1
A
confer with them on this buſineſs, and for records.
They met ſeveral times, and deſired the judges, in
their ſeveral courts, to return to them a liſt of their
ſeveral officers, what fees they received, and what they
did for the ſame. And none was more buſy than
Hugh Peters, who underſtood little of the law, and
was very opinionative.
On the 21ſt of Jan. they paſſed the following refo..
lutions: If the defendant in a perſonal action, before
pleading, -tender fatisfaction to the plaintiff
, with
coſts of ſuit, and it appear afterwards at the trial
before the jury ſufficient, and not accepted of, the
plaintiff to loſe his own, and pay the other's coſt in
the ſuit. That ſummons be the firſt proceſs in all
perſonal actions, with the true date when ſerved forth
and executed, upon oath, and returnable within
fifteen days after the ſervice; the defendant to have
a copy from the original, under ſeal, given or left
at his houſe, and the cauſe of the ſuit fet down in the
body of the writ; that upon default of appearing,
a further proceſs be granted to arreſt the party, till
he appear or give warrant. And in caſe of non-
appearance, the defendant's lands and goods to be
diftrained to a certain value, till he appear or give
6 warrant.'
On the 23d of March, they preſented to the com-
mittee of parliament, the draughts of ſeveral acts:
two of which were for taking away common reco-
veries and the unneceſſary charge of fines, and to paſs
and charge lands entailed, as lands in fee fimple;
for aſcertaining arbitrary fines upon deſcent and alie-
nation of copyholds of inheritance: very neceſſary
laws to reſtrain the oppreſſions of lords of manors 1.
With what independance of mind, and exact im-
partiality he adminiſtered juſtice on the bench, to
which he was advanced at the importunity of Crom-
well, has been amply detailed by Burnet; nor is it in
ca
1 Whitelock.
my
1
142 Appendix to the Life and Death of
1
1
mny, power to gratify the curioſity of the reader with
any additional incidents during that important period.
In 1658, he was choſen burgeſs for the Univerſity
of Oxford, to ſerve in Richard's parliament. I have
ſearched, but without ſucceſs, for a confirmation of
Wood's teſtimony. Perhaps it is vain to inquire why
he was not re-elected to ſerve for his native county.
Is it too bold a conjecture to ſuppoſe the Univer-
fity conferred on Hale this flattering diſtinction,
both as a teſtimony of their approbation for refuſing
any longer to act as judge under the authority of a
uſurper, and chiefly from a ſentiment of gratitude for
his ſucceſsful exertions in reſcuing the venerable ſeat
from deſtruction?
In the year 1660, he was returned a member for
the county of Glouceſter, to ſerve in the parliament
which called home Charles II. 66 Averſe as he was
from thoſe principles," ſays Mr. Serjeant Runnington,
" which actuated the government of Cromwell, he
nevertheleſs avoided the extremities into which the
temerity of the loyaliſts too often precipitated them.
Faction and party he equally defpifed ; nay, attached
as he was to monarchy, and his ſovereign, he was
not, on the reſtoration (of which he was a conſider-
able promoter) for receiving Charles, without rea-
fonable reſtrictions ;. conceiving this to be, of all
other incidents, the moſt opportune to limit that
prerogative which had given riſe to ſuch recent and
unparalleled calamities.
* We are taught under every form of government,
to apprehend uſurpation, either from the abuſe or
from the extenſion of the executive power; and
though it be no advantage to a prince to enjoy more
power than is conſiſtent with the good of his ſubjects,
yet this maxim is but a feeble fecurity againſt the pal-,
ſions and follies of men. Thoſe who are entruſted
with power in any degree, are diſpoſed, from the mere
dilike of conſtraint, to remove oppoſition. Senſible
s'of
1
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
149
+
1
of ſuch truths 1, Hale moved the commons that, a.
committee might be appointed to look into the pro-
poſitions which had been made, and the conceſſīons
which had been offered by the late king; that from
thence they might digeſt ſuch propoſitions as they
fhould think fit to be ſent over to the king 2.'
“ This motion through the influence of Monk
failed of ſucceſs; it ſhewed, however, that Hale en-
tertained a warm regard for the public, a high reſpect
for its laws, and that he was no friend to thoſe opi-.
nions which tended to ſupport the indefeaſible right
of prerogative. The motives which determined the
fate of this motion, 'were the very reverſe of, and
equally in extreme with thoſe which influenced the
commons againſt Charles the Firſt. The general
opinion now ſeemed to condemn all jealous capitula-
tions with the ſovereign. Harraſſed with convulſions,
men ardently wiſhed for repoſe, and were terrified at
the mention of negociation or delay. Added to this,
the paſſion for liberty having produced ſuch horrid
commotions, began to give place to a ſpirit of loyalty
and obedience 4.
** Why Monk ſhould diſapprove the impoſition of
rational conditions, is not eaſily to be accounted for ;
he ſeemed reſolved, however, that the crown he in-
tended to reſtore ſhould be conferred on the king
free and unincumbered. He knew not, perhaps, that
liberty is never in greater danger than when we mea.
ſure national felicity by the bleſſings which a prince
may beſtow, or by the mere tranquillity, which may
Ferguson on Civil Society. 2 Burnet's History, Svo. vol. 1. p. 122.
3 As such a motion was forescen, Monk was instructed how to an-
swer it. He told the house that he had information of such puinbers
of incendiaries still in the kingdom, that if any delay was put to the
sending for the king, he could not answer for the peace either of the
nation or ariny. And as the king was to bring neither army nor trea-
sure with him, either to fright or to corrupt them, propositions might
be as well offered to him when he should come over; so he moved for
sending commuissioners immediately. This was echred with such a
shout over the house, that the motion was no niore insisted on. Bur.
Det's History of his own Timnes, p. 88, 89.
* Hume.
attend
1
1
144 Appendix to the Life and Death of
attend an equitable adminiſtration. The ſovereign
may dazzle with his heroic qualities; he may protect
his ſubjects in the enjoyment of every animal advan-
tage or pleaſure ; but the benefits ariſing from liberty
are of a different fort; they are not the effects of a
virtue and of a goodneſs which operate in the breaſt
of one man, but the communication of virtue itfelf
to many; and ſuch a diſtribution of functions in
civil ſociety, as gives to numbers the exerciſes and
occupations which pertain to their nature 1.
“ Charles, immediately after his reſtoration, came to
the houſe of peers, and in the moſt earneſt terms
preſſed an act of general indemnity; he urged not
only the neceſſity of it, but the obligation of a promiſe
which he had formerly given : a promiſe which he
would ever regard as facred, ſince to that he probably
owed the ſatisfaction of meeting his parliament. This
meaſure of the king, though irregular ?, was received
with great ſatisfaction 3, and the commons, after ſome
debate, appointed a committee to forward the gener-
ous purpoſe.
“Serjeant Hale had the honour of being nominated
one of the committee, and now, in the execution of
this high truſt, he exerted all the powers of his mind,
and all the goodneſs of his heart, to terminate thoſe.
evils which had too long and too neceſſarily prevailed.
Prudence and humanity dictated, that the ſooner the
bill paſſed, the ſooner the bleſſings of peace would be
diffuſed. With an aſſiduity to be equalled only by
his philanthropy, he framed, carried on, and fup-
ported the bill.
.
He was alſo, as Serjeant, included in the ſpecial
commiſſion appointed for the trial of the regicides.
On his elevation to thebench, under the authority of
Charles, he maintained the ſame integrity and impar-
tiality, the ſame independance and firmneſs of mind
which characteriſed his adminiſtration of juſtice un-
der Cromwell.
1
1 Dr. Ferguson.
before the houses.
By his taking notice of a bill which depended
s Par. Hist, vol. 2 p. 290.
“I
remem-
Sir Matthew Hale.
145
1
5
C
G
6
+ I remember,' ſays Dryden; "a ſaying of King
* Charles II. on Sir Matthew Hale (who was doubt-
leſs an uncorrupt and upright man), that his fer-
vants were ſure to be caſt on a trial which was heard
before him, not that he thought the judge was poſ-
' fible to be bribed, but that his integrity might be too
ſcrupulous, and that the cauſes of the Crown were
always ſuſpicious when the privileges of ſubjects
were concerned.'
The ſervility, infolence, and partiality, to which
Hale formed an honourable exception of many of the
judges in this monarch's reign, preſent to the view
a diſguſting picture of the adminiſtration of public
juſtice. What a ſtriking contraſt do they exhibit to
the judges who grace the bench of the preſent day!
The fobriety and gravity of their deportment, the
patience and impartiality with which they poiſe the
ſcales of juſtice between the rich and the poor, the
King and the meaneſt of his ſubjects, ceaſe to become
the theme of admiration and applauſe, becauſe they
are now familiar and univerſally experienced.
They, however, who wiſh to appreciate the value and
meaſure the extent of theſe political bleſſings, and cal-
culate their importance to the ſecurity and preſervation
of the life, liberty, and property of the ſubject, ought to
look back to the judicial proceedings of former times,
and peruſe the trials in which a Scroggs, a Howell, a
Pemberton, and a Jeffreys, preſided.
The remark of Mr. Serjeant Runnington, breathes
ſuch a ſpirit of conſtitutional liberty, ſo honourable
to his profeſſion as a lawyer, and to his feelings as an
Engliſhman, that I am perſuaded no apology is neceſa
ſary for introducing it here.
és To thoſe who are'unacquainted with our hiſtory,
it may ſeem ſtrange, but it is no more ſo than true,
that the judges were formerly dependant on the ca-
price of the Crown. Prerogative no doubt thought
it neceſſary, but the ſubject found it partial and op-
preſſive. Before the cloſe of the ſeventeenth century,
and
1
YOL, I,
L
3
+
146 Appendix to the Life and Death of
and anterior to the glorious Revolution, men of pliant
diſpoſitions were raiſed to the bench; while thoſe
who diſtributed juſtice were removed; even-handed
juſtice gave way to wicked policy; objects the moſt
precious were by vicious conſtructions, without cere-
mony and without fear, facrificed by thoſe whoſe
duty it was to protect and preſerve them. Sad and
melancholy muſt have been the proſpect ; for when
the channels of public juſtice are corrupted, when
juſtice itſelf is corrupted into the means of revenge,
political miſery is arrived to its height. From the nu-
merous inſtances which might be educed in ſupport
of the aſſertion, the following one is ſufficient to
eſtabliſh it beyond a doubt or contradi&tion. In the
year 1683, on the trial of lord Ruſſell, Jeffreys in his
ſpeech to the jury, turned the untimely fate of Effex
into a proof of the conſpiracy in which he and Ruſſell
had been engaged. Pemberton was removed from the
head of the king's bench, and even from the privy coun-
cil, and Jeffreys put in his place!, in order, by the fierce-
neſs of his manners, to cope with a man the vigor of
whoſe ſpirit was known throughout Europe.
In the year 1691, a bill paſſed both houſes to make
the ſalaries and offices of the judges for life, but the
King even at that great æra of liberty, refuſed his aſſent,
leaving room for a succeeding monarch to give un-
asked to the wiſhes of the people, what William re-
fuſed to their prayers. However, to maintain the
dignity and independance of the judges, it was ſoon
after enacted that their commiſſions ſhould be made
not as formerly, Durante bene placito, but Quam-
diu lene se gesserint 3. Their ſalaries were alſo aſcer-
tained and eſtabliſhed, and their removal déclared law-
ful, on the addreſs of both houſes of parliament. This
law has been fince improved. His preſent Majeſty in the
beginning of his reign, declared from the throne, that
Jeftieys did not immediately succeed Sir Francis Peinberton,
whose immediate successor was Sir Edmund Saunders.
. During the pleasure of the crown.
9 As long as there was no legal impeachinent of their conduct.,
he
Sir Matthew Hale.
+
147
he looked upon the independance and uprightneſs
* of the judges, as eſſential to the impartial adminiſtra-
* tion of juſtice, as one of the beſt ſecurities of the rights
and liberties of his ſubjects, and as moſt conducive
to the honour of the Crown; and therefore.earneſtly
* recommended to parliamerrt, that the judges might
'be continued during their good behaviour, notwith- .
ſtanding any demiſe of the Crown.' This the parlia-
ment immediately took into conſideration, and with
all poſſible diſpatch paſſed a law in every reſpect
conformable with the recommendation.'
It cannot be ſuppoſed that our illuſtrious judge
was exempt from the frailties of humanity. There
is one circumſtance recorded of him, which ſuffi.
ciently proves indeed, that he had not riſen ſupe
rior to the ſuperſtitious credulity of the times. It '
almoſt ſurpaſſes belief at the preſent day, with what
reverence and horror our forefathers looked upon na-
ture, before the world was enlightened by learning and
philoſophy, and how they loved to aſtoniſh themſelves
with the apprehenſions of witchcrafts, prodigies,
charms, and enchantments. There was not a village in
England that had not a ghoſt in it, the church-yards
were all haunted, every large common had a circle
of fairies belonging to it; and there was ſcarce a
Thepherd to be met with who had not ſeen a ſpirit 1!
The mind is overwhelmed in aſtoniſhment at the fact,
that Sir Matthew Hale, the moſt pious, learned, en.
lightened, and humane judge, that ever adorned the
Bench, ſhould declare his belief in witchcraft2, at the
aſſizes held March 10th, 1664, at Bury St. Edmund's,
in Suffolk, where he paſſed the ſentence of death upon
two old crazy wretches for that ſuppoſed crime, for
which they were executed on the 17th of the fame
month. Before we venture to reproach his memory
with extreme ſeverity, we ought, in candor, to take
into account the ſtrong prejudices of the times in
which he lived 3. And it is but an act of juſtice to
his
Spectator, 419.
& The statute of 1 Jac. cap. 12. against conjuration, witchcraft, &c.
was repealed by an act of 9 Geo. 2: cap. 5.
* The Chief Justice North dreaded the trying of a witch; for it
was seldom, in those times, that a poor old wretch was brought to
>
1
1 2
tria!
148 2
Appendix to the Life and Death of
his character to ſtate the grounds upon which he
reſted his belief of this doctrine : Firſt, becauſe the
Scriptures affirm it Secondly, Becauſe the wiſdom of
all nations, particularly our own, hath provided laws
againſt witchcraft ; which implies a belief of ſuch a
Of his deteſtation of vice and immorality, he ąid
not ſcruple on all occaſions to bear his decided and
public teſtimony. The debaucheries and looſe beha-
viour of Sir William Scroggs, then Serjeant at Law,
9
crime.
gave them
them any
trial upon that account, but she was persecuted with a popular rage,
which clamoured for her death; and if a judge had the courage to
déclare against that vulgar opinion, the common people were ready
to exclaim that the judge has no religion, for he does not believe
witches. An old man was tried before Judge North, for a wizzard :
The evidence against him was, the having bewitched a girl of about
thirteen years old; for she had strange and unaccountable fits, and
used to cry out upon him, and spit out of her mouth straight pins;
and whenever the man was brought near her, she fell into her fits and
spit forth straight pins. His lordship wondered at the straight pins,
which could not be so well couched in the mouth ás crooked ones;
for such only used to be spit out by people bewitched. He examined
the witnesses very tenderly and carefully, so as none could collect what
his opinion was, for he was fearful of the jurymen's precipitancy if he
offence. When the poor man was told he must an-
swer for himself, he entered upon a defence as orderly and well ex-
pressed and sensible, as if it had been conducted by the attorney-.
general himself. The sum of it was malice, threatening, and cir-
cumstances of imposture in the girl; to which matters he called his
witnesses, and they were heard. After this was done, the judge was
not satisfied to direct the jury, before the imposture was fully cleared,
but studied, and beat the bush a while, asking sometimes one, and
then another question, as he thought proper. At length he tui'ped
to the justice of the peace that committed the many and took the
first examinations ; And, Sir,' said he, pray will you ingenuously
declare your thoughts, if you have any, touching these straight pins
* which the girl spit, for you saw her in her fit?' Then, my Lord,
said he, I did not know that I might concern myself in the evidence,
having taken the examination, and committed the man. But since
your Lordship demands it, I must needs say, I think the girl dou-
« bling herself in her fit, as heing convulsed, bent her head down close
• to her stomacher, and with her month took pins out of the edge of
• that, and then righting herself a little, spit thein into some by:
stander's hands. This gave a universal satisfaction to the whole
audience, and the man was acquitted. As the judge went down
stairs out of the court, an hideous old woman cried, God bless your
· Lordship! What is the matter, good woman?' said the judge ;
Nſy Lord,' said she, “ Forty years ago they would have hanged ne
..for a witch, and they could not; and now they would have hanged
NORTH's Life of Lord Guilford, p. 138.
who
'my poor son,
Sir Matthew Hale.
149
1
who was afterwards made Lord Chief Juſtice of the
King's-bench, rendered him highly obnoxious to the
venerable judge, who refuſed him the privilege, which
he claimed, of a ſerjeant when he was arreſted for a
debt by a King's-bench warrant.
His Lordſhip would ſometimes relax the gravity of
his deportment on the Bench, and relieve the ſo-
lemnity of his magiſterial character, by an occaſional
effuſion of innocent humour. In his diſcernment of
riſing merit, he felt a pleaſure in acknowledging it, and
readily embraced the opportunity of paying a delicate
compliment worthy of the accompliſhed gentleman to
beſtow, and highly gratifying to the feelings of him
who receives it.
He entertained a high opinion of the profeſſional
ſkill of Mr. North (afterwards Lord Keeper of the
Great Seal) and believed he would become eminent
in the law. When the court was ſeated, the judge
ſeeing North puſhing very hard to get in, ſpoke from
the bench, to make way for the little gentleman,
for,' ſaid he, he will ſoon make way for himſelf 1
It has been intimated that he had cultivated a taſte
for architecture, and the arts. He, appears, how-
ever, to have thought that every branch ſhould be
ſtudied and cultivated with a view to practical utility,
When the Duke of Beaufort was engaged in his
building at Badminton, his neighbour, the Lord Chief
Juſtice Hale, made him a viſit, and obſerving the many
contrivances the Duke had for the diſpoſing of fo
great a family, he craved leave to ſuggeſt one to him,
which he thought would be much for his ſervice, and
it was to have but one door to his houſe, and the
window of his ſtudy, where he ſat, moſt open upon
(that 2.' The principle upon which he offered this
advice to his Grace, was founded on a long experience
of the world, and a conviction that a regard to æco-
nomical arrangements was not only compatible with
North, p. 46.
the
6
2 lbid.
L 3
1
150 Appendia to the Life and Death of
the moſt exalted ſtations, but neceſſary to the ſecurity
and permanence of the moſt fplendid fortunes,
The Counteſs of Pembroke choſe for her refidence
the ancient caſtle belonging to the Earl of Thanet, at
Appleby, in Weſtmoreland : ſhe was a lady of great
magnificence, diſtinguiſhed for her learning, and
adorned various parts of the caſtle with inſcriptions,
and under the old pictures, which contained a con:
ſiderable portion of the hșſtory and pedigree of the
family. Hale is ſaid to have affifted the counteſs in
the peruſal and the arrangement of her evidences and
monuments, and ſupplied her with fair extracts from
them.
It may be proper here to mention, that as a teſti.
mony of reſpect and gratitude for the important ſervices
which the judges rendered the City after the dreadful
conflagration in 1666, by their ſtrict juſtice and ami-
cable arrangements of differences between the land:
lord and tenant, in which undertaking Judge Hale
Þore ſo diſtinguiſhed a part, the citizens cauſed their
portraits to be hung up in Guildhall 1,
Our excellent Judge did not confine-his views of
uſefulneſs to the ſtrict routine of his public duty. He
wiſhed to convert his moments of relaxation to ad,
vantage, and render them a ſeaſon of cominunication
and improvement to others. Every crumb and frag,
ment of time was valuable to him,
His copious
| The portrait of Sir Matthew Hale was painted by one Michael
Wright. Mr. Granger enumerates the following portraits of Sir
Matthew Hale, viz.
Sir Matthew Hale, Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench; M.
Wright, P. G. Vertue, sc. 1735. h. sh.
Mattheus Hale, miles, &c. R. White, sc, a roll in his right hand
large h. sh. A copy by Van Hove.
Sir Matthew Hale; large h. sh. copied from White.
Mattheus Hale, iniles, &c. Van Hove, sc. sitting iụ an elhow chair;
h. sh.
Mattheus Hale, &c. Van Have, sc. sitting, 8vo.
Mattheus Hale, &c. Clarke, $c sitting, 8vo.
Lord Chief Justice Hale; small 4to. Printed with the “Sum of
Religion“ in a large half sheet. Grang. Biog. Hist, vol. iii. 8vo. 365,
ſtores
i
Sir Matthew Hale.
151
1
1
ſtores of profound learning and practical knowledge,
which his indefatigable induſtry and long experience
had collected, he did not think it ſufficient to diſtri-
bute from the bench for the benefit of the public or
the bar, nor was he ſatisfied with the legacy of volu-
minous manuſcripts he was accumulating and intended
to bequeath to his profeſſion. He was convinced how
much was to be gathered from oral information, and
familiar converſe. The complete maſter of his pro-
feſſion treaſures up original remarks and valuable
obſervations, which he may be unwilling to commit to
writing, or want the opportunity of delivering from
the chair, but the domeſtic pupil or confidential friend
liſtens to with avidity, and receives with gratitude.
1 The following account exhibits the courteſy of his
manners, and communicative diſpoſition, no leſs than
his zeal and folicitude for the promotion of uſeful
knowledge, in a ſtriking point of view, and will, no
doubt, prove a high gratification. It is copied from a
MS, in the poſſeſſion of Bennet Langton, Eſq. the
friend of Dr. Johnſon, and in the handwriting of Mr.
Langton's great-grand-father, who ſtudied the láw
under the direction of Sir Matthew Hale.
)
I
6
· Dec. 13, -72. I was ſent to by Mr. Barker,
to come to him to my Lord Chief Juſtice Hale's
• lodgings at Serjeants-Inn.
" I was informed by Mr. Godolphin about a month
ago, that my Lord Chief Juſtice had declared at
ſupper at Mr. Juſtice Twiſden's, that if he could
meet with a ſober young man that would entirely
saddict himſelf to his lordſhip's direction, that he
would take delight to communicate to him, and
? diſcourſe with him at meals, and at leiſure times,
and in three years time make him perfect in the
* practice of the law. I diſcourſed ſeveral times with
Mr. Godolphin of the great advantage that a ſtu-
dent would make by his lordſhip's learned commu-
nication, and what' influence it would have on a
Seward's Anecdotes,
L 4
* practiſer,
152 r
1
}
C
6
my bea
6
Appendix to the Life and Death of
practiſer, as well as honour, to be regarded as my
lord's friend ;' and perſuaded him to uſe his intereſt
and the offices of his friends, to procure his lord-
ſhip’s favour. But his inclinations leading -him to
“ travel, and his deſigns afterwards to rely upon his
intereſt at court, he had no thoughts to purſue it,
but offered to engage friends on my behalf, which
'I refuſed, and told him I would make uſe of no
* other perſon than my worthy friend Mr. Barker,
whoſe acquaintance with my lord I knew was very
particular. After I had often reflected upon the
- nobleneſs of my lord's propoſition, and the happi-
neſs of that perſon that ſhould be preferred by ſo
learned and pious a man, to whoſe opinion every
court paid ſuch a veneration that he was regarded
- as the oracle of the law, I made my application
6 to Mr. Barker to intercede with my lord in my
half, who aſſented to it with much readineſs, as he
always had been very obliging to me ſince I had
the honour to be known to him. He niade a viſit
sto my lord, and told him that he heard of the
* declaration my lord made at Mr. Juſtice Twiſden's.
My lord ſaid it was true, and he had entertained
the ſame reſolution a long time, but not having
met with any body to his purpoſe, he had diſcarded
thoſe thoughts, which Mr. B. did beg of his
lordſhip to reſume in behalf of a perſon that he
' would recommend to him, and would be ſurety for
« his induſtry and diligent obſervation of his lordſhip's
“ direcțions. My lord then enquired who it was, and
che mentioned me. Then he aſked how long I had
« been at the law, of what country I was, and what
« eſtate I had; which he told him, and that I was
'my father's eldeſt ſon, To which he replied, thať
hé might talk no farther of it, for there was no
· likelihood that I would attend to the ſtudy of the
• law as I ought: but Mr. B. gave him aſſurances
that I would ; that his lordſhip might rely upon
* his word; and that I had not taken this reſolution
without
6
Sir Matthew Hale.
153
without deliberation, that I had often been at Weſt-
• minſter Hall, where I had heard his lordſhip ſpeák,
' and had a very great veneration for his lordſhip,
' and did earneſtly deſire this favor: That my father
' had lately purchaſed the ſeat of the family which
was ſold by the elder houſe, and by that means had
run himſelf into 5 or 6,0001. debt.'
· Well then,' ſaid my lord, 'I pray bring him to
me.'
' Dec. 13. I went to my lord and Mr. B. (for till
that time my lord was either buſy or out of town)
6 about four in the afternoon. My lord prayed us
to fit, and after ſome ſilence Mr. B. acquainted my
lord that I was the perfon on whoſe behalf he had
* ſpoken to his lordſhip. My lord then ſaid, that he
underſtood that I had a fortune, and therefore would
not ſo ſtrictly engage myſelf in the crabbed ftudy
* of the law as was neceſſary for one that muſt make
his dependance upon it. I told his lordſhip, that
' if he pleaſed to admit me to that favor I heard he
deſigned to ſuch a perſon he enquired after, that I
• ſhould be very ſtudious. My lord replied quick,
' that Mr. B. had given him aſſurances of it, that Mr.
B. was his worthy friend, with whom he had been
* acquainted a long time, and that for his fake he
ſhould be ready to do me any kindneſs; for which
"I humbly gave his lordſhip thanks, as did likewiſe .
« Mr. B. My lord aſked me how I had paſſed my
· time, and what ſtanding I was of. I told him, that
“ I was almoſt ſix years of the Temple, that I had
« travelled into France about two years ago, ſince
• when I had diſcontinued my ſtudies of the law, ap-
plying myſelf to the reading French books, and
ſome hiſtories. My lord diſcourſed of the neceffity
* of a firm uninterrupted proſecution of that ſtudy
& which any man deſigned ---in the midſt of which
* Mr. Juſtice Twiſden came in, ſo that his lordſhip bid
$ us come to him again two hours after.
About
/
6
154 Appendix to the Life and Death of
1
* About eight the ſame evening we found his lord-
fhip alone. After we fat down, my lord bid me tell
. him what I read in Oxford, what here, and what in
• France. I told him, I read Smith's Log. Burgerfdi-
cius's Nat. Phil. Metaphyſics and Moral Philofophy;
that in the afternoons I uſed to read the Claſſic
authors. That at my firſt coming to the Inns of
Court, I read Littleton, and Doctor and Student,
· Perkins, my Lord Coke's Inſtitutes, and ſome caſes
' in his Reports. That after I went into France, I ap-
plied myſelf to the learning of the language, and
reading ſome French Memoirs, as the Life of Ma-
zarine, Memoirs of the D. of Guiſe, the Hiſtory of
the Academie Fr. and others; that ſince I came
• away, I continued to read fome French books, as
& the Hiſtory of the Turkiſh Government by
the Account of the laſt Dutch War, the State of
Holland, &c. That I read a great deal in Heylin's
Geog. fome of Sir Walter Raleigh, my Lord Ba-
• con of the Advancement of Learning, Tully's Offi-
ces, Ruſhworth's Collections.
My Lord ſaid, that the ſtudy of the law was to
one of theſe two ends : firſt, to fit a man with ſo
much knowledge as will enable him to underſtand
* his own eſtate, and live in ſome repute among his
neighbours in the country; or ſecondly, to deſign
" the practice of it as an employment to be advantaged
• by it; and aſked which of them was my purpoſe.
* I acquainted his lordſhip, that when I firſt came to
• the Temple, I did not deſign to proſecute the ſtudy
of the law fo as to make advantage by it ; but now,
by the advice of my father and my uncle, and Dr.
Peirſe, in whoſe college I had my education, and re-
ceived many inſtances of his great kindneſs to me, I
· had reſolutions to practiſe it, and therefore made my
* ſuit to his Lordſhip for his directions.
• Well, faid my Lord, ſince I ſee your intentions,
+ I will give what aſſiſtance I can.
• My
C
C
.
155
Sir Matthew Hale.
"My Lord faid, that there were two ways
of
ap-
plying one's ſelf to the ſtudy of the law : one was
s to attain the great learning and knowledge of it
which was to be had in all the old books; but that
* did require great time, and would be at leaſt
ſeven years before a man would be fit to make any
i benefit by it: the other was, by fitting one's ſelf for
the practice of the court, by reading the new reports,
and the preſent conſtitution of the law; and to this
- latter my Lord adviſed me, having already paſſed ſo
much time, a great many of the caſes feldom com-
*ing in practice, and ſeveral of them antiquated.
. In order to which ſtudy, his Lordſhip did direct
S that I ſhould be very exact in Littleton, and after
* read carefully my Lord Coke's Littleton, and then
« his Reports. After which, Plowden, Dier, Croke,
6 and More. That I ſhould keep conſtantly to the
* exerciſes of the Houſe, and in term to Weſtminſter
• Hall to the King's Bench, becauſe the young lawyers
* began their practice there: That I ſhould aſſociate
with ſtudious perſons rather above than below my
* ſtanding ; and after next term get me a common-
place book; and that I muſt ſpoil one book, bind-
ing Rolles' Abr, with white paper between the leaves,
s and according to thoſe titles infert what I did not.
find there before, according to the preface to that
book, which my Lord ſaid, came from his hands,
and that he did obtain of Sir Francis Rolles to ſuf-
· fer it to be printed, to be a platform to the young
ď ſtudents. My Lord ſaid he would, at any time that
I ſhould come to him, ſhew me the method he uſed,
and direct me, and that if he were buſy he would
é tell me ſo.
• He faid, that he ſtudied fixteen hours a day for
the firſt two years that he came to the Inns of Court,
but almoſt brought himſelf to his grave, though he
* were of a very ſtrong conſtitution, and afterwards
& reduced himſelf to eight hours; but that he would
f not adviſe any body to do ſo much; that he thought
6
$
}
fix
156 Appendix to the Life and Death of
' fix hours a day, with attention and conſtancy, was
* fufficient; that a man muſt uſe his body as he would
6 uſe his horſe and his ſtomach, not tire him at once,
.but riſe with an appetite. That his father did order,
· in his will, that he ſhould follow the law; that he
' came from the Univerſity with ſome averfion for
lawyers, and thought them a barbarous fort of peo-
ple, unfit for any thing but their own trade; but
having occaſion to ſpeak about buſineſs with Ser-
• jeant Glanvil, he found him of ſuch prudence and
candor, that from that time he altered his apprehen-
'fions, and betook himſelf to the ſtudy of the law,
and oft told Serjeant Glanvil, that he was the cauſe
of his application to the law.
· That conſtantly after meals, every one in his
turn propoſed a'caſe, on which every one argued.
That he took up a reſolution, which he punctually
obſerved ever fince, that he would never more ſee a
play, having ſpent all his money on them at Oxford,
and having experienced that it was ſo great an aliena-
tion of his mind from his ſtudies, by the recurring
of the ſpeeches and actions into his thoughts, as
well as the loſs of time when he ſaw them; that he
had often difputes with Mr. Selden, who was his
great friend, and uſed to ſay, he found ſo great re:
'freſhment by it; but my Lord told him he had ſo
* much knowledge of the inconvenience of them, that
he would not ſee one for 100l. But he ſaid he was
not of Mr. Prynne's judgment (which I minded him
of), for he did not think it unlawful, but very fit for
' gentlemen ſometimes, but not for ſtudents.
My Lord ſaid at the beginning of his diſcourſe,
* that iny friends might expect that I ſhould marry, to
take off the preſent debt from the eſtate, which elſe
would increaſe, and then there could be no thoughts
of a very earneſt proſecution of ſtudy; to which
Mr. B. faid, that my father, when he made this pur-
'chaſe that pụt him into debt, did reſolve to ſell other
- land, and by that might either diſcharge or lefſen it.
My
<
.
1
157
Sir Matthew Hale.
C
c
6
My Lord ſaid, that his rule for his health was, to
be temperate, and keep himſelf warm. He never
made breakfaſts, but uſed in the morning to drink a
glaſs of ſome ſort of ale: That he went to bed at
nine, and roſe between fix and feven, allowing him-
ſelf a good refreſhment for his ſleep. That the law
(will admit of no rival, nothing to go even with it;
but that ſometimes, one may for diverſion, read in
the Latin hiſtorians of England, Hoveden and Ma-
“thew Paris, &c. But after it is conquered, it will
admit of other ſtudies.
I aſked, whether his Lordſhip read the ſame law
in the afternoon as he did in the morning. He ſaid,
· No: he read the old books in the morning, and the
'new in the afternoon, becauſe of fitting himſelf for
converſation. I aſked if he kept conſtantly to one
court, which he ſaid he did.
“He ſaid, a little law, a good tongue, and a good
memory, would fit a man for the Chancery; and he
ſaid it was a golden practice, for the lawyers there
" got more money than in all the other courts in Weſt-
* minſter Hall. ' I told his Lordſhip what my Lord
Chancellor lately ſaid, that he would reduce the prac-
* tice of the court to another method, and not ſuffer
above one counſel or two at the moſt in one cauſe.
My Lord faid, that 1,000l. a-year was a great deal
for any common lawyer to get; and Mr. B. faid,
* that Mr. Winnington did make 2,000l. per year by
it. My Lord: anſwered, that Mr. W. made great
advantage by his city practice, but did not believe he
made ſo much of it. I told his Lordſhip of what
* Mr. W. had ſaid before the council on Wedneſday,
on the behalf of ſtage-coaches, which were then at-
tempted to be overthrown.
At our coming away, my Lord did reiterate his
willingneſs to direct and affiſt me; and I did beg of
s his Lordſhip that he would permit me to conſult his
Lordſhip in the reaſon of any thing that I was igno.
rant of, and that his Lordſhip would be pleaſed to
examine
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:
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6
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158 Appendix to the Life and Death of
.
examine me in what I ſhould read, that he might find
' in what meaſure I did apply myſelf to the execution
of his commands, to which he readily afſented.'
1
This great and excellent man, in whom was to be
found an aſſemblage of qualities the moſt ſplendid
and amiable, whoſe learning and induſtry, piety and
virtue, whoſe uprightneſs and independence as a
judge, and humility and benevolence as a Chriſtian,
have endeared his name in the memory of the wiſe
and good, has been the ſubject of malignant .
ſpleen and ſtudied detraction. The clumſy pen of
Roger North, dictated by a ſpirit of jealouſy and
ſelfiſhneſs, has made an effort to pluck from the
brow of Hale his well-earned wreath of fame. The
fuperiority which his name enjoyed over that of Lord
Keeper North, then finking into oblivion, provoked
this writer to indulge in extraordinary paradoxes, and
by laboured miſconſtructions and notorious miſrepre-
ſentations, to place in the ſhade, that character which
illumined the age he lived in, and will be re.
vered by the profeſſion and the Chriſtian world, ſo
long as indefatigable perſeverance, patient reſearch,
found interpretation of the laws, an ardent zeal for
practical religion, the glory of God, and the happineſs
of mankind, ſhall command eſteem and admira-
tion. The rich cluſter of his excellencies has loſt
none of its fragrance; time has rather helped to
improve it. The meed of praiſe which his con-
temporaries awarded to his tranſcendant worth has
received the indelible fanction of future times, and his
reputation is now fixed on a ſolid and immoveable
baſis,
The ſhafts of calumny which North ſhot from his
- bow, have miſſed their aim. Whilſt the works of
Hale willecontinue to inſtruct and edify an, enlightened
age, his own are conſigned to the ſhelf of obli-
Still I deem it my duty to preſent the picture
vion.
.
which
Sir Matthew Hale.
159
which North has drawn, to ſatisfy the curioſity of
the reader, and enable him to form his own judgment,
left an unwillingneſs to produce it might be inter-
preted to a wiſh of concealing the faults of Hale, or
excite a ſuſpicion he was guilty of foibles which ſullied
the luſtre of his virtues.
" It was the Lord Keeper North's good fortune to
enter his practice in the circuits under this judge, (Hale)
whoſe reputation for his great ability in the law, and
rigorous juſtice, will be very long lived in Weſtminſter
Hall, and the inns of court and Chancery; for there
was a conjunction of characters, his and the times
conſpiring to aggrandize it. After having improved
his knowledge, as a ſtudent, by reporting from him
when he fat as judge of the Common Pleas, and as
a practiſer in the northern circuits, it ſo happened
that, in the unaccountable rolling of preferments in
the law, it became his lordſhip’s province to judge
of and, for cauſe apparent, to correct the errors of
that great man
.
The truth is, his lordſhip took early
into à courſe diametrically oppoſite to that approved
by Hale: for the principles of the latter being de-
magogical, could not allow much favour to one who
roſe a monarchiſt declared. Then, after his Lordſhip
by being made chief juſtice of the Common-pleas,
together with the other judges of that court, and
thoſe of the Exchequer, had juriſdiction of errors in
judgment given by the court of King's Bench, the fe-
paration was wider ; and the old judge, by a certain
formal overlooking of him, and refining of argu-
ments againſt all he appeared for, affected to fhew it.
And, to ſay truth, that judge had acquired an au-
thority fo tranſcendant, that his opinions were, by
moft lawyers and others, thought inconteſtable; and
he was habituated in not bearing contradiction, and
had no value for any perſon whatever that did not
ſubſcribe to him. His lordſhip knew him perfectly
well, and revered him for his great learning in the
hiſtory, law, and records of the Engliſh conſtitution.
I have
į
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160 Appendix to the Life and Death of
ܪ
I have heard him ſay that, while Hale was chief baron
of the Exchequer, by means of his great learning,
even againſt his inclination, he did the Crown more
juſtice, in that court, than many others, in his place,
had done with all their good will and leſs knowledge.
But his lordſhip knew alſo his foible, which was lean-
ing towards the popular; yet, when he knew the law
was for the King (as well he might, being acquainted
with all the records of the court, to which men of the
law are commonly ſtrangers) he failed not to judge
accordingly.
"He was an upright judge, if taken within himſelf;
and when he appeared, as he often did, and really
was, partial, his inclination or prejudice, inſenſibly to
himſelf, drew his judgment aſide. His bias lay
ſtrangely for, and againſt, characters and denomina-
tions; and, ſometimes, the very habits of perſons. If
one party was a courtier, and well dreſſed, and the
other a ſort of puritan, with a black cap and plain
cloaths, he inſenſibly thought the juſtice of the cauſe
with the latter. If the diffenting, or anti-court party
was at the back of a cauſe, he was very ſeldom im-
partial ; and the loyaliſts had always a great diſadvan-
tage before him. And he ever ſåt hard
And he ever fåt hard upon his lord-
ſhip, in his practice, in cauſes of that nature, as may
be obſerved in the caſes of Cuts and Pickering, juſt
before, and of Soams and Bernardiſton elſewhere ree
lated. It is ſaid he was once caught: a courtier who
had a cauſe to be tried before him, got one to go to
him, as from the king, to ſpeak for favour to his ada
verſary, and ſo carried his point; for the chief juſtice
could not think any perſon to be in the right, that
came ſo unduly recommended.
"He became the cuſhion exceeding well : his man-
ner of hearing patient, his directions pertinent, and his
diſcourſes copious, and although he heſitated often,
fluent. His ſtop for a word, by the produce, always
paid for the delay; and, on ſome occaſions, he would
utter ſentences heroic. One of the bankers, a cour.
tier,
Sir Mattheri itale.
161-
I
tier, by name Sir Robert Viner, wheh he was lord
mayor of London, delayed making a return to a man-
damus, and the proſecutor moved for an attachment
againſt him. The Recorder Howel appeared; and,
to avert the rule for an attachment, alleged the
greatneſs of his magiſtracy, and the diſorder that
might happen in the city if the mayor were impriſon:
ed. The Chief Juſtice put his thumbs in his girdle, as
his way was, and, 'Tell me of the mayor of London,'
ſaid he, tell me of the mayor of Queenborough:
but ſtill this was againſt the court. He put on the
ſhew of much valour, as if the danger ſeemned to lay
on that ſide, from whence either lofs of his place of
which he really made no great account) or ſome more
violent, or, as they pretended, arbitrary infliction
might fall upon him. Whereas, in truth, that ſide
was fafe, which he muſt needs know, and that all
real danger to a judge, was from the impetuous fury
of a rabble, who have as little ſenſe and diſcretion
as juſtice ; and from the houſe of commons, who fel-
dom want their wills, and for the moſt part, with the
power of the crown, obtain them. Againſt theſe
powers he was very fearful; and one, bred as he was,
in the rebellious times, when the government at beſt
was but rout and riot, either of rabble committees,
or foldiers, may be allowed to have an idea of their
tyranny, and conſequently ſtand in fear of ſuch brutiſh
violence and injuſtice as they committed. But if.
is pleaſant to conſider that this man's not fearing
the court was accounted valour; that is, by the po-
pulace, who never accounted his fear of themſelves.
to have been a mere timidity.
“Whatever his courage or fear was, it is moſt certain
his vanity was exceſſive; which grew out of a ſelf
converſation, and being little abroad. But when he
was off from the feat of juſtice, and at home, his cona?
verſation was with none bụt flatterers. He was al-
lowed on all hands to be the moſt profound lawyer
VOI, In
of
I
M
+
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Appendix to the Life and Death of
of his time, and he knew it: but that did not ferve
him, but he would be alſo a profound philoſopher,
naturaliſt, poet, and divine, and meaſured his abilities
in all theſe by the ſcale of his learning in the law,
which he knew how to value: and if he poſtponed
any, it was the law to all the reſt; for he was ſo bi.
zarr in his difpofitions, that he almoſt fuppreſſed his
collections and writings of the law; which were a
treaſure, and, being publiſhed, would have been a
monument of him beyond the power of marble. But
inſtead of that, he ordered them to be locked up in
Lincoln's Inn library; and made no fcruple to ſend
forth little tracts in philoſophy, as the Non Gravitation
of Fluids, difficiles nugæ, proſecuting the ſame nuga
or trifles, upon the baroſcope; which made Sir Wil.
liam Jones ſay that his whole life (meaning in private,
as I ſuppoſe) was nugarum plena,or made up of trifles.
His Origination of Mankind, in appearance a great
work, with nothing in it, and that which ſcarce any
one ever read or will read; and, what is very re-
markable, the very childiſh ignorance of his ſubject,
ſhewed in theſe books; is dreſſed in moſt accurate
method, proper expreſſion, and ſignificant Engliſh
ſtyle, better than which one would not deſire to meet
with as a temptation to read. He publiſhed much
in ſpeculative devotion, part profe, part verſe; and
the latter hobbled ſo near the ſtyle of the other, as
to be diſtinguiſhed chiefly by being worſe. But his
matter, and language not in rhyme, was pious and
good. He took a fancy to be like Pomponius Atti-
cus, or one that kept above water in all times, and
well-eſteemed by all parties. He publiſhed a ſhort
account of that noble Roman's life, and, at the en-
trance, a tranſlation of the ſame in Cornelius Nepos;
but fo ill done as would have brought the rod over
the back of a ſchool-boy. A hard cenſure without
proof; therefore, take the following inftances : 1,-
Et elatus est in lecticula; which means that (after he
was
Sir Mattheri Hale.
163
was dead) “ he was carried out upon a bier.” The
word efferre is peculiarly proper in that place; but
he rendered it he was lifted up in his bed.' Then,
2,-Et sic globus iste consensionis 1, dissensione unius
hominis, disjectus est ; that is—and ſo that confeder-
ated party was broke by one man's leaving them:' but
he, and ſo that ball of contention, by the difſent of
one man, was let fall.' So miſerably will the learn-
edeft men err, that preſume out of their ſphere, and fail
in that great point of wiſdom, the knowing one's felf.
Although he was very grave in his own perſon, he loved
the moſt bizarr and irregular wits, in the practice of the
law before him, moſt extravagantly. And, beſides, he
was the moſt flatterable creature that ever was known;
for there was a method of reſignation to him, and
treating him' with little meals, and private, with his
pipe, at eaſe, which certainly captivated him. So Sir
George Jeffreys gained as great an afcendant in prac-
tice over him, as ever counſel had over a judge. In
fhort, to give every one his due, there was in him
the moſt of learning and wiſdom, joined with igno-
rance and folly, that ever was known to coincide in
the character of any one man in the world.
“ Here I have done with this very great lawyer, the
Lord Chief Juſtice Hale. And I muſt not part with-
out ſubjoining my folemn proteſtation, that nothing
is here fet down for any invidious purpoſes, but
merely for the ſake of truth; firſt, in general, for
all truth is profitable; and, ſecondly, in particular,
for juſtice to the character I write of, againſt whom
never any thing was urged ſo peremptorily as the
authority of Hale; as if one muſt of neceſſity be
in the wrong, becauſe another was preſumed to be
in the right. Theſe two chiefs were of different opi-
nions in matters of private right, as well as touching
the public. And if one were a Solomon, Saint, and
Oracle, what muſt the other be taken for? Therefore
* I should conjecture, in the copy which he 'used, the word was
printed contentionis, which led him into this mistake.
I have
M 2
164 Appendix to the Life and Death of
i
i
I have underſtood it abſolutely neceffary for me, as
(aſſiſted with his Lordſhip's own notes) I have done,
to fhew Hale in a truer light than when the age
did not allow ſuch freedom, but accounted it a deli-
rium, or malignancy at leaſt, not to idoliſe him; and
thereby to manifeſt that he had frailtieś, 'defects,
prejudices, and vanities, as well as excellencies; and
that he was not a very touchſtone of law, probity,
juſtice and public ſpirit, as, in his own time, he was
accounted: but that ſome, that did not agree with
him, might have thoſe virtues as eminently, in the
eye of a juſt obſerver. This is the only conſideration
that moved me ſo freely to diſplay the matters afore-
going. Wiſhing only that I had means, or ability, of
doing it with more pun&uality, I conclude with this
obſervation ; that it is a general error of the commu-
nity, learned and unlearned, when a man is truly
great in ſome capacities, by the meaſure of them
to magnify him in all others, wherein he may be a
thallow pretender. But it is the office of a juſt writer
of the characters of men, to give every one his due,
and no more.”
It would be an infult to the memory of Hale, to
engage in a formal vindication of his character from
theſe charges, which, if truc, impeach the credit
of all thoſe honourable and concurring teſtimonies
which have been collected in the preceding pages.
If the allegations of partiality, fuperciliouſneſs, vanity,
timidity, the love of flattery, and affected knowledge,
which North has brought forward, could obtain be-
lief, his character would be ſhorn of its ſplendor,
and it would be in vain to form a true eſtimate of
man from the evidence of hiſtorical facts.
The predilection of North for Lord Guilford's me-
mory, which he cheriſhed from gratitude and conſan-
guinity', not only rendered him incompetent to do
Roger North was his Lordship's brother, and spent the active
part of his life chiefly with him. In the reign of James Il. he was made
Attorney-General. He wrote the lives of his threc brothers, Francis
Lord Guildford, Sir Dudley North, and Dr. John North, inaster of
Trinity College, Cambridge,
juſtice
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
165
2
juſtice to Hale, whoſe principles were fo oppoſite to
his Lordſhip’s, but ſufficiently explains the inveteracy
of his prejudice, and afperity of his cenſure.
He has had the dexterity to attempt the proof of
his charge of Hale’s ignorance of the Latin language,
by two inſtances, which he quotes in the ſpirit of an
affected pedant and haughty critic. It is true, that
Hale has been miſtaken in his conſtruction of the...
two paſſages, from which, if we were to appreciate
his knowledge of the language, he might be entitled
to the cenſure paſſed upon him. But in comparing
the whole tranſlation with the Latin, the real ſcholar
will ſpare his rod when he finds that theſe are the only
errors which he committed 1. The ſenſe of the author
throughout is clearly expreſſed, whilſt the conſtruction
is cloſely adhered to; and what deſerves to be noticed,
Hale has given the true meaning of “efferre'2 in
another part of the life, where the word occurs.
He profeſſes nothing more than a literal tranſlation,
and to convey a clear conception of the author, with-
out making any pretenſions to elegance of ſtyle; and
in this he ſucceeds.
North ought to have known, the moſt correct
fcholar pleads guilty to errors which the ſuperficial
fcioliſt may by chance detect.
The brighteſt genius does not always preſerve the
ſame unclouded luſtre, nor the moſt acute under-
ſtanding an unerring train of deductions. in the
preſent condition of frail humanity, a conſciouſneſs
of our own errors ſhould inſpire a ſentiment of hu.
mility, and candour towards thoſe of others.
It does not appear that the evening of his days
was ſpent without interruptions of his tranquillity, and
fevere trials of a domeſtic nature.
His paternal adınonitions, joined to his exemplary
purity and habitual piety, were not, it is to be feared,
ſucceſsful in reſtraining the irregularities of his
"This opinion is the result of a cursory examination.
* Cap. 17. 4. 1. " Quam extulit.” p. 432. 1. 28. " he buried."
children,
A
}
M 3
166 Appendix to the Life and Death of
1
children, who afforded him, in his declining years,
a ſevere exerciſe of reſignation and ſubmiſſion to the
righteous diſpenſations of a wiſe Providence.
I am relieved from the taſk of attempting a fùm.
mary of the character of this great man, by one' al-
ready extant, which for elegance and ſtrength of
language, preciſion and correctneſs of deſcription, and
liberal and Chriſtian ſentiments, do honour to the
ſuperior pen of the learned author !; and render any
feeble tribute, which it might be in my power to pay
to his memory, ſuperfluous and unneceſſary,
“Sir Matthew Hale was of a middle ſtature, ſtrong
and weļl proportioned ; his countenance engaging ;
his converſation affable and entertaining; his elocu-
tion eaſy and perſuaſive ; his temper warm, open, and
generous ; affectionate to his family, ſincere to his
friends. However engaged in the ſervice of his coun-
try, he neglected not the minds and manners of his
children. To form their manners and direct their
talents; to promote in them the practice of virtue,
and of piety; to ſhield them from imprudence, indi-
gence, and misfortune ; were the important objects of
his inſtruction.
“ He ſeemed, from his youth, to have acquainted
himſelf with wiſdom and with knowledge; his virtue
was not inferior to his learning ; and as humiļity al-
ways accompanied the former, modeſty was ever at-
tendant on the latter : and, notwithſtanding the variety
of his avocations, he daily preſſed nearer to perfection
by a devotion which, though elevated, was rational,
and though regular, was warm.
“ In his profeſſion, his judgment was clear, his opinion
was authority; and notwithſtanding he conſcientiouſly
diſcharged the duties of his profeſſion, he at the ſame
time diſregarded the profits which reſulted from it.
! Charles Runnington, Esq. Sergeant at law, whose affable and com:
municative disposition is only to be equalled by his solid learning and
acknowledged abilities.
When
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
167
When at the bar, nothing could induce him to prof-
titute his abilities; and though, while there, civil war
raged with all the violence of contention, yet he not
only preſerved his integrity, but lived in eaſe and le-
curity. Actuated by the example of Pomponious
Atticus, he walked through times of the moſt turbu-
lent diſtraction uncenſured and unhurt. On the bench
he reigned a pure intelligencer.' There he was all
patience; and though the temper of the times too
often made innovations in the profeſſion, yet he never
gave way to injuſtice, however formidable. Nothing
could alarm, nor any thing allure him. Looking
forward to the laſting incorruptible judgment of pof-
rity, without fear and above temptation, he became
a fhield to his fellow-citizens, and a ſupport to his
profeſſion and the ſtate. He held equity to be not
only part of the common law, but alſo one of its
principal grounds ; for which reafon he reduced it to
principles, that it might be ſtudied as a ſcience.
“ His abilities were ſo extenſive, that it is almoſt in-
credible that one man, in no great ſpace of time,
ſhould acquire ſuch variety of knowledge; but when
we reflect that his parts were lively, and his apprehen-
ſion quick; that his memory was retențive, his judg-
ment found; and his application indefatigable: the
myſtery is unravelled, and admiration increaſes as in
credulity paſſes away.
“ With ſuch virtues and ſuch abilities, had he been
inſenſible to the applauſe which was juſtly and liber-
ally beſtowed upon him, it might have been adduced
either as an inſtance of weakneſs or affectation; on
the contrary, he had a becoming ſenſe of the eſteem
in which he was held, attended with that ſelf-appro-
bation which ever accompanies the accompliſhment of
worthy actions. For this, however, he is repreſented
as a vain perſon by Mr. Roger North, who, by en-
deavouring to depreciate anexalted eſtabliſhed character,
has only degraded his own.
Though
168 Appendix to the Life and Death of
i
« Though religion be the moſt animating perſuaſion
which the mind of man can embrace; though it gives
ſtrength to our hopes, and ſtability to our reſolutions ;
though it ſubdues the infolence of proſperity, and
draws out the ſting of affliction ; yet ſuch was the
profligacy of the reign of Charles II. ſo far removed
from found policy and good manners, that at this
period of eaſe and politeneſs, religion was not only
groſsly neglected, but was daily exhibited as an object
for the exerciſe of ridicule. To lefſen the veneration,
that is due to religion, is a kind of zeal which no
epithet is fufficient to ſtigmatize; it is attacking the
ſtrongeſt hold of ſociety, and attempting to deſtroy
the firmeſt guard of human fecurity. So alarming
was this, advance of impiety to Sir Matthew, that he
often deplored it with unaffected ſorrow. Were it
neceffary to evince his abhorrence of it, I might con-
tent myſelf with appealing to the bright example of
his life; but however fufficient that might be for the
purpoſe, it would yet be doing great injuſtice to his
memory not to mention, that he employed ſome time
in elegant inſtructive diſquiſitions on the moſt intereſt-
ing topics of the Chriſtian religion. Minutely obſervant
of the rituals of devotion, he was perhaps ſingular in
his deportment; but he for a long time concealed the
confecration of himſelf to the ſtricteſt duties of reli-
gion, leſt by fome adventitious action he ſhould bring
pięty into diſgrace; in trụth, he taught the theory of
Chriſtianity by his precepts, and the practice by his
example. The faith which influenced his own actions,
he religiouſly communicated to others; he improved
devotion where he found it, and kindled it where he
found it not. May thoſe who ſtudy his writings imitate
his life, and thoſe who endeavour after his knowledge,
aſpire likewiſe to his piety.
By being ingenuous, he not only ſecured his inde-
pendency, but raiſed himſelf above flattery or re-
proach, above menace or misfortune. Thus the
rectitude
66
;
1
Sir Matthew Hale.
169
Tectituđe of his conduct, added to the greatneſs of
his abilities; and the caſe of his deportment not only
gained him univerſal reſpect, but rendered him more
conſpicuous than any one of his contemporaries: '
The only diſpoſition I now feel upon the ſubject
is, to adopt and conclude with the pious and grateful
peroration of the ſermon which the Rev. Mr. Griffiths,
the miniſter of Alderly', delivered at the funeral of
his honoured friend and venerable patron.
Remember we his eminent virtues and holy
graces for our imitation; he hath no need of our
prayers or our praiſes, his praiſe is not of men, but
of God: though his God had honoured him highly
in the light of all men, learned, good, godly, and
great men, as unto his ſervant David, Made him
a great name among the great men that are in the
* earth :' 2 Sam. 7. ſo that he will be eminently fa-
mous to all poſterity; as one of his honourable
' brethren, a learned judge of the land, faith : and, let
me add, his remembrance will be as the remem-
brance of Joſiah, like the compoſition of the per-
fume made by the art of the apothecary, ſweet as
honey in all mouths, and melodious in all ears,
€ muſic at a banquet of winė,' Eccles. Ixix. 1.
* This is for our comfort and inſtruction, but adds
nothing to his happineſs, which is in the higheſt
perfection, now in the clear and full fruition of the
chiefeſt good.
. If he deſires any thing, it is our imitation ; that
I am inclined to believe that the ſaints in glory de-
fire the ſalvation of their brethren on earth, and
G
$
1. The family of the Hales have been of ancient stariding in this,
county, and always esteemed for their probity and charity.
If Gloucestershire has not yielded so many eminent men as soine
other counties, yet this great person inay go för niany, Quantum instar
in illo est.
His memory deserves the same honour as St. Simplicius; for kings
and chici magistrates throughout the land would honour them-
selves by wearing collars of S. S. in meinory of the nanie of St. Sim-
plicias, and in acknowledgment of his eminent justice.
Atkyn's 'Hist. of Gloucestershire,
6 conferma
1
1
1
c
170 Appendix to the Life and Death of
confequently that they ſhould be followers of their
* in the way of ſalvation.
· Then remember we, 1. His humility, meekneſs, and
gentleneſs, and ſelf-denial : in this grace, which in-
. deed is the grace of every grace, he was another
. Moſes.
• 2. His patience under all his croſſes and trials,
whereof he had no ſmall portion, and his long con..
6 tinued affliction in this excellent virtue, that he was
6 another mirror after holy Job.
• 3. His temperance and fobriety in the midſt of
a ſottiſh and ſwiniſh generation.
* 4. His righteouſneſs and juſtice; he was another
· Ariſtides ; to hinder him from adminiſtering juſtice
impartially, to high, low, rich, and poor, without
fear or favour, was to ſtop the ſun in the firmament,
and to divërt its courſe.
65. His piety and holy devotion, in public and
private; in fecret, he kept cloſe and conſtant com-
munion with God.
* 6. His charity and mercifulneſs to the
bowels of compaffion were largely drawn out to
them.
7. His indefatigable induſtry in all the duties of
his calling, general and particular, it may be ena
graven on his tomb:
poor; his
Ĉ
Hic mortuus requiescit semel
Qui vivuis requievit nunquam.
Here being dead he resteth once,
Who being alive rested never.
• Theſe rare virtues and precious graces were deeply
planted and habituated in his gracious ſoul, even
from his youth ; for his God looked early upon
chim : which was his own expreſſion to myſeīf, with
great humility and thankful reſignation of himſelf,
and all that he was and had, to his good God, from
• whom he acknowledged he received all. Theſe, I
'
ſay,
T
Sir Matthew Hale.
171
C
* fay, were acted, and ſhined in the whole converſe
of his life. Let us remember them carefully, and
s conſcionably follow him in theſe holy ſteps ; ſo ſhall
we come to the place and eſtate wherein he is, and
'meet again at the right hand of Jeſus Chriſt, at the
reſurrection of the juſt, to our mutual joy and re-
joicing, both his and ours; and hear and have that
joyful and bleſſed doom, Come ye bleſſed of
my
Father, inherit the kingdom.' - Which God of his
' infinite mercy and rich grace grant, for Jeſus Chriſt,
« his dear Son's fake ; to whom be glory and majeſty,
dominion and power, and bleſſing, now and for ever.
( Amen.'
<
The following Pedigree and particulars of the
family have been communicated by John Blagden
Hale, Eſq. to whom I cmbrace this opportunity of
returning my grateful acknowledgments, for his po-
lite attention and obliging information.
A TABLE
Four Letters
OT
SIR MATTHEW HALÉ
TO
HIS CHILDREN
LETTER I.
DIRECTIONS TOUCHING THE KEEPING OF THE
LORD'S - DAY.
LETTER II.
DIRECTIONS TouchİNG RELIGION:
LETTER III.
CONCERNING THÉIR SPEECH.
LETTER IV.
TO ONE OF HIS GRANDSONS AFTER HIS- RECOVER
ÉROM THE SMALL POX,
YŐL,
194
First Letters
LETTER I.
DIRECTIONS
TOUCHING THE
.
KEEPING OF THE LORD'S-DAŤ.
CHILDREN
WHEN I laſt lodged in this place, in my journey up
to London, I ſent you from hence divers inſtructions
concerning your ſpeech, and how you ſhould manage
it, and required you to take copies of it, and to direct
your practice according to it. I forgot to enquire of
you, whether you had taken copies of it, but I hope you
have; and I do again require you to be careful in ob-
ſerving thoſe and my former directions given to you,
fome in writing, and many more by word of mouth.
I have been careful that my example might be a vi-
fible direction to you; but if that hath been defec-
tive, or not fo full and clear a pattern of
tion, eſpecially in reſpect of my different condition
from yours, yet I am certain that thoſe rules and di-
rections which I have at ſeveral times given you, both
in writing, and by word of mouth, have been found,
and wholeſome, and ſeaſonable; and therefore I do
expect that you ſhould remember and practiſe them;
and though your young years cannot yet, perchance,
ſee the reaſon and uſe of them, yet aſſure yourſelves
time and experience will make you know the benefit
of them. In advice given to young people, it fares
your imita-
with
Keeping the Lord's-Day. 195
with them as it doth with young children that are
taught to read, or with young ſchool-boys that learn
their grammar rules; they learn their letters, and then
they learn to ſpell a ſyllable, and then they learn to
put together ſeveral fyllables to make up a word; or
they learn to decline a noun, or to form a verb; and
all this while they underſtand not to what end all this
trouble is, nor what it means. But when they come
to be able to read Engliſh, or to make a piece of La-
tin, or to conſtrue a Latin author, then they find all
theſe rudiments were very neceſſary, and to good pura
poſe; for by this means they come to underſtand what
others have written, and to know what they knew and
wrote, and thereby improve their own knowledge and
underſtanding. Juſt ſo it is with young people, in re-
ſpect of counſel and inſtruction, when the father, or
the miniſter, or ſome wife and underſtanding man
doth ſometimes admoniſh, ſometimes chide and re-
prove, ſometimes inſtruct, they are apt to wonder why
ſo much ado, and what they mean, and it is trouble-
fome and tedious, and ſeems impertinent; and they
are ready to ſay within themſelves, that the time were
better ſpent in riding, or hunting, or merriment, or
gaming ; but when they come to riper years, then they
begin to find that thoſe inſtructions of the ancients are
of excellent uſe to manage the converſation, and to
direct the actions, and to avoid inconveniencies, and
miſchiefs, and miſcarriages, to which they are ſubject
without the help of theſe counſels. And therefore it
hath been my practice to give you line upon line, and
precept upon precept, to enable you to ſteer and order
your courſe of life through an evil and dangerous
world; and to require you to be frequent in reading
the Scriptures with due obſervation and underſtanding,
which will make you wiſe for this life, and that which
is to come.
I am now come well to F., from whence I wrote to
you my former inſtructions concerning your words
änd ſpeech; and I now intend to write fomething to
02
you
.
196
First Letter.
1
C
you of another ſubject, viz. your obſervation of the
Lord's-day, commonly called Sunday; and this I do
for theſe reaſons :
1. Becauſe it hath pleaſed God to caſt my lot ſo,
that I am to reſt at this place upon that day, and the
conſideration, therefore, of that duty, is proper for me
and for
you';
it is
opus diei in die fuo, the work fit and
proper for that day.
2. Becauſe I have, by long and found experience,
found that the due obſervance of this day, and of the
duties of it, has been of fingular comfort and ad-
vantage to me; and I doubt not but it will prove fo
to you. . God Almighty is the Lord of our time, and
lends it to us; and as it is but juſt we ſhould conſe-
crate this part of that time to him, ſo I have found,
by a ſtrict and diligent obfervation, that a due obſer-
vation of the duty of this day hath ever had joined to
it a bleſſing upon the reſt of my time; and the week
that hath been ſo begun, hath been bleſſed and prof-
perous to me: and, on the other ſide, when I have
been negligent of the duties of this day, the reſt of
the week has been unſucceſsful and unhappy to my
own ſecular employments; ſo that I could eaſily make
an eſtimate of my ſucceſſes in my own ſecular em-
ployments the week following, by the manner of my
paſſing of this day; and this I do not write lightly or
inconfiderately, but upon a long and found obſervation
and experience.
3. Becauſe I find in the world much looſeneſs and
apoſtacy from this duty. People begin to be cold and
çareleſs in it, allowing themſelves ſports, and recrea-
tions, and fecular employments in it, without any ne-
ceſſity, which is a fad fpectacle, and an ill preſage.
It concerns me, therefore, (that am your father) as
much as I may, to reſcue you from that fin which
the examples of others, and the inclination and in-
conſiderateneſs of youth are otherwiſe apt to lead you
into.
I ſhall therefore fèt down unto you particularly and
not
Keeping the Lord's-Day.
197
not in generals only) theſe things: 1. What is the
reaſon and ground of your obſervation of this day.
2. What things ought not to be done upon this day,
which poſſibly may be lawful upon another day
3. What things may be done upon this day. 4. What
things are either fit or neceſſary to be done in order
to the fanétification of this day.
1
1
1. Touching the firſt of theſe, viz. the reaſon of the
obſervation and ſanctification of this day; and the rea-
fons are theſe :
1. It is a moral duty, that fince the glorious God
gives me my time, I ſhould conſecrate and ſet apart
ſome portion of that time in a ſpecial manner to his
ſervice.
2. And becauſe the glorious God beſt knows what
portion of time is fit to be peculiarly dedicated to his
ſervice, that ſo the morality of that time might be de-
termined unto fome certainty, he hath, by his expreſs
precept given to his ancient people the fews, limited
one day of ſeven to be that ſpecial portion of time, which
he would have peculiarly dedicated to his ſervice, and
ſo to include, and [transfer] into it the morality of
that duty
3. This ſeventh portion of time, under the old law
given to the Jews, was determined by the precept and
command of God, in the Fourth Command, and likewiſe
by his own example confined to the ſeventh day from
the Creation, upon which the Lord reſted from his
works of creation.
4. But our Saviour Chriſt, who is the Son of God,
bleſſed for ever, and is Lord of the Sabbath , ful-
filling the work of our redemption by his reſurrection
upon the firſt day of the week, and by his miſion of
the Holy Ghoſt miraculouſly the firſt day of the week,
and by the ſecret meſſage of the Spirit to the apoſtles
and primitive church, hath tranſlated the obſervation:
of the ſeventh day of the week to the firſt day of the
Matth. xii,
DS
week,
198
First Letter.
1
week, which is our Chriſtian Sabbath; that, as our
Chriſtian baptiſm fucceeds the facrament of circum-
ciſion, and as our Chriſtian. paſcha, the facrament of
the Euchariſt, ſucceeded the Jewiſh pafſover, ſo our
Chriſtian Sabbath, the firſt day of the week, ſucceeds
the Sabbath of the ſeventh day of the week; and that
morality which was by Almighty God, under that
covenant, confined to the ſeventh day, is, by the ex-
ample of Chriſt and his apoſtles, to us Gentiles, trans-
ferred to the firſt day of the week; and that which
would have been morally a violation of the morality
of the Fourth Command under the Jewiſh Sabbath, is
a violation of the ſame Fourth Command, if done upon
the Chriſtian Sabbath; though the ſtrictneſs and ſe-
verity enjoined to the Jews be not altogether the fame
that is now required of Chriſtians. And thus you have
the reaſon of the obligation upon us Chriſtians to obą
ſerve the firſt day of the week, becauſe, by more than
a human inſtitution, the morality of the Fourth Com.
mand is transferred to the firſt day of the week, being
our Chriſtian Sabbath ; and ſo the Fourth Command-
ment is not abrogated, but only the day changed;
and the morality of that Command only tranſlated, not
annulled.
.
II. Concerning the ſecond. It is certain that what
is unlawful to be done, upon another day, is much
more unlawful upon this; as exceſs and intemperance,
and the like ſinful and unlawful actions. But further,
there are many things that may be lawfully done on
another day, which may not lawfully be done upom
this; and many things that are not only lawful upon
another day, but alſo fit and decent, which are yet:
unfit to be done upon this day. 'Upon other days we
may and muſt employ ourſelves in our ſecular and or
dinary callings; we may uſe. bodily exerciſes and re-
creations, as bowling, ſhooting, hunting, and divers
other recreations; we may ſtudy. human learning :
þut I hold theſe to be, not only unfit, but unlawful
3
to
Keeping the Lord's-Day.
199
to be uſed upon this day, and therefore remember it.
Moderate walking may thus far be uſed, fo far only
as it enableth to the more cheerful and lively per-
formance of the duties of this day, and therefore
I allow you to walk ſoberly about half an hour after
dinner to digeſt your meat, that you be not drowſy,
nor indiſpoſed in the religious duties of the day. Mer-
ry, but harmleſs talking, or talking about fports or
worldly buſineſs, may be uſed another day, but not
upon this. Feaſtings may be ſometimes feaſonably
uſed upon other days, but are not fit upon this day.
Let only ſuch proviſion be made upon this day as may
be neceſſary for the feeding of the family and the
poor; and therefore I hold that curioſities, baking
of meats, and fuperfluous proviſions upon this day,
are to be avoided, as being an unneceſſary breaking
of the reſt of this day, and unbeſeeming the folemnity
of it.
III. What things may be done this day, is a quef-
tion of a great latitude;" becauſe circumſtances are
many that do much diverſify the actions of men, and
many times render them lawful or unlawful, accord-
ing to thoſe varieties of circumſtances, Therefore I
ſhall ſhortly ſet down thoſe things that do not of
themſelves directly tend to the fanctification of this
day, that yet may, and ſometimes mult, be done upon
this day; for there were many things that were ſtrictly
enjoined to the Jews in their obfervation of their Sab-
bath, which were ceremonial, and concerned only that
ſtate, and do not oblige-under the Goſpel, as their
dreſſing of meat upon this day was prohibited to
them, but not to us, and many more things they did
forbear and count unlawful, which in truth were not
only not forbidden, but enjoined and commanded, for
which our Lord reprovės the Phariſees', who ac-
counted it a breach of the Sabbath to heal the fick,
or to pluck, the ears of corn for the neceſſary relief of
hunger. Therefore,
Matth. xii,
04
.
1
1. Works
200
First Letter
1
{
1. Works of abſolute neceſſity for man or beaſts may
be done
upon the Lord's-day. And thoſe I call works
of neceſſity, which cannot be done before the day, or
after, without apparent danger. As, for inſtance, ſtop-
ping of the breach of a ſea-wall; ſupporting a houſe
that, upon a ſudden tempeſt or caſualty, is ready to
fall; pulling out an ox or other beaſt fallen into a
ditch; preventing of a treſpaſs, that by a ſudden; acci-
dent may be, occaſioned to my corn or my neigh-
bour's; ſetting of a broken bone; phyſic to remove
an, incumbent, or imminent diſeaſe, or paiņi; milking
of cows; feeding of cattle; the neceſſary dreſſing of
meat for the family, and many more inſtances of that
kind. But yet therein great warineſs and integrity
muſt be uſed; for otherwiſe men, under pretence of
neceflity, will take the liberty to do what they pleaſe.
Therefore take theſe cautions concerning neceſhty:
1. That is not a neceſſity that excuſes a work, upon
this day, which might have been reaſonably foreſeen
and done before the day: as, for inſtance, a man hath
a neceſſity to dreſs meat for his family, which he might
have provided on the Saturday, and neglects it; this
neceſſity will not juſtify him in ſending two or three
miles to buy meat upon the Lord's-day:
2, That is not a neceſſity which may be forborne
to be done without any abſolute deſtruction or loſs of
the thing until the morrow. If a-rick of hay be on
fire, I may endeavour to quench it on the Lord's-day;
but if my corn be cut, and lying upon the ground on
the Saturday, though the weather be rainy, or inclining
to wet, I may not make it into cocks, or fetch it home
upon the Lord's day; becauſe, poſſibly Almighty God
may ſend fair weather to-morrow. And therefore in
my forbearance I do two duties under one, viz. obſerve
his law, and reſt upon his providence, *** Men make
neceſſities many times to ſerve their eaſe, and ſloth,
and fancies, when in truth there is none; but the buſi-
neſs may be deferred without any danger. If we would
more faithful in our obedience to God, we ſhould
/
find
Keeping the Lord's-Day. 201
A
1
i
}
find many pretended neceſſities to vaniſh into mere
imaginations.
3. Works of Charity. Relief of the poor; admi- .
niſtring phyſic upon an apparent neceſſity; viſiting or
comforting the afflicted ; admoniſhing the diſorderly;
perſuading peace between neighbours offended; and
endeavouring to compoſe differences which require not
much examination, or cannot be deferred without an
apparent danger of greater miſchief. Theſe are not
only permitted, but commendable, nay commanded
upon this day. But if the buſineſs require examina-
tion, or may be deferred till to-morrow, then it is beſt
to defer ſuch examinations and treaties between of-
fended parties till another day; becauſe they will take
away too much of the little precious portion of time
of this day, and may be as well done to-morrow.
IV. As for the fourth, What is proper, fit, or necef-
ſary to be done, in order to the fančtification of this day,
I will ſet down particularly; for generals ſeldom pro-
duce any great effect, becauſe every man is apt to con-
ſtrue them according to his own mind and liking.
1. I would not have you meddle with any recrea-
tions, paſtimes, or ordinary work of your calling from
Saturday night, at eight of the clock, till Monday morn-
ing. For though I am not apt to think that Saturday
night is part of the Chriſtian Sabbath, yet it is fit then
to prepare the heart for it,
2. Riſe at leaſt three hours before morning ſermon
and when you have made yourſelf fully ready, and
waſhed, and fitted yourſelf for the folemnity of the
day, read two chapters in the Bible, and then go ſo-
lemnly to your private prayer, and defire of God his
grace to enable you to fanctify his day: and, after
your private prayer, read another chapter, and let your
reading be with attention, obſervation, and uncovered
on your head.
.
3. When you are in the public.. worſhip and ſervice
of God, be uncovered all the while of reading, pray-
ing,
1
202
1
First Letter.
a latin cap
ſo you
ing, or preaching ; and if the weather be too cold wear
.
4. Kneel upon your knees at prayer; ſtand up at
the reading of the Pſalms, and the firſt and ſecond
leſſons, and the epiſtle and goſpel, the hymns and creeds;
Ahall avoid offence, and give the ſame honour to
every part of the holy Scripture ; but ſtand not up at
reading of any apocryphal book, if any happen to be
read.
5. Sit at the fermon, and be very attentive at your
prayers, and in your hearing. I commend your wria
ting the ſermon, eſpecially till you are: one or two-and-
twenty years old, becauſe young minds are apt to wan-
der; and writing the ſermon fixeth them, and maketh
them more attentive,
6. When the miniſter readeth any of the Pſalms or
Leffons, turn to them in your Bible, and go along
with him; it will faſten your attention, and prevent
wandering thoughts.
7. Be very attentive and ſerious at Church; uſe.no,
laughing or gazing about, nor whiſpering, unleſs it
be to aſk thoſe by you fomething of the fermon that
you ſlipped in writing.
8. Sing the ſinging Pſalms with the reſt of the con,
gregation.
9. After fermon, çat. moderately at dinner, rather
ſparingly than plentifully upon this day, that you may
be fit for the afternoon's exerciſe, without drowſineſs
or dulnefs.
10. Walk half an hour after, dinner in the garden
to digeſt your meat, then go to your chamber and pe-
ruſe your notes, or recollect what you remember of
the fermon until it be church-time.
11. If you are well, be ſure you go to church morn-
ing and afternoon, and be there before the miniſter
begin, and ſtay till he has ended; and all the while
you are at church carry yourfelf. gravely, foberly, and
reverently
13. After
I
3
✓
Keeping the Lord's-Day.
y
203
1
12. After evening fermon, go up to your chamber
and read a chapter in the Bible; then examine what
you have written, or recollect what you have heard ;
and if the ſermon be not repeated in your father's
houſe, but be repeated in the miniſter's houſe, go to
the miniſter's houſe to the repetition of the ſermon.
13. In all your ſpeeches or actions of this day, let
there be no lightneſs nor vanity; uſe no running, or
leaping, or playing, or wreſtling; uſe no jeſting, or
telling of tales, or fooliſh ſtories; no talk about worldly
buſineſs; but let your actions and ſpeech be fuch as the
day is, ſerious and facred, tending to learn or inſtruct
in the great buſineſs of your knowledge of God, and
his will, and your own duty.
14. After ſupper, and prayers ended in my family,
every one of you going to bed kneel down upon your
knees, and deſire of God his pardon for what you have
done amiſs this day, and his bleſſing upon what you
have heard, and his acceptance of what you have en-
deavoured in his ſervice.
15. Perform all this cheerfully, and uprightly, and
honeſtly, and count it not a burden to you; for aſſure
yourſelves you ſhall find a bleſſing from God in ſo do-
ing. And remember it is your father that tells you
fo, and that loves you, and will not deceive you; and
(which is more than that) remember that the eternal
God hath promiſed, 'If thou turn away thy foot from
the Sabbath, from doing thy pleaſure on my holy day,
' and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord,
honourable, and ſhalt honour him, not doing thy
own ways, nor finding thine own pleaſure, nor ſpeak-
ing thine own words; then ſhalt thou delight thy-
felf in the Lord; and I will cauſe thee to ride upon
the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the
heritage of Jacob thy father; for the mouth of the
. Lord has ſpoken it !.'
And thus I have written to you of the obſervation
of the Lord's-day; wherein, though I have omitted
Isaiah lviii, 13, 14.
many
C
1
204
First Letter.
many things that might have been fit to be inſerted,
yet you muſt conſider that I had but a ſmall portion
of time allowed me to write while I lay at an inn, and
upon that day wherein I have performed thoſe duties
which I now enjoin you. Let the original be laid up
ſafely for your brother R. and every of you take
copies of it, that you may
you may thereby remember the coun-
ſels of
YOUR LOVING FATHER,
OCTOBER the 20th
1662
I8
[ 205 ) 1.
LETTER II.
DIRECTIONS
TOUCHING
RELIGION.
DEAR CHILDREN,
I intended to have been at Alderly this Whitſun.
tide, deſirous to renew thoſe counſels and advices
which I have often given you, in order to your greateſt
concernment; namely, the everlaſting good and wel-
fare of your ſouls hereafter, and the due ordering of
your
lives and converſations here.
And although young people are apt, through their
own indiſcretion, or the ill advice of others, to think
theſe kind of entertainments but dry and empty mat-
ters, and the moroſe and needleſs interpoſitions of old
men; yet give him leave to tell you, that very well
knows what he ſays, theſe things are of more im-
portance and concernment to you, than external gifts
and bounties (wherein) nevertheleſs I have not been
wanting to you, according to my ability.
This was my intention in this journey; and though
I have been diſappointed therein, yet I thought good,
by letters and meſſages, to do ſomething that might
be done that way for your benefit, that I had other-
wiſe intended to have done in perſon.
Affure
206
Second Letter:
Afſüre yourſelves, therefore, and believe it from
one that knows what he ſays, from one that can nei-
ther have any reaſon or end to deceive you ; that the
beſt gift I can give you is good counſel, and the beſt
counſel I can give you is that which relates to your
greateſt import and concernment; namely, Religion.
And therefore, ſince I cannot at this time deliver it
to you in perſon, I ſhall đo it by this letter, wherein I
Thall not be very large, but keep myſelf within the
bounds proper for a letter, and to thoſe things only at
this time which may be moſt of preſent uſe and mo
ment to you ; and by your due obfervance of theſe
directions, I ſhall have a good character, both of your
dutifulneſs to God, your obedience to your father, and
alſo of your diſcretion and prudence; for it is moſt
certain, that as religion is the beſt means to advance
and certify human nature, ſo no man ſhall be either
truly wiſe or truly happy without it, and the love of it,
no, not in this life, much leſs in that which is to
come.
Firſt. Therefore every morning and every evening,
upon your knees, humbly commend yourſelves to Al-
mighty God in prayer, begging his mercy to pardon
your fins, his grace to direct you, his providence to
protect you, returning him humble thanks for all his
diſpenſations towards you, yea, even for his very cor-
rections and afflictions; intreating him to give you wil.
dom and grace, to make a fober, patient, humble,
profitable uſe of them, and in his due tinte to deliver
you from them, concluding your prayers with the
Lord's Prayer. This will be a certain means to bring
your mind into a right frame, to procure you comfort
and bleſſing, and to prevent thouſands of inconveni-
encies and miſchiefs to which you will be otherwiſe
fubjected.
Šecondly. Every morning read ſeriouſly and revea
rently a portion of the Holy Scripture, and acquaint
yourſelf with the hiſtory and doctrine thereof: it is
a book
:
Touching Religions
207
.
à book full of light and wiſdom, will make you
wife
to eternal life, and furniſh you with directions and
principles to guide and order your life ſafely and pru-
dently.
Thirdly. Conclude every evening with reading ſome
part of the Scripture, and prayer in your family.
Fourthly. Be ſtrict and religious obſervers of the
Lord's-day; reſort to your pariſh-church twice that
day, if your health will permit
, and attend diligently
and reverently to the public prayers and ſermons. He
cannot reaſonably expect a bleſſing from God the reſt
of the week, that neglects his duty to God in the due
confecration of this day, to the ſpecial ſervice and duty
to God which this day requires.
Fifthly. Receive the Sacrament at leaſt three times
in the year, and oftener, as there is occaſion, in your
pariſh-church. The laws of the land require this, and
the law of your Saviour requires it, and the law of
duty and gratitude requires it of you. Prepare your-
felves ſeriouſly for this ſervice before-hand, and per-
form it with reverence and thankfulneſs; the neglect
of this duty procures great inconvenience and ſtrange-
neſs; and commonly the neglect hereof ariſeth from
ſome conceited opinion that people inconfiderately
take up, but moſt ordinarily from a ſluggiſhneſs of
mind, and an unwillingneſs to fit and prepare the mind
for it, or to leave ſome ſinful or vain courſe that men
are not willing to leave, and yet condemn themſelves
in the practice of it.
Sixthly. Beware of thoſe that go about to ſeduce
you from that religion wherein you have been brought
up hitherto, namely, the true proteſtant religion. It
is not unknown to any that obſerves the ſtate of things
in the world, how many erroneous religions are fcat-
tered abroad in the world, and how induſtrious men
of falſe perſuaſions are to make profelytes. There are
Antinomians, Quakers, Anabaptiſts, and divers others
that go about to miſlead themſelyes and others; nay,
although the laws of this kingdom and eſpecially the
ſtatute
1
1
208
+
Second Letter.
1
ſtatute of 23 Eliz. cap. 1. have inflicted the ſevereft
penalty upon thoſe that go about to withdraw perſons
to the Romiſh religion, from the religion eſtabliſhed
in England, as any man that reads that ſtatute may
find; yet there are ſcattered up and down the world
divers factors and agents, that under ſeveral difguiſes
and pretences endeavour the perverting of weak and
eaſy perſons. Take heed of all ſuch perſuaders. And
that you may know and obſerve the better, you ſhall
ever find theſe artifices practiſed by them:
1. They will uſe all flattering applications and in-
finuations to be inaſter of your'humour; and when
they have gotten that advantage, they that ſeemed be-
fore to ſerve you will then command
you.
2. They will uſe all poſſible ſkill to raiſe in you jea.
louſy and diſlike towards thoſe that may otherwiſe
continue, and keep you in the truth; as to raiſe dif.
like in you againſt your miniſter ; nay, rather than
fail, to raiſe diffention among relations ; yea, to caſt
jealouſies and ſurmiſes among them, if it may be in-
ſtrumental to corrupt them.
3. They will endeavour to withdraw people from
the public miniſtry of God's word, encourage men to
flight and neglect it; and when they have once effected
this, they have a fair opportunity to infuſe their own
corrupt principles.
4. They will engage you, by ſome means or othery
to them, either by ſome real, but moſt ordinarily by
ſome pretended kindneſs or familiarity, that, in a little
time, you ſhall not dare to diſpleaſe them; you muſt
do and ſpeak what they will have you, becauſe
ſome way or other you are entangled with them, or
engaged to them; and then they become your
governors, and you will not dare to contradict or
diſobey them.
Theſe are ſome of thoſe artifices whereby crafty and
ſubtle feducers gain profelytes, and bring men under
captivity.
Seventhly. Be very careful to moderate your paſa
fions,
Touching Religion.
209
fions, eſpecially of choleſ and anger; it inflames thé
blood, diſorders the brain, and, for the time, exter-
minates not only religion, but common reaſon; it puțs
the mind into confuſion, and throws wild-fire into the
tongue, whereby men give others advantage againſt
them ; it renders a man incapable of doing his duty
to God, and puts a man upon acts of violence, un-
righteouſneſs, and injuſtice to men; therefore keep
your paſſions under diſcipline, and under as ſtrict a
chain as you would keep an unruly curſt maſtiff.
Look to it that you give it not too much line at firſt;
but if it hath gotten any fire within you, quench it
preſently with confideration, and let it not break out
into paſſionate or unruly words or actions; but, what-
ever you do, let it not gangrene into malice, envy, or
fpite.
Eighthly. Send your children early to learn their
Catechiſm, that they may take in the true principles
of religion betimes, which may grow up with them,
and habituate them both to the knowledge and prace
tice of it; that they may eſcape the danger of corrup-
tion by error or vice, being antecedently ſeaſoned with
better principles.
Ninthly. Receive the bleſſings of God with very
much thankfulneſs to him; for he is the root and
fountain of all the good you do, or can receive.
Tenthly. Bear all afflictions and croſſes patiently, it
is your duty, for afflictions come not from the duſt.
The great God of heaven and earth is he that ſends
theſe meſſengers to you, though poſlībly evil occur-
rences may be the immediate inſtruments of them.
You owe to Almighty God an infinite ſubjection and
obedience, and to expoftulate with him is rebellion;
and as it is your duty, ſo it is your wiſdom and your
prudence; impatience will not diſcharge your yoke,
but it will make it gall the worſe, and fit the harder.
Eleventhly. Learn not only patience under your
af,
Ai&tions, but alſo profitably to improve them to your
ſoul's good; learn by them how vain and unprofitable
things
VOL. I.
P
210
Second Letter.
1
things the world, and the pleaſures thereof, are, that
a ſharp or a lingering ſickneſs renders utterly taſteleſs.
Learn how vain and weak a thing human nature is,
which is pulled down to the gates of death, and clothed
with rottenneſs and corruption by a little diſorder in
the blood, in a nerve, in a vein, in an artery. And
ſince we have fo little hold of a temporal life, which
is ſhaken and ſhattered by any ſmall occurrence,
acci.
dent, or diſtemper; learn to lay hold of eternal life,
and of that covenant of peace and falvation which
Chriſt hath brought for all that believe and obey the
Goſpel of peace and falvation: there ſhall be no death,
no ſickneſs, no pain, no weakneſs, but a ſtate of un-
angeable and everlaſting happineſs. And if fyou
thus improve affliction, you are gainers by it; and
moſt certain it is, that there is no more probable way
under the heaven to be delivered from affliction (if the
wiſe God ſee it fit) than thus to improve it: For af-
fliction is a meſſenger, and the rod hath a voice;
and that is, to require mankind to be the more pa-
tient, and the more humble, and more to acknow-
ledge Almighty God in all our ways. And if men
liſten to this voice of the rod, and conform to it, the
rod hath done his errand; and either will leave a
man, or at leaſt give a man, ſingular comfort, even
under the ſharpeſt affliction. And this affliction, which
is but for a moment, thus improved, will work for us
an exceeding and eternal weight of glory.
Twelfthly. Reverence your miniſter, he is a wiſe
and a good man, and one that loves you, and hath a
tender care and reſpect for you. Do not grieve him,
either by neglect or difreſpect. Afſure yourſelves, if
there be any perſon that ſets any of you againſt him,
or provokes or encourageth any of you to deſpiſe or
neglect him, that perſon, whoever he be, loves not
you, nor the office he bears. And therefore as the
laws of the land, and the Divine Providence, hath
placed him at Alderly to have a care of your ſouls,
fo I muſt tell you I do expect you ſhould reverence.
and
Touching Religion.
211
/
- and honour him for his own, for your, and for his
office fake.
And now I have written this long epiſtle to you, to
perform that office for me that I ſhould have done in
perfon if I could have taken this journey. The epiſtle
is long, but it had been longer, if I had had more
time. And though, perchance, fome there may be in
the world, that when they hear of it will interpret it
to be but the excurſions and moroſe rules of old
age,
unneceſſary, and ſuch as might have been ſpared; yet
I am perſuaded it will find better acceptation thereof
from you that are my children. I am now on the
ſhady fide of three-ſcore years. I write to you what
you have often heard me in ſubſtance ſpeak. And
poſſibly when I ſhall leave this world, you will want
ſuch a remembrancer as I have been to you. The
words that I now, and at former times have written,
to you, are words of truth and ſoberneſs; and words
and advices that proceed from a heart full of love and
affection to you all. If I ſhould ſee you do amiſs in
any thing, and ſhould not reprove you; or if I ſhould
find
you want counſel and direction, and ſhould not
give it, I ſhould not perform the truſt of a father; and
if you ſhould not thankfully receive it, you would be
ſomewhat defective in the duty you owe to God and
me, as children. As I have never ſpared my purſe to
ſupply you, according to my abilities, and the reaſon-
ableneſs of occafions, ſo I have never been wanting to
you in good and prudent counſels. And the God of
heaven give you wiſdom, conſtancy, and fidelity, in
the obſervance of them.
I am your ever loving father,
MATTHEW HALE.
MAY 20.
P 2
LETTER
1
212
Third Letter.
LETTER III.
CONCERNING THEIR SPEECH.
CHILDREN,
IT THANK God I came weil to Farrington this Satur-
day, about five of the clock, and becauſe I have ſome
leiſure time at my ina, I could not ſpend that time more
to my own contentment, and your benefit, thân by
my lutter to give you all good counſel; the ſubjeć
whercof, at this time, ſhall be concerning Speech, be-
cauſe much of the good or evil that befalls perfons,
dot: occafecally happen by the well or ill managing
of that part of kuman converſation. I ſhall, as I have
leiſure and opportunity at other times, give you my di-
rections concerning other ſubjects.
And herein I ſhall adviſe you, Firſt, how you are to
entertain the ſpeeches of others, according to the di-
vers varieties thereof. Secondly, how you are to ma-
nage and order your own ſpeech.
I. As concerning the former, obſerve theſe di-
rections: 1. Obſerve and mark as well as you may,
what is the temper and diſpoſition of thoſe perſons
whoſe ſpeeches you hear, whether they be, grave, fe-
rious, fober, wife, diſcreet perſons; if they be ſuch,
their ſpeeches commonly are like themſelves, and will
deſerve your attention and obſervation ; but if they
be light, impertinent, vain, paſſionate perſons, their
ſpeech is, for the moſt part, according; and the beſt
advantage that you will gain by their ſpeech, is but
thereby to learn their diſpoſitions, to diſcern their fail-
ings, and to make yourſelves the more cautious both
in
Concerning their Speech.
2:13
in your converſation with them, and in your own
ſpeech and deportment; for in the unſeemlineſs of
their ſpeech, you may better diſcern and avoid the
like in yourſelves.
2. If any perſon, that you do not very well know
to be a perſon of truth, fobriety, and weight, relate
ſtrange ſtories, be not too ready or eaſy to believe
them, nor report them after him: and yet (unleſs he
be one of your familiar acquaintance) bé not too for-
ward to contradict. him; or, if the néceſſity of the oc-
caſion require you to declare your opinion of what is
ſo reported, let it be modeſtly and gently, not too
bluntly or coarſely; by this means, on the one ſide,
you.
ſhall avoid being abuſed by your too much cre-
dulity; on the other ſide, you ſhall avoid quarrels and
diftafte.
3. If any man ſpeak any thing to the diſadvantage
or reproach of one that is abſent, be not too ready to
believe it, only obſerve and remember it, for it may
be it is not true, or it is not all true, or ſome other
circumſtances were mingled with it, which might give
the buſineſs reported a juſtification, or at leaſt an al-
lay, an extenuation, or a reaſonable excuſe. . In moſt
actions, if that which is bad alone, or ſeems to be fo,
be reported, omitting that which is good, or the cir:
cumſtances that accompany it, any action may be
eaſily miſrepreſented; be not too haſty, therefora, to
believe a reproach till you know the truth, and the
whole truth.
4. If any perſon report unto you ſome injury done.
to you by another, either in words or deeds, do not be
over haſty in believing it, nor ſuddenly angry with the
perſon ſo accuſed, for poſſibly it may be falſe or miſ-
taken ; and how unfeemly a thing will it be, when
your credulity and paſſion ſhall, perchance, carry yo!i,
upon a ſuppoſed injury, to do wrong to him wat nath
done you none; or, at leaſt, when the botton, and
truth of the accuſation is known, you will be aſhamed
of your paſſion. Believe not a report till the party
accuſed
1
P 3
214
1
Third Letter,
fome way, or means to
accuſed be heard; and, if the report be true, yet be
not tranſported either with paſſion, haſty anger or re-
venge, for that will be your own torment and pertur-
bation. Ever when a perſon is accuſed or reported
to have injured you, before you give yourſelf leave to
be angry, think with yourſelf, why ſhould I be angry
before I am certain it is true? or, if it be true, how
can I tell how much I ſhould be angry till I know the
whole matter? Though it may be he hath done me
wrong, yet poſſibly it is not fo much as it is repre-
ſented, or it was done by miſtake, or it may be he
is forry for it. I will not be angry till I know there
be cauſe; and if there be cauſe, yet I will not be angry
till I know the whole cauſe; for till then (if I muſt
be angry at all), yet I know not how much to be an-
gry,
it
may
be it is not worth my anger; or, if it be,
it may be it deſerves but, a little. This will keep your
mind and carriage, upon ſuch occafions, in a due tem-
per and order; and will diſappoint malicious or offi-
cious tale-bearers.
5. If a man, whoſe integrity you do not very well
know, makes you great and extraordinary profeſſions
and promiſes, give him as kind thanks as may be, but
give not much credit to it. Caft about with yourſelf
what
may
be the reaſon of this wonderful kindneſs,
it is twenty to one but you will find ſomething that
he aims at beſides kindneſs to you; it may be he hath
ſomething to beg or buy of you, or to fell to you, or
ſome ſuch bargain that ſpeaks out at leaſt his own ad-
vantage, and not yours; and if he ſerve his turn
upon
you, or if he be diſappointed, his kindneſs will
grow
cool.
6. If a man flatter and commend you to your face,
or to one that he thinks will tell you of it, it is a thou.
ſand to one either he hath deceived and abuſed
you
do ſo. Remember the fa.
ble of the fox commending the ſinging of the crow,
when ſhe had ſomewhat in her mouth that the fox
liked.
7. If
?
Concerning their Speech.
215
I
7. If a perſon be choleric, paſſionate, and give you
ill language, remember, 1. Rather to pity him than
to be moved into anger and paſſion with him; for
moſt certainly that man is in a diſtemper and diſorder;
obſerve him calmly, and you ſhall ſee him in ſo much
perturbation and diſturbance, that you will eaſily be-
lieve he is not a pattern to be imitated by you, and
therefore return not choler, nor anger for angry
words; for you do but put yourſelf into a kind of
frenzy becauſe you ſee him ſo.
2. Be ſure you re.
turn not railing, reproaching, or reviling for reviling,
for it doth but kindle more heat, and you will find
filence, or at leaſt very gentle words, the moſt exqui-
ſite revenge of reproaches that can be; for either it
will cure the diſtemper in the other, and make him
fee and be ſorry for his paſſion, or it will tor-
ment him with more perturbation and diſturbance.
But, howſoever, it keeps your innocence, gives you
deſerved reputation of wiſdom and moderation, and
keeps up the ſerenity and compoſure of your mind;
whereas paſſion and anger do make a man unfit for
any thing that becomes him as a man, or as a
Chriſtian.
8. Some men are excellent in knowledge of huf-
bandry, ſome of planting, ſome of gardening, ſome in
mathematics, fome in one kind, fome in another. In
all your converſation learn, as near'as you can, wherein
the ſkill and excellence of any perſon lies, and put him
upon talk of that ſubject, and obſerve it, and keep it
in memory or writing ; by this means you will glean
up the worth and excellence of every perſon you meet
with, and at an eaſy rate put together that which may
be for
your
uſe
upon all occaſions.
9. Converſe not with a liar or a ſwearer, or a man
of obſcene or wanton language; for either he will cor-
rupt you, or at leaſt it will hazard your reputation to
be one of the like making ; and if it doth neither, yet
will fill your memory with ſuch diſcourſes that will be
troubleſome to you in aftertime; and the returns of
the
216
Third Letter.
the remembrance of the paſſages which you long ſince
heard of this nature, will haunt you when your thoughts
ſhould be better employed.
II. Now, as concerning your own ſpeech, and how
you are to manage it, ſomething may be collected out
of what goes before, but I ſhall add ſomething elſe.
1. Let your ſpeech be true, never ſpeak any thing
for a truth which you know or believe to be falſe ; it
is a great ſin againſt God, that gave you a tongue to
ſpeak your mind, and not to ſpeak a lie; it is a great
offence againſt humanity itſelf; for where there is no
truth, there can be no fafe fociety between man and
man; and it is an injury to the ſpeaker, for beſides
the baſe diſreputation it caſts upon him, it doth in
time bring a man to that baſeneſs of mind, that he
can ſcarce tell how to tell truth, or to avoid lying;
even when he hath no colour of neceſſity for it; and
in time he comes to ſuch a paſs, that as another man
cannot believe he tells a truth, ſo he himſelf fcarcé
knows when he tells a lie. And obſerve it, a lie ever
returns with diſcovery and ſhame at the laſt.
2. As you muſt be careful not to lie, ſo you muſt
avoid coming near it; you muſt not equivocaté; you
muſt not ſpeak that abſolutely which you have but by
hear-fay, or relation ; you muſt not ſpeak that-as upon
knowledge, which you have but by conjecture or opie
nion only.
3. Let your words be' few, eſpecially when your
betters, or ſtrangers, or men of more experience, or
underſtanding, are in place, for you do yourfelf at
once two great miſchiefs: 1. You betray and diſcover
your own weakneſs and folly. 2. You rob yourſelf
of that opportunity which you might otherwiſe have
to gain knowledge, wiſdom, and experience, by heara
ing thoſe that you ſilence by your impertinent talking.
4. Be not over earneft, loud, or violent in talking,
for it is unfeemly, and earneſt, and loud talking,
makes you overſhoot and loſe your buſineſs, when
you
Concerrang their Speech.
217
you ſhould be conſidering and pondering your thoughts,
and how to expreſs them fignificantly to the purpoſe ;
you are ſtriving to keep your tongue going, and to
filence an opponent, not with reaſon, but with noiſe.
5. Be careful not to interrupt another in his talk ;
hear him out, you will underſtand him the better, and
be able to give him the better anſwer; it may be, if
you will give him leave, he will ſay ſomewhat more
than you have yet heard, or well underſtood, or that
which you did not expect.
6. Always before you ſpeak, eſpecially where the
buſineſs is of moment, conſider before-hand, weigh the
ſenſe of
your. mind which you intend to utter; think
upon the expreſſions you intend to uſe, that they be
ſignificant, pertinent, and inoffenſive; and whereas it
is the ordinary courſe of inconſiderate perſons to ſpeak
their words, and then to think, or not to think till
they ſpeak; think firſt and ſpeak after, if it be in any
matter of moment or feriouſneſs.
7. Be willing to ſpeak well of the abſent, if you do
not know they deſerve ill; by this nxeans you ſhali
make yourſelf many friends, and ſometimes an unde-
ſerved commendation is not loſt to the party to whom
it is given. I have known fome men that have met
with an undeſerved commendation, out of ſhame of
being worſe than they have been reported, fecretly to
take up practices anſwerable to their commendation,
and fo to make themfelves as good as they are reported.
8. Be ſure you give not an ill report to any that
you are not ſure deſerves it. And, in moſt caſes,
though a man deſerves ill, yet you ſhould be ſparing
to report him fo. In fome caſes;. indeed, you are
bound in honefty and juſtice to give that account com.
cerning the demerit or default of a perſon that he de
ferves ; as namely, when you are called to give teſti-
mony for the ending of a controverſy, or when the
concealing of it may harden and encourage a perfon
in an evil way, or bring another into danger; in fuch
cafes the very duty. of charity binds you to ſpeak your
knowledge,
.
218
Third Letter.
knowledge, nay your probable fear or ſuſpicion of
ſuch a perſon, ſo it be done for prevention of greater
inconvenience, and in love, and eſpecially if the diſ-
covery be made to a perſon that hath a ſuperintend-
ence, care, or authority over the perſon complained
of; for this is an act of love and duty. But for any
perſon maliciouſly, buſily, and with intent to ſcanda
lize another, to be whiſpering tales and ſtories to the
prejudice of another, this is a fault. If you know any
good of any perſon, ſpeak it as you have opportunity;
if you know any evil, ſpeak it, if it be really and pru.
dently done for the good of him, and the ſafety of
others; otherwiſe rather chooſe to ſay nothing than
to ſay any thing reproachfully, maliciouſly, or offi-
ciouſly to his prejudice.
9. Avoid fwearing in your ordinary communica-
tion, unleſs called to it by the magiſtrate; and not only
the groſſer oaths, but the lefſer; and not only oaths,
but imprecations, earneſt and deep proteſtations. As
you have the commendable example of good men to
juftify a folemn oath before a magiſtrate, fo you have
the precept of our Saviour forbidding it otherwiſe.
10. Avoid fcoffing, and bitter, and biting jeering,
and jeſting, eſpecially at your friend's condition, cre-
dit, deformity, or natural defects of any perſon, for
theſe leave a deep impreſſion, and are a moſt apparent
injuſtice; for were you ſo uſed, you would take it
inwardly amiſs, and many time ſuch an injury coſts a
man dear, when he little thinks of it.
11. Be very careful that you give no reproachful,
bitter, menacing, or ſpiteful words to any perſon;
nay, not to ſervants, or other perſons of an inferior
condition, and that upon theſe conſiderations : 1. There
is not the meaneſt perſon but you may ſtand in need
of him in one kind, or at ſome time or another; good
words make friends, bad words make enemies; it is
the beſt prudence in the world to make as many friends
as honeſtly as you can, eſpecially when it may be done
at ſo eaſy a rate as a good word; and it is the greateſt
folly
ma
Concerning their Speech.
219
folly that can be to make an enemy by ill words,
which do not at all any good to the party that uſeth
them. 2. Ill words provoke ill words again; and
commonly ſuch ill words as are gained by ſuch a pro-
vocation, eſpecially of an inferior, ſtick cloſer, and
wound deeper, thán ſuch as come unprovoked by ill
language, or from an equal. 3. Where faults are com-
mitted, they may, and by a ſuperior muſt, be reproved;
but let it be done without reproaches, or bitterneſs,
otherwiſe it loſeth its due end and uſe; and, inſtead
of reforming the offence, exaſperates the offender, and
makes him worſe, and gives him the cudgel to ſtrike
again, becauſe it diſcovers your own weakneſs when
you are reprehending another, and lays you juſtly open
to his reproof, and makes your own but ſcorned and
difeſteemed. I preſs this the rather, becauſe moſt or-
dinarily ill language is the folly of children, and of
weak and paſſionate people.
12. If there be occaſion for you to ſpeak in any
company, always be careful, if you ſpeak at all, to
ſpeak-lateſt, eſpecially if ſtrangers are in company; for
by this means you will have the advantage of know-
ing the ſenſe, judgment, temper, and relations of others,
which
may be a great light and help to you in order-
ing your ſpeech; and you will better know the in-
clination of the company, and ſpeak with more ad-
vantage and acceptation, and with more ſecurity againſt
giving offence.
13. Be careful that you commend not yourſelves,
it is the moſt unuſeful and ungrateful thing that can
be. You ſhould avoid-flattery from others, but eſpe-
cially decline flattering of yourſelves; it is a ſign your
reputation is ſmall and ſinking, if your own tongues
muſt be your flatterers or commenders; and it is a
fulſome and unpleaſing thing for others to hear it.
14. Abhor all foul, unclean, and obſcene ſpeeches,
it is a ſign that the heart is corrupt, and ſuch kind of
ſpecches will make it worſe; it will taint and corrupt
yourſelves
220
Third Letter.
you hear of
ܪ
yourſelves and thoſe that hear it, and bring diſrepu-
tation to thoſe that uſe it.
15. Never uſe any prophane ſpeeches, nor make
jefts of Scripture expreſſions ; when you uſe the names
of God or of Chriſt, or any paſſages or words of the
Holy Scripture, ufe them with reverence and ſeriouſ-
neſs, and not lightly, vainly, or fcurrilouſly, for it is
taking of the Name of God in vain.
16. If
hear of any unſeemly expreſſions uſed in
religious exerciſes, you muſt be careful to forget, and
not to publiſh them; or, if you at all mention them,
let it be with pity and forrow, not with deridion or re-
proach.
17. Do not upbraid any, or deride any man for å
pious, ftridt, or religious converſation ; for, if he be
fincere, you difhonour. God and injure him; if he be
an hypocrite, yet it is more than you know; or, if you
know him to be ſuch, yet his external piety and ſtrict-
neſs is not his fault, but his diſſimulation and hypo-
criſy'; and though his hypocriſy be to be deteſted, his
external piety and religion is to be commended, not
derided.
18. Have as little converſation as is poffible with
obſtinate heretics, or perſons obſtinately perverted in
matters of religion; as Papiſts, Quakers, Anabaptifts,
Antinomians, Enthufiafts, and the like; but eſpecially
converſe not with them in matters of religion, for, in-
ſtead of converting them by your perſuaſions to the
truth, you hall but harden them the more, and en-
danger yourſelf. They are to be dealt withal in thefe
matters, only by perſons of great abilities.; for a per-
verted, corrupted mind, and obſtinate fpirit, carries in
it a contagion, as infectious and much more dangerous
than the plague in the body, where their opinions meet
with a young and weak opponent.
" And thus, Children, as the time and my remem-
brance would give me leave, I have fet down ſome
obſervations concerning this ſubject, for your direction
1
and
Concerning their Speecha
221
and practice; what is wanting you may abundantly
ſupply by reading the wiſe .counſels of Solomon, in his
book of Proverbs. Read theſe' my directions often,
think of them ſeriouſly, and practiſe them diligently;
though they ſeem but dry and ordinary things, yet
you will find them uſeful in your converſation, which
will be every day more evident unto you, as your judge
ment, underſtanding, and experience increaſe.
I have but little more to write at this time, but to
wiſh and command you to remember my former coun-
ſels that I have often given you; begin and end the
day with private prayers to God upon your knees;
read the Scriptures often and ſeriouſly; be attentive
to the public worſhip of God in the church; keep
yourſelves ſtill in ſome good employment, for idleneſs
is the devil's opportunity, and the nurſery of vain and
ſinful thoughts, which corrupt the mind, and diſorder
the life. Let the Girls take care of ſuch buſineſs of my
family as is proper for them, and their recreations may
be walking abroad in the fields in fair or froſty morn-
ings; ſome work with their needle, reading of hiſtory
or herbals, ſetting of flowers or herbs, practiſing their
muſic, and ſuch innocent and harmleſs exerciſes. Let
the Boys be diligent at their books; and when they have
performed their talks, I do not deny them ſuch recre-
ations as may be healthy, ſafe, and harmleis. Be you
all kind and loving one to another, honouring your
miniſter, not bitter or harſh to my ſervants; be re-
ſpectful to all, bear my abſence patiently, cheerfully,
and faithfully; do all things as if I were preſent among
you, and beheld you, for you have a greater Father
than I am, that always, and in all places, beholds you,
and knows your hearts and thoughts. Study to re-
quite the love, and care, and expence of your father
for you, with dutifulneſs, obſervance, and obedience
to him; and account it an honour that God hath
given you an opportunity, in my abſence, by your
care, faithfulneſs, and induſtry, to pay fome part of
that debt, that by the laws of nature and gratitude
you
1
1
222 Third Letter Concerning their Speech.
you owe unto me. Be frugal in my family, but let
there be no want; provide conveniently for the poor
that come to my door. And I pray God to fill all
your hearts with his grace, fear, and love, and to let
you fee the advantage and comfort of ſerving him ;
and that his bleſſing, and preſence, and comfort, and
direction, and providence, be with you, and over you
all.
I am your ever loving father,
1
MATTHEW HALE.
LETTER
[ 223 ]
1
TO
SON
I return unto
LETTER IV.
ONE OF HIS GRANDSONS,
AFTER HIS RECOVERY FROM THE SMALL-POX.
ALTHOUGH, by reaſon of the contagiouſneſs of your
diſeaſe, and the many dependents I have upon me, I
thought it not convenient to come unto you during
your
fickneſs, yet I have not been wanting in my earneſt
prayers to Almighty God for you, nor in uſing the beſt
means I could for your recovery.
It hath pleaſed God to hear my prayers for you,
and above means and hopes now to reſtore you to a
humble and hearty thanks; and now you are
almoſt ready to come abroad again, therefore I have
thought fit to write this little book to you for theſe
reaſons :
1. Becauſe it is not yet ſeaſonable for you to come
to me, in reſpect of theſe ſame reaſons above-men-
tioned, which hitherto have reſtrained my coming to
you.
2. Becauſe, at your coming abroad, you will be
ſubject to temptations, by young and inconſiderate
company, which, inſtead of ſerious thankfulneſs to
God for his mercy to you, might pèrchance perfuade
you to" a vain and light jollity. And I thought fit to
ſend you theſe lines to prevent ſuch inconſiderate im-
preſſions,
him my
$
1
224
Fourth Letter.
to ſeaſon you
(
preſſions, and to meet you juſt at your coming abroad,
with more wife and ſerious principles.
3. Becauſe you are even now come out of a great
and fore viſitation, and therefore, in all probability, in
the fitteſt temper to receive the impreſſions of a ſerious
epiſtle from your father.
And I have choſen to put it into this little volume,
becauſe it is ſomewhat too long for a letter, and may be
better preſerved for your future uſe and memory.
God Amighty hath brought you to the very gates
of death, and ſhewed you the terror and danger of it;
and, after that he had ſhewn you this ſpectacle of your
own mortality, he hath marvellouſly reſcued and de-
livered
you
from that danger, and given you life, even
from the dead, ſo that you are as a man new born
into the world, or returned to life again, which now
you feem, as it were, to begin. You have paſſed
through thoſe two great diſpenſations of the Divine
Providence, thoſe two great experiments, that God is
pleaſed fometimes to uſe towards the children of men;
namely, correction and deliverance, his rod and ſtaff.
And therefore, in all reaſonable conjecture, this is the
moſt ſeaſonable time to give you a le&ure upon both;
and thoſe admonitions which may be, render the one
and the other profitable unto you. And this I ſhall
endeavour to do in theſe following lines :
Firſt. You ſhall not need to fear that I intend to
upbraid you with the errors of your youth, or to ex-
poſtulate with you touching them; for I do aſſure you
I do from my heart forgive you all your follies and
-miſcarriages. And I do affure myſelf that you have
repented of them, and reſolved againſt them for the
time to come; and that thereupon God Almighty hath
alſo fully forgiven what is paft: and this is a great
alurance thereof to me, in that he hath ſo wonderfully
reſtored you, and given you, as it were, a new life,
wherein you may obey and ſerve him better than ever
you yet did. And therefore if in this letter there be
any touches concerning former vanities, allure yourſelf
they
)
After recovery from the Small-pox. 225
}
they are not angry repetitions, but only neceſſary cau-
tions for your future ordering of your life.
The buſineſs of theſe papers is principally to com-
mend unto you two general remembrances, and cer-
tain reſults and collections that ariſe from them; they
are all ſeaſonable for your preſent condition, and will
be of fingular uſe and benefit to you in the whole en-
ſuing courſe of your life.
Firſt. I would have you, as long as you live, re-
member your late fickneſs in all its circumſtances, and
theſe plain and profitable inferences and advices that
ariſe from it.
Secondly. I would have you remember, as long as
you live, your great deliverance, and the ſeveral cir-
cumſtances of it, and thoſe neceſſary duties that are
incumbent upon you in relation thereunto.
It is evident to daily experience, that while afflic-
tions are upon us, and while deliverances are freſh,
they commonly have ſome good effect upon us; but
as the iron is no ſooner out of the fire, but it quickly
returns to its old coldneſs and hardneſs, ſo when the
affliction or deliverance is paſt, we uſually forget them,
count them common things, attribute them to means
and ſecond cauſes: and ſo the good that mankind
ſhould gather from them vaniſhes, and men, grow
quickly to be but what they were before they came;
their ſick-bed promiſes are forgot when the fickneſs
is over.
And therefore I ſhall give you an account of your
ſickneſs and of your recovery; and let them never be
forgotten by you. As often as thoſe ſpots and marks
in your face are reflected to your view from the glaſs,
as often as this paper comes in your ſight; nay, as
often as you open your eyes from ſleep, which were
once cloſed, and likely never to open again, ſo often,
and more often, remember your fickneſs and your re-
covery, and the admonitions that this paper lends you
from the conſideration of both,
o
Firſt,
3
VOL. I.
226
Fourth Letter.
ܪ
Firſt, therefore, touching your late fickneſs, I would
have you remember theſe particulars : 1. The diſeafe
itſelf, in its own nature, is now become ordinarily very
mortal, eſpecially to thoſe of your age. Look upon
even the laſt year's general bill of mortality, you will
find near two thouſand dead of that diſeaſe the laft
year; and had not God been very merciful to you,
you might have been one of that number, with as
great likelihood as any of them that died of that dif-
eaſe. 2. It was a contagious diſeaſe that fecluded the
acceſs of your neareſt relations. 3. Your fickneſs fur-
prized you upon a ſudden, when you ſeemed to be in
your full ſtrength. 4. Your fickneſs rendered
you
noiſome to yourfelf, and all that were about you; and
a fpectacle full of deformity, by the exceſs of your
diſeaſe beyond moſt that are fick thereof. 5. It was
a fierce and violent ſickneſs; it did not only take
away the common fupplies of natùre, as digeſtion,
fleep, ſtrength, but it took away your memory, your
underſtanding, and the very ſenſe of your own con-
dition, or of what might be conducible to your good.
All that you could do, was only to make your con.
dition more deſperate, in caſe they that were about you
had not prevented it, and taken more care for you than
you did or could for yourſelf. 6. Your ficknefs was
deſperate, inſomuch that your fymptoms, and the vio.
lence of your diſtemper, were without example; and
you were in the very next degree to abſolute rotten-
neſs, putrefaction, and death itſelf.
Look upon the foregoing defcription, and remember
that ſuch was your condition ; you were as fad a pic-
ture of mortality and corruption, as any thing but
death itſelf could make: remember it; and remember
alſo theſe enſuing inſtructions, that may make that req
membrance profitable and uſeful to you.
Firſt. Remember, that affliction cometh not forth
of the duſt, nor doth troubleſpring out of the ground";
Job v. 6.
bue
1
After recovery from the Small-pox. 227
1
but this terrible viſitation was ſent to you from the
wiſe over-ruling providence of God: it is he that
bringeth down to the grave, and bringeth up again.
It is true that this diſeaſe may ſeem common; but you
may and muſt know that there was more than the
common hand of God in ſending it upon you in ſuch
a manner, and ſuch a meaſure, and at ſuch a feaſon,
when you were grown up to a competent age and de-
gree of underſtanding to make a due uſe of it, that
you might fee his juſtice in afflicting you, and his good-
neſs in delivering you from ſuch a danger.
Secondly. Remember that Almighty God is of moſt
infinite wifdom, juſtice, and mercy; he hath excellent
ends in all his diſpenſations of his providence; he
never ſends an affliction, but it brings a meſſage with
it; his rod has a voice, a voice commanding us to
ſearch and try our ways, and to examine ourſelves
whether there hath not been ſome great fin againſt
him, or neglect of duty to him; a voice commanding
us to repent of what is amifs, to humble ourſelves un
der his mighty hand, to turn to him that ſtriketh us,
to ſeek to him by prayer for deliverance, to depend
upon him by faith; in his mercy and power to amend
what is amiſs, to be more watchful, circumſpect, and
obedient to him in the future courſe of our lives, to
fear to offend him. And if a man hear this voice,
God hath his end of mercy and goodneſs, and man
hath the fruit, benefit, and advantage of his affliction,
and commonly a comfortable iflue of it. Read often
and attentively the 33d chapter of Job, from the be-
ginning to the end.
Thirdly. Remember how uncertain and frail a crea-
ture man is, even in his ſeeming ſtrongeſt age and
conſtitution of health ; even then a peſtilential air,
fome evil humour in his blood, fome obſtruction, it
may be, of a little vein or artery, a little meat ill di-
geſted, and a thouſand ſmall occurrences may, upon
a fudden, without any conſiderable warning, plunge a
man into a deſperate and mortal ficknefs, and bring a
22
man
1
Fourth Leiter.
228
man to the grave. Remember this terrible fickneſs
ſeized upon you ſuddenly, pulled down your ſtrength
quickly, and brought you to the very brink of the
grave. And though God hath recovered you, you
know not how ſoon you may be brought into the like
condition.
Fourthly. Remember, therefore, that you make and
keep your peace with God, and walk in his fear in the
days of health, eſpecially after ſo great a deliverance,
and that for very many reaſons : 1. You know not
whether you may not be overtaken with fudden death,
and then it will be impoſſible for you to begin that
work. 2. If
2. If you have ſickneſs to give you warning
of the approach of death, yet you know not whether
that ſickneſs may not ſuddenly take away your ſenſes,
memory, or underſtanding, whereby you may be dif-
abled to make your peace with God, or to exerciſe
any ſerious thoughts concerning it. 3. But if that
fickneſs give you fair warning, and take not away
your underſtanding, yet your own experience cannot
chooſe but letyou know that pain, and weakneſs, and diſ-
traction of mind, and impatience, and unquietneſs, are
the common attendants of a ſick-bed, and render that
ſeaſon at leaſt very difficult then to begin that greateſt,
and folemneſt, and moſt important buſineſs of a man's
life. 4. But if your fickneſs be not ſo ſharp but that
it leaves you patience and attention of mind for that
great buſineſs, how do you know whether your heart
Thall be inclined to it? Repentance and converſion to
God is his gift, though it muſt be our endeavour,
And though the merciful God never refuſeth a re,
penting returning offender, yet how can a man that
all the time of his health hath neglected Almighty
God, refuſed his invitations, and ſerved his luſts and
his ſin, expect reaſonably that God, in the time of
ſickneſs, when the man can ſerve his fins no longer,
will give him the grace of repentance ?
Whatever you do, therefore, be ſure you make your
peace with God, and keep it in the days of your health,
eſpecially
After recovery from the Small-pox. 229
1
I
}
eſpecially after ſo great a deliverance from ſo deſperate
a fickneſs.
Fifthly. Remember that your condition is never fo
low but that God hath power to deliver you, and
therefore truſt in him ; but remernber withal, that your
condition is never ſafe and ſecure, but you are within
the reach of his power to bring you down. You are
now, by the mercy of God, recovered from a terrible
fickneſs, think not with yourſelf that your turn is now
ſerved, and that you ſhall have no more need of him,
and therefore that you may live as you liſt, and never
regard your duty to him ; deceive not yüurſelf herein,
remember that this ſickneſs within two or three days
brought you upon your knees, even from a ſeeming
ſtate of health. The caſe is the ſame ſtill, nay mưich
worſe, if this affliction make you not better. Almighty
God called you to love, and ſerve, and obey him, by
the ſtill voice of his word, by the perſuaſion of your
friends, by the advices and reproofs of your father
and, when theſe were not fo effectual (as I know you
now wiſh they had been), he ſent a meſſenger that
ſpake louder, that would be heard, even this terrible
ſickneſs; and moſt certainly, if you have heard the
voice of this rod (as I am hopeful you have), and
thereupon entirely turn to your duty to God in all
ſincerity and obedience, it is the happieſt providence
that ever befell you ; and you will, upon found con-
viction, conclude with the Prophet, 'It was good for me
* that I was afflicted.' But, on the other ſide, if, not-
withſtanding this voice of the rod, you ſhall, after your
recovery, turn again to folly, and vanity, and exceſs,
and harden yourſelf againſt this meſſenger, know for
certain you are within the reach of the Divine Juſtice
and Power : “And if you walk contrary to him, he
will walk contrary to you, and puniſh you yet ſeven
* times for your ſins 1.". I therefore give you that
counſel that our Lord gave to him that he had healed:
« Behold thou art made whole, go thy way and fin no
i Levit. xxvi. 24,
3
more,
I
230
Fourth Letter.
<
more, leſt a worſe thing befall thee.' There is no
conteſting with Almighty God; he is ready and eaſy
to be reconciled to the worſt of men, upon humiliation
and true repentance; but he is not to be maſtered or
conquered by obſtinacy and oppoſition : 'Who hath
hardened himſelf againſt him and proſpered 1?'
Sixthly. I would have you remember that fickneſs,
as well as death, doth undeceive mankind, and thews
them where their true wiſdom lies. When a young man,
eſpecially, is in the full career of his vanity and plea-
fures, he thinks that religion and the fear of God,
and walking according to his Word, and the ſerious
practice of duties of religion towards God, prayer unto
him, making our peace with him, are pitiful, low,
fooliſh, and inconſiderable matters; and that thoſe
that practiſe them are a ſort of brain-fick, melancholy
unintelligent perſons, that want wit or breeding, and
underſtand not themſelves or the world ; that they are
mere empty fancies and imaginations, whimſies, Puri-
taniſm, and I know not what elſe; but, on the other
fide, they think they are the brave men that live fplen-
didly, deny themſelves no pleaſure, can drink, and
roar, and whore, and debauch, and wear the neweſt
faſhions; it may be, this gallant or wiſe man comes
to be taken with a fit of fickneſs that tells him he muſt
die, death is at the door, his glaſs is almoſt out, and
but a few fands left in it; and then the man becomes
quite of another judgment, he cries out of his former
fooliſhneſs, he finds his pleaſures, and intemperance,
and exceſs, are not only perfect follies, but madneſs,
vexation, torment; and religion and prayer to God,
and devotion and peace with God, they are now in
requeſt. And now nothing but declamations againft
thoſe courſes, which in his health he valued as the only
wiſdom; and nothing but promiſes of amendment, and
reformation of life and devotion to God; ſo ſickneſs
hath undeceived the man, and given him a true and
rectified judgment concerning wiſdom and folly, quite
> Job ix. fi
contrary
1
After recovery from the Small-pox. 231
1
Contrary to what he had before; therefore I would
have you to recollect yourſelf (and if the violence of
your diſeaſe left you at any time the uſe of your rea-
fon), bethink yourſelf what opinion you then had of
intemperance, waſting of time, unlawful luſt, or any
of thoſe fins that formerly pleaſed you in your health,
whether they did not appear to you
in
your
ficknelis
very vain, fooliſh, vexing things, ſuch as you wiſhed
never to have been committed ; and, on the other ſide,
what opinion you had in your fickneſs touching piety
towards God, hearing of his Word, calling upon his
Name, redeeming of time, modeſty, temperance. Whe
ther thoſe actions of your life paſt, that favoured of
theſe, were not comfortable and contenting to you in
your fickneſs; whether your purpoſes and promiſes,
and reſolutions of your fick-bed, were not full of ſuch
thoughts as theſe: If it pleaſe God to recover me, I
will never be fuch a fool as I have been; I will never
drink to exceſs, miſpend my time; I will never keep
ſuch evil company as I have done; I will be more
devout towards God, more obedient to his Word, more
obſervant of good counſel, and the like. And, if you
find it to be ſo, I muſt deſire you to remember, that
affliction is the ſchool of wiſdom, it rectifies mens'
judgments; and I muſt again deſire you to keep your
judgment right ſtill, and let not the recovery of your
health become the loſs of your wits; but in your health
retain that wiſdom your fickneſs taught you, and praco
tiſe what you then promiſed : 'Remember he is the
wiſeſt man that provides for his latter end.'
Seventhly. Remember, by your former fickneſs,
how pitiful an inconſiderable thing the body of man
is; how ſoon is the ſtrength of it turned to faintneſs
and weakneſs; the beauty of it to uglineſs and de-
formity; the confiſtency of it to putrefaction and rot-
tenneſs; and then remember how fooliſh a thing it is
to be proud of ſuch a carcaſe, to ſpend all, or the
greateſt part of our time in trimming and adorning it;
I Deut. xxxij. 29.
in
t
& 4
1
232
Fourth Letter.
V
in ſtudying new faſhions and new devices to ſet it out;
in ſpending our time and proviſions in pampering it;
in pleaſing the appetite ; and yet this is the chief buſi-
neſs of moſt young men of this age. Learn, there-
fore, humility and lowlineſs; learn to furniſh thy noble
and immortal part, thy ſoul, with religion, grace,
knowledge, virtue, goodneſs, for that will retain it to
eternity. How miſerable is that man's condition, that
whilſt ſickneſs hath made his body a deformed, weak,
loathſome thing, fin hath made his foul as ugly and
deformed. The grave will heal or cover the defor-
mity of the former ; but the ſoul will carry its ulcers
and deformity (without repentance) into the next
world. Learn and remember, therefore, to have thy
greateſt care for thy nobleſt part, furniſh it with piety,
grace, knowledge, the fear and love of God, faith in
Chriſt. And as for thy body uſe it decently, ſoberly,
and comely, that it may be a fit inſtrument for thy
foul to uſe in this life ; but be not proud of it, nor
make it thy chiefeſt care and buſineſs to adorn, much
lefs defile it.
Eighthly. Remember to avoid intemperance and
finful luſts. It is true fickneſs and diſeaſes, and finally
death, are, by the laws and conſtitutions of our nature,
incident to all mankind; but intemperance, exceſs of
eating and drinking, drunkenneſs, whoring, unclean-
neſs, and diſorder, bring more diſeaſes, eſpecially upon,
young men, and deſtroy more young, ſtrong, healthy
men, than the plague, or other natural or accidental
diſtempers. They weaken the brain, corrupt the blood,
decay and diſtemper the ſpirit, diſorder and putrefy
the humours, and make the body a very bag full of
putrefaction. Some diſeaſes are, as it were, ſpecifical,
and appropriate to theſe vices; other diſeaſes are com-
monly occaſioned by them, by their inflammation and
putrefaction of the blood and humours. And all dif-
eaſes, even thoſe that are epidemical, natural, or caſual,
yet are rendered, by thoſe vices, far more ſharp, laſt-
ing, malignant, and incurable, by that ſtock of cor.
rupted
After recovery from the Small-pox. 283
1
rupted matter ; they lodge in the body to feed thoſe
diſeaſes, and that impotency that theſe vices bring
upon nature to reſiſt them; therefore if you ever ex-
pect to have as well a ſound body as a found mind,
carefully avoid intemperance and debauchery. The
moſt temperate and Tober perſons are ſubject to fick
nefs, weakneſs, and diſeaſes, but the intemperate can
never be long without thein.
And thus I have done with the proſpect of your diſ-
eaſe; and at leaſt'many of theſe profitable uſes you may
gather from the remembrance of it.
II. I ſhall now, in the ſecond place, put you in re-
membrance of your deliverance, touching which you
muſt remember: 1. That it was a great, eminent, and
extraordinary deliverance; you need no other evidence
of it, than by looking back upon the greatneſs and
ſeverity of your diſeaſe before-mentioned. 2. It was
a deliverance by the immediate power and mercy of
that God that ſent you the viſitation.
Una eademque manus vulnus opemque tulit 1. If you
had been delivered by the immediate efficacy of means,
yet you are blind if you ſee not that the efficacy of
means depends upon the providence of God; it is he
that provides it, and that makes means effectual. But
in this deliverance. God hath pleaſed to hedge up, as
it were, your way from attributing it to means, and
hath given you an indication that it was done by his
own immediate power, and that he delivered you above
and beyond means. It is true you had a very able
and careful phyſician, and very great attendance and
care was uſed about you. But when your phyſician,
and all that were about you, began to deſpair of your
recovery, when means proved ineffectual, when the
ſtrength of nature was exhauſted and baffled by your
diſeaſe, God Almighty, upon a ſudden, and beyond
expectation, relieved you, and, as it were, by his own
hand brought you back from the very threſhold of the
grave. And this he did, that you and all about you,
1. The same arm inflicted the wound and administered the cure.
and
Fourth Letter.
1
and all your relations, might take notice of it, that it
was he that did it.
And thus Almighty God hath exerciſed towards you
two great experiments, the firſt of his ſeverity, the
ſecond of his mercy.
And as your fickneſs and rod
had its voice (a loud and ſharp voice), fo your recovery
and deliverance hath its voice alſo; a ſweet, gentle,
and (I hope) effectual voice; and I will, as ſhortly as
I can, tell you what it is.
Firſt. Remember this benefit ; remember it was
reached out unto you, from the mere power, good-
neſs, and mercy of God. Remember evermore in
your heart and ſoul to be thankful to him for it; re-
member, as long as you live, upon all occaſions, to
acknowledge it ; daily to return upon your knees
humble thanks for it to him that had regard to you,
and remembered you in your low eſtate; to him that
forgave your iniquities, and healed your diſeaſe; to
him that did this for you when all means failed; that
did it for you when you had not the underſtanding to
call upon him for it; to him that did it for you that
deſerved it not; for
you that had provoked him, and
neglected him in the time of your health. This God
it was that delivered you. Read often the 103d Pſalm
attentively, and apply it to your own condition, it will
do you good.
2. Remember to acknowledge this goodneſs of God
with all humility; your deliverance was not the pur-
chaſe of your own power, nor of your own deſert, it
was an act of the free and undeſerved goodneſs of God.
What Almighty God'ſaid by Moſes unto the Iſraelites,
I ſhall ſay to you with ſome variation ; underſtand,
therefore, that the Lord thy God hath not given thee this
deliverance for thy righteouſneſs; no, it is the mere
effect of his own goodneſs, and to give you opportu.
nity to praiſe him, and ſerve him, better than ever you
did before.
8. Remember, that although great deliverances re.
Deut. ix, 4, 6.
quire
After recovery from the Small-pox. 235
quire your great acknowledgments, yet there is ſome-
what more required ; namely, a real practical glorify-
ing of God, by ordering your converſation aright, by
ſerving him, pleaſing him, obeying him, living to his
honour. This Almighty God expects as well as praiſes
and acknowledgments. As the end of God in afflic-
tions is to make men better, ſo the end of God in de
liverances is to make men better; and if we are not
the better men by both diſpenſations, we do, as much
as in us lies, diſappoint Almighty God in his deſign,
and diſappoint ourſelves of the benefit and advantage
intended in both, and eaſily to be gained by both.
This, therefore, is the voice of this deliverance; it calls
ſweetly, and gently indeed, but earneſtly and effec-
tually for amendment of life, and that upon two great
and moving arguments: 1. Your recovery and great
deliverance calls for this from you, upon the account
of common ingenuity and good nature, which obligeth
a man to be obſervant and dutiful to his benefactor.
God Almighty is the greateſt benefactor, and hath
manifeſted himſelf ſuch to you, upon a viſible eminent
account; this is engagement enough, upon the account
of common humanity, to be dutiful and obedient to
him. When, therefore, you are at any time, by the
temptation of your own corruption, or by the ſolicita-
tion of evil perſons, folicited to evil actions, conſider
thus with yourfelf: Is this a becoming return to that
God that hath thus wonderfully delivered me? Is this
the requital that I ſhall make to him for his mercy?
Shall I pleaſe a vain luſt, or a vain companion, and dif-
pleaſe the great God of heaven and earth, that hath thus
delivered me, and done me more good than all the
world could ever do me, or than I can ever recompenſe?
• Do ye thus requite the Lord, Oye fooliſh people, and
« unwiſe ? Is not he thy Father that hath bought thee?
hath he not made thee, and eſtabliſhed thee 1 ?'
2. This inercy calls for your obedience to God, in
an eminent manner, upon the account of common
Deut. xxxii. 6.
prudence
236
· Fourth Letter.
prudence and diſcretion. The benefit of your obedi-
ence to him will be your own, your own happineſs in
this life, and in that to come.
There is no greater
moral ſecurity againſt future dangers and troubles,
than obedience and reformation of life, upon great de-
liverances received; nor is there any greater invitation
of new troubles and miſchiefs, than ingratitude, dif-
obedience, and great fins, after great mercies and de-
liverances. There is a kind of certain and infallible
connection between great fins, after great mercies re-
ceived, and great judgments to follow ; Ingentia bene-
ficia, ingentia peccata, ingentia supplicia 1. Again, as
I have formerly told you, you do not know how ſoon
you may ſtand in need of the ſame mercy and good-
neſs of God, which you have formerly found: you
are never out of the reach of his power, and the neceſ-
ſity of his help. Whatever you do, therefore, never
diſoblige him by whom you live, and whoſe extraor-
dinary mercy you may ſtand in need of, you know
not how foon. There is nothing in the world doth
more provoke God than neglect, forgetfulneſs, or wil-
ful diſobedience after ſignal mercies. Theſe provoke
the merciful God to a ſeverity of the higheſt kind,
becauſe the ſweeteſt and moſt obliging call of mercy
and deliverance is neglected. Read the firſt chapter
of the Proverbs attentively.
And the merciful God hath given us a plain rule
and method how he may be ſerved, obeyed, and
pleaſed; he hath given us a plain diſcovery of his will
in the Scriptures of both Teſtaments. Read that often,
you have it by you, and you need not go far to find
what is
your Maker's will, and what that obedience
is that he requires as the return of this and all other
his mercies. Yet I think it not amiſs to mind you of
fome particulars that may be uſeful for you upon this
foccaſion, and to direct you how particularly to improve
and ſo order your future life in fome ineaſure an-
fwerable to it.
1. I would have you make it your firſt buſineſs,
Great benefits, great sins, great punishments.
after
1
* After recovery from the Small-pox. 237
after your recovery, to conſider the courſe of your life
paſt, ſince you came to the age of diſcretion, and ſee
what hath been amiſs in it: where you have not neg-
lected religion, and the duties of it too much; as
prayer, hearing the word preached, obſerving the
Lord's-day, receiving the Sacrament; whether you
have not been guilty of intemperance, exceſs of drink-
ing, wantonneſs, uncleanneſs, idleneſs, miſpending your
time, and thoſe ſupplies which have been allowed for
your maintenance; whether you have not too much
delighted in vain, and ſinful, and diſorderly company,
vanity and expence in apparel. And if any ſuch, or
the like faults have been, repent of them, be ſorry for
them, reſolve againſt them, and let the future courſe
of your life be amended in relation thereunto. I have
before told you that your heavenly Father hath for-
given you, and I have forgiven you ; neither do I men-
tion theſe things to upbraid you for them, but that
you, upon the confideration of what hath been amiſs,
may be thereby the better enabled to rectify and ſet
in order your future life. If this be done and prac-
tiſed, I will reckon your late ſickneſs and diſtemper
one of the greateſt bleſſings that ever befell
you.
2. I would have you always keep a habit of the fear
of God upon your heart; conſider his preſence, order
your life as in his preſence; conſider that he always
ſees you, beholds, and takes notice of you; and eſpe-
cially whether you carry yourſelf anſwerable to this
great deliverance; it is one of thoſe talents for which
he will expect an account from you.
3. I would have you frequently and thankfully con-
ſider of the great love of God in Jeſus Chriſt, whom
he hath given to be the inſtructor, and governor, and
facrifice for the ſins of you and all mankind, through
whom, upon repentance, you have aſſurance of the
remiſſion of your ſins, and eternal life ; and frequently
conſider how great an engagement this is upon you,
and all mankind, to live according to ſuch a hope and
ſuch a mercy,
4. I would
238
· Fourth Letter:
1
4. I would have you every morning read a portion
of the Holy Scriptures, till you have read the Bible
from the beginning to the end. Obſerve it well, read
it reverently and attentively, fet your heart upon it,
and lay it up in your memory, and make it the direc-
tion of your life, it will make you a wiſe and a good man.
I have been acquainted ſomewhat with men and books,
and have had long experience in learning, and in the
world. There is no book like the Bible for excellent
learning, wiſdom, and uſe; and it is want of under-
ſtanding in them that think or ſpeak otherwiſe.
5. Every morning and every evening, upon your
knees, with all reverence and attention of mind, return
hearty thanks to God for his mercy to you, and particu-
larly for this deliverance; deſire his grace to enable you
to walk in ſome meaſure aniwerable to it; beg his pro-
vidence to protect you, his grace to direct
to direct you, to
keep you from evil actions, and evil perſons, and evil
occurrences ; beg his pardon for your fin, and the
continuance of his favour, always concluding with the
Lord's Prayer.
6. Obſerve conſcionably the Lord's-day to keep it
holy; avoid idle company, idle diſcourſe, recreations,
and ſecular employments upon that day; reſort twice
that day to the public prayers and ſermon; come early
to it, be attentive at it, keep your eyes and mind from
Yoving after vain thoughts or objects, and ſpend the
reſt of that day, that is free from neceſſary occaſions,
in reading the Scriptures, or ſome good books of
divinity.
7. Once, every term at leaſt, come preparedly and
Yeverently to the Holy Communion, receive it with
great reverence and thankfulneſs, and due conſidera-
tion of the end of its inſtitution. Renew your cove-
nant with Almighty God that you made in baptiſm,
and to live foberly, righteouſly, and godly before him,
and beg his grace and ſtrength to perform it.
And as thoſe directions before do more ſpecially
relate to Almighty God, and your deportment immé
diately
1
After recovery from the Small-pox.
diately towards him, ſo theſe that follow more efpe-
cially relate to yourſelf and others, and your moral
converſation; therefore,
8. Be very moderate in eating and drinking. Drunk-
enneſs is the great vice of the time, and by drunken-
neſs I do mean, not only grofs drunkenneſs, but alfo
tippling, drinking exceſſively, and immoderately, or
more than is convenient or neceſſary; avoid thoſe
companies that are given to it; come not into thoſe
places that are devoted to that beaſtly vice, namely,
taverns and ale-houſes; avoid and refuſe thoſe devices
that are uſed to occaſion it, as drinking and pledging
of healths; be reſolute againſt it, and when your re-
folution is once known, you will never be folicited
to it. The Rechabites were commanded by their fa-
ther not to drink wine, and they obeyed it, and had a
bleſſing for it. My command to you is not fo ftrict; I
allow
you
the moderate uſe of wine and ſtrong drink
at your meals, I only forbid you the exceſs, or un-
neceſſary ufe of it, and thoſe places and companies,
and artifices, that are temptations to it.
9. Avoid wanton' and laſcivious actions, ſpeeches,
and company. Read Proverbs. ii. 5, 6, 7,9. A whore
hunts for the precious life of a man, and that vice
brings a ruin with it to the body, foul, and eſtate. If
you cannot conveniently contain yourſelf in a ſingle
life, and be of competent health, marry, but with the
advice and counfel of your father, while he lives.
10. Be frugal of your time (it is one of the beſt
jewels we have), and to thať end avoid idleneſs; it
confumes your time, and lays you open to worſe in-
conveniencies. Let your recreations be healthy, and
creditable, and moderate, without too much expence
of time or money. Go not to ſtage-plays, they are a
moſt profuſe waſting of time; value time by that eſti-
mate we would have of it, when we want it; what
would not a fick man give for thoſe portions of time
of health that he had formerly improvidently waſted ?
11. Be
240
Fourth Letter.
11. Be diligent in your ſtudy and calling, it is an
act of duty to Almighty God that requires it, and it
will be your wiſdom and benefit, it will be a good
expence of time, a prevention from a thouſand incon-
veniencies and temptations that otherwiſe will befall a
man; it will furniſh you with knowledge and under-
ſtanding, give you the advantage and means of a
comfortable and plentiful fubfiftence, and make you
a ſupport, comfort, and benefit to your friends and
country.
12. Be frugal in your expences; live within the
compaſs of that exhibition that God's providence, and
your father's abilities, ſhall ſupply you withal ; it is
enough to maintain an honeſt provident man, and ten
times more will not be enough for a profuſe mind; a
frugal man will live comfortably and plentifully upon
a little; and a profuſe man will live beggarly, necef-
fitouſly, and in continual want, whatever his ſup-
plies be.
13. In all your expences conſider before-hand :
Can I not be well enough without this that I am about
to buy? Is there an abſolute neceſſity of it? Can I
not forbear till I am in a better condition to compaſs
it? If I buy or borrow, can I pay? And when? And
am I ſure? Will this expence hold out? How ſhall I
bring about the next quarter, or the next year? If
young nien would but have the patience to conſider
and aſk themſelves queſtions of the like nature, it
would make them conſiderate in their expences, and
provident for the future; and theſe conſiderations will,
in a ſpecial manner, concern you in reſpect of your
father's great expences for you, which, though Į have
forgiven and forgotten, I would have you remember
with gratitude and caution.
14. The vanity of young men in loving fine clothes
and new faſhions, and valuing themſelves by them, is
one of the moſt childiſh pieces of folly that can be,
and the occaſion of great profuſeneſs and undoing of
young
1
1
After recovery from the Small-pox. 241
1
young men. Avoid curioſity and too much expenſive-
neſs in your apparel : let your apparel be comely,
plain, decent, cleanly, not curious or coftly; it is
the ſign of a weak head-piece to be ſick for
every new
faſtion, or to think himfelf the better in it, or the
worfe without it.
15. Be careful what company you confort with,
and much more careful what perſons you grow inti-
mate with; chooſe fober, wiſe, learned, honeſt, reli-
gious company; you will gain learning and wiſdom,
and improve yourſelf in virtue and goodneſs, by
converſing with them : But avoid debauched, fooliſh,
intemperate, prodigal, atheiſtical, prophane company,
as you would avoid a plague; they will corrupt and
undo you, they are a fort of the moſt pitiful fools in the
world, and familiar acquaintance and converſation
with them will endanger to make you
like them.
16. Weigh and conſider your words, before you
ſpeak them, and do not talk at random, or at a
venture ;
let your words be few, and to the purpoſe;
be more ready to hear others than to ſpeak yourſelf;
accuſtom yourſelf to ſpeak leiſurely and deliberately,
it will be a means to make you ſpeak warily and con-
ſiderately.
17. Be very careful to ſpeak truth, and beware of
lying ; as lying is diſpleaſing to God, ſo it is offenſive
to man, and always at the latter end returns to the
reproach or diſadvantage of him that uſeth it; it is
an evidence of a weak and unmanly mind. Be care-
ful that you believe not haſtily ſtrange news, and
ſtories, and be much more careful that you do not
report them, though at the ſecond hand, for if it prove
an untruth (as commonly ſtrange ſtories prove ſo),
it brings an imputation of levity upon him that reports
it, and poſſibly ſome diſadvantage to others.
18. Take heed what you promiſe, ſee that it be juſt,
and honeſt, and lawful; and what is in your power,
honeſtly and certainly to perform: and when you
have ſo promiſed, be true to your word. It is for the
molt
t
1
VOL. I.
R
242
Fourth Leiter.
moſt part the faſhion of inconſiderate and young men,
(eſpecially that run in debt) they will with great
affeverations promiſe preciſe payment, at this day,
or that day, when either they certainly know they
cannot perform, or at leaſt have no probable aſſurance
that they can do it; and when their turn is ferved,
they are as backward in performance, as they were
before liberal in their promiſes. Breach of promiſes
and lying are much of a nature, and commonly
go together, and are arguments of an impotent and
unmanly mind.
19. Beware of gaming, it is the ſuddeneſt con-
fumption of an eſtate that can be, and that vice feldom
goes alone; commonly debauchery of all kinds
accompanies it. Beſides, it makes a man of wild, vaſt,
and unſettled mind; and ſuch men are impatient of
an honeſt calling, or of moderate or honeſt gain.
20. Run not into debt either for wares fold,
or money
borrowed; be content to want things that are not of
abſolute neceſſity, rather than to run upon the ſcore;
ſuch a man pays at the latter end a third part more
than the principal comes to, and is in perpetual
ſervitude to his creditors, lives uncomfortably, is ne-
ceſſitated to increaſe his debts, to ſtop his creditors'
mouths, and many times falls into deſperate courſes.
21. Be reſpectful to all, familiar and intimate with
few; be grateful to your benefactors, eſpecially to
thoſe who, under. God, were inſtrumental for
your
good, in your late fickneſs, and return your thanks
to them ; to your father that ſpared no coſt for
your recovery; to your doctor, that was exceedingly
diligent about you ; to thoſe that attended
your
fickneſs; to thoſe that, together with your father, often
prayed to God for your recovery, and for a bleſſing
upon this aifliction, whoſe names you ſhall in due time
particularly know; but, above all, to Almighty God,
who not only provided and bleſſed the means, but ſaved
and delivered you above means, and when means failed.
22. Laſtly, I ſhall conclude with one advice more;
without
you in
After recovery from the Small-pox. 243
1
without the obſervance whereof my labour in writing
this long epiſtle will be probably fruitleſs : be not wiſe
in your own conceit; this is the unhappy error, and
many times the ruin of young men eſpecially: they
are uſually raſh, giddy, and inconſiderate, and yet
extremely confident of that which they have leaſt
reaſon to truſt, namely, their own underſtanding,
which renders them moſt reſerved from them that are
willing and beſt able to adviſe them, impatient of
reproof, love to be flattered, and fo become uncapable
of good and wife counſel, till their follies have reduced
them to extreme ſtraits and inconveniencies : fufpect
therefore your own judgment: adviſe often with your
father, eſpecially in all things of moment; be glad of
his counſel, and be contented and willing to follow it,
and to guide your life according to it; at leaſt till ripe-
neſs of age, obſervation, and experience, have enabled
you better to adviſe yourſelf: This is an eaſy, and
ready and cheap way of attaining wiſdom, and avoid-
ing of infinite inconveniencies.
And thus I have in this long epiſtle, given you the
means how you may improve both your fickneſs, and
recovery, to the glory of God, and your own benefit.
I ſhall therefore conclude with two conſiderations,
that may the more engage you to this uſe of both theſe
diſpenſations.
1. The danger is great, if afflictions make not a màn
more humble and dutiful, and the danger is yet
greater, if great deliverances and mercies do not make
a man more thankful and obedient to God; becauſe it
is the moſt obliging method that the gracious God
can uſe towards the children of men, for that end, in
this life : and the neglect of that invitation adds in
gratitude and contempt to the neglect of it.
2. The benefit that you will receive by making a good
uſe of theſe two diſpenſations, in improving yourdutiful-
neſs and obedience to God, will be ſingular and excel-
lent: 1. It will make you a wiſe man, by making you a
good and religious man. Believe it from your father,
who
R2
244
Fourth Letter.
who will not deceive you, nay, believe it from a greater
than your father, the very ſpirit of truth, who cannot
deceive you ; the true fear of God, is the only true wil-
dom: Read Deut. iv, 6. Job. xxviii. 28. Pfalm cxi. 10.
Prov. i. 7. Proy. ix. 10. Ecclef. xii. 13; and very many
more declarations there are of this great truth: 2. It will
make you a happy man, it will give you the favour and
love of God, which is better than life itſelf. You ſhall
have his mercy to pardon you, his providence to protect
you, his wiſdom to direct you, his goodneſs to bleſs
you, and to forgive and forget whatſoever hath here-
tofore been done amiſs by you: this will make all
conditions comfortable to you, whether life or death,
fickneſs or health. By this means you may be a
comfort to your father, a ſupport to your brothers and
ſiſters, an inſtrument of good to your country, and
attain an honeſt, creditable, and competent ſubſiſtence
in this world, and an everlaſting inheritance of glory
and immortality in the world to come. Thus I have
given you a large letter of ſound and good counſel :
ſet your heart to it, and obſerve and remember it; we
ſee how unſtable our lives are you nor I know not how
foon either or both of us may leave this world : It may
be, this may be the laſt paper of advice that your father
may give you. But however it ſhall pleaſe God to deal
with
you or me, touching our continuance in this world,
yet let me leave this with you, in the cloſe of this
letter. If I ſhall find that theſe directions are dutifully
obſerved, I ſhall be ready from time to time, freely to
adviſe and direct you ; and as I have paſſed by your
former extravagancies, ſo I ſhall thereby have great
aſſurance that God hath bleſſed this vifitation to you.
But, on the other ſide, if I ſhall find that you neglect
my counſels, that you make light of them, that you
ſtill purſue thoſe courſes that will certainly be bitterneſs
in the end, I muſt then tell you, I ſhall pray for you, and
be forry for you with my heart: but I ſhall not eaſily be
perſuaded to give any more advices or counſels, where I
find them deſpiſed or neglected. In this paper there are
many
!
After recovery from the Small-pox.
245
many things omitted, which might have been inſerted;
but the conſtant reading of the Holy Scriptures willſupply
unto you that defect: I have choſen only in this paper
to mention ſuch things which are feafonable for you
upon this occaſion. God Almighty hath not been
wanting to you in admonition, correction, mercy and
deliverance, neither hath your father been wanting
to you in education, counſel, care and expence.
pray God Almighty bleſs all unto you. This is the
I
prayer of
Your loving Father 1
2
MATTHEW HALE.
}
' From the ending of this Letter, as well as from some internal
passages of it, it would rather appear to have been composed for
Son than a Grandson of Sir Matthew Hale's, as printed in the title
to it, p. 223, though it is thus given in inost of the old editions.
R3
A BRIEF
A BRIEF ABSTRACT
ст
OF
THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION.
R 4
248
A brief Abſtract
A BRIEF ABSTRACT
OF
THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION.
1. Thatthere is one, and but one, moſt glorious God,
eternal, incomprehenſible, perfeâly happy, infinite in
wiſdom, power and goodneſs, filling all places, but
comprehended in no place ; full of juſtice, mercy,
truth and perfection.
2. That this God, though but one in eſſence, is
yet three in number of his ſubſiſtence, Father, Son,
and Holy Spirit.
3. That this God, in the beginning of time, created
the world, commonly called the Heaven and Earth,
which he ſtill governs by his Power, Wiſdom, and
Providence. And this he did, 1. for the manifeſta-
tion and glory of his wiſdom, power, and goodneſs :
2. for the communication of his beneficence, good-
neſs and bounty to the things which he thus made,
according to their ſeveral natures and capacities.
4. That having finiſhed this inferior world, called
the earth, and furniſhed it with all things neceſſary
and convenient for the uſe and convenience of the
nobler creature which he intended, he created the
firſt man Adam, and the firſt woman Eve, the com-
inon paronts of all mankind : from whom all the men
and women in the world are derived by natural pro-
pagation.
5. To theſe firſt parents of mankind, Almighty
God gave ſome endowments or conſtituent parts, that
are common to all mankind, as well as to them:
namely,
1
r
Of the Chriſtian Religion.
249
namely, 1. terreſtrial or earthly bodies; for the firſt
man was made out of the earth ; and the bodies of all
other men, though they are derived to them by
ordinary generation, yet their bodies are terreſtrial or
elementary bodies : 2. {piritual and immortal ſouls,
endued not only with the power of vegetation, as
herbs and trees; nor only with the power of ſenſe
and perception and appetite, as the brute beaſts; but
alſo with the power of underſtanding and liberty of
will, whereby he obtains a kind above all other viſi-
ble creatures beſides. And this Soul, ihus endued
with the power of underſtanding and will, doth not
die with the body; but it is immortal and never dies.
And this is called a reaſonable foul ; whereby we
underſtand, and think, and conſider, and remember,
and chooſe one thing, and refuſe another ; whereby we
have a capacity to know Almighty God, his works,
his will, and to obey and obſerve it ; and to perform
all the actions that belong to a reaſonable creature.
3. A power of propagation of their kind, by the mu-
tual conjunction of ſexes, by virtue of that divine
benediction, given to man, as well as to ſenſible crea-
tures, Be fruitful and multiply, and repleniſh the earth.
By virtue of which benediction, all the families of
mankind that were, or are, or ſhall be upon the face
of the earth, are in the courſe of ordinary generatica
derived from the firſt parents of mankind.
4. A
power and right of dominion over the inferior crea-
tures, which he doth exerciſe, partly by the ordination
and appointment of their creation, and partly by the
advantage of his underſtanding faculty: and though
this dominion be in ſome fort weakened and decayed
by the fall of our firſt parents, yet it ſtill, in a great
meaſure, continues to the children of men.
6, But ſome privileges our firſt parents had in their
ſtate of innocence, which by their fall hath been much
impaired and loſt, and not derived to their pofterity:
1. A ſtate of perfect innocence, free from all ſin and
ſinful contagion. 2. A ſtate of happineſs and bleſſed-
neſs,
A
250
A brief Abſtract
neſs, as large as human nature could be capable of.
3. A ſtate of great integrity and perfection, as far
forth as it was poſlīble for human nature to enjoy': as
light and great knowledge in his underſtanding, in-
tegrity in his will, right order in his ſoul, righteouſ-
nefs and holineſs. 4. A ſtate of immortality of body
and ſoul in their perfect conjunction, ſo long as he
kept his innocence.
7. The ends for which Almighty God created
man thus, were, firſt, thoſe common ends which
moved him to create the world above mentioned,
namely, his own Glory, and the communication of
his goodneſs and beneficence: but ſecondly, theſe
ſeem to be the ſpecial ends of man's creation : 1. That
he might have a creature in this lower world, that
might more conveniently, actively and effectually
give glory unto God: and to that end he endued him
with nobler faculties that might perform this office ;
his underſtanding, whereby he might know his Maker,
and his Will, and his Works; his Will, whereby
he might obey his Will; his affections, whereby he
might love, and fear, and admire him; his faculty
of ſpeech, whereby he might glorify and praiſe him:
this is another kind of glory than the other inferiors
do, or can bring to their Maker. And to the end
hę might thus glorify his Maker, he placed him in
the view and fight of the goodly frame of heaven and
earth, and gave him his law, wherein he fhould
obey and ſerve his Creator. 2. That he might be
partaker of as much happineſs and bleſſedneſs as the
human nature could be capable of, while it ſtood in
conjunction with his body and that he fhould, by a
kind of tranſlation into heaven, enjoy a more pure,
perfect, and everlaſting ſtate of bleſſedneſs and glory:
8. When God had thus created man, he gave
him a law of Righteouſneſs and Holineſs, and revealed
it to him: and for a probation or trial of his obedience,
forbade him the eating of the fruit of one tree in
Paradiſe, under pain of death.
9. Our
of the Chriſtian Religion.
251
9. Our firſt parents rebelled againſt that juſt and
eaſy law, by eating the forbidden fruit
. And although
they did not preſently die corporally, yet they, by
this diſobedience, fell into theſe inconveniences: i.
They were preſently under the ſentence of everlaſting
death, though delivered from it by the Meffiah, that
promiſed ſeed. 2. They loſt the eſtate of immortality
of their bodies, though they loſt not the ſtate of im-
mortality of their fouls, which were eſſentially immor-
tal. 3. They loſt their innocence, their happy eſtate
in Paradiſe, the clear and ſupernatural light of their
underſtanding, the rectitude of their wills, the right
order of their affections: and their fouls loſt much
of its perfection, though not its eſſential ſpirituality
and immortality. 4. All that were after derived from
them by ordinary generation, though they had in-
mortal fouls, yet their faculties were embaſed and
corrupted, and greatly diſordered, and without the
extraordinary grace of God preventing and aſſiſting
them, prone to all kind of evil and fin, and thereby
obnoxious to the wrath of God, and to everlaſting
death. And this is the condition of all the poſterity
of Adam by nature, except Jeſus Chriſt.
10. God Almighty, in his eternal wiſdom and fore-
knowledge of the fall of man, in his infinite wiſdom
and goodneſs, purpoſed to ſend forth his Son, to take
the human nature, and to become a King, a Prieſt,
and a Prophet, and alſo a Sacrifice, to expiate the
fins of mankind, and to make them again partakers of
the great and effential part of that happineſs which the
firſt man loſt by his fall : and ſo to recover unto himſelf
a čreature that might actually glorify and ſerve him.
11. And to make this purpoſe effectual to our firſt
parents, and to thoſe that ſucceeded them before the
coming of Chriſt the purpofed Redeemer, Almighty
God was pleaſed to ufe two expedients: 1. He gave
out the promiſe of the Meſſiah, or the feed of the wo-
man, the feed in whom all nations ſhould be bleſſed :
and the belief of this, though darkly revealed, be-
came
2:52
A brief Abtreet
>
came an inſtrument or means to render the promifed
Meſſiah effectual to them, to partake of the benefits
of his redemption, when it was joined with the obe
dience to the revealed Will of God in fincerity. 2.
He
gave out Precepts directing men to their duty, and
to the fincere endeavour of obedience to thoſe precepts,
he annexed the benefit of remiffion of fins and ac-
çeptance of their perſons and duties, through the
Meffiah, or Chriſt, that was to come.
12. In the fulneſs or appointment of time, namely,
about four thouſand years after the creation of man-
kind, the Son of God, by a miraculous conception of
the Virgin Mary, without the conjunction of many
aſumed the human nature, became man, lived about,
three and thirty years, diſcovered the mind and will
of God touching mankind, confirmed his doctrine with
unqueſtionable Miracles and Evidences from Heaven,
and lived a moſt holy and ſpotleſs life, and then was
without cauſe crucified by the Jews, was buried, the
third day he roſe from the dead, lived again, accord-
ing as he promiſed, and converſed with his Diſciples
forty days, then aſcended into the glorious Heavens,
where he is in a ſtate of glory and power.
13. And after his Aſcenſion, he fent upon his
Apoſtles, as he promiſed, the power of the Holy Spirit,
whereby they did many miracles in witneſs of the truth
of the doctrine and hiſtory of Chriſt.
14. The reaſons and ends, why the Son of God thus
took our nature, became man, and died for us, were
theſe: 1. That the eternal counſel and purpoſe of God,
for the recovering and redemption of mankind out of
their loſt condition, and all thoſe predictions and
prophecies touching the fame, might be fulfilled, and
thereby the great God to have the glory of his wiſdom,
mercy, power and truth.
2. That there might be
a common remedy for the recovery of mankind to
their duty and ſubjection to Almighty God, that they,
might actively glorify their Creator, according to the
end of their creation. 3. That there might be a.
common
1
of the Chriſtian Religion.
253
1
common remedy afforded to mankind, to obtain in
ſubſtance that happineſs which they loſt in their firſt
parents, and by their own renewed tranſgreſſions, and
a means provided for the pardon of their fins, and
ſaving of their immortal fouls, and yet without dero-
gation of the divine juſtice, and the honour of his
government.
15. In order to theſe great ends, the Son of God
was thus ſent from heaven, and commiſſionated as it
were by the Father, principally to do theſe great buſi-
neſſes in this world: 1. To acquaint the world with the
whole Will of God concerning mankind: 2. To lay
down a full and fufficient Sacrifice for the Sins of the
World, by his own Death and Paſſion : 3. To give
the world all poſſible aſſurance both of the Truth of
his Doctrine and the ſufficiency of his Satisfaction, by
his wonderful Miracles, by his Reſurrection and Al-
cenfion, and by the diffuſion of the gifts of the Spirit
upon his Apoſtles and Believers, after his Afcenfion.
16. Touching the firſt of theſe, namely, The mani-
feſtation of the Divine Will touching Mankind. This
contains the doctrine of the Goſpel, the Meſſage ſent
from heaven by the Son of God, touching all things
to be believed, and to be done by the children of men,
in order to their Redemption and attaining of ever-
laſting happineſs. And this was neceſſary, becauſe
the world was full of darkneſs and ignorance.
And
many things that were now neceſſary for men to know,
were but darkly revealed unto the former ages of the
world. The Son of God therefore came to bring Life
and Immortality to light, by the Goſpel.
17. The Doctrines of the Goſpel, which Chriſt brought
with him into the world, were principally theſe:
1. That all men have immortal fouls, which muſt
live to all eternity, notwithſtanding the death of their
bodies.
2. That there ſhould come a diſſolution of this pre-
fent world, and at that time there ſhall be a reſurreca
tion of all that had been dead, and a change of all
that hould be then living, into an iinmortal eſtate,
3. That
1
254,
A brief Abstract
i
3. That there ſhould at that day be a final Judg-
ment, where all men ſhould be doomed, fome to
everlaſting life and happineſs, fome to everlaſting
miſery.
4. That in the ſtrict rule of Divine Juſtice, the
wages of every fin is everlaſting death and miſery,
which is fully deſcribed in the Goſpel.
5. That all mankind, is obnoxious to everlaſting
death and miſery, becauſe all mankind have finned,
and are born in fin. So that without the help of
mercy from God, all mankind are in a loſt and deſpe-
rate condition.
6. That yet for all this, Almighty God is willing
that his creature ſhould be reconciled to him, is de-
ſirgus to pardon his ſins, to be at peace with him,
and everlaſtingly to fave him, and to reſtore unto
him that everlaſting happineſs that he had loſt by his
own ſin, and the ſin of our firſt parents.
7. But yet that all this ſhould be done in ſuch a
way as might be conſiſtent with the honour of his
juſtice and of his government, as well as of his mercy
and of his bounty : and therefore that he will have
a ſacrifice and a price laid down for the fins of the
world, namely, the precious life of his own Son Jeſus
Chriſt, that publiſhed this doctrine to the world : and
this facrifice and fatisfaction the glorious God would
accept in a way of juſtice, and yet in a way of mercy,
that his juſtice might be ſatisfied, his mercy magnified,
and his creature ſaved.
8. And that becauſe it would be neither agreeable
to the honour nor the wiſdom of Almighty God, that
any man that had the uſe of his reaſon and under-
ſtanding, ſhould have the fruit and benefit of this
mercy and ſacrifice, without returning to his duty to
God, by true repentance for what he had done amiſs,
and by better obedience to God: neither was there
any fitneſs or ſuitableneſs between a pure and holy God,
or that bleſſedneſs which mankind might expect with
him, and a people that ſhould yet continue deſperately
finful and impure: and it was alſo reaſonable and fit,
that
of the Christian Religion.
255
that if mankind would expect the reſtitution to that
everlaſting happineſs, that they loſt by their own fins,
and the fin of their firſt parents, then they ſhould
alſo return to their duty and obedience to God, and
perform in fome meaſure, that end for which man-
kind was at firſt created, namely, actively to glorify
that God that had made them eſpecially after ſo great
an addition of mercy as the Redemption of the
World by the death of his own Son; therefore he, ap-
pointed and intended, and publiſhed to the world,
that all that would have the fruit and benefit of this
great Redemption, ſhould repent of their fins, and
endeavour ſincerely to obey the precepts of piety, fo-
briety, and righteouſneſs, commanded by Almighty
God by the Meſſage of his Son.
9. And becauſe, that if thoſe to whom this meſſage
of the Goſpel of Chriſt ſhould be publiſhed, ſhould
yet not believe the ſame, nor believe that Jeſus was
the true Meſſias, or that his Doctrine was the true and
real Meſſage of Almighty God to the world, it could
never be expected that they would obey this Heavenly
Command, nor return to God, or the duty they owed
him ; he did therefore require of all perſons that were
of underſtanding, to whom the Goſpel ſhould be pub-
liſhed, that they ſhould believe it to be true, and be.
lieve that Chriſt was the true Meſſias, the great facri-
fice for the ſin of the world, and the doctrine which
he preached, was the Will of God concerning man.
10. And thus there are theſe conditions to be
per-
formed on the part of thoſe that will expect the bene-
fit of the Redemption purchaſed by the Blood of
Chriſt: 1. That all that are of underſtanding to
whom the Goſpel is preached, ſhould believe it to be
the Truth, and reſt upon it as the Truth of God:
2. That they ſhould be heartily forry for their former
ſins, and repent of them, and turn from them. This
is repentance. 3. That they ſhould in all ſincerity,
endeavour to conform their hearts and wills, and lives,
to the Precepts and Commandments of Chriſt and
his
I
956
A brief Abstract
his Goſpel, which is called fan&tification and new Obe.
dience.
11. And becauſe when we have done all we can,
yet we are in this life compaffed about with many in-
firmities and temptations, and ſubject to fail in our du-
ty to God, and to theſe Holy Precepts of the Goſpel ;
yet the merciful God hath affured us by his Son Chriſt
Jeſus, that if we ſincerely endeavour to obey the pre-
cepts of the Goſpel, and repent for our failings herein,
and fo renew our peace with God by unfeigned repent-
ance, the fame Sacrifice of his Son ſhall be accepted to
expiate for our ſins and failings, and the bleſſed God
will accept of our ſincere, though imperfect obedience,
as a performance of that part of the Covenant of the
Goſpel that concerns our obedience to God, and the
commands of the Goſpel. And this is called Evan-
gelical Obedience, which, though it be not perfect, yet
being ſincere, and accompanied with real and ſincere
endeavours to obey, and repentance for our daily fail-
ings, is accepted of God through the ſacrifice of
Chriſt, who is not only our Sacrifice and Propitiation,
but alſo our Interceffor and Mediator at the right hand
of God. ' If any man fin, we havean advocate with
the Father, even Jeſus Chriſt, who ſitteth at the right
hand of the Father 1.'
12. And becauſe many times example gives a great
light and life to precepts, our bleſſed Saviour, in his
life, gave us an excellent example of the practice of
thoſe precepts which he hath given to us, as, namely,
obedience and ſubmiſſion to the Will of God ; in-
vocation upon him; holineſs, purity, fobriety, patience,
righteouſneſs, juſtice, charity, compaſſion, bounty,
truth, fincerity, uprightneſs, heavenly mindedneſs, low
eſteem of worldly glory, condeſcenſion, and all thoſe
graces and virtues that he requires and expects from
us.
18. And as thus our Lord Jefus came to inſtruct
us in all things neceſſary for us to believe and practiſe,
1 John ii, 1. Heb. viii. 1. & X. 12.
1
arid
of the Christian Religion.
257
and to give us an admirable pattern and example of
a holy and virtuous life: ſo, 2. He came to die for us,
and to die ſuch a death as had in it all the circum-
ftances of bitterneſs, and yet accompanied with un-
ſpotted innocence and incomparable patience; and he
thus died for theſe ends :
1. To lay down a ranſom for the ſins of mankind,
and a Price for the Purchaſe of Everlaſting Life and
Happineſs for all thoſe that receive him, believe in him,
and obey the Goſpel.
2. To ſatisfy the Juſtice of God, to make good
his Truth, to vindicate the Honour of his Govern-
ment, and to proclaim his Juſtice, his Indignation
againſt Sin, and yet to magnify his Love and Mercy
to Mankind, in giving his Son to be a Price of their
Redemption.
3. To give a juſt indication unto all the world of the
vileneſs of ſin, the abhorrence of it, that coſt the Son of
God his life, when he was but under the imputed guilt
of it, that ſo mankind might deteſt and avoid ſin, as the
vileſt of evils.
4. To give a moſt unparalleled inſtance of his love
to the world, that did chooſe to die for the chil-
dren of men, to redeem them from everlaſting death.
5. And thereby to oblige mankind with the moſt
obliging and endearing inſtance to love and obey that
Jeſus, that thus died for them, and out of the common
principles of humanity and gratitude, to love and obey
him that thus loved them, and laid down his life for
them.
6. To give a moſt convincing Evidence of the Truth
of his Doctrine, and the fincereneſs of his profeſſions
of love to mankind, by ſealing the fame with his own
Blood.
!
t
:
VOL. I.
S
CON-
CONSIDERATIONS
SÉA ŠONABLE AT ALL TIMES
FOR
CLEANSING THE HEART AND LIFE.
- 260
Seasonable Considerations for
CONSIDERATIONS
?
SEASONABLE AT ALL TIMES
-
FOR
CLEANSING THE HEART AND LIFE.
1. Of God, and therein,
1. Of his purity and holineſs, one that cannot endure
to behold iniquity. The ſtars are not pure in his
'fight 1.' And his angels he chargeth with folly%.
How then canſt thou think to draw near to the Holy
God, when thy heart, and thy lips, and thy life, are
clothed with impurity and filthineſs ? when thy
thoughts, the only inſtruments whereby thou canſt
converſe with him, are buſied in conſiderations unwor.
thy of a ſpirit, much more unworthy of the God of
ſpirits ? Cânſt thou think that this holy God will ac-
cept of the productions of that foul, thy prayers and
meditations, who but now was employed in baſe un-
clean earthly thoughts, and didſt but now part with
them with a reſolution to reſume them? Every im
pure thought leaves a mark and blot upon thy foul,
that remains when thy thought is paſſed; and canſt
thou bring that ſpotted ſoul into the preſence of the
pure and holy God without confuſion and ſhame?
Thou art now going about with thy lips to draw near
unto God; remember how many vain and unprofit-
able words, how many murmuring and unthankful
words, how many unclean and filthy words, how many
falſe and diſſembling words, how many proud and ar-
rogant words, how many malicious and vindictive
words, how many hypocritical and deceitful words,
! Job xxv. 5. Job xv. 15. ? Job iv. 18.
how
Cleansing the Heart and Life. .261
how many
many ſeducing and miſleading words, how many
ungodly and blafphemous words have ſtained and pol-
luted thoſe calves of thy lips, thou árt now about to fa-
crifice to thy Creator. Thou art about to undertake a
converſation and walking with God. Can two walk
together unleſs they are agreed "" How then canft
thou, a polluted man in all thy actions, even thoſe of
the beſt denomination, expect to have a converſation
with the Holy, Holy, Holy Lord ? The ſtains of thy
life paſt ſtick upon thee, and thou art not cleanſed
from them; and the ſea of corruption that is within
thee will, notwithſtanding thy higheſt reſolutions, never
ceaſe to caſt out mire and dirt.
O Lord, it is true, I am a finful man, and the
< whole frame of my heart, and lips, and life, hath
been only evil, and that continually: and as I have
been, fo ſtill I muſt continue, without Thy mercy to
pardon and cleanſe me. My pollutions and impuri-
ties are ſuch as may juftly affright me from coming
near Thy holineſs, left I ſhould be conſumed, ſuch as
may diſcourage my prayers and applications unto
· Thee, leſt I ſhould ſtain and infect them: and it is no
more in my power to change or cleanſe myſelf from
" the ſtains of my ſins paſt, or from the growing evils
of my nature, than in the leopard to change his
ſpots; ſo that I may moſt juſtly conclude, that it
were extreme preſumption for me to draw near unto
Thee, and rather cry out with the diſciple, Depart
' from me, O Lord, for I am a ſinful man. But if
• I fit where I am, I ſhall periſh; and if I draw near
unto, Thee, I can but die. That purity that I behold
in Thee, is the purity of the great God; and my fins
6 are the fins of a finite creature : my ſinfulnefs cannot
defile Thy holineſs, but Thy holineſs may cleanſe
my impurity : that fire which will conſume an im.
pure and a proud heart, will cleanſe an impure and un-
chumble heart. O Lord, I deſire to abhor myſelf in
duſt and aſhes. Unleſs Thou hadſt ſhewn me my
· Luke v. 8.
filthineſs
ic
C
1
6
<
6
! Amos iii. 3,
S 3
1
1
262 Seasonable Considerations for
6
' filthineſs, I could not have ſeen it; and unleſs Thy
Grace had been with my heart, I could not have
humbled myſelf before Thee: unleſs thou hadſt
. called me, I could not have moved towards Thee.
Thy promiſes, upon which my foul ſhall ever fix till
“Thou throw me off, are full of bounty and tenderneſs
even to the vileft of finners; no fin of ſo deep a dye
* but thy mercy can waſh away; no corruption ſo
“ hideous, but Thy grace can cleanſe. And ſo far haft
* Thou condeſcended to the weakneſs of Thy creature,
that Thou haſt given us a viſible ſacrifice, whoſe blood
is fufficient to cleanſe us from all our guilt, a viſible
fountain to waſh for fin and for uncleanneſs, even
the Blood of the Son of God, which cleanſeth us
from all fin, which cleanſeth our conſciences from
' the guilt and ſtain of fin, and waſheth our bodies
from the dominion and pollution of fin; and by that
blood hath opened a new and living way for us into
the preſence of God, and given acceſs thereby into
- the holieſt, and given us a commiſſion to draw near
* with acceptation into his preſence 2.'
2. The preſence of God. • Whither ſhall I fly from
“thy preſence 3 ?' He ſeeth the ſecreteſt corners of the
world, and the ſecreteſt chambers of thy heart, and all
the gueſts that are there, even thy cloſeſt thoughts and
contrivances and purpoſes, mạch more thy moſt re-
tired and deepeſt actions, are as legible to him as if
they were graved in braſs. And the deep and ſettled,
and frequent conſideration of this, will be of excellent
uſe upon all occaſions.
Is thy heart folicited by thyſelf (as our unhappy
hearts are our own tempters) or by any object, or by
the perſuaſions of others, or by the ſuggeſtion of the
Devil, to impure ſpeculations, or ſinful reſolutions, to
atheiſtical diſputations, to proud or arrogant concep-
tions of thyſelf, to revengeful or uncharitable or for-
bidden wilhes, to vain and unprofitable thoughts ?
remember thou and all thoſe thy thoughts (which
? Hebr. X. 20.
2 Hebr. X. 19.
3 Psal. cxxxix. 7.
never
1
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 263
I
even natural modeſty or prudence would ſhame thee
to publiſh before a mortal mán as thou art) are all
naked and manifeſt before the Great, Holy, and Im-
mortal God, whoſe eyes walk through all the corners
of thy heart: and dareſt thou in his preſence to enter-
tain ſuch gueſts as theſe in that place where thy Crea-
tor is preſent; in that place which thou pretendeſt to
make a temple for him, in that place which the Lord
of Heaven is pleaſed moſt juſtly and moſt mercifully to
claim as his own ? Confider what a preſence thou art
in : he is not only an eye-witneſs of the impurities of
thy heart (which yet, if there were nothing elſe, might
juſtly ſhame thee), but it is his preſence who hath for-
bidden thee to entertain ſuch vermin as theſe in thy
heart, under pain of eternal death; it is thy Judge that
ſees thee; it is the great Creator, before whom the
Angels of Heaven cover their faces, not being able to
behold his glory: and, which is more than all this to
an ingenuous nature, it is he to whom thou oweſt thy-
ſelf and all thou art; he to whom thou haſt given up
thy name, that hath purchaſed thy heart from hell with
the price of his Son's blood: and how canſt thou chooſe
but tremble and be confounded, to think that thou
Ihouldeſt, contrary to all the bonds of duty and gratia
tude, even in his preſence and before his face, let in
again thoſe abominations into thy heart, from which it
was cleanſed by the Blood of Chriſt?
Again : Hath a finful thought, through incogitancy
of the preſence of God, entered into thy heart? yet
remember the preſence of God, before it grow into a
purpoſe or reſolution: or if it hath gone ſo far as a
reſolution, yet remember that preſence, and thou canſt
not dare to perfect this hideous conception unto ac-
tion: and improve Joſeph's queſtion, How can I
* do this great wickedneſs, and fin againſt God 1?'
Thy Creator, thy Judge beholds thee. Let it be the
matter of thy humiliation to conſider that thou haft
ſtained the habitation of his preſence by admitting a
1 Gen. xxxix. 9.
finful
S4
264 Seasonable Considerations for
ſinful thought; that thou haſt in his preſence and in
his place nouriſhed it into a reſolution: and therefore
let it be at laſt thy care at leaſt to kill this reſolution
before it comes to action, by improving this practical
conſideration of the preſence of the holy, glorious,
and terrible God: and if, notwithſtanding this conſi-
deration, thy foul ſhrink not from thy purpoſe; or if
thou reject the conſideration of his preſence, that thou
mayeſt the more quietly and contentedly fin; or if
thou precipitate thy reſolution into action, left the
conſideration of his preſence ſhould ſtep into thy heart
and divert thee; thy fin is heightned, and thou ad.
deſt contempt of God unto thy offence, by rejecting
the light and grace, that might and would, if brought
to thy heart, reſtrain thee, and with the preſumptuous
finner in Job xxi. 14. thou ſayeſt to God, Depart
<
from me, for I defire not the knowledge of thy ways.'
And it is no wonder if he take thee at thy word, and
depart from thee to all eternity, by the preſence of
his love and goodneſs, though his fevere and angry
eye and preſence ever reft upon thee.
Again : Is the God of heaven an eye-witneſs of thy
carriage, when either by thyſelf or others thou art fo-
licited to evil? Take courage to reſiſt this temptation,
becauſe thy Creator ſees thee. Aſk thy temptation,
whether it can ſecure thee from the fight and wrath
of God; whether it can countervail thy damage in
diſpleaſing him that beholds thee? Doſt thou want
courage or reſolution to oppoſe it? conſider thy Lord
ſtands by to fee, and obſerve, and reward thee in thy
oppoſition. Couldſt thou ſee but that Glory that hath
commanded thy reſiſtance of evil, and how near it
ſtands by thee, all the choiceſt folicitations to any fin
would die in their firſt offer againſt thee. Doſt thou
doubt thy ſtrength to oppoſe it? know that thou canſt
not want ſtrength, if thou haſt but reſolution : it is thy
cowardice makes thee weak; it is not thy weakneſs
that makes thee cowardly: all the men in the world,
nor all the devils in hell, could not faften a fin upon
thee,
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 265
thee, unleſs thou firſt conſent. But fuppoſe thou
doubteſt thy own heart, yet conſider thy Maker's
preſence, who is by thee, and able to ſupport thee, if
thou wilt but lay hold of his ſtrength; and that
ſtrength of his he offers thee if thou wilt but take it :
and it is not poſſible thou ſhouldeſt want it, if thou
feriouſly conſider that he is preſent; for it is an act
of thy faith whereby thou doſt believe his preſence,
and by the fame act thou doft partake of all that good-
neſs, and truth, and mercy, which accompanies his pre-
ſence, and will bear thee up againſt the moſt accom-
pliſhed temptation. Conſider that the preſence of
God, that beholds thy carriage in a temptation, as it
muſt needs add an infinite diſhonour, and ſhame, and
confuſion, that in the preſence of the glorious and pure
God thou ſhouldeſt ſink under a baſe temptation, con-
trary to the commands and holineſs of him that be-
holds thee, ſo it cannot chooſe but ſtrengthen thee
againſt the ſtrongeſt temptation, by the anticipation of
that comfort and contentment that thou muſt needs
have by holding thine integrity, when ſuch thoughts as
theſe fhall move thy heart :- I am now ſolicited to
break my Maker's Command for a periſhing profit or
pleaſure; whatſoever ny ſucceſs be, I know the Glo-.
rious, Holy, Mighty God, fees my demeanour, even he
that hath his reward in his hand, of indignation, and
vengeance, and ſhame, in caſe I yield to this unworthy
ſolicitation ; and approbation, glory, and immortality,
in caſe I ſtick to his Command; and ſhall I, in the pre-
fence of the Almighty and Glorious God, prefer the fa-
tisfaction of an unworthy luft or temptation, with
ſhame in the preſence of my Creator, before my obe-
dience unto him, even in his own fight, when he looks
upon me, and encourageth me with a promiſe of
ſtrength to aſſiſt me, and of glory to reward me? To be
able to hear in my own conſcience the ſuffrage of the
Lord of Heaven beholding me, Well done, good
and faithful servant, were enough to overweigh all
my
266 Seasonable Considerations for
1
my obedience, though it were poſſible that it could be
divided from what follows, Enter into thy maſter's joy.
Again : Art thou in any temporal calamity, be it
what it will ? the confideration of the preſence of
God will make thy condition comfortable, Though
I walk in the valley of the ſhadow of death, I will
fear no evil, for thou art with mel: my wants are
great, and my reproaches are great, and my enemies,
my pains, my dangers, my loſſes, my diſcomforts are
great ; but they are not hid from God; he is preſent,
and his Wiſdom, and if he ſaw it not fit for me to be
afflicted, it is enough I have learned to acknowledge
his Wifdom, and with patience and chearfulneſs to
fubmit to him, who meaſures out every dram of this
bitter potion to moſt wiſe ends, and yet ſtands by
to manage it: he is preſent, and his power and Omnia
potence, and my prayers have no long journey to come
unto him ; when my exigencies are at the higheſt, his
power is enough, and near enough to help me in
the very article of neceſſity; and when I am ſinking
with Peter, he hath an arm near enough to reſcue me
from the ripe and victorious danger. He is preſent, and
his Compaſion, and Mercy, and Tenderneſs, and Faith-
fulneſs, who will not fuffer me to be tempted above
what I am able to bear: it is his Mercy that hath thus
much or thus long afflicted me; for ſo much the
neceſſity of my ſoul, it may be, did require. Thy
Judgments are right, and thou in faithfulneſs haſt
afflicted me 2:' and that I am afflicted no more, it is
thy mercy. For he ſtands by, and ſees what meaſure
conſiſts with my good; and when the meaſure begins
to exceed my ſtrength, and either eaſeth my burden,
or helps me to bear it; In all their afflictions he was
afflicted', he is preſent, and his All-ſufficiency : and
this is enough to ſwallow up all the bitterneſs and
darkneſs of my extremeſt miſery. The comfort, and
beauty, and goodneſs of every thing in itſelf, or which
it can reach out to me by fruition or participation, is
Psalm xxiii. 4. 2 Psalm cxix. 75. 9 Isaiah lxiii. 9.
that
1
1
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 267
șhat which is derived to it only from the Wiſdom,
Power, and Goodneſs of God; and there is no more
of good in the creature than what he lends iť; neither
can it communicate to me more, nor can I receive
more from it than what he enables it to give, and me
to receive: and the creatures are but thoſe veſſels ac-
commodated and fitted to my nature, out of which
I drink that good that he hath put into them: and if
he put not communicative good into the creatures,
they will prove but empty veſſels unto me, or ſuch
as are ſealed up and cannot communicate that good
that is in them: without his particular bounty unto
me, the creature unto me will be but like the Pro- '
phet's book, which he that is learned could not read,
becauſe it was ſealed ; and he to whom it was opened
could not read it, becauſe he was unlearned: either
the good that is in them is ſealed up to me, and it
cannot be drawn out; or I am ſealed up to it, and
cannot draw it out. A man to whom God hath
given riches, wealth and honour, ſo that he wanteth
6 nothing, yet God giveth him not power to eat there-
oft:' fo then the concluſion of all is, That all the good
that is in the things we enjoy, and in the enjoyment
whereof men account themſelves happy, and in the
want whereof they account themſelves miſerable, is
but a derived good from the chiefeſt Good, but a
portion of that good which is in the chiefeſt Good;
but a good at the ſecond hand, which at the firſt hand
is to be found in all perfection in the chiefeſt Good :
and therefore if I can but enjoy the preſence and com-
munion of the chiefeſt Good, I ſhall with and in him
enjoy. all that good, and far more, in the fountain,
though all the conduits through which they are ordi-
narily derived to man by the creatures, are ſtopped
to me. It is an act of great mercy and wiſdom in
God, that, when the moſt part of men are led merely
by ſenſe, and underſtand not the preſence of God,
ad that all-ſufficiency that is in him, he is pleaſed to
2 Eccles, vi. 2.
derive
6
&
2
268 Seasonable Considerations for
ܪ
derive a ſuitable good unto their natures, by ſuch
fenſible inſtruments unto which men may reſort, and
therein may find thoſe goods that are accommodate to
their nature and condition; as, to medicines and
phyfic, for their health and cures; to bread and meat,
for the ſupply of their hunger ; to muſic and wine. for
refreſhing their ſpirits ; to fortifications, confederacies,
and civil conjunctions, for preventing or repreſſing of
injuries, and the like; for through theſe channels
God is pleaſed to derive, at the ſecond hand, and as
it were at a diſtance, that good which men find in
them: but how great is that mercy, that diſcovers
God himſelf to be near unto me, and to compaſs me
about; and diſcovers in him a fea of all-fufficiency
infinitely morethan proportionable to all my exigencies;
and gives me an acceſs immediately to that all-ſuffici-
ency, where I ſhall find at the firſt hand all that good
that is ſtrained and runs through the creatures at a
diſtance; where I may and ſhall, if I be not defective
to myſelf, moſt certainly have whatſoever the creature
can afford, or what ſhall abundantly ſupply that defect
to my greater advantage and contentment! Is my
eſtate ſmall, and ſcarce holding proportion to my
neceſſities? The all-ſufficient God is near unto me,
and he can protract my cruiſe of oil to my ſupport:
but if he do not, yet if he be pleaſed to be my ex-
ceeding great reward 1, the portion of my inheritance
and my cup 2, I can cheerfully and comfortably con-
clude with the ſame Prophet, my lines are fallen in
pleaſant places, and I have a goodly heritage:' and
with the Prophet, "Though the fig-tree ſhall not
bloſſom, neither ſhall there be fruit in the vine, the
* labour of the olive ſhall fail, and the field ſhall yield
no meat, &c. yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will
' joy in the God of
my
ſalvation3.' I can bear all
my wants with cheerfulneſs and contentedneſs of
heart, becauſe the all-ſufficient God is preſent with
me, in whom I find more abundance of better com-
· Habakuk. iii. 17, 18.
fort
i Gen, xv. 1.
2 Psalni xvi. 5.
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 269
fort than I can find in all the creatures of the world
;
one that is not only eſſentially preſent with me, but is
pleaſed to evidence his preſence unto me: I have a plen-
tiful inheritance, and havenot far to it : Is my reputation
and name wrongfully blaſted and withered ? yet the
Great and Glorious God is preſent; and if I can lay
open my conſcience before him,andclear myſelf to him,
and can appeal to him who is preſent with my heart
and all my actions, and can receive an approbation
from him, I value not the eſteems of men.
He is a
ſhield
for me,"my glory, and the lifter
up of my head'l ;
and if I am precious in his fight, I am honourable
enough, he can clear up my reputation as the noon
day, and will do it if he fee it fit for my good, and
his own glory: but if he doth not, his will be done,
I am contented, and value not all the ſcorns and re-
proaches, all the contumelies and diſgraces, all the
calumnies and ſlanders laid upon me by men, in com-
pariſon of that content and ſatisfaction by the preſence
of the God that ſees, and knows, and juſtifies me. Is
the world ſtormy, full of wars, and rapine, and inju-
ries, exceeding the repreſſion of civil juſtice? The
preſence of God is a ſtrength to my ſoul againſt all
this, and a greater ſecurity than the munitions of
rocks, and the ſtrength of armies : he is a ſhield 3, a
refuge4, a rock, a fortreſs and deliverer 5, a defence,
our ſtrength7, a hiding place to preſerve from troubles,
a preſent help in time of trouble9, a ſhelter in times of
dangerlo, a refuge from the ſtorm, a ſhadow from the
heat, when the blaſt of the terrible ones is as a ſtorm
againſt a wall11, the Lord of hoſts is with us, the God of
Jacob is our refuge 12, under the ſhadow of his wings is
our truſt and ſafety 13, a hiding place from the councils
and contrivances i4, and from the injuries and violence
i Psalm iii. 3.
2 Isaiah xliii. 4. s Gen. xv. 1. Psalm ix. 9.
2 Sam. xxii. 2. 6 Psalm xcix. 22.
7 Psalm xxxvii. 39.
8 Psalm xxxii. 7.
9 Psalm xlvi. 1.
10 Psalm lxi. 3.
11 Isaiah xxv. 4
12 Psalm xlvi. 7. 19 Psalm xxxvi. 7. Psalm Ivii. 1.
14 Psalm lxiy, 2,
of
270 Seasonable Considerations for
1
formed;
1
of men i; if he pleaſe he can ſecure my eſtate and
my body from violence; but if he do not, I am ſure
that my treaſure and my life ſhall be ſecured; for my
life is hid with God in Chrift: I know he hath wiſdom
enough, and power enough, and mercy enough to pre-
ferve me; and he hath no need to be acquainted with
my danger, for he is with me; neither have my
deſires any long or uncertain journey to him, for he
is with my thoughts, and knows them before they are
Before they can call, I will anſwer 2 :' and
as long as I know that the wiſe God is ſo near me,
I am ſure of deliverance, if it be convenient; and if
it be not, why ſhould I be troubled if I miſcarry?
And as thus my heart, ſenſible of the preſence of God,
can entertain the dangers that ſeem to come from
the hands of others; lo it will bear up the heart in
all other fad occurrences of this life. Is, my mind
full of perplexities and difficulties how or 'what to re-
folve? the God of wiſdom is within my call, and
within my view, and I can beg his counſel, and I
am ſure to have it, and his is the beſt counſel. Are
my loſſes great, and of thoſe things wherein I took
moſt delight? Yet they cannot countervail the en-
joyment of the preſence of the All-fufficient God. Is
my body full of tortures or diſeaſes, and death looks
in upon me between the curtains, and my foul fitting
upon my lips, and like the light of a dying candle,
taking her flight from my body? yet the preſence of
the All-ſufficient God is able to make this valley of
the ſhadow of death lightſome, and thoſe pains eaſy,
and bear up my foul againſt the horror and amaze-
ment of death : for he ſtands by me with ſtrength to
fupport me, with victory and immortality to receive
that ſoul (the only feat where my fear can dwell) into
a more near and immediate ſenſe of his preſence, than
in my body it could feel: only remember, that though
the preſence of his eſſence cannot be excluded from
any place or perſon 3, yet there are occaſions that may
Jer. Xxxvi. 26. * Isaiah lxy. 24.
: Jer. xxiii. 34.
ſeparate
Cleansing the Heart and Life.
271
1
6
ſeparate from the ſenſe of his preſence, or make his pre-
ſence terrible unto thee. “Your iniquities have ſeparated
between you and your God, and your fins have hid his
face from you, that he will not hear 1.' And if ſuch
an unhappy time befall thee, that he hide from thy
ſoul his comfortable preſence, let it be thy care to
return unto him, by humbling of thy heart ſincerely
before him for thy relapſe. He never departs from
any till man firſt depart from him; and he never
hides himſelf long from any that in ſincerity return
unto him. The very moving of thy heart to ſeek
him is the work of his power and mercy upon thee,
and is an undeniable evidence that he hath not utterly
forſaken thee: unleſs he firſt did ſeek and find thee,
and touch that heart of thine with his own finger, thy
heart would rather die in her ſin than return unto
God; and therefore be ſure thy returning to him
ſhall not be without a finding of him: only make this
uſe of thy experience of ſuch a caſe: bleſs the mercy
of God, that hath not rejected thee, though thou haſt
forſaken him : bleſs the meditation of thy Redeemer,
that when thou little thinkeſt of it, intercedes for thy
pardon, and ſends out his Spirit to reduce his way-
ward, finful, wandering creature : bleſs the bounty
and patience of God, that is ſo ready to accept again
into favour his relapſed but humbled creature; and
remember that it is an evil thing and a bitter to de-
part from him: fall upon thy knees with tears of
forrow for thy ingratitude, and tears of joy for thy
re-entertainment into the preſence of him that yet is
pleaſed to own thee as a father : take up indignation
againſt thy ſin that hath deprived thee of ſo great a
good as the comfortable preſence of God; and take
up jealous thoughts over thyſelf and all thy ways, and
conſider well of all thy enterpriſes before thou under-
take them, whether there be any thing in them that
may offend thy reconciled father : and becauſe thy
judgment is weak, and cannot ſo clearly diſcern thy
Isaiah lix. 2.
way
272
Seasonable Considerations for
1
way, and thy ſtrength is weak in oppoſing of tempta-
tion, ſuſpect thy own judgment and ſtrength, and beg
his wiſdom to teach thee, and his ſtrength to afliſt thee,
and lean not to thy own underſtanding.
Again : The conſideration of the preſence of God
is of ſingular uſe in all thy duties of piety and charity :
in the doing of them it will cleanſe thy heart from
hypocriſy, becauſe thou art before the God that
ſearcheth the heart, and accordingly accepteth of the
action. It will keep thee from unſeemlineſs and
want of reverence, becauſe the Lord of Heaven and
Earth is preſent and an eye-witneſs to all the deport-
ment of the body and ſoul. It will keep thee from
fluggiſhneſs, formality and deadneſs of heart, becauſe
he ſtands by thee that fees not as man fees. It will
keep thee from pride and vain glory: it will make thy
heart fincere, reverent, watchful, earneſt and humble
in all thou doſt, becauſe as he that ſtands by thee re-
quires all this in all thy duties, ſo theſe affections or
habits of the foul become the creature that knows he
is in the preſence of the glorious and infinite God, that
fearcheth the hearts, and fees the actions. And as
în thy duties it will fit thee for them, ſo after thy duties
it will comfort thee in them. Hath thy heart been
truly humbled in his preſence for any ſin, for which
thou haſt begged pardon, and mingled the blood and
interceſſion of thy Saviour with thy prayers ? Haft
thou been upon thy knees before him for any thing
neceſſary for thy ſoul, body, or relations ? Haſt thou
endeavoured, by a ſerious meditation, to conſider of
Divine Truths Haſt thou examined the ſtate of
ſoul and of thy life, and upon there view thereof taken
up reſolutions of amendment of what is amiſs, and
perſevering and increaſing in what is agreeable to his
will? Haſt thou fought out to relieve thoſe that are in
want, to recompenſe thoſe that thou haſt injured, to
advance the Goſpel of Jeſus Chriſt ? Haſt thou been
doing any thing that is the duty of thy general calling
as thou art a Chriſtian, or that particular calling or
employment
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 273
6
6
f
1,6
employment into which God's providence hath caſt
thee? And can thy heart bear thee witneſs, that in all
this thou haſt endeavoured with all ſincerity, as in the
preſence of God, to 'walk and act in obedience to him,
and with a clear and upright heart and conſcience ?
Be ſure thy heart cannot more clearly evidence itſelf
to thyſelf than it doth to God; and God was all this
while preſent with thee, beholding of thee; there
is not one grain of the ſincerity and integrity of any
of theſe thy actions, not one tear, not one thought
of thy heart loft, but moſt exactly obſerved and weigh-
ed by him that weigheth the Spirits, and they ſhall not
return unto thee empty. Thy prayers and thy alms
are come up for a memorial before God 1.'
3. The truth and unchangeableneſs of God. He is un-
changeable in his nature. They ſhall be changed,
6 but thou art the fame 2.' “ 'I am the Lord, I change
not, therefore
ye
fons of Jacob are not conſumed 3.
'The Father of lights, with whom is no variableneſs
nor ſhadow of turning 4.' And from this immuta-
bility of his effences flows the truth of his Word in
his Covenant, in his Promiſes, in his Threatnings, in
his Works. “The works of his hands are verity and
‘judgment, and all his Commandments are furę. 59
And the very variety of his diſpenſations of mercy
and juſtice to the children of men, ariſeth from the
very unchangeable nature of God, even from the very
firſt creation until now. . If thou doſt well, halt thou
not be accepted ? and if thou doſt not well, ſin lieth
at the door 6;' which is the very fame ruler whereby
God juſtifies the equality of his ways; “Is not my way
' equal ? are not your ways unequal ? When a righte-
ous man turneth away from his righteouſneſs, and
* committeth iniquity, and dieth in them, for his
iniquity that he hath done he ſhall die. Again,
• When the wicked man turneth away from his wick-
edneſs,' &c. he ſhall fave his foul alive 7;' which is
2 Psal. cii. 27.
4 James i. 17.
* Psal. cxi. 7. . Gen, iv. 7. ? Ezek. xviii. 25, 26, 27.
VOL. I.
but
(
C
s
1 Acts X. 4.
3 Mal. iii. 6.
T
274 Seasonable Considerations for
but the ſame under the Goſpel.: "Who will render
' to every man according to his deeds 1.' Though
the great God be abſolute Lord of his creatures to
do with them what he pleaſeth, yet the various condi-
tions of his creatures in the courſe of judgments and
mercies, are not from any change in God, but in us :
it is the ſame holineſs and purity of God that is uni-
form and conſtant to itſelf, that works theſe different
effects upon the creature; as the ſame uniform heat of
the fun works ſeeming contrary effects, according to
the diverſity of the ſubject; fo that his ways are ſtill
equal, ſtraight and righteous. And this conſideration,
as it may ſtrengthen our hearts in the promiſes of God,
ſo it will make the hiſtories of the Book of God of fingu-
lar uſe to us upon all occaſions, when we ſhall ſay with
David, 'I will remember the years of the right hand
of the Moſt High: I will remember the works of the
6 Lord: I will remember thy wonders of old 2 ;' and
together with it conſider that the ſame Lord that did
thus or thus in former times, is the ſame God
yeſterday, to day, and for ever. And by this confi-
deration every Hiſtory in the Book of God is as a
meaſure for all the preſent or future concernments of
myſelf and others, and will teach me how to behave
myſelf in the like occaſions, and to judge even of fu-
ture events. In the paſſages of nature we fee a won-
derful order and conſtancy for the moſt part; for all
things conform themſelves to thoſe rules which God
hath put into them; and that is the beſt and higheſt
reſolution we can give for them; for when we come
to make a particular inquiry into the particular
cauſes of thoſe things, there is not the eaſieſt part of
his work, and that which long and conſtant continu-
ance hath made obvious to all men, but the wiſeſt of
men, notwithſtanding all theſe advantages, are puzzled
and confounded in ; becauſe the God of Nature hath
not revealed it to men. " His way is in the ſea, and
6 his path in the great waters, and his footſteps are not
1 Rom, ii. 6. Psal, lxxvii, 10.
known
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 275
3
known l.' There we ſee a certainty, but we cannot find
the immediate inſtrument or cauſe of it: but in the paſ-
ſages of mankind we are not to ſeek for any certainty
at all, or the cauſes of that uncertainty, which made the
wiſe man conclude that God had fet the one againſt
the other, that men ſhould find nothing after him ?,
which is moſt certainly true as to a bare natural Cs ra-
tional obſervation : yet even theſe works of God are
fought out of all them that have pleaſure in them,
and though his judgments are a great deep 4, ún-
ſearchable and paſt finding out 5, till he is pleaſed to
diſcover them; yet he is ſtill unchangeable, and the
ſame yeſterday, and to day, and for ever. So much
even of thoſe ſecret ways towards men, as is expedient
for our knowledge and uſe, he hath diſcovered in his
Book to thoſe that will diligently obſerve it: Thus,
« The ſecret of the Lord is with them that fear him 6."
The moſt of the varieties that happen to the children
of men do ariſe from the immutability of God in his
purity and in his juſtice. If a ſtraight line be drawn
parallel to another, though they be infinitely extended,
they will keep the fame diſtance one from another
but if the line be crooked, it will be in ſome places
nearer, ſome places farther off, and it may be will croſs
the ſtraight line. God hath given to man a liberty
of his will, and ſo long as his will, and the actions of
his will, ran parallel in a ſtraight line to the will of God,
there was ſtill a communication of good from God to
his creature: but when man choſe crooked ways, he is
drawn thereby fometimes away from God, and ſo is
removed from his bleſſings and communion; fome-
times it crofſeth and thwarts him, and then it meets
with his wrath and vengeance. And this muſt needs
be fo, unleſs we ſhould, with the preſumptuous fool
in the Pſalmiſt 7, think that God is ſuch a one as our.
felves, and his will as crooked as ours. If a bare rea-
fonable man had looked upon the ſtate of the Jews
i Psal. lxxvii. 19,
s Psal. cxi. 2. Psal. xxxyi. 6.
* Rom. xi. 33,
7 Psal. l. 21.
T 2
from
ܕ
A
+
. Eccles. vii. 14.
6 Psal. xxy. 14.
1
276 Seasonable Considerations for
from the time of their going out of Egypt until their
final captivity, he would eaſily fee as much variety
as in any ſtate of men, and perhaps ſee as little cauſe
for it: but yet that very changeableneſs of their con-
dition doth moſt admirably ſet forth the immutability
of God, and inſtruct us how to judge of things and
me... They were a people in covenant with him, and
he was pleaſed to enter into covenant with them; and
fo long as they kept to their undertaking, not one tittle
of all his promiſe failed them. But when they once
forſook him he warns, and if they repent not he for-
fakes them; if they walk contrary to him, he walks
contrary to them; and if after all this. they return
and repent, he returns to them. See Pſal. cvi.'cvii
. the
abbreviation of their viciffitudes. And when at laſt
they were wholly corrupted, then the wrath of God
aroſe, and there was no remedy. All theſe vaieties
juſtify the equality and evenneſs of the ways of God:
and manifeſt the crookedneſs and inequality of the
ways of men.
And is God the ſame now that he was then? his
ways then are the ſame now that they were then. Art
thou one that haft entered into covenant with God?
beware thou keep to it, and walk humbly with thy
God; if not, be ſure thou ſhalt meet with the like
meaſure as his people of old did; his juſtice is the ſame
ftill, he will ſcourge thee with the rod of men, though
if thou haſt a heart to return, he will not utterly take
his loving kindneſs from thee. And haft thou met
with the fruit of this ſin in a temporal puniſhment ?
confider it is an evil thing and a bitter to depart from
the Living God. What madeſt thou wander from
thy ſtrength and thy ſafety as well as thy covenant
and thy duty ? What couldſt thou expect to find when
thou ſtruggleft from him, but that fome evil fhould
overtake thee? Get home again as faſt as thou canſt
and as thou haſt found that he is the fame God of
juſtice that ever he was; ſo thou ſhalt find that he is
the fame God of Mercy and tenderneſs, upon return-
$
;
ing,
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 277
ng, that ever he was. And he remembered for them
“
his covenant, and repented according to the multi-
tude of his mercies 1
It is true, the ſame thing may befall ſeveral men,
or one man at ſeveral times, and yet they may be of
different natures; one may be a chaſtiſement, another
may be a trial, and another may be a favour: it is ac-
cording as the thing ſent hath its commiſſion from
him that ſends it. If it be a chaſtiſement, it is not
without a fting. If it be a trial, it is not without an
iſſue. If it be a favour, it is not without a great mea-
ſure of comforts mingled with it.
1. A chaſtiſement for a fin paſt carries with it the
poiſon and malignity of the ſin which cauſes it ; as
the fruit carries, the nature of that feed from whence
it grows.
' Thy way and thy doings have procured
theſe things unto thee: this is thy wickedneſs be-
& cauſe it is bitter 2' «The affliction taſted of the fin 3'.
Mine iniquities have taken hold upon me 4.' There
* is no reſt in my bones becauſe of my fin 5. And
this, 'like the trumpet in the mount, waxeth louder
and louder, and prayers for deliverance prove fruitleſs,
though they come from a Joſhua 6, till the accurſed
thing be fought out; for till then the meſſage thar the
affliction brings is not received, and it will not give
over vexing the man till it hath done his errand. When
a man begins to examine his ways, and finds out the
root of his trouble, and humbles himſelf before God
for his ſin, then, and not till then, can he expect a de-
liverance. When David 7 had run over the catalogue
of his ſufferings, his prayer for deliverance was never
ſeaſonable 8, till he had undertaken confeſſion and re-
pentance of his fin 9. If upon the gentle admonitions
of the Almighty in the conſcience, a man liitens not,
4 Psal. xl. 12,
i Psal. cvi. 45.
* Psal. xxxviii. 3.
- Isąl. xxxviii. 22.
2 Jer. xxi. 14. 9 Jer. iy. 18.
6 Josh. vii. 10. 7 Psal. xxxviii.
. Psal. xxxviii, 78,
T 3
he
1
278 Seasonable Considerations for
he hath a meſſenger fent to him that will be heard.
* Then he openeth the ear of man!;' and it may be
by a diſeaſe in his body, or ſome other affliction, and
he ſtands by to ſee how this meſſage is entertained.
6
And if any fay, I have finned and perverted what
was right, and it profited me not, then he will deli-
ver his ſoul 2, &c. A chaſtiſement for a fin hath
at the ſame time an act of juſtice, as it looks back-
ward to the fin, and an act of mercy, as it looks for-
ward to an amendment: and the latter is the principal
end of God in it; and therefore with the repentance
either the chaſtiſement is......... if immanent 3, or if
tranfient and paſt, is ſweetened with a ſenſe of God's
reconciliation.
2. If it be a trial, that carries with it his meſſage ;
for if upon an impartial inquiry, a man cannot find any
eminent fin unrepented of, yet it, pleaſeth God to
lay his hand upon him; yet it brings theſe leſſons
with it: 1. To acknowledge the juſtice of God for all
this. It is ſomewhat ſtrange that Job could ſo much
juſtify himſelf againſt his ſufferings, and yet was made
to pofieſs the fins of his youth. Thoſe little fins,
which were paffed twenty or thirty years ſince, and
had all the extenuations of the infirmity of nature, have
malignity enough in them to deſerve thoſe ſufferings
that thou now art under; and it was the patience
of God towards thee that they were thus long before
they bore their fruit, when thou art in a better con-
dition to make uſe of the puniſhment, than thou wert
ſhortly after their commiſſion: and it may be thy
repentance, even for thoſe long paſt tranſgreſſions,
was not particular or deep enough, and it is no lofs
of time or labour to thee to mourn again over thy ſtale
tranſgreſſions : but howſoever let it be thy care to
ſearch, thyself, it will make thee better acquainted with
thyielf. 'If thou find a ſin notdeeply enough forrowed
for, thy affliction hath deferved well at thy hands;
and if thou find it not, yet thy affliction is well recom-
1 Job xxxiii. 16. Job xxvii. 8. permanent.
penſed,
1
S
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 279
bare ye
penſed, by giving thee an opportunity to diſcover that
to thyſelf, which contents thy conſcience more valua-
bly than thy affliction hath done thee prejudice. 2. To
acknowledge the Sovereignty of God, and to fubmit
to his will with an obedient patience: 'It is the Lord,
. let him do what ſeemeth him good , I was dumb
' and opened not my mouth, becauſe thou didſt it?'
• Behold, as the clay is in the hand of the potter, ſo
in my hands 3.' Though thou canſt not ſee a
cauſe for thy afflictions that might ſignally deſerve it,
nor canſt fee an end it; yet thou canſt not chooſe but
find a uſe of it to teach thee with wiſdom to ac-
knowledge, and with patience to ſubmit unto the moſt
juſtly unlimited power and authority of the Almighty
God over the work of his own hands, and to put thy
mouth in the duſt, and to wait for him and upon him4,
till he give an expected end 5. 3. To depend and reſt
upon his mercy and goodneſs for deliverance from, or
ſtrength and comfort in thy affliction. As the crea-
ture is eſſentially dependent upon God, ſo it is its
duty and perfection; and he uſeth the abſence of
external confidences and comforts, upon which we
are moſt apt to reſt, to call man to his duty, to fix
his heart upon him 6. External confidences many times
rob God of that Love and that dependence we owe
to him, and if the loſs or want of them ſend thy love
and confidence to him, to whom it belongs, thou art
no loſer by thy loſs. 4. To walk more ſtrictly and
vigilantly with God. Though thou canſt not upon
thy examination find a cauſe of thy croſs, that may
eminently diſcover itfelf in it, yet thou canſt not chuié
but know thou art far ſhort of that duty and degree of
perfection in thy heart and life, which by that aſſiſtance
of his grace that thou haſt, thou mayeſt arrive unto :
thy affliction, though it put thee not in mind of any
notable fin, which ſhould humble thee, it may very
well put thee in mind of thy neglects and want of in-
2 Psalın xxxix. 9.
Jancs iii.
6 Psalni cx1.7.
T 4
tention
1
I Samn, iii. 18
• Jer. xviii. 6.
4 Jer. xxix. 11
1
280 Seasonable Considerations for
1
tention in thy duty. 5. Though thy diſeafe needs
not this phyfic to cure thee, yet thy corruption needs
it to prevent thee: thou haſt within thee a fountain of
corruptions, that, were they not reſtrained or allayed,
would upon a fmall opportunity turn to a deſperate
diſeaſe in thy ſoul; and thoſe corruptions of thine live
and feed upon external ſuperfluities and ſupplies; and
the wiſe God foreſees it may be, that in a month or
two,' or more or leſs, thy full enjoyments would ripen
this or that corruption into a diſtemper, that might be
dangerous, if not fatal to thy ſoul, and he ſends this
mefſenger to abate, or allay, or divert, or croſs, or
weaken this corruption, to put in a little wormwood
into thy ſweet cup, that thou mayeſt take it with more
moderation, and not fo greedily; to throw ſome dirt
upon thy ſelf-opinion or growing pride, that may ſpoil
the growth of it ; to give a check to thy deſires of ex-
ternal wealth or greatneſs, which without it would in
a little time fwell into a ſtark ambition or covetouf.
neſs. The Evangeliſt tells us, 'that "All that is in
the world is the luft of the fleſh, the luſt of the eyes,
6 and the pride of life;' that is, thoſe luſts that are in
us faften upon their ſuitable objects in the world, and
upon them they live and grow ſtrong, and are thereby
the better enabled to fight againſt our fouls; and God
ſhews as much mercy when he takes away their food,
and ſtarves them by an affliction, as when he pardons
them: therefore learn by thy affliction the mind of
God in this alſo ; and bleſs him as well for an affliction
that prevents thee from fin, as for one that leads thee
to repentance., 6. It may be God hath ſome extra-
ordinary work to do for thee or by thee, prepares thee
by thoſe afflictions with humility, that thou mayeſt be
a fit inſtrument for his glory, or a fit vefſel for his
bounty: a ſudden acceſs of greatneſs, or wealth, or
power, or eminence'is apt to make thy nature ſwell and
look big and deny God 1, therefore he prepares thee
with the ſenſe of his hand to fhew how he can, when
1 Prov. XXX. 0.
he
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 281
he pleaſeth, handle thee with the experience of the bene
fit of dependance upon him, with a condition that may
teach thee to walk humbly with him: otherwiſe thou
wilt not be able to bear and to manage that condition he
intends to put thee in, with moderation, with his fear,
with an eye unto him and to his glory. Thus he
prepared David for the Crown, Job for Wealth, the
People of Israel for Canaan, that they might receive
and uſe it with thankfulneſs, as from his hand ; with
ſobriety and faithfulneſs, as in his preſence. 7. How-
foever it is of moſt certain and univerſal uſe to take off
thy love from this world; to preſent it to thee as it is;
to take thee off from ſetting up tabernacles and thy
reſt here, and to carry thy thoughts and thy deſires to
thy home and to thy country, and to make the re-
membrance of it frequent and ſweet, and that
upon which thou 'reckoneſt; to make thy paſſage
through death eaſy and comfortable, when thou ſhalt
conſider ſuch thoughts as theſe: “I am in a body full
of pains and weakneſſes and diſeaſes, ſo that I have
' much ado to keep up my cottage to be comfortable
or uſeful to me, but am buſied every day to un-
' derprop it and repair it, that it fall not; and when
“I have done my beſt, yet old age will come, and
that will be an irreparable decay, and my anxious
life will moſt ſurely be attended with a certain death ;
I live in a world full of labour at the beſt, to pro-
* vide neceſſaries for my ſupport in a world full of
* troubles, dangers, and calumnies. If my outward
scontentments increaſe, yet my cares and my fears
increaſe with them: but my condition is not fuch,
but with the Pſalmiſt I have cauſe to ſay, "All the
day long have I been plagued and chatened every
'
morning 1 ;' and, like Noah's dove, I can find here
no reſt for the fole of my foot. My walk here is
like a pilgrimage, and my path is not plain and eaſy,
but narrow, and deep, and troubleſome; on either
“ hand of me I paſs through the ſcorns and injuries
and vexation of the men of this world; who, if I
i Psalm lxxiii. 14.
want,
282 Seasonable Considerations for.
" by the
6
want, will not relieve me, and if I have anything, they
are ready to tear it from me ; and my way, which of
itfelf is thus troubleſome, is accompanied with ſtorms,
' and ſtumbling blocks, and fiery aſſaults raiſed by
' the prince of this world ; and if I take up a lodging
way, it is neither a pleaſing nor a ſafe
lodging; my dangers and difficulties are greater in
my
inn than they are in my journey. To what pur-
poſe go I about to ſet up my reft, or to build taber-
nacles here! The time I can ſtay will be but ſhort,
6
and
my ſhort ſtay in ſuch a world as this cannot be
pleaſing nor comfortable; and this is not my home,
but I fee it at a diſtance, I find it as it were in land-
'ſcapes 1, the tabernacle of God, where he ſhall wipe
away all tears from mine eyes, and there ſhall be no
more death, neither forrow nor crying, neither ſhall
* there be any more pain : and then theſe my light af-
flictions, which are here but for a moment, thall be
e rewarded with an eternal weight of glory. In the
• confidence and ſtrength of this expectation I will hold
i on my troubleſome journey with cheerfulnefs, and
e look upon this world as the place of my pilgrimage,
not of my reſt; and the unpleaſingneſs of my pilgri-
mage ſhall heighten, if it be poſſible, the expectation as
6 well as the fruition of my home; and the more unwel.
come the world is to me, and I to it, the more ſhall
'my heart undervalue and diſeſteem it, and ſend forth
'my defires the more earneſtly for my journey's end,
* teach me to welcome death, and to deſire to be diſ-
• ſolved and to be with Chriſt, which is beſt of all.'
3. Sometimes external troubles are in themſelves
an expreſs token of the love of God, and they carry
with them comfort and delight; namely, when it is
a perſecution for Righteouſneſs ſake; and in thoſe
both the precepts of Chriſt and the pattern of his
diſciples command us up to rejoicing ; Rejoice and
. be exceeding glad 2. ' Count it all joy 3. Rejoicing
• that they were accountedworthy to ſuffer ſhame for his
1 Revel. xxi. 2 Matt. v. 10, 11, 12, $ James i. 2.
name!
6
1
Cleansing the Heart and Life. 283
name 1 !! Who now rejoice in my ſufferings for
* you, and fill up that which is behind of the afflictions
of Chriſt in my fleſh 2.'
4. The fourth confideration is of the Mercy of God:
and therein, 1. His patience and forbearing mercy while
we are in our fins: 2. His clemency and forgiving mercy
upon our repentance: 3. His bounty and rewarding
mercy in the whole courſe of our lives and hopes.
1. The Patience, Long-suffering, and Forbearance
of God from our infancy; God leads us as once he
did Ephraims, teaching us to go, and taking us
by the arm, but we know it not, and bears with the
frowardneſs, and peeviſhneſs, and ſtubbornneſs, and
wantonneſs of our youth : and when we come to our
riper age, he plants us with the choiceſt vine, with
the inſtruction of his Word and Providence; and now
he doth, as juſtly he may, expect grapes, and we
bring forth no grapes, or wild ones 4 ; and now how
juſt were it for him to pull up the hedge of it, and
command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it; or
to lay upon it that fad curſe, "Never fruit grow on thee
more 5?' But he doth not thus, but expects a ſecond,
and a third, and a fourth year, and uſes all means to
mend this unfruitful and unprofitable plant; uſeth line
upon line and precept upon precept; and if his Word, nor
the ſecret whiſpers of his Grace will not do 7, he uſeth
a ſharper and louder meſſenger; he ſpeaks that he
may not ſtrike, and if he ſtrikes, it is unwillingly 8,
and that he may not deſtroy; and deſtroys, nor re-
jects not, till his ſtrokes prove fruitleſs : “Why ſhould
ye be ſtricken any more I:' till there be no remedy.
He endures with long-ſuffering, even the veſſels or-
dained to wrath 10; his fpirit did ſtrive with the old
world !!, was grieved forty years with the paflages of
a rebellious people 12, preſſed with our fins as a cart
1
ܪ
4
! Acts y. 41.
4 Isa. v. 2, I
7 Job xxxiii. 4,
10 Rom. ix, 22.
2 Coloss. j. 24,
5 Matt. xxi. 19.
* Lam. iii. 33.
Gen. vi, S.
§ Hos. xi. 8.
6 Luke xiii. 8.
9 Isa, i.5.
12 Psal. xcy. 10.
under
284 Seasonable Considerations for
1
I
under fheaves !, and yet no final deſtruction. That
admirable expoſtulation of God's merciful patience,
How ſhall I give thee up, Ephraim ? how fall I
deliver thee Ifrael? how ſhall I make thee as Admah?
how ſhall I ſet thee as Zeboim? mine heart is turned
within me, my repentings are kindled together, I
will not execute the fierceneſs of mine anger, I will
'not return to deſtroy Ephraim, I am God and not
sman 2.' As if he ſhould have ſaid, It is true thou art
Ephraim and Israel, a People that I have only known
of all the families of the earth 3; a people that I have
choſen, and thou art called by my name; but by how
much the nearer thou art unto me, by fa much the
greater is thy ingratitude. That, which in another people
would be a ſin, is in thee rebellion and apoſtacy. Admah
and Zeboim were a 'people that knew me not, that
never entered into covenant with me ; they had no
light to guide them but that of nature ; and when they
finned, my wrath broke out in the moſt eminent
judgment that ever was heard of: but thou haſt been
a vine of my own planting, and watering, and dreſſing,
and yet thy fruit hath been the fruit of Sodom : thou
haft made me to ſerve with thy ſins, and according to
the number of thy cities were thy Gods, O Israel :
Hear, O Heavens, and give ear, O Earth, for the
· Lord hath ſpoken ; I have nouriſhed and brought
up children, and they have rebelled againſt me 4 ;
And ſhould I not be avenged upon ſuch a people as
this? How can I ? How can I not make thee as Admah,
and ſet thee as Zeboim? If a man, as thou art, ſhould but
once ſhew but a grain of that ingratitude unto thee,
which thou multiplieſt towards me days without num-
ber, thy revenges would be as high as thy power, and
thou wouldeſt juſtify thy ſevereſt dealings with him
nay, if I thy Lord, that can owe thee nothing but wrath,
ſhould withdraw but any of my own bleſſings from
thee, thou art ready to throw off all, and preſently to
Anios ii. 13.
· Hos. xi. &.
$ Amos iii. 2.
4 Isa. i. 2.
upbraid
C
;
1
1
1
Cleansing the Heart and Life.
285
upbraid me with thy unuſeful ſervices : “ What profit
.
“ have I if I be cleanſed from my fins 1 ? And how
canſt thou after all this expect any thing from me,
but that my wrath ſhould burn againſt thee like fire,
till thou wert conſumed, and that I ſhould ſtir up
all
the fury of my jealouſy towards you? 0, but Ephraim,
I am God, and not man, and therefore ye Sons of
Jacob are not conſumed: my mercy and my patience
are not the narrow qualities or habits of a mortal fan,
but the infinite attributes of an infinite God. Though
I can fee nothing in thee, but what deſerves my wrath,
I can find that in myſelf, that ſend sout my compaſſion,
a heart 'turned by returning upon my own mercy,
and repentings kindled upon the conſiderations of niy
own covenant with thy fathers, kindled by a ſacri-
fice that thou little thinkeſt of, even the ſacrifice of
my own Son: I will not therefore. execute the fierce-
nefs of my anger. Although it be thy duty to repent,
ſịnner, yet I will repent of my wrath even before thou
repent of thy ſin: it may be my long-ſuffering will
, as
it ſhould do, lead thee to repentance 2: But if after all
this thou deſpiſeſt the riches of my goodneſs and for-
bearance and long-ſuffering, know that thou treaſureſt
up unto thyſelf wrath againſt the day of wrath; and
that day will ſurely find thee; and then thou wilt find
that every day's forbearance and patience, that thou
haft had and abuſed, 'hath ripened and improved
thy guilt; and made thy fin out of meaſure ſinful,
and will add weight and fire to my wrath, which
like a talent of lead, ſhall everlaſtingly lye upon that
treaſure of thy fin and guilt.
2. His pardoning Mercy. Thoſe tender and pathe-
tical expreſſions of God's mercy, in pardoning ſin upon
repentance and turning to him, carry more weight
than it is poſſible for our fpirits to ariſe unto. Come
- now, and let us reaſon together : though your fins
were as ſcarlet, they ſhall be as white as ſnow;
* though they be red as crimſon, they ſhall be like
1
1 Job xxxy. S.
9 Rom. ii. 4,
6 wool,
286 Seasonable Considerations, &c.
c
wool 1.' Thou haſt made me to ſerve with thy ſins,
thou haſt wearied me with thine iniquities; I, even
“I am he that blotteth oụt thy tranſgreſſions for mine
• own ſake, and will not remember thy ſins 2' Let
the wicked forſake his way, and the unrighteous man
his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he
will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for he
will abundantly pardon ; for my thoughts are not
your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways; for.
as the Heavens are higher than the Earth, fo are my
ways higher than your ways 3.?"Go,and proclaim theſe
< words: Return thou backſliding Ifrael, and I will not
• cauſe mine anger to fall upon you, for I am merci-
e ful, faith the Lord, and will not keep anger
for
ever,
only acknowledge thine iniquity, &c. 4.
· Isa. xliii. 24, 25. 3 Isa. ly. 9.
6
1 Isa. i. 18.
4 Jer. iii. 12.
A DIS.
A DISCOURSE OF RELIGION,
IN THREE PARTS.
PART I.
THE ENDS AND USES OF IT, AND THE ERRORS OF MEN
TOUCHING IT.
PART II.
THE LIFE OF RELIGION, AND SUPERADDITIONS, TO IT.
PART III.
THE SUPERSTRUCTIONS UPON IT, AND ANIMOSITIES
ABOUT IT.
[ 288 ]
A DISCOURSE OF RELIGION.
PART I.
THE ENDS AND USES OF IT,
AND
THE ERRORS OF MEN TOUCHING IT.
1
TRUE
Rue religion is the greateſt improvement, advan-
tage, and privilege of Human Nature; and that which
gives it the nobleſt and higheſt pre-eminence above
other viſible creatures.
We may obſerve in many brute beaſts and birds,
admirable inſtincts, dexterities, and fagacities; and in
fome of them fome dark reſemblances of reaſon, or
ratiocination ; but Religion is ſo appropriate to the
human nature, that there are ſcarce any fort of men,
but have ſome Religion ; nor do the moſt ſubtle or
ſagacious brutes afford any figns thereof, as commu-
nicated to their natures.
It is one of the chiefeſt mercies and bleſſings that
Almighty God hath afforded to the children of men,
and that which ſignally manifeſts his providential care
towards and over them, that in all ages and among all
nations he hath given to them ſome means and helps
to diſcover unto them, though in different degrees,
fome principal ſentiments of true religion : 1. By the
ſecret characters, and impreſſions, and ſtructures there-
of in their minds and conſciences. 2. By his glorious
and
-
A Discourse of Religion.
289
and admirable works, commonly called the Works of
Nature. 3. By ſignal providences, and providential
regiment of the world. 4. By raiſing up men in ail
ages, of great wiſdom, obſervation, and learning,
which did inſtruct the more ignorant in this great con-
cernment, the rudiments of natural Religion. 5. By
traditionary tranſmiſſion of many important truths and
directions of life, from anceſtors to their poſterity, and
others; though in proceſs of time evil cuſtoms and
evil men did, in a great meaſure, impair and corrupt
the ſentiments and practices of men, notwithſtanding
theſe helps. Therefore the fame mercy and goodneſs of
God, for the preſervation and propagation of the true
Religion, was pleaſed to ſubſtitute a more fixed and
permanent means, namely, the Holy Scriptures, or
Divine Revelations, committed to writing in the books
of the Old and New Teſtament. Though the Reli-
gion delivered in both Teſtaments, be in ſubſtance the
ſame; yet the true Religion was more fully, and
plainly, and diſtinctly delivered by Chrift and his
Apoſtles in the New Teſtament, together alſo with
ſome additional inſtructions, for the better preſerva-
tion and propagation thereof to mankind, and divers
additional evidences to prove and manifeſt the truth of
this Religion, to procure its belief and acceptation : as
the birth, miracles, death, refurreétion and Afcenfion of
Chriſt Jeſus, the great reformer of the Jewiſh, and
great Inſtitutor of the Chriſtian Religion, ſo called
from Chriſt, that taught and aſſerted it. The Chriſtian
Religion is the moſt perfect rule of our duty to God,
ourſelves and others; and was deſigned principally for
theſe great ends :
1. To reſtore to the glorious God, the honour, duty,
and obedience of his creature, Man; teaching him to
know, to glorify, and ſerve his Creator; to be thankful
to him, to ſubmit to his Will, to obey his Law and
Comniand, to be thankful for his mercies, to acknow-
ledge him in all his ways, to call upon him, to worſhip
him, to depend upon him, to walk ſincerely in his
government
fight,
1
VOL. I.
U
290
A Discourse of Religion.
ſight, to admire and adore his Greatneſs and Good-
neſs in all his works, eſpecially in the great work of
the Redemption of Mankind, by his Son Chrift
Jeſus.
2. To enable Man to attain everlaſting happineſs, the
perpetual viſion of the glorious God, and to fit and
prepare him to be a partaker of the inheritance of the
Saints, in Light and Glory.
3. To compoſe and ſettle mankind in ſuch a decent
and becoming rectitude, order, and deportment in this
world, as may be ſuitable to the exiſtence of a reaſon-
able nature, and the good of mankind; which conſiſts
principally in a double relation : 1. To a man's ſelf,
fobriety. 2. To others, which conſiſts in thoſe two
great habits or difpofitions beneficent to mankind, viz.
righteouſneſs, or juſtice and charity, or love and bene-
ficence.
Theſe three great ends are fuccinctly delivered,
• For the grace of God, that bringeth falvation, hath
appeared unto all men, teaching us, that denying
ungodlineſs and worldly luſts, we ſhould live ſoberly,
righteouſly, and godly in this preſent world 1.' Here
we have theſe three ends of Chriſtian Religion :
2. Godlineſs, or our duty to God. 2. Salvation, or our
own everlaſting happineſs. 3. Sobriety, righteouſneſs,
which alſo includeth charity, a part of Evangelical
Righteouſneſs.
And becauſe Chriſtian Religion was intended and
inſtituted for the good of mankind, whether poor or
rich, learned or unlearned, ſimple or prudent, wiſe or
weak; it was fitted with ſuch plain, eaſy, and evident
directions, both for things to be known, and things to
be d ne, in order to the attainment of the end for
which it was deſigned, that might be underſtood by
any capacity, that had the ordinary and common uſe
of reaſon or human underſtanding, and by the com-
mon aſſiſtance of the Divine Grace might be practiſed
by them
! Titus ii. 11, 12.
The
A Discourse of Religion.
291
A
The credenda, or things to be known or believed, as
ſimply neceſſary to thoſe ends, are but few and intelli-
gible, briefly delivered in that ſummary of Chriſtian
Religion, uſually called the Apoſtle's Creed.
The agenda, or things to be done or forborn, are thoſe
few and excellent precepts delivered by Chriſt and his
apoſtles, in that little book of the New Teſtament;
and yet even the tenth part of that little book will con-
tain all the precepts of Chriſtian duty and obedience
contained in that book. And in brief, the Baptiſmal
Covenant, as it is contained in the Liturgy, and expla-
nation thereof in the Church Catechiſm uſed among
us, together with the precepts of the Decalogue, con-
tain in effect a ſummary or brief epitome of our
Chriſtian duty.
And certainly it was neceſſary and becoming the
wiſdom of the moſt Wiſe God, that that Religion and
doctrine, which equally concerned men of all kinds
and capacities, ſhould be accordingly accommodated, as
might be uſeful for all. If the doctrine or precepts of
Chriſtian Religion ſhould have been delivered in over
ſublime or ſeraphical expreſſions, in high rhetorical
raptures, in intricate and ſubtile phraſes or ſtyle; or if
it ſhould have been ſurcharged with multitude of par-
ticulars, it would have been like a ſealed book to the
far greateſt part of mankind, who yet were equally
concerned in the buſineſs and end of Religion, with
the greateſt philoſophers and clerks 1 in the world.
Upon what hath been ſaid, we may therefore con-
clude,
1. That there is not, nor indeed may not, be any
great difficulty in the attaining of a true faving know-
ledge of Chriſtian Religion.
2. That the duties of Chriſtian Religion are not of
ſo vaſt an extent, but the knowledge of them may be
alſo attained by an ordinary capacity willing to learn.
3. That conſidering that God Almighty is never
wanting with his grace to aſſiſt thoſe that ſincerely en-
deavour and deſire to obey him and ferve him, it is
i scholars
V 2
not
1
292
A Discourse of Religion.
not ſo difficult a buſineſs to perform an Evangelical
obedience to the precepts of the Goſpel ; I ſay an
Evangelical Obedience, though not a perfect obedience;
an obedience that is fincere, though many times weak;
and failings, which nevertheleſs are forgiven, and their
ſincere though imperfect obedience accepted by Al-
mighty God, through the merits and interceſſion of
Chriſt, and our own humiliation and fincere repent-
ance for our failings.
And, 4. That when all is done, in this belief and
this obedience conſiſts our Chriſtian Religion. This is
the one thing neceſſary,' the magnum oportet, which is
of higheſt concernment and greateſt importance to
mankind.
But now if we do but look about us in the world,
and obſerve and conſider the matters wherein men for
the moſt part do place Religion, we ſhall find quite
another kind of rate and nature of Religion than what
Chriſt inſtituted or intended, and yet all veiled and
ſhrouded under the name of Chriſtia nReligion ; and
greater weight and ſtreſs laid upon them than upon
the true, real, grand imports of Chriſtian Religion.
1. I ſhall begin with the fubtilties of great ſcholars,
ſchoolmen, and ſcholaſtic divines. Theſe have turned
Chriſtian Religion into a moſt curious and difficult
ſpeculation, and that which was deſigned by Chriſt
Jeſus as a plain direction to every capacity, to be a
guide to a righteous, holy, and ſober life here, and to
attain everlaſting life hereafter, they have [made] a
mere exerciſe of wit, and a piece of greater ſubtilty
than the abſtruſeſt philofophy or metaphyſics. And
this they have done principally theſe ways:
1. By diſputes about queſtions, that, as they are not
in themſelves neceſſary to be known, ſo they are in
their own nature impoſſible for human underſtandings
to determine: as, for inſtance, many, if not all, the
points controverted between the Arminians and Cal-
viniſts, as touching the manner of the decrees of God,
what kind of influence he hath upon the wills of men.
ta
4
The
A Discourse of Religion.
293
1
The manner of the Divine Knowledge of things fu-
ture, contingent, or poſſible; the reſiſtibility or irre-
fiſibility of Divine Grace; the nature of eternity,
and infinitude, and indiviſibility; the manner of the
exiſtence of the three perſons in the unity of efſence;
the nature of angels and ſpirits ; the manner and
degrees, and method of their knowledge of things ;
their ſeveral ranks and orders, and infinite more ſpe-
culations and diſputes of things that do not in their
own nature fall under the diſcovery of a human un-
derſtanding, by the ordinary courſe of ratiocination,
and are impoſſible to be known further than they are
diſtinctly revealed by Almighty God, and, as it were,
induſtriouſly kept ſecret by Almighty God, becauſe
they are not of uſe to mankind to be known. It is
far more poſſible for a child of three years old to have
a true .conccption of the moſt abſtruſe points in philo-
ſophy, or in the myſtical reaſons of ſtate or politic go-
vernment of a kingdom, than for the wiſeſt man that
ever was, without revelation from God, to have any
tolerable conception or notion of things of this nature,
with any tolerable certainty or evidence.
2. Again, there are other points diſputed which are
of a lower allay, and yet not to be diſtinctly known
without more clear revelation than we yet have of it,
nor yet of any neceſſity for us diſtinctly to know: As,
for inſtance, concerning the Nature and Manner of
Tranſmiſion of Original Sin : How far the ſins of im-
mediate or remote parents affect their poſterity with guilt
or puniſhment: The origination of the Human Soul;
How far the efficacy of the ſacrifice of Chriſt was
intentionally for all men : Concerning the means
of Communication thereof to Infants, Ideots, and
the invincible ignorant: What is the real conſe-
quence of Baptiſm of Infants, or its omiffon: How
far the Will of Man is operative to his converſion,
or perſeverance: Wherein the formal nature of Juſti-
fication conſiſts : How far forth Faith ſingly is ſufficient
for it without fan&tification and babitual holineſs at
laſt,
U 3
294 A Discourse of Religion.
1
1
laft; and how far forth the fincere Love of God, by à
perſon invincibly ignorant of many or moſt points of
Chriſtian Religion, is ſufficient thereunto : Concerning
the Estate of the ſeparate Soul before the laſt Judgment,
and how far it enjoys the beatifical viſion before the
Refurre&tion.
Diſputes touching theſe and the like difficult queſ-
tions, have blown up mens’ fancies with ſpeculations
inſtead of filling their hearts with the true and genuine
effects of Chriſtian Religion.
It is true, that phyſicians and naturaliſts do and
may make inquiries into the method and progreſs of
generation, and digeſtion, and fanguification, and the
motions of the chile, the blood, the humours: for, 1.
They have means of acceſs to the diſcovery thereof, by
diſſection and obſervation. And, 2. It is of ſome uſe
to them in their ſcience, and the exerciſe thereof. But
when all is done, a man of a found conſtitution digeſts
his meat, and his blood circulates, and his ſeveral vel-
ſels and entrails perform their offices, though he know
not diſtinctly the methods of their motions and opera-
tions. But theſe ſpeculations above-mentioned, in
points of Divinity, as they are not poſſible to be dif-
tinctly determined with any certainty, ſo they are of
little uſe to be known.
If the heart be ſeaſoned with the true knowledge
of the things that are revealed, and with the life of the
Chriſtian Religion, and the love of God, it will be
effectual enough to order his life, and bring him to
everlaſting happineſs, though he be not, like an exqui-
fite anatomiſt, acquainted with a diſtinct comprehen-
lion or knowledge of the ſeveral difficult inquiries of
this nature. Believe what is required by the Word
of God to be believed, and do your duty as by that
Word is directed; ſo that the life of religion, and the
love of God be once ſet on foot in the foul, and there
nourihed, and commit yourſelf to the faithfulneſs and
goodneſs of God, and this will be effectual to the
great
1
>
À Discourse of Religion.
295
great end of Religion, though all theſe diſputes be
laid aſide.
3. Again, a third miſchief of ſcholaſtics is in rela-
tion to praktice : 1. Some caſuiflical divines have fo
diſtinguiſhed concerning religious external duties, that
they have left little practical Religion or morality in
the world ; and by their ſubtle, curious diſtinctions,
have made almoſt every thing lawful ; and with the
Phariſees in the time of our Saviour, have made void
the laws of God (and of man alſo) by their traditions
and diſtinctions : ſo that Religion towards God, and
all righteouſneſs and fobriety, is ſo-thin and narrow,
and fubtle, that by their doctrine of probability and ca-
fuiſtical diſtinEtions, all the bones thereof are looſened.
It would be too long to give inſtances in particular :
the late velitations 1 in France between ſome of the
popiſh prieſts and jeſuits, furniſh the world with in-
Atances enough of this kind.
II. The ſecond inſtance is this, the turning of the
greateſt part of Religion into politic contrivances, for
attaining or upholding Power, Wealth, or Intereſt.
There have been inſtances, many in this kind, among
Secular Princes and States. This was the act of Jero.
boam to ſet up idolatrous religion in Samaria, for pre-
venting a return of the ten tribes to the houſe of
David. And we may obſerve it in moſt of the Religions
eſtabliſhed by heatheniſh princes, which were ſo ordered
to accommodate their intereſt, though to the extreme
corrupting of natural religion.
But there is not ſo eminent an inſtance thereof in
the whole world, as that of the eccleſiaſtical ſtate of
the Church of Rome, who have corrupted, as much
as in them lies, the moſt pure and innocent Religion that
ever the world knew, namely, the Chriſtian Religion, by
diſtorting it to ends of wealth and power, and appendi.
cating 2 to it certain new doctrines and practices merely
to thoſe ends. And not only ſo, but have laid the
greateſt weight of Religion in the obferyations of thefe
politic appendications : fo that a man, that either
controversies.
4 annexing
U 4
queſtions
1
296
A Discourse of Religion.
1
و
queſtions or not obſerves the political additaments,
runs as ſevere a cenfure and danger among them, as
he that denies the moſt unqueſtionable principles of
Chriſtian Religion. Such are their doctrines of the
Pope's ſupremacy, the Pope's infallibility; the neceſſity to
Salvation to be of the Romiſh Church; the adoration of
Images, Saints departed, and Angels; the veneration of
Reliques; the doctrine of Purgatory, Indulgencies, and
the Church Treaſury of redundant Merits; the doc-
trine and practice of Diſpenſations and Indulgencies
their Canonization of Saints; their Pilgrimages, nu-
merous Ceremonies, Theatrical Speciacles; their doc-
trine of Tranſubſtantiation, and divers other fuper-
additions and appendications to Chriſtian Religion,
which any perſon, not captivated by them, may with
half an eye perceive to be invented and continued
merely for the ſupport of the grandeur of an Univerſal
Monarchy, which they miſcall The Church, and for
the amaſſing of wealth and power for the ſupport of it,
as might moſt eaſily be evinced by the particular ex-
amination of all thoſe political appendixes.
And yet let any man obferve it, he ſliall find as
great a fervor for the upholding of theſe doctrines
and practices, and as great a jealouſy of the leaſt breach
made upon them, as if the whole concern of Chriſtian
Religion, and the falvation of ſouls, lay in their belief
and obſervance.
III. The third inſtance is in relation to the Foruis of
Church government and ceremonies. That Ecclefi-
aſtical Government is neceſſary for the preſervation of
religion, is evident to any reaſonable and conſiderate
man: and that the Epiſcopal government conſtituted
in England is a moſt excellent form of eccleſiaſtical
government, and exceeds all other forms of eccleſiaſti-
cal government, may be eaſily evinced; and that it
is the beſt adapted to the civil government in this
kingdom, is viſible to any intelligent perſon: and yet
I do not think that the effence of Chriſtian Religion
conſiſts in this or any other particular form of governo
ment.
1
/
1
A Discourse of Religion.
297
ment. It is a great help to the preſervation of it in
its purity and unity, and may be well called Sepi-
muntum Religionis Chriftianæ, as the Jews call their
oral traditions Sepimentum Legis, 'the fence of the law.”
But a man may be a good and excellent Chriſtian
under this or any other form of eccleſiaſtical govern-
ment, nay in ſuch places where poſſibly there is no
ſettled form of eccleſiaſtical government eſtabliſhed.
But it we obſerve many perſons in the world, we
ſhall find fome ſo highly devoted to this or that par-
ticular form of government, as if all the weight of
Chriſtian Religion lay in it: though the wife and ſober
fort of conformiſts 'know and profeſs this, yet there
be fome raſh people that will preſently un-church
all the reformed churches beyond the feas, which are
not under Epiſcopal Government. That if they fee
a man, otherwiſe of orthodox principles, of a pious
and religious life, yet if fcrupling ſome points of Ec-
cleſiaſtical Government, though peaceable, they will
eſteem him little better than a heathen or publican,
a ſchiſmatic, heretic, and what not : on the other
fide, if they fee a man of great fervor in aſſerting
the Ecclefiaftical Government, obſervant of external
ceremonies, though otherwiſe of a looſe and diffolute
life, yet they will be ready to applaud him with the
ſtyle of a Son of the Church, and upon that ac-
count overlook the miſcarriages of his life, as if the
eſſence and life of Chriſtian Religion lay in the bare
aſſerting of the beſt form of Ecclefiaftical Government.
On the other ſide, there is as great an extremity of
the other hand : there are many indiſcreet perſons, as
well Divines as others, that having either by their
education, or by converſation with diffenters, or
poſſibly to gain a party, taken upon them the patronage
of aſſerting of ſome other form of Church-Govern-
ment, either Preſbyterian or Independant, or ſomething
framed by their own invention, preſently cry down
the Eſtabliſhed Government of the Church, as. An.
tichriſtian or Popiſh, and cry up that which they have
thus eſpouſed as the only true Chriſtian Regiment, in-
ſtituted
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ſtituted by Chriſt; and preſently among them, and
their followers, this is made the diſcriminative mark of
a true Chriſtian ; if they ſee a man conformable to the
Eſtabliſhed Government, though he be pious, ſober,
and truly religious, yet they deſpiſe and neglect him,
cenſure him as a formaliſt, and without the power of
godlineſs : but if a man will but revile the Eſtabliſhed
Government, and be bold againſt it, cry it down, and
cry up the new inſtitution into which they are liſted,
though the man be covetous, uncharitable, hard-
hearted, proud, impetuous, and poſſibly otherwiſe
looſe in his converſation, yet ſuch a man ſhall be
cheriſhed, applauded, and cried up for a faint, a pre-
cious man, and zealous for the truth.
And although decent ceremonies, that are for the
preſervation of the dignity of Religion, and to keep
due order and regularity, are not eſſential parts of
Chriſtianity, nor were ever ſo eſteemed by wiſe and
fober men, and yet are of uſe and convenience in the
Church, nevertheleſs, we may eaſily obſerve among
men the ſame extremes as are before noted : fome
placing the whole weight of religion in their ſtrict
obſervance, and making them the principal, if not the
only badge of a ſon of the church, hating and de-
{pifing thoſe that fcruple any thing in them, or that do
not come up in every punctilio to their obſervance,
though they be otherwiſe found in the principles of
faith, pious and ſtrict in their lives, juſt and honeſt to
all men, and ſober, temperate, and blameleſs.
On the other ſide, there be a ſort of men that place
the greateſt ſtreſs and diſcriminating point of Chriſtian
Religion in oppoſing and decrying all inſtituted Ce-
remonies, though innocent, decent, and without
any
the leaſt touch of ſuperſtition in them; yet theſe muſt
be decried as popiſh, antichriſtian, deſtructive of
Chriſtian liberty, and the party that with moſt boldneſs
and vehemence declaims againſt them, is valued by
them as a moſt precious man, a man of zeal and
courage,
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courage, and needs little elſe to juſtify and magnify
him with his party.
On the other fide, though a man be of an holy and
conſcientious life, found in principles, fober, blame-
leſs, peaceable; yet if he obſerve theſe blameleſs
ceremonies, though with great moderation and charity
to difſenters, he ſhall be ſlighted and undervalued,
eſteemed a formaliſt, a time-ſerver, or at beſt a man
wanting courage, zeal, lukewarm, timorous, and
wanting the power of godlineſs. Such wild and wrong
meaſures do men of extremes on all hands take of the
true eſſence and ends of Chriſtianity.
IV. Again, even among profeſſors of the Proteſtant
Religion, there are divers diſputed and controverted
points; as between the Calviniſts and Arminians, eſ-
pecially touching the univerſality of the redemption by
Chriſt, perſeverance and falling from grace; and almoſt
every day there ariſe certain new opinions, fome of
greater importance, but very commonly of ſmall and
inconſiderable moment ; and theſe are taken up by the
ſeveral parties poſſibly agreeing in the fame funda-
mentals of Chriſtian Religion. And fometimes they are
entertained by a party of men, becauſe their paſtors
are of that opinion, or ſeem to be fo; though often
they are taken up, or inſtilled into a party, to make a
diſcriminative mark between perſons of ſeveral con-
gregations. And then it is wonderful to ſee with what
fervor each party maintains its tenent, and as great
weight is laid upon it, as if the whole ſtreſs of
Chriſtian Religion, and the ſalvation of the fouls of
meň, lay upon it; when, God knows, they are not of
any moment in it.
Such was the old controverſy between the Eaſtern
and Weſtern Churches about Eaſter-day, and ancienter
than that, in the Apoſtles' times, about eating of meats
offered to Idols ; and among us at this day touching the
five Arminian queſtions. And yet we ſhall ſee men as
fervent and zealous about them, as cenforious of dif-
ſenters from them, as fond of thoſe with the fame
opinion
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opinion with them, as if all the articles of the
chriſtian faith were immédiately concerned in them ;
when all the while they are not of any moment
to the falvation of men, nor of any concernment to
the Chriſtian Religion, or the ends thereof, but are only
artifices impoſed upon men to hold up parties, or to
keep up ſome man or parties' reputation : imaginations
which men are fond of, becauſe they are their own, at
leaſt theirs whom they have in great veneration oreſteem.
V. Again, the fond miſtakes of men in this kind, are
obſervable in very ſlight and trivial matters, which yet
are entertained with a kind of religious veneration, when
they ſerve to hold up parties, or as diſcriminations of
their profeſſions. Among the profeffed Monks and Friars
they have certain habits affigned to ſeveral orders, and
as well anciently as now, have ſeveral kinds of tonſures
of their heads, which they obſerve with great ſeverity,
and place much religion in them.
And even among the various fects or perſuaſions
among thoſe that leaſt abhor popery, yet we ſhall
find ſome ſuch fond things upon which they lay a great
weight of their religion : fometimes in very looks and
compoſing of their countenance; ſometimes in the
manner or tone of expreſſions ; fometimes in affeeted
phraſes ; fometimes in geſtures ; ſometimes in habits
and dreſſes ; ſometimes in uſe of meats and drinks of
one kind or another. I ſhall give ſome few inſtances.
You ſhall have ſome 'that place a great point of re-
ligion in forbearing the eating of fleſh upon Fridays, or
in the time of Lent, but yet indulge themſelves often-
times in the eating of the choiceſt fiſh, and the moſt
coſtly diet of other meats : others again think they
mult needs go as far on the other extreme chooſing
thoſe ſeaſons for feaſting upon fleſh, and think it aca
ceptable with God, becauſe it runs counter to the other
extreme.
Again, a time there was when it was thought that
long hair was unbecoming profeffors of Chriſtianity,
and upon that account fome did wear their hair ſhort,
even
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even to extremity. But about the beginning of the
late wars, many took up, as they thought, a more
elevated way of Chriſtianity, and as a badge thereof
wore their hair extreme long.
The Conformiſts uſually wear gowns or canonical
coats: many of the Nonconformiſts, by way of diſcri-
mination, uſe other habits.
The former officiate, as the canons require them, in
Surplices, and ſometimes with Hoods; and ſome are
ſo taken with it, that they think the offices want an
eſſential part when performed without it: ſome of the
latter think the folemn ordinances are profaned by it,
and rendered ſuperſtitious.
But among all the differing perſuaſions among us,
there are none that give a man more ample evidence of
miſtakes of this nature, than thoſe called Quakers, who
place a great part of their religion in keeping on their
hats, in uſing the words thee and thou, in ſtyling the
months and days of the week not according to the
uſual appellation, but the firſt or ſecond month, or
day ; in certain habits and poſtures unlike other men;
in ſilent devotions at their public meetings; in reviling
and crying down the Eſtabliſhed Miniſtry, Churches,
Sacraments, Lord's-day, and all manner of Forms,
whether commanded or uſed by others; in refuſing to
take an oath, when lawfully called thereunto; and
ſome ſuch other fingularities. Take away but theſe
and the like affected ſuperadditions, the men are as
other men, ſome indeed very ſober, honeſt, juſt and
plain-hearted men, and found in moſt, if not all the
important doctrines and practices of Chriſtianity;
others (as it happens in all profeſſions) ſubtle, covet-
ouş, uncharitable, tumultuous, ignorant, proud,
deſpiſers of others, flanderers ; and yet, as long as
they conform to the feet in theſe impertinent or
unwarrantable fingularities, they pleaſe themſelves
with the ſtyle of the People of God, and are for the
moſt part eſteemed ſuch by thoſe of that fect.
By this little ſurvey, we may eaſily take an eſtimate
of
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Religion.
of the miſtakes of mankind, and even among Chrif-
tians, touching the miſtakes in point of Chriſtianity and
Chriſtian Religion, and how common it is to miſplace
the name of Chriſtian Religion and the nature of it, and
attribute it to ſuch things as in truth have nothing to
do with it, but many times are directly contrary to it.
And yet evenin theſe impertinencies many times men
place the greateſt moment of their religion, and have as
great and many times a greater zeal andfervor for them
than for the weighty points and duties of Chriſtianity;
and moſt of the buſineſs of many men conſiſts in ve-
fitations, and defences, and invectives about them; the
pulpits and the preſs are engaged about them. Love,
and charity, and even common humanity, and mu-
tual converſation between man and man, church and
church, party and party, is broken by the mutual col-
liſions and animoſities concerning them. So that (the
Lord be merciful to us and forgive us) there is as little
love, and as great diſtance and animoſity between
many of the Diffenting parties among Proteſtants,
touching theſe matters, as there is between Papiſts and
Proteſtants, or between Chriſtians and Infidels. And by
this means the true life of Chriſtian Religion, and that
which was the great end of its inſtitution, and the true
genuine and natural effect of it upon the heart and ſoul,
and courſe of life, is loſt or neglected by them that
profeſs it, or diſparaged among thoſe that either have
not entertained it, or at leaſt entertained it as they do
the cuſtoms of the country wherein they are educated.
Theſe men, when they ſee ſo much religion placed by
profeffors of Chriſtianity in theſe things, which every
intelligent man values but as forms, or inventions, or
modes, or artifices, and yet as great weight laid upon
them, as great fervour and animoſity uſed for or
againſt them, as almoſt for any points of Chriſtian
Religion, they are preſently apt to cenſure and throw
off alļ religion, and reckon all of the fame make.
But when all is done, true Chriſtian Religion is a
thing of another kind of make, and is of another kind
of efficacy, and directed unto, and effective of a nobler
end,
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end, than thoſe things about which, as above ſaid, men
ſo much contend, and that makes ſo great a buſtle and
noiſe in the world. Asthe credenda, orthings to believed,
are but few and plain, ſo the facienda, or things to be
done, are ſuch as do truly ennoble and advance the hu-
man nature, and bring it to its due habitude, both to
God and man.
It teacheth and tutors the foul to a high reverence
and veneration of Almighty God, a fincere and upright
walking as in the preſence of the Inviſible, All-ſeeing
God: it makes a man truly to love, to honour, to
obey him, and therefore careful to know what his
will is: it renders the heart highly thankful to him,
both as his Creator, Redeemer, and Benefactor : it
makes a man entirely to depend upon/him, to ſeek to him
for guidance, and direction, and protection; to ſub-
mit to his will with all patience, and reſignation of
ſoul : it gives the law not only to his words and actions,
but to his very thoughts and purpoſes, that he dares
not entertain a very thought unbecoming the fight and
preſence of that God to whom all our thoughts are
legible: it teacheth and bringeth a man to ſuch a de-
portment both of external and internal ſobriety, as
may be decent in the preſence of God and all his
holy angels; it cruſheth and caſts down all pride and
haughtineſs both in a man's heart and carriage, and
gives him an humble frame of foul and life, both in
the fight of God and men: it regulates and governs
the paſſions of the mind, and brings them into due
moderation and frame : it gives a man a right eſtimate
of this preſent world, and fets his heart and hopes
above it, ſo that he never loves it more than it de-
ſerves: it makes the wealth and glory of this world,
high places, and great preferments, but of a low and
little value to him; ſo that he is neither covetous nor
ambitious, nor over folicitous concerning the advan-
tages of it: it brings a man to that frame, that righte
ouſneſs, juſtice, honeſty, and fidelity is, as it were, part
of his nature; he can fooner die than commit or pur-
poſe that which is unjuſt, diſhoneſt, or unworthy a
good man: it makes him value the love of God and
peace
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peace of conſcience above all the wealth and houors
in the world, and be very vigilant to keep it inviolably:
though he be under a due apprehenſion of the love of
God to him, yet it keeps him humble and watchful,
and free from all preſumption, ſo that he dares 10t,
under a vain confidence of the indulgence, and mercy,
and favor of God, turn aſide, to commit or purpoſe
even the leaſt injury to man; he performs all his duties
to God in ſincerity, and integrity, and conſtancy; and
while he lives on earth, yet his converſation, his
hopes, his treaſure, and the flower of his expectation
is in Heaven, and he entirely endeavours to walk
ſuitably to ſuch a hope: in ſum, it reſtores the image of
God unto the ſoul in righteouſneſs and true holineſs.
Compositum jas, fasque animi sanctosque recessus
Mentis, & incoctum generoso pectus honesto.
Theſe, and the like to theſe, are the ends, deſign and
effect of true Chriſtian Religion, truly received and di-
geſted in the foul. And certainly any man that duly
confidereth, will find that they are of another kind of
nature and value, than thoſe ſublime ſpeculations,
politic conſtitutions, forms or not forms, affected ſin-
gularities, upon which many lay the weight of Reli-
gion, and for and touching which there is ſo much con-
tention and animoſity in the world. So that nethinks
men in this regard are like to a company of fooliſh
boys, who when the nut is broken, run ſcrambling
after the pieces of the fhell, and in the mean while the
kernel is neglected and loft.
Now touching the reaſons or caufes of theſe miſap-
prehenfions touching Religion, they are various ; fome
deſerve compaſſion, and others are more or lefs ex-
cuſable, according to their ſeveral kinds : 1. Some
perſons truly conſcientious and zealous of any thing
that they judge to be diſpleaſing to God, as not
agreeable to his will, and obſerving the many cor-
ruptions that the Romiſh church have brought into
the worſhip of God, are very ſuſpicious of any thing
that
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305
that may look, as they think, that way; and therefore,
though they are otherwiſe men of found and orthodox
principles, and of a truly righteous, fober, and pious
life, yet perchance are tranſported ſomewhat too far
in ſcrupling or oppoſing ſome ceremonies or forms ;
and poſſibly their education and converſation with men
of ſuch perſuaſions have confirmed them in it, ſo that
they do not oppoſe out of a frowardneſs or peeviſhneſs
of mind, or out of pride, or a ſpirit of oppoſition, but
in the ſincerity and ſimplicity of their hearts, and out
of a tenderneſs for the honour of God. Theſe,
though they are or may be miſtaken in their perſua-
fions, yet certainly deſerve compaſion, tenderneſs, yea
and love allo, much rather than ſeverity or contempt.
2. Others again, obſerving that certain modes and
forms, and the rigorous obfervations of them, are the
common road for attaining preferments or favours of
great perſons, upon that account exerciſe a marvellous
fervour of mind for them, and a vigorous oppoſition
of all that come not up to them in every punctilio,
that they may thereby be taken notice of, and em-
ployed as uſeful, and fit, and vigorous affertors and
inſtruments for this purpoſe.
3. Many times gain and profit is the end and deſign
of many practices and poſitions appendicated to
Chriſtian Religion, as is before obſerved in the Romiſh
church; and it is eaſily obſervable that intereſt, profit,
and temporal advantage have a ſtrong bias upon men's
affections, and are dearer to them than the truth of reli-
gion, and carry men more vigorouſly in their upholding
and maintenance, than religion itſelf doth: and
becauſe the preſence of zeal for religion carries a fair
plauſibility with all men, therefore thoſe very things
that are but engines of gain and profit, are chriſtened
with the ſpecious name of religion.
It was the making of ſilver ſharines for Diana, the
art whereby the artificers got their living, that made
the outcry, Great is Diana of the Epheſians.
4. Again
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4. Again, it is very certain that mankind hath a huge
kindneſs and partiality for matters of their
invention, and ſet a greater rate upon them than upon
other matters handed over to them by others : and
hence it comes to paſs that a new fancy or opinion, a
itew Form of Worſhip, Diſcipline, or Government,
that any man hach invented or ſtudied out, is to ſuch
a mán ordinarily of greater value and moment than
it deſerves, and ſhall be maintained with greater zeal,
fervour and animoſity, than points of greater truth
and moment, as if the great moment and weight of
Religion and Chriſtianity lay in it, which is in truth
nothing elſe but the effect of ſelf-love and ſelf-
conceit.
5. Again, though by nature man be a ſociable crea-
ture, yet there is in moſt men a certain itch of pride,
which makes them affect a diſcrimination from others,
and to become a kind of ſeparated party, more refined
than the reſt of the ſame common profeſſion.
I do remember, in the beginning of our late troubles,
the only party that viſibly appeared, were ſome that
deſired ſome Reformation in Church-matters : and
when that party had obtained, under the name of
the Preſbyterian Party, in a very little while there aroſe
a more ſublime party of men, called the Independent or
Congrerational sien, which much deſpiſed the former,
as not arrived to a juſt ineaſure of reformation. Shortly
afcer that there aroſe a kind of Lay P.:rty, which as
much undervalued the Independent, and indeed the
Miniſtry in general.
After that there aroſe a party diſcriminating itſelf
from all the former, viz. the Quakers. Theſe various
parties were as ſo many ſubdiviſions and rectifications of
what went before.
Now the means of holding up this diſcrimination of
parties are certain ſelect opinions, practices, or modes,
which are like the badges or colours that give each
party his denomination, diſtinction, and diſcrimi-
nation:
1
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307
nation: and conſequently theſe diſcriminative badges
have as great a rate ſet upon them as each ſect fets
upon itſelf; and therefore muſt be upheld under the
very notion of the life of Religion, and muſt be main-
tained with the greateſt fervour imaginable; for other-
wiſe the diſtinction of the fects themſelves would fall to
the ground, and become contemptible both among
themſelves and others, becauſe otherwiſe there woud
appear very little and inconſiderable reaſon, upon
trifling or ſmall reaſons, 'to ſeparate and divide from
others, and to unchurch and unchriſtian them that are
not of their company or ſociety,
V
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PART
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A DISCOURSE OF RELIGION.
PART. II.
THE LIFE OF RELIGION,
AND
SUPERADDITIONS TO IT.
TAE
HE Truth and Spirit of Religion comes in a narrow
compaſs, though the effect and operation thereof are
large and diffuſive. Solomon comprehended it in
a few words, 'Fear God and keep his Commandments,
' for this is the whole duty of man.' The foul and
life of religion is the fear of God, which is the Prin-
ciple of Obedience; but Obedience to his Commands,
which is an act or exerciſe of that life, is various, ac-
cording to the variety of the Commands of God. If
I take a kernel of an acorn, the principle of life lies
in it: the thing itfelf is but ſmall, but the vegetable
principle thar lies in it takes up a leſs room than the
kernel itſelf, little more than the quantity of a ſmall
pin's head, as is eaſy to be obſerved by experiments :
but the exerciſe of that ſpark of life is large and
comprehenſive in its operation; it produceth a great
tree, and in that tree the fap, the body, the bark,
the limbs, the leaves, the fruit; and ſo it is with the
principle of True Religion; the principle itſelf lies in
a narrow compaſs, but the activity and energy of it
is diffuſive and various.
This principle hath not only productions that natu-
rally flow from it, but where it is it ferments and aſſi-
milates, and gives a kind of tincture even to other
actions that do not in their own nature follow from it,
as the natural and civil actions of our lives. Under
the
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the former was our Lord's parable of a Grain of Muf-
tard, under the latter of his compariſon of Leaven,
juſt as we ſee in other things of nature : take a little
red wine, and drop it into a veſſel of water, it gives
a new tincture to the water; or take a grain of ſalt,
and put it into freſh liquor, it doth communicate itſelf
to the next adjacent part of the liquor, and that
again to the next, until the whole be fermented : ſo
that ſmall and little vital principle of the Fear of God
doth gradually and yet ſuddenly affimilate the actions
of our life flowing from another principle. It rectifies
and moderates our affections, and paſſions, and ap-
petites, it gives truth to our ſpeech, fobriety to our
ſenſes, humility to our parts, and the like.
Religion is beſt in its ſimplicity and purity, but
difficult to be retained ſo, without ſuperſtructions
and acceſſions; and thoſe do commonly in time ſtifle
and choke the fimplicity of religion, unleſs much
care and circumſpection be ufed : the contemperations
are ſo many and fo cumberſome, that religion loſeth
its nature, or is ſtrangled by them : juſt as a man
that hath fome excellent fimple cordial or ſpirit, and
puts in muſk in it to make it ſmell ſweet, and honey
to make it taſte pleaſant, and it may be cantharides to
make it look glorious. Indeed by the infuſions he
hath given it a very fine ſmell, and taſte, and colour,
but yet he hath fo clogged it, and ſophiſticated it with
fuperadditions, that it may be he hath altered the na-
ture, and deſtroyed the virtue of it.
The ſuperadditions and ſuperſtructions in point of
religion are very many, and form very many andvari-
ous tempers in men that add them. As, for inſtance :
1. There is one common ſuperaddition that na-
turally all men are apt to bring into it, viz. that it
may
gratify the ſenſe ; for inaſmuch as the moſt pow-
erful and immediate influence upon us comes from
and through our ſenſes, and that ſpiritual and internal
apprehenſions have not ſo ſtrong or conſtant an im-
preſſion upon us, they ſeem things at a diſtance, flat,
X 3
and
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had fixed upon.
and the foul is weary of bearing itſelf upon them. Men
are apt to dreſs up Religion fo as it may be grateful to
the ſenſe: Make us Gods that may go before us :' And
this is the chief original of Idolatry, and alſo of Super-
ſtition.
2. There are other fuperadditions that come even
from the accidental inclinations of men to ſome ſpecial
matter which they value and love; and that they carry
over into religion, and many times mingle with it.
As for the purpoſe, take a man greatly admiring Na-
tural Philoſophy, he will be apt to mingle and qualify
religion with philoſophical notions. Many of thoſe
things of Ariſtotle that are harſhly and diſhonourably
afferted concerning the Deity, are from his tenacious
adhering to certain philoſophical poſitions that he
Behmen, who was a great chymiſt, reſolves almoſt
all Religion in chymiſtry, and frames his conceptions
of Religion ſuitable and conformable to chymical no-
tions.
Socinus and his followers, being great maſters of
reaſon, and deeply learned in matters of Morality,
mingle almoſt all Religion with it, and form Religion
purely to the model and platform of it.
Many great phyſicians that have much obſerved the
conſtitutions of man's body, have figured to them-
ſelves notions of the foul conformable to the reſults
of their obſervations on the body.
And as thus in theſe forts of men, fo again men
of metaphyſical and notional brains and education, as
the ſchoolmen, they have conformed religion, and
their notions concerning it, to Metaphyſics; and in-
deed have made that which is' and ought to be the
common principle for the actuating of all men, yea
even of the meaneſt capacities, to be a mere col-
lection of ſubtilties, far more abſtruſe than the moft
intricate and ſublimated human learning whatſoever.
Again, take a politician, or ſtateſman, and he ſhall
moſt eaſily conform religian to State policy, and make
it
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+
it indeed a moſt excellent and incomparable engine
for it, and nothing elſe.
And if we narrowly look upon the method and
ſyſtem of Religion, as it is formed by the Romiſh
hierarchy, it is a moſt exquiſite piece of human
policy, and every thing therein ſuited with moſt ex-
quiſite art and prudence for the ſupport of the gran-
deur and intereſt of that ſtate. This hath mingled
with the Chriſtian Religion the Pope's infallibility and
Supremacy, his power of pardoning and diſpenſing, his
keys of heaven and hell, his purgatiry and indulgences,
and images and adorations of them, his reliques, and
pilgrimages, and canonizing of ſaints, and a thouſand
ſuch kind of ſtuff moſt incomparably fitted to men's
paſſions and affections; and fo to ſupport that moſt
artificial and methodical fabric of the Popiſh ſtate;
for indeed it is no other.
And if we look into other kingdoms and places,
we ſhall eaſily find that Religion is ſo ſtated and or-
dered as may beſt conduce to the peace, order, wealth,
and amplitude of every kingdom; for wiſe politicians,
finding that Religion hath a great impreſſion on men's
minds, and therefore if it be not managed by the po-
licy of ſtate, may prove an unruly buſineſs, if it be
contemperated with mixture prejudicial to the ſtate,
and that it may be a moſt excellent engine if it can be
mánaged and actuated for the benefit of the ſtate, do
add to it much of their own, that it may be managed
upon occaſion; and they dreſs up religion with ſtate
policy, whereby in truth it becomes nothing elſe
but a mere piece of human policy, under the name
of Religion.
And on the other ſide, thoſe either politic or dif-
contented ſpirits, that would put a kingdom into
blood and confuſion, do mingle diſcontents and fan-
cies, and imaginations, ſuſpicions and frowardneſs
with Religion, and call this confuſed mixture of fana
cies and paſſions, Religion, and manage and brandith
this
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this weapon with mighty diſadvantage to that ſtate
which they oppoſe.
For it is moſt apparent, that as nothing hath fo
great an impulſion upon men, as that which comes
under the apprehenſion of Religion, inaſmuch as it
concerns the greateſt good, even their everlaſting
fouls and happineſs; fo nothing is of fo univerſal
concernment as this, and therefore like to attract the
moſt followers; for every man hath not an eſtate to
care for ; but every man hath a ſoul to care for ;
and hence it is that ſcarce any great conteſt between
princes hath happened in theſe latter years, nor ſcarce
any commotion in a ſtate, but Religion is owned on
all ſides ; and God, and his Cauſe, and his Church,
owned on all hands, and therefore ſtill the ſcramble
is for Religion, and who ſhall keep the Opinion of Reli-
gion moft firm to them; and therefore they on all hands
infuſe into the thing they call Religion thoſe things
that may moſt probably and politicly hold to their
party.
Again, in conteſt among Clergymen, every one
trims and orders Religion in that dreſs that may moft
make it their own, and ſecure it to themſelves.
Take the Popiſ Clergymen : hold what you will,
if you hold not the Supremacy and Vicariat of the Pope,
all the reſt of your Religion is not worth a ruſh.
Come to the Reformed Epiſcopal Clergy: as to the
Pope's Supremacy they diſclaim it : but if you acknow-
ledge not Epiſcopal Government; if you ſwear- not ca.
nonical obedience to your Ordinary ; if you ſubmit not
to the liturgy, and ceremonies, and veſtments, and
muſic, uſed in the church, you are at beſt a Schif-
matic.
Again, come to the Preſbyterian Clergy, they will
tell you Epiſcopal Government is Romiſh and Super-
ſtitious, and their ceremonies and uſages Antichriſ-
tian uſurpations ; but if you mean to be of a warrant-
able Religion, you muſt ſubmit to the Preſbyterian
government as truly Apoftolical.
Come
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x
Come to the Independent, he declaims againſt both
the former, and tells you that the true Conformity to
Apoſtolical Order is in the Congregational way.
Take the Anabaptiſt, and he tells you all the former
are vain and irreligious, unleſs you will be rebaptized
and liſted in their Church.
Again, in points of Doctrine, as well as Diſcipline,
it is moſt plain that tenents are profeſſed or decried
for diſtinction of parties; witneſs the conteſt between
the Arminian party and the Calviniſtical party, which
are ozly uſed as methods on either ſide, to attract
profelytes, and diſtinguiſh parties : And in theſe and
the like diſtinctions of parties and profeſſions, the ſu-
perſtructions and additions are in a manner incor-
porated and grafted into Religion, and in effect give
the only denomination to it, according to the various
intereſts and affections of parties; when, in truth, the
main buſineſs of theſe and the like additions and ſuper-
ſtructions, are but policies to diſtinguiſh, and fortify
and increaſe parties.
3. There are ſome fuperadditions to Religion, that
though I do not think they are to be condenined, yet are
carefully to be diſtinguiſhed from the true and na-
tural Life of Religion, and ſo long as they are kept
under that apprehenſion, they may, if prudently ap-
plied and managed, do good; but if either they are
imprudently inſtituted, imprudently applied, or in-
conſiderately over-valued, as if they were Religion,
they may and many times do harm : and ſuch are
decent and inoffenſive Forms in the External Worſhip
of God appointed by the Civil Magiſtrate, by the ad-
vice of thoſe that are deſervedly eminent in the Church
for their piety, learning, and prudence. And there
ſeems to be very good reaſon for it.
1. Becauſe if every man ſhould be left to himſelf,
there would confuſion enſue; becauſe no man knew
another's mind, or rule of his external deportment.
2. All men have not that equal prudence to judge
what were fit to be uſed.; the magiſtrate is like to make
choice
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1
choice of thoſe perſons that are fitteſt to adviſe, and
their recommendations would be of greateſt authority
with others.
3. It is moſt certain, that man being compoſed of
foul and body, cannot fo, regularly and well fix him-
ſelf to his duty, without ſome juſtifiable help to his
devotion ; ſuch are vocal prayers, kneeling, and other
geſtures proper for the matter of worſhip which he
intends.
And this may be one reaſon, why the Lord, though
he ſtrictly forbad all idolatry and ſuperſtition, and
heatheniſh practiſe to the Jews, yet did appoint Sa-
crifices, Prieſts, a glorious Tabernacle, and the Ark,
which was not only a diverſion from the Egyptian
Idolatry which they had ſeen, but alſo a help to their
natural infirmity for the excitation of their devotion.
And although our Lord Jeſus came to abrogate,
even that indulgence, and foretold that thoſe that
worſhipped the Father, ſhould worſhip him in ſpirit and
in truth, under the Goſpel, yet it is certain that
the immediate Apoſtles of Chriſt did ſet certain or-
derly Obſervances in the Church for decency's fake;
and it was juſtly allowable: as concerning the order
of the exerciſe of their ſupernatural gifts, concerning
women ſpeaking in the Church, concerning men
being covered in the church, and women veiled, con-
cerning the manner and order of receiving the Sacra-
ment, and the like.
But as there be reaſons for it, ſo there be cautions
to be uſed in it.
1. That they be not too numerous ; for their mul
titude will rather oppreſs than ſecure Religion.
2. That in their natures they be not ſuperſtitious,
but keep as much diſtance from it as well may be;
otherwiſe they will be in Religion, as the dead fly in
the apothecary's ointment.
3. That they be clean and decent, not too full of
pomp or oſtentation : ceremonies fhould be uſed as
we uſe a glaſs, rather to preſerve the oil, thạn to adorn
ita
A Discourse af Religion.
315
it. Too much pomp cauſeth jealouſies even in good
men, of a degeneration either to Jewiſh Ceremonies
or Popiſh Vanities.
4. That though ſuch are not to be rejected becauſe
they are ancient, ſo if they become unſeaſonable,
they are not to be held merely becauſe they are
ancient. It is with Ceremonies as with ſome other
things that are fit to be changed when they are become
unuſeful or offenſive, as the Love Feaſts, Extreme
Unction, and ſome other things,' poſſibly practiſed,
and fit enough, in the primitive times. Many cere-
monies were at firſt invented and practiſed, to win
over unconverted heathens; to encourage weak Chriſ-
tians, eſpecially the Jews, who were not eaſily to be
drawn from their legal ceremonies : but when people
become a knowing people, that fee beyond thoſe ce-
remonies, and underſtand when, and why, and how
they came in, then it were prudence to diſpenfe with,
or change them.
5. That they be not urged with too much rigour or
ſeverity upon ſuch as conſcientiouſly refuſe them.
Charity to a weak brother, in things indifferent in
their own nature, is then to be exerciſed, when my
brother is offended therewith, or never: and if it be
faid it is his duty to ſubmit to the Church, and not the
Church to him, I do think that anſwer will not ferve
in this caſe; for ſurely though a child owes a duty to
a father, yet his neglect thereof, eſpecially if it be upon
à conſcientious account, will not excuſe the neglect of
a father's duty, to his child : the Apoſtle profeſſed he
would abſtain from things lawful rather than offend
his weak brother.
6. And eſpecially that we be careful to remember
that Religion is another thing from theſe Ceremonies.
Theſe are of uſe, i. e. for Ornament; they are the
dreſſing and the trimmings of Religion at the beſt, but
the fear of God is of a higher extraction.
It is a pitiful thing to fee men run upon this miſ-
take, eſpecially in theſe latter times; one placing all
his
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!
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his Religion in holding the Pope to be Chriſt's Vicar;
another placing Religion in this, to hold no Papiſt can
be ſaved : one holding all Religion to conſiſt, in hold-
ingEpiſcopacy to be jure divino ; another by holding
Preſbytery to be jure divino ; another in crying up
Congregational Government; another in Anabaptiſm:
one in placing all Religion in the ſtrict obſervation
of all Ceremonies ; another in a ſtrict refuſal of all:
one holding a great part of Religion in putting off the
hat, and bowing at the Name of Jeſus; another judg-
ing a man an idolater for it; and a third placing his
Religion in putting off his hat to none: and ſo like a
company of boys that blow bubbles out of a wallnut-
fhell, every one runs after his bubble, and calls it
Religion; and every one meaſures the Religion or
irreligion of another, by their agreeing or diſſenting
with them in thefe or the like matters; and at beſt,
while we {cramble and wrangle about the pieces of
the ſhell, the kernel is either loft, or gotten by ſome
that do not prize any of their conteſts.
Believe it, Religion is quite another thing from all
thefe matters: he that fears the Lord of Heaven and
Earth, walks humbly. before him, thankfully lays
hold of the Meſſage of Redemption by Chriſt Jeſus,
ſtrives to expreſs his thankfulneſs by the fincerity of
his obedience, is forry with all his ſoul when he comes
ſhort of his duty, walks watchfully in the denial of
himſelf, and holds no confederacy with any luſt or
known fin; if he falls in the leaſt meaſure, is reſtleſs
till he hath made his peace by true repentance, is true
to his promiſe, juſt in his actions ; charitable to the
poor, ſincere in his devotions, that will not deliber-
ately diſhonour God, though with the greateſt fecurity
of impunity; that hath his hope in heaven, and his
converſation in heaven; that dares not do an unjuſt act,
though ever ſo much to his advantage, and all this be-
cauſe he ſees him that is inviſible, and fears him becauſe
he loves him, fears him as well for his goodneſs as his
greatneſs; ſuch a man, whether he be an Epiſcopal,
or
A Discourse of Religion
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or a Preſbyterian, or an Independent, or an Anabap-
tiſt; whether he wears a Surplice, or wears none;
whether he hears Organs, or hears none; whether
he kneels at the Communion, or for conſcience fake
ſtands or fits; he hath the Life of Religion in him,
and that life acts in him, and will conform his ſoul to
the image of his Saviour, and walk along with him
to eternity, notwithſtanding his practice or non-practice
of theſe indifferents.
On the other ſide, if a man fears not the Eternal
God, dares commit any fin with preſumption, can
drink exceſſively, ſwear vainly or falfely, commit
adultery, lie, cozen, cheat, break his promiſes, live
looſely, though he practiſe every ceremony ever ſo
curiouſly, or as ſtubbornly oppoſe them; though he
cry down Biſhops, or cry down Preſbytery; though
he be re-baptized every day, or though he diſclaim
againſt it as hereſy; though he faſt all the Lent, or
feaſt out of pretence of avoiding ſuperſtition; yet not-
withſtanding theſe, and a thouſand more external con-
formities, or zealous oppoſitions of them, he wants
the Life of Religion.
ART
[ 318 ]
A DISCOURSE OF RELIGION.
PART III.
THE SUPERSTRUCTIONS UPON RELIGION,
AND ANIMOSITIES ABOUT THEM.
The Chriſtian Religion and Doctrine was, by the
goodneſs and wiſdom of God, deſigned to be the com.
mon means and inethod to bring mankind to their
chief end, namely, to know, and to ſerve, and obey,
and glorify and everlaſtingly to enjoy Almighty God,
the chiefeſt good.
And to that end it was given out with all the plain-
neſs and perſpicuity, with all evidence and certainty ;
a Doctrine and Religion containing precepts of all
holineſs and purity, of all righteouſneſs and honeſty,
of all longanimity, benignity, and gentleneſs, ſweet-
neſs, meekneſs, and charity; of all moderation and
patience, of all fobriety and temperance; in brief, it
is a religion that is admirably and ſufficiently conſti,
tuted to make a man, what indeed he ſhould be, pious
towards God, juſt and beneficent towards men, and
temperate in himſelf, fitted for a life of piety, honeſty,
juſtice, and goodneſs, and happineſs hereafter. Such
is the Chriſtian Religion, and ſuch the men muſt be that
are truly conformable to it; and if any man profeſſing
chriſtianity, be not ſuch a man, it is becauſe he comes ſo
much ſhort of his due conformity to Chriſtian Religion,
and the moſt excellent doctrine and precepts thereof.
The profeſſion of this Religion in that which is, and
for many ages hath been, commonly made by a very
confiderable part of the known world, as the only true
Religion given to the world by Almighty God, through
his Son Jeſus Chriſt, wherein and whereby they may
expect everlaſting ſalvation.
But
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ܪ
But yet together with this Chriſtian Religion, the
profeſſors thereof have in ſeveral ages and places
choſen to themſelves various adventitious accidental
fuperſtructions, additions, opinions, modes, and prac-
tices, which they have as it were incorporated into the
Chriſtian Religion by them profeffed, or appendicated
unto it.
And theſe ſuperſtructions or appendixes of Chriſtian
Religion have been introduced and entertained by
various means, and by various deſigns, and to various
ends. Some by the authority of great names; ſome
by inſenſible gradations or long cuſtoms; ſome by a
ſuppoſed congruity or incongruity; fome for order or
decency; ſome for diſcrimination of parties ; fome for
political ends, appearing in themſelves, or ſecretly
carried on; ſome upon emergent occafions, either
continuing or now ceaſing ; ſome by civil, fome by
eccleſiaſtical fanctions; ſome by traditional obferva-
tions, either continued, or interrupted and revived;
ſome for ornament; ſome for uſe; ſome as ſuppoſed
neceſſary conſequents upon the Chriſtian dočtrine
.
ſome to be, quaſi ſepta & munimenta doétrinæ & Reli-
gionis Evangelicæi, as the Jewiſh traditions were ſup-
poſed to be the Sepimenta Lrgis 2; fome for one end,
and ſome for another : And although theſe are not
truly and eſſentially parts of the Chriſtian Religion, yet
as the humours in the body are fomë good, fome
noxious, fome innocent, though they are no part of
the true vital blood, yet they mingle with it, and run
along in it; ſo theſe ſuperſtructions, and occaſions,
and additions, have in various ages, ſucceſſions, and
places, “mingled with the true radical vital doctrine
and Religion of Chriſt, in men's opinions, and practices,
and profeſſions.
And yet it is viſible to any man that will but atten-
tively obferve the courſes of men profeſſing Chriſtian
Religion, that the greateſt fervour and animoſity of
* As it were the fences and guards of the doctrines of the Gospel.
2 The fezices of the Law.
the
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the Profeſſors of Chriſtian Religion is not ſo much with
reſpect to the ſubſtantials of Chriſtian Religion, either
in things to be believed or practiſed, as touching
theſe additions and ſuperſtructions ; fome as fer-
vently. contending for them, as if the life of
Chriſtianity conſiſted in them ; ſome as bitterly and
feverely conteſting againſt them, as if the life and ſoul
of Chriſtian Religion were not poſſibly conſiſting with
them.
And by theſe means theſe-unhappy confequences
follow:
1. That whereas the main of Chriſtian Religion con-
fifts in the true belief of the Goſpel of Chrift Jeſus, and
the practice of thoſe Chriſtian virtues that he left unto
his diſciples and followers, both by his example and
precept, namely, love of God, holineſs and purity of
life, humility, and lowlineſs of mind, patience, meek-
neſs, gentleneſs, charity, a low and eaſy value of the
world, contentation of mind, ſubmiſſion to the will of
God, dependance upon him, reſignation unto him,
and other excellent evangelical virtues, that perfect
and rectify the foul, and fit it for an humble commu-
nion with Almighty God in this life, and a bleſſed
fruition of his preſence in the life to come; the
Chriſtian Religion is not ſo much placed in theſe, as in
an entire conformity to modes and circumſtances, or an
extreme averſion from them. And according to the
various intereſtsor inclinations of partiest thoſe are made
the magnalia of Chriſtian Religion, and ſuch as give
the only character or diſcriminative indication of the
Chriſtian Religion.
2. And confequently all the greateſt part of that
ſtreſs and fervour of mind, which ſhould be employed
in thoſe great 'weighty fubſtantials of Chriſtianity, runs
out and ſpends itſelf in thoſe little ,collaterals, and
ſuperſtructions, and additaments ; fome placing the
greateſt earneſtneſs and intention, of mind to have
them, and ſome placing the intenſion and fervour
of their mind to be without them, not unlike
thoſe
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321
1
thoſe old contentions between the Eaſtern and Weſtern
churches, touching the time of the pafchal obſervation,
oné party excommunicating the other for their diffent,
as if the whole weight and ſtreſs of the Chriſtian
Religion lay in thoſe little additaments.
3. And hereupon there ariſe ſchiſms, factions, and
perſonal animofities, diſcrimination of parties, cenfo-
riouſneſs, and ſtudied eſtrangings of profeſſors of
Chriſtianity ; oftentimes one party declining thoſe
practices which are good and commendable in the
other, to keep their diſtances the more irreconcileable,
and each party eſpouſing ſome odd diſcriminating
habits, modes, and ſometimes alſo opinions in mat-
ters of religion, that may eſtrange and diſcriminate
them each from the other; and theſe opinions though of
little moment or conſequence (it may be whether true
or falſe) are advanced up into little leſs than articles of
faith, for the ſake of this diſcrimination, when poſſibly
they are of little moment whether they be afſented
unto or not, of leſs certainty, and have little or no
influence or concern in the ſubſtance of Chriſtian
doctrine.
A
4. And hereupon it oftentimes comes to paſs that
not only the common bond of charity and Chriſtian
love is broken between the profeſſors of the fame ſub-
ftantials in Chriſtianity, but there is moſt ordinarily
much more ſeverity, and perſecution, and implaca-
bleneſs, and irreconcileableneſs. more endeavours to
undermine, and ſupplant, and diſgrace difſenters,
more fcorns, and vilifying, and reproach, and in-
folence one towards another in their viciſſitudes of
advantage, than there is between profeffors of
Chriſtianty, and men of the moſt looſe and profane
lives, between orthodox and heretic, nay between
Chriſtians and Turks, or Infidels, many times.
5. And from this there ariſeth a moft fruitful and
a moſt inevitable increaſe of atheiſm and contempt of
Religion, in many of the ſpectators of this game,
among
VOL. 1.
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A Discourse of Religion.
among profeſſors of the Chriſtian Religion, and that
upon theſe two accounts: principally, becauſe when
they hear each party declare (as they muſt, if they de-
clare fruth) in their ſermons and writings, that the
doctrine of Chriſtianity enjoins mutual love, conde-
fcenſion, charity, gentleneſs, meekneſs, and yet fo
little practiſed by diffenting parties, men are apt to
conclude, that either theſe perfons do not believe
what they pretend to preach and publiſh, or that the
doctrine of Chriſtianity was a notion and ſpeculation,
and never intended as a neceſſary rule of practice,
fince the greateſt pretenders to the Religion of Chriſt
practiſe fo little of it,
2. Becauſe when men ſee that thoſe little ſuper-
ſtructions and additions are by the one ſide proſecuted,
and on the other ſide decryed, with as much animo-
fity, fervour and feverities, as the moſt weighty and
important truths and precepts of evangelical faith and
obedience, ſpectators and by-ſtanders think that they
are all of the fame value; and when they ſee that theſe
things which every fober conſiderate man muſt needs
conclude little, and of no moment, are rated at fo
great a value by the conteſting parties of each fide,
truths then are doubted of in relation to theſe : it
makes men call in queſtion great matters, when they
ſee ſuch ſmall things purſued or declined with no
leſs fervour and animoſity than if they were of the
greateſt.
And conſidering theſe unhappy conſequences of
theſe fervours of minds, touching theſe ſmall appen-
dixes and ſuperſtructions, even more than about, or
concerning the very weighty things of the Goſpel, I
have endeavoured to ſearch out the reaſon how this
ſtrong diſtemper comes to paſs; and there ſeem to
be theſe cauſes thereof:
1. Ordinarily a man is more fond of, and con-
cerned for ſomething that is his own, than for that
which is of God; as we are tranſported with a love
to curſelves, ſo we are tranſported with a love and
admira-
A Discourse of Religion.
323
t
1
admiration of what is our own :'and hence it is that
the weightier and more important duties enjoined by
Chriſt, partake leſs of our zeal, or courage, or inten-
fion of mind, than our own little fantaſies and inven-
tions.
2. Pride, Credit, and Reputation are commonly
engaged in either party in the things conteſted, when
they are once conteſted: and theſe are violent and
preſſing intereſts and motions.
3. The plaineſt truth and purity of Religion is a
thing that ſeldom pleaſeth and ſuiteth to the curioſity
and appetite of men; they are always fond of fome-
thing annexed or appendicated to Religion, to make
it pleaſing to their appetite; a certain fauce that may
entertain their fancy, after which it may run, and
wherein it may pleaſe itſelf. And theſe fauces to Re-
ligion are various, and variouſly pleaſing, according
to the various inclinations of men : moſt ordinarily
the fancies of men affect ſome things ſplendid and ſen-
ſible to be fuperadded to Religion: the Iſraelites
would needs have gods that might go before them
and in compliance with this humour, moſt of the
ſtrange modes and geſticulations among the Heathens,
and moſt of the ſuperſtitions, ceremonies and rites
among the Papiſts, were invented.
Again, ſometimes the humour of the people runs
in the other extreme; either they will have nothing of
form or order, or all ſuch forms or orders as are ex-
tremely oppoſite to what others uſe, and place their
delight and complacency therein : and by this means
oftentimes it comes to paſs, that men are carried with
greater earneſtneſs, and vehemence after thoſe pla-
centia, the entertainments of their fancies, than to
the true ſubſtance of Religion itſelf.
4. Oftentimes it comes to .pafs that there are two
very jealous concerns, and impatient of any corrival,
that are engaged each againſt other in theſe different
and diſſenting practices, relating to collaterals in Re-
Y 2
ligion:
S24
A Discourse of Religion.
ligion : on the one fide, Power and Authority is very
tender of its own intereſt, and jealous of a competitor
or rival : on the other ſide, Conſcience and Perſua-
fion either of the neceſſity or unlawfulneſs of any
thing, is very jealous, or fearful, and fuſpicious of
any thing that might injure it: and whether the con-
ſcience be miſtaken or not, yet ſo long as its perſuaſion,
that is entertained sub ratione conscientiæl, prevails,
this jealouſy will ſtill prevail in the mind; and it
many times falls out that Authority, on the one hand,
is impatient, or at leaſt jealous of oppofition; and
Conſcience, on the other hand, reſtleſs and unquiet.
5. And the difficulty is ſo much the greater, be-
cauſe each feems to derive its obliging authority
from God; the magiſtrate recognizing God Almighty
as the fountain, root, and foundation of his power;
and the conſcience ſuppoſed to be the vicegerent of
God in the foul.
6. But that which admirably keeps up theſe dif-
ferences, is that men on each fide deal not one with
another calmly, mildly, or upon the reaſons of the
things, or upon a true way of reafoning, debating,
and arguing of things, or prudent confiderations that
might invite yielding on the one fide, or accommoda-
tions on the other, but each party takes in all thoſe
contributions, aſliftances, and advantages, that com-
monly accompany the worſt of contentions.
For inſtance, 1. Extremity of paſſion and indig-
pation : 2. Violence and bitterneſs of writings and
fpeeches : 3. Each party rendering the other as odi-
ous and ridiculous as is poſſible : 4. Scoffing, jeering,
and perfonal reflections : 5. Artifices and deſigns each
to catch and undermine the other : 6. An induftrious
and willing miſinterpretation of each others words,
writings, and actions, and raiſing them to odious in-
ferences and conſequences, beyond what they were
meant, or really and truly bear : 7. Diſingenuous
Froi a principle of conscience.
quotations
A Discourse of Religion.
325
Centuries put out by Mr. White in the beginning of
quotations out of each other, without thoſe ordinary
remedies that might be allowed by comparing of other
parts of their writings.
Theſe and the like auxiliaries are on each part taken
into theſe velitations between Chriſtians, and in relation
to things contended for or againſt in theſe differences;
whereas the whole tenour of the doctrine of Chriſti-
anity, as it was delivered by Chriſt and his Apoſtles,
decries nothing more than anger, wrath, malice,
railing, evil-ſpeaking, backbiting, flanders, reproaches,
names and epithets of ſcorns, craft, and ſubtilty;
yet all theſe black legions are called, uſed, and em-
ployed in the management of that cauſe which
each party pretends to be the cauſe of Chriſt; as if
fiends, and furies, and legions of Devils, were thought
fit auxiliaries on each party, wherein both pretend
the intereſt of Chriſt Jeſus.
And that this is ſo, let any man but read thoſe
books which have flown abroad from either party, he
will find it evident in all the contentions of this nature:
witneſs on the one part Martin Marprelate, the Odious
the Long Parliament, the frequent invečtives and
odious epithets given to the Liturgy, to the Biſhops,
Conforming Miniſters, and to the Church of England
itſelf, as Antichriſtian, Idolatrous, Babylonish, and a
thouſand ſuch names and Itiles.
And on the other ſide there have been many that
have not been behind hand with bitter inyectives,
ſcornful and mocking expreſſions and appellations,
odious reflections, unneceſſary to be repeated. By all
which theſe two things are evident;
1, That theſe tranſports of either ſide come not
from that Spirit which Chriſt brought with him into the
world, and which he commended, and left to his diſ-
ciples and followers, namely, a Spirit of Love, of Cha-
rity, of Gentleneſs, Patience, Kindneſs, and Sweetneſs
of diſpoſition.
2. That if men go about to juſtify this, becauſe firſt
provoked by the adverſe party, and ſo juſtify it by the
law
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A Discourse of Religion.
law of taliation, theſe men do not remember that as
on the one hand, the duty of Chriſtians is Self-denial,
Moderation, and Peaceableneſs ; on the other ſide,
that a Spirit of Revenge, an 'eye for an eye, a tooth
for a tooth, is as much againſt the Doctrine of Chriſt,
as any thing in the world.
Therefore, certainly it becomes thoſe of either
party
either to caſhier theſe black auxiliaries oftheir wars,
and contentions of this kind, or otherwiſe, for the fake
and honour of Chriſt and the Chriſtian Religion,
plainly declare that he is not concerned in the conteſt,
but that the conteſt is a conteſt of intereſt and vain-
glory, of pride, and ambition, and reputation, and defire
of vietcry; or if they will not declare ſo much to the
world, yet they muſt give leave to the ſpectators to
judge of it ſo,
Now theſe bitterneffes and virulentneſſes of either
fide, have been commonly of two kinds ; 1. Such
as reflect, if not all together, yet moſt of all, upon
the perſons of their adverſaries : 2. Or ſuch as reflect
only upon the matters in difference between them ;
both were bad enough, and ſuch as ſerve to make the
differences and breaches wider,
But of late times, I know not by what unhappy
ftar, there have prevailed more than formerly, cer-
tain invectives that have gone much farther, even to
the rendering of Religion itſelf, and Scripture expreſions,
ridiculous, and pieces of raillery; and I could have
wiſhed that ſome late books, put out under the faſhion
of dialogues, and ſome other books of that kind, had
not been too guilty of this fault.
I do remember when Ben Jonſon made his play of
the Alchymiſt, wherein he brings in inartas in deri,
fion of the perſons then called Puritans, with many of
their phraſes in uſe among them, taken out of the
Scriptures; with a deſign to render that ſort of perſons
ridiculous, and to gain applauſe to his wit and fancy.
But although thoſe perſons were not in very good ef-
teem among
the
great ones and gallants, yet the play
was
A Discourse of Religion.
327
។
!
was diſliked, and indeed abhorred, becauſe it ſeemed
to reproach Religion itſelf, though intended only to
render the Puritans ridiculous. That which was in-
comely and unfeemly in a poet, who made it his buſi-
neſs to make plays, certainly is much more fulſome
and unſavory in another; eſpecially if the author be
a clergyman, as I ſuppoſe he is : for of all men in the
world it becomes ſuch prospicere honori religionis Chriſ-
tianal, and not to render it ridiculous and contemp-
tible by raillery and fcurrilous jeſting.
And
yet I do not find in all Ben Jonſon's Alchymiſt,
one half of thoſe ridiculous and unſeemly repetitions
of Scripture phraſes and expreſions, as well as mimi.
cal imitations and diſdainful mockings of thoſe per-
fons, and that party whom he deſigns to diſparage.
Scarce a page but ſome unhandſome mention of the
Spirit, and Chriſt, and grace, and ſaints, and ſome
Scripture expreſſions; and if it ſhall be ſaid that he
doth it but only in exprobration of ſuch perſons as
abuſed or miſapplied fuch expreſſions, and it is not
with intent to reproach the Scripture or thoſe phraſes
that are deſumed from it, but to Thew the boldneſs and
miſtakes of them that have miſapplied or abuſed
them.
I anſwer, 1, That theſe miſapplications and incon-
fiderate uſes of Scripture-phraſes by them, though it
be juſtly reprovable, yet it is far more intolerable in
him. Though their miſtakes were weak and fooliſh,
yet they were ſerious in thoſe very miſtakes ; but this
man induſtriouſly and deſignedly makes the expreſſion
ridiculous and contemptible. 2. Their abuſes of Scrip-
ture and Scripture-phraſes will not at all juſtify the
like in him, though in another kind, and to another
end; he might have learned to have avoided the folly
and inconſiderateneſs of the others, and not have mul-
tiplied it in himſelf by a worſe method of abuſe.
Certainly, whoever he was that made theſe confer-
ences, I dare fay he hath no ſuch pattern of writing
"To consult the honor of the Christian religion.
from
1
Y 4
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A Discourse of Religion.
from the Apoſtles or Fathers. The neareſt copy
that
I know of it, is the A-; and though he ſeems ą
man of wit and learning, and poſſibly would be ſome,
body in the world, I dare ſay they that cheriſh him in
the main of his deſign are aſhamed of his fcurrility,
and with it had been ſpared, and ſo perchance may he
be when more years have better confideration. The
niiſchiefs that come by this manner of writing are very
great and inany.
1. It makes differences irreconcilable. When dif-
ferences, Civil or Eccleſiaſtical, in judgment or practice,
happen, gentleneſs, foftneſs, mildneſs, and perſonal
reſpectfulneſs, quiet the paſſions and ſpirits of the ads
verſe party; gain upon him, get within him ; and when
the perſon is thus won, and over-matched with ſweet-
neſs and kindneſs, and perſonal jealouſies and preju
dices removed, perſuaſions and arguments grow prevas
lent, come with their full weight, are entertained calm-
ly, and conſiderately, and inſenſibly gain ground eyen
upon the judgment: but I never yet knew any man
converted by an angry, paſſionate, railing adverſary, for
ſuch kind of behaviour preſently raiſeth in the adver-
ſary the like paſſions and prejudice, and makes the
diſtance greater; and the paſſions being engaged in
the quarrel, the judgments of both ſides are loft, or
Blinded, or filenced with the duſt and noiſe of paſſion,
ate digladiations; and indeed, confidering how, appa-
rently and evidently ſuch kind of dealing between
Diffenters, renders compoſures almoſt impoſſible; and
yet obſerving how much this courſe of reviling, and
opprobrious, and unmanly, as well as unchriſtian lan-
guage, is in practice, I thought that it had been a real
defign to render each party odious and irreconcileable to
the other, and the hopes of compoſure deſperate; for
who can ever expect that any man, or any ſort of men,
fhould be drawn over to that party that ſhould publicly
{tyle him brain-sick, a fool, silly, hypocrite, fanatic,
and a hundred ſuch ſcornful appellations; or that men
will be eaſily drawn to relinquiſh thoſe opinions or per-
ſuaſions,
!
A Discourse of Religion.
329
1
luaſions, when they muſt thereby in effect ſubſcribe to
ſuch epithets and appellations before all the world, and
of all things in the world men can with the leaſt pa-
tience bear reflection upon their intellectuals, and are
molt irreconcileable to them that traduce or abuſe them
therein.
2. It greatly diſadvantageth the cause as well as the
persons of thoſe that uſe this method amongſt ſober in,
different obſervers, who will be ready to conclude them
a parcel of people tranſported by paſſions, weak, and
prejudicated ; and look upon ſuch a cauſe as is main-
tained by railing, fcoffing, raillery, and unproved ca.
lumnies, as weak, and ſtanding in need of ſuch rudes
neſſes to ſupport and maintain it.
3. It expoſeth Religion itſelf to the deriſion of
Atheiſts, and confirms them in their atheiſms, and
gains them too many proſelytes; and that principally
upon theſe reafons: 1. Becauſe they find that clergy-
men do tell them in the pulpits, that Chriſt himſelf and
his Apoſtles condemned railing, ſcandalous appellation,
as raca, and fool, evil-speaking, faolish jesting, mock-
ing, reviling; this they tell men, and they tell them
truly; and yet thefe very men that call themſelves mi- .
niſters of Chriſt, meſſengers of the Goſpel of Peace,
take that admirable liberty of reproaching, ſcoffing,
and deriding one another in their public pamphlets
and diſcourſes, that can ſcarce be exampled among the
moſt invective ranks of perſons, whoſe trade it is to be
ſatirical, and render people ridiculous ; nay, ſo far hath
this excellent manage prevailed among clergymen, that
their fcoffs and reproaches are not levelled at the pera
fons, or perſonal defects of Difſenters, but rather than
want ſupports for their party, will have ugly ſlings at
Religion itſelf, at Scripture expreſſions; and when men
ſee ſuch a courſe of practice among the preachers and
clergymen, they are ready to conclude, that ſurely they
believe not themſelves what they preach to others;
therefore think they have a fair pretence not to believe
thein,
2. But
.
3.30
A Discourse of Religion.
2. But principally theſe great animoſities and tranf-
ports of diffenting clergymen, confirm and promote
Atheiſm, upon this account, that the things about
which this wonderful hate is ſtrucken between theſe
parties, are ſuch as both parties agree to be none of the
fundamentals of the religion profeſſed by both, but
acceſſaries and acceſſions, and ſuch indeed as by-
ſtanders think are of very ſmall moment: and yet when
men ſee ſo much heat and paſſion, fo much fervour
and contentions, ſuch reproaches and revilings, ſuch
exaſperations of authority on either party, ſuch mutual
proſecutions one of another, that more could not poſ-
ſibly be done between difſenters in thoſe points which
both agree to be fundamental ; atheiſtical ſpirits are apt
to conclude, that probably thoſe points, that both ſides
fuppofed to be of greater moment, are ejufdem farina !
with thoſe in conteſt, ſince they are not, nor cannot
be proſecuted with greater fervour than theſe, which
all men take to be ſmall and inconſiderable, and that
it is intereſt, vain-glory, and applauſe, or ſome other
temporal concern, that gives this fervour and zeal in
matters of Religion, more than the true concerns of
itſelf. The conclufion therefore is, that men for their
own fakes, and for the fake and honour of the Chrif-
tian Religion, would uſe more temperance, prudence,
and moderation, in conteſts about circumſtantials.
of the same nature
A DIS.
A DISCOURSE
ON
LIFE AND IMMORTALITY.
[ 332 ]
A DISCOURSE ON
LIFE AND IMMORTALITY.
2 TIM. i. 10.
AND HATH BROUGHT LIFE AND IMMORTALITY TO
LIGHT THROUGH THE GOSPEL.
Among the many great advantages that are conveyed
unto mankind by the Goſpel of Jefus Chriſt, there are
theſe of principal moment ;
1. A full and clear diſcovery, that there is a ſtate of
Life and Immortality of mankind, after the diſſolution
of the lives we enjoy in this inferior world,
2. A full and clear diſcovery of the nature and
kinds of this eſtate of Life and Immortality, namely,
that it is a ſtate of rewards and puniſhments ; a ſtate
of reward with everlaſting life and happineſs to the
righteous, and a ſtate of everlaſting life and miſery to
the wicked.
3. A full diſcovery of an eaſy and effectual means
of the avoiding of that future life of mịſery, and of
the attainment of that future eſtate of life of hap,
pineſs.
I ſhall not enter into a large diſcourſe of theſe excel-
lent diſcoveries, but only briefly conſider theſe things ;
1. The great importance of the true and evident dif-
covery of theſe great truths.
2. The great deficiency that there was in theſe diſco,
veries before the light of the Goſpel came into the
world.
3. The
1
1
A Discourse on Life and Immortality. 333
3. The great diſcovery"made by the Goſpel of theſe
great and important truths.
4. The great evidences for the fatisfaction and con-
viction of the truths of theſe diſcoveries thus made in
the Goſpel.
1. Concerning the former of theſe; namely, the
great importance of this truth, and of the full and
evident diſcovery thereof. And this appears evident to
every man that doth but conſider the nature of this
matter.
We are born and live in this world, according to
the greateſt ordinary account, about threefcore and
ten years, and then we die, and are no more ſeen in
this world : of what a vaſt momentous concernment
is it for us to know, that there is an everlaſting eſtate
of happineſs or miſery, according to the nature of the
tranſaction of our lives here, that doth moſt certainly
and infallibly attend us after death? The importance of
the knowledge of this is more than all the reſt of our
knowledge of all other things, in very many reſpects:
1. The bare knowledge of the thing itſelf is a moſt exa
cellent ſubject to be known, if there were nothing elſe
in it
. But, 2. It is a knowledge of a thing that doth
moſt neceſſarily, nearly, and intimately concern us ;
even much more than our very lives in this world.
This life pafſeth away as a ſhadow, but the life of re-
wards and puniſhments is a life everlaſting, and un-
changeable; and therefore it is of more concernment
to us, both to know it, and to know how to attain
that bleſſed life of happineſs, than to attain all the
glory and happineſs that this preſent tranſitory life can
afford. And, 3. The knowledge of this truth is of
huge moment, not only for the right ordering of our
preſent life here, in order to the attainment of that
everlaſting bleſſed life, but even for a right, and
wiſe, and comfortable management and enjoyment of
the preſent life we have in this world. For moſt cer-
tainly, without the proſpect, hope and expectation of
this future ſtate, the life of man is more unhappy and
miſerable
234 A Discourse on Life and Immortality.
miferable than the lives of the beaſts that periſh. The
knowledge therefore of this great truth is of the greateſt
moment to the children of men; and the ignorance
thereof is the moſt unhappy and hurtful ignorance of
any thing in the world ; becauſe it is an ignorance of
that which moſt concerns us to know, becauſe that
knowledge is principally neceſſary forthe avoiding of the
greateſt evil, and the attaining of the greateſt good that
can poſſibly befall us.
2. Touching the ſecond; namely, the deficiency
that was in the world, in order to the diſcovery, before
the Goſpel came. This principally conſiſted in theſe.
things: 1. A want of a ſufficient evidence, that there is
anyſuch eſtate after death. 2. A want of afufficient light,
to diſcover what that future eſtate was to be. 3. A
want of a diſcovery of a ſufficient means, how that part
of the eſtate of everlaſting happineſs was to be at-
tained, and the eſtate of everlaſting miſery to be
avoided. And this deficiency in theſe things will ap-
pear, if we take a ſurvey, firſt, of the ſtate of the
Gentile knowledge, in relation to theſe things. Se-
condly, in relation to the diſcoveries made to the Jews
under the law.
Firſt, As to the diſcoveries of theſe truths unto the
Gentile. It is very true, that partly by an univerſal
tradition, derived probably from the common parents
of mankind, partly by ſome glimmering of natural
light, in the natural conſciences at leaſt of ſome of the
heathen, there ſeemed to be ſome common perſuaſion
of a future eſtate of rewards and puniſhments. But,
firſt, it was but weak and dim, and was even in
many of the wiſeſt of them overborn; ſo that it was
rather a ſuſpicion, or at moſt a weak and faint per-
ſuaſion rather than a ſtrong and firm conviction : and
hence it became very unoperative and ineffectual to the
moſt of them, when they had the greateſt need of it;
namely, upon imminent, or incumbent temporal evils
of grat preſſure. But, where the perſuaſion was
firmeſt amongſt them, yet ſtill they were in the dark
hat
A Discourse on Life and Immortality. 336
1
what it was ; and yet much more in the dark, in re-
ference to the means of attaining that future ſtate of
happineſs; and this darkneſs begot in them thoſe
various fiĉtions and fabulous imaginations, eſpecially
among the poets, thateven rendered the main hypotheſis
more doubtful than otherwiſe it would have been. And
thofe various ſuperſtitions, and idolatrous worſhips and
rites, and performances, which they deſigned as the
means of attaining that future happineſs, which theythus
darkly,and under various fabulous diſguiſes,entertained.
Secondly : If we come to the diſcoveries made unto
the Jews, which were certainly much greater than thoſe
that the Gentiles had by the light of nature ; yet this
we have reaſon to think, that although many ex-
cellent men among them did, through thoſe many
types, and ſhadows, as it were at a diſtance, ſee the
heavenly Canaan, and the Meſſiah, through whom it
was to be attained; yet the Divine difpenfation under.
the law was dark and obſcure in relation to the eſtate .
of future rewards and puniſhments, in compariſon of
what is revealed in the Goſpel : their promiſes were, for
the moſt part, of temporal benefits, and their threat.
nings of temporal puniſhments; and their worſhip and
ſervices were very much under ſhadows and external
adminiſtrations, ſo were their rewards and puniſhments.
Yet it muſt be agreed, that even under that dark
adminiſtration, there were greater evidences of the
future life than were manifeſted generally. to other
nations ; the examples of the aſſumption of Enoch and
Elias, the revivings of the Shunamite's ſon, buried in
the Prophet's grave, and the ſeveral paſſages in Job
xix, 25, Iſa. xxvi. 19. Ezek. xxxvii. Dan. xii. 2. and
divers other paſſages in the Old Teſtament; together
with a common received tradition among that nation,
did give them a belief or perſuaſion of a life to come
after this, and of the reſurrection; and this the Apoſtle
witneſſeth of the patriarchs and holy men under the
Old Teſtament, Heb. xi, 10, 13, 14, 35, &c. And
fo far this perſuaſion was fettled in that people, that in
the time of our Saviour, and unto this day, the per-
fuafion
396 A Discourse on Life and Immortality.
ſuaſion of a future life, and the Reſurrections was
generally received among them, excepting only the
lect of the Sadducees.
But although this be ceïtainly true, yet theſe things
are evident: viz. 1. That the doctrine of the Refur.
rection, and the future life, was not ſo clearly delivered
under the Old Teſtament; as under the New. 2. That
the proof and evidence thereof was not fo plain and
convincing under the Old Teſtament, as under the
New. 3. That the manner and circumſtances thereof
were not ſo explicitly and directly delivered under the
Old Teſtament, as under the New; as will appear in
what enſues.
Thirdly : Therefore touching the diſcoveries of Life
and Immortality by the Goſpel of Chriſt Jeſus, the
fame Goſpel hath theſe prelations and pre-eminences in
relation thereunto; viz. 1. It doth contain a full and ex'a
plicit narrative thereof. 2. It doth delivera fulland clear
method of the attaining of the ſtate of happineſs, and
avoiding the ſtate of miſery that it thus diſcovers. 3. It
evidenceth and aſſerteth the truth and certainty of what
itfodelivers, upon moft evidentandconvincing evidences.
Touching the former of theſe, the Goſpel doth
principally inſtruct us in theſe two matters in relation
to the buſinels in hand ; namely, 1. It doth affert, that
there is a life to enſue after this tranſitory life, and
it reſts not there in that general aſſertion : but 2. It
ſhews us, with great plainneſs, what that life is ; viz.
1. That it is an everlaſting life; that it is a life of
everlaſting rewards and happineſs to the good, of
everlaſting puniſhments and miſery to the bad ; that
there ſhall be, as the way to thoſe everlaſting-rewards
and puniſhments, a Reſurrection of the good and bad,
and a re-union of their bodies and ſouls, and a change
of thofe that are living. That this ſhall be effected
by the voice of an Arch-angel, proclaiming the laſt
Judgment with ſummoning all to it. That hereupon an
univerſal judgment ſhall paſs upon every man, ſhewing us,
who ſhall be the Judge, what ſhall be the rule of his judg-
1 advantages
ment
A Discourse on Life and Immortality. 337
1
ment, what the evidences, what the ſentence, what the
execution of either fentence; namely, of abſolution, a
perfect enjoyment of everlaſting happineſs, in an im-
mortal ſoul, united with a glorious, ſpiritualized and
immortal body: and of the ſentence of condemnation,
with an everlaſting ſeparation from the comfortable pre-
ſence of God, and an everlaſting concluſion of foul and
body under the torments of hell fire. And all theſe
diſcoveries are made plainly, evidently, and intelli-
gible to the ſenſe of every ordinary capacity, together
with the circumſtances of time, place, perſons, com-
pany, and all other things that may render the whole
manifeſtation plain, perſpicuous, intelligible, and rea-
fonable.
2. The fecond thing the Goſpel diſcovers, is the
means and method of the attaining of that life of hap-
pineſs, and avoiding that life of miſery. And ſurely,
without this, the diſcovery of the former had not been
ſo uſeful to mankind; it might indeed amuſe, and
aſtoniſh, and perplex him, to know, that there ſhould
be ſuch a future ſtate, either of happineſs or miſery,
unto one of which all mankind was conſigned. But
it could not ſettle, nor compoſe him, without the
knowledge of the means of obtaining ſo great a good,
and avoiding ſo great an evil as this proſpect diſcovers :
the Goſpel therefore hath not only diſcovered theſe
two great, though different ſentiments, of the future
life, but hath alſo laid open, and diſcovered the track,
the path, the way to avoid the one, and attain the
other: even a plain, and certain, and ſafe, and
infallible way; namely, the repentance for fin paſt
obedience for the time to come, and faith in the Son
of God, who is the reſurrection, the way, the truth
and the life: and his doctrine and directions are
plainly ſet out in the Goſpel, intelligible to every
common underſtanding, and eafy to any ſincere and
honeft endeavour.
3. The third prelation and advantage of the Goſpel;
VOL. I.
in
Z
398
A Discourse on Life and Immortality.
/
in reference to this diſcovery of Life and Immortality,
is that it doth not only give that clear, and explicit
diſcovery thereof beforementioned, but alſo it gives
the inoft full and clear evidence, that what it ſo dif-
covers, is moſt certainly and infallibly true; and an-
nexeth to the diſcovery a full and convincing mani-
feſtation of the truth of the thing fo diſcovered, an-
fwerable to the weight and importance of the thing
diſcovered.
It is very true, that Almighty God; out of his care
and providence over mankind, in order to their
everlaſting end, hath been graciouſly pleaſed to afford
unto mankind certain evidences of this great truth, of
the immortality of the ſoul, and a future ſtate of re-
wards and puniſhments; as namely, 1. A ſecret anti-
cipation, as it were, in the minds and conſciences
of the generality of mankind, of this truth. 2. An
univerſal tradition thereof, which hath, in great mea-
ſure, reached unto the generality of mankind, and by
them been commonly received: which although it hath
been handed over from man to man, yet we have all
the reaſon imaginable to believe it real at firſt, by ſome
means in its firſt original, delivered out to the parents
of mankind, by revelation from God himſelf. 3. An
admirable congruity of this ſuppoſition, both to the
juſtice and perfection, which, even by the light of
nature, we are bound to attribute to Almighty God;
and alſo a ſuitableneſs and congruity thereof to the
condition and exigence of mankind, and the provi,
dential regiment and ordering thereof.
But inaſmuch as by length of time, and diſtance of
this firſt revelation, and the want of a perſpicuous evi-
dence of the manner of giving out of this firſt
revelation, and alſo for that by the prevalence of the
corruptions, and decays of the nature of men, this
great important truth of the future life of rewards and
puniſhments, did, or at leaſt might languiſh and decay
in the minds of men; Almighty God hath been
pleafed
1
A Discourse on Life and Immortality. 899
pleaſed, by reiterated and repeated revelations of this
truth, by new editions of revelations thereof, in his
written Word, to reinforce the ſame, that ſo it might
be more effectual, operative, and forcible upon
mankind, in order to the right ordering of his life
here, and the attaining of his great and everlaſting
end.
And this he began to do in the Old Teſtament,
under the difpenfation of the Jewiſh æconomy; but
far more clearly and univerſally under the Evan-
gelical Difpenfation by Chriſt Jeſus, and with far
greater advantage and conviction of the truth and
certainty thereof.
The evidence and manifeſtation of the truth and
certainty of this ſuppoſition, is ſeen principally in theſe
things :
1. That he that made this diſcovery, was the beſt
able to give us the true ſtate of mankind after death;
for, being the Son of God, a teacher ſent from him,
and acquainted with all his will, none could give us
a more perfect account of what God Almighty in-
tended or deſigned touching the children of men.
For it is moſt certain, that the whole ſtreſs of the
buſineſs, touching the future ſtate of mankind, muſt
principally and primarily depend upon the moſt wiſe,
juſt, yet free diſpoſal and counſel of Almighty God.
He therefore, and he only, who was fully acquainted
with the real purpoſe and deſign of Almighty God,
touching mankind, muſt needs be able to give us a
full and complete account of this great and hidden
counſel, which could only lie in the knowledge of
God himſelf, or of ſuch a one to whom he was pleaſed
to reveal it: when the Rich Man was in hell, he
defired that ſome perſon might be ſent from the dead,
to acquaint his brethren with the ſtate of men after
death; and he thought, that a relation from ſuch a
perſon, who had ſeen or experienced that ſta ſhould
be the moſt credible and effectual means to gain
aflent
eg
.22
340 A Discourse on Life and Immortality.
aſſent from the living. But had he underſtood, that
the ſame God, who not only underſtood the ſtate of
mankind after death, by what he had ſeen touching
them that were already departed this life, but
alſo perfectly knew the mind and purpoſe of his
Father touching mankind, ſhould have come in the
fleſh, and manifeſt himſelf to be the Son of God; and
that he came to acquaint mankind with his Father's
counſel and purpoſe touching the future ſtate of
mankind, he would have deſired no other meſſenger
to acquaint his brethren therewith.
: 2. Chriſt did not only declare, and profeſs himſelf
to be the Son of God, a teacher ſent from God; nor
did he only publiſh this great declaration and dil-
covery touching the future ſtate of mankind, and that
he was ſent into the world on purpoſe to acquaint the
world with his meſſage ; but alſo he did, by the plaineſt
and greateſt evidence imaginable, or that could poſſibly
be deſired to acquire credibility, manifeſtly declare
and prove that his miſſion and meſſage was un-
queſtionably true; namely, by the miracles he did,
by the holineſs of his life, and by dying to atteſt and
aſſert it.
2. The great and admirable work of his own reſur-
rection, did give an invincible evidence of the truth
as of all other his doctrines, fo eſpecially of theſe
touching the Immortality of the Soul, the Reſur-
rection, and the future ſtate after death; and the
Reſurrection of Chriſt hath a double force, evidence,
or conviction in this reſpect :
1. This Reſurrection of Chriſt was indeed the
greateſt and crowning miracle of his whole life ; and as
his other miracles did atteſt the truth of hismiſſion anc
doctrine, fo this being the moſt ſignal and weighty
ofall, upon the effecting or not effecting whereof, the
whole credit of his miſſion and doctrine depended,
and alſo being of the higheſt nature of any of the reſt
of his miracles, did moſt effectually and conſum-
mately
{
..
A Discourse on Life and Immortality: 341
mately feal the truth of his miſſion, and the very
divineneſs and credit of all his other miracles: for he
was declared the Son of God with power, by the
Reſurrection from the dead. And hence it is that
there is no one thing in the Goſpel hath more evidence
of fact to prove the truth and reality, nor greater
weight laid upon it, than that Chriſt was really dead, ,
and did really riſe again from the dead.
2. But further, the Reſurrection of Chriſt ſeems to
be in a moſt ſpecifical and appropriate manner ap-
plicable and applied to prove the Refurrection of the
dead, and future eſtate of mankind after death; it is
the great ſtumbling-block in the way of the faith of
men, to think, how there ſhould be a life after death:
The Athenian Philoſophers mocked, when they heard
of it, as a thing incredible 1. And if men would be but
conquered from this difficulty, the greateſt difficulty
were overcome. And indeed the Reſurrection of
Chriſt ſeems to be the greateſt pledge imaginable, not
only of the poſſibility of a future ſtate after death, but
the real exiſtence of it. And therefore that excellent
fermon of Paul to the Athenians?, laysthegreat weightof
the truthof the judgment to come and the future ſtate of
rewards and puniſhments, upon this: 'Becauſe he hath
appointed a day wherein he will judge the world in
righteouſneſs, by that man whom he hath ordained,
' whereof he hath given afſurance unto all men, in that
che hath raiſed him from the dead.' As if he ſhould
have ſaid, Ye Athenian Philoſophers, it is apparint
that one of the great obſtacles of your belief of th 2
judgment to come, and the future ſtate of good and
evil, after death, is, that you doubt whether the foul be
capable of fruition or paſſion without the body; and
you cannot believe it poflible, that there can be a .
retreat from a full and complete ſeparation of the
body to life again ; your philoſophical principles
ſe it. Behold! I tell you, that God hath ap-
2 Acts xvii. 22.
2 3
pointed
>
s
6
oppoſe it.
3 Acts xvii. 82.
342 A Discourse on Life and Immortality.
1
pointed to judge the world by Chriſt"; the ſame Chriſt
hath ſaid ſo in that Goſpel which I come to publiſh to
you; and, at once to ſeal and evidence the truth he fo
declared, and to convince you of your vain confidence
in your philofophical perſuaſions, that the ſame Chriſt
was dead, died a violent death, his blood poured out
upon the ground, and lay in the grave till the third
day, that all the world might aſcertain that he
Was fully dead, and that of ſuch a death, that if any
were incapable of reviving again, he was, his blood,
the vehicle of life, ſpilt upon the ground yet this
Chriſt lived again the third day, to aſſure the world of
the truth of his word, that he would judge the world;
and of the poſſibility and truth of your reſurrection and
mine, by the divine power: 'He is riſen from the dead,
and become the firſt fruits of them that ſleep 1.'
1 ] Cor. xv. 20.
ON
ON THE
DAY OF PENTECOST.
24
( 344 )
ON THE
1
DAY OF PENTECOST,
ACTS, ii. 1. &c.
AND WHEN THE DAY OF PENTECOST WAS FULLY
COME, &c.
In this great and miraculous diffuſion of the Holy
Spirit upon the Apoſtles, theſe things are very obſerva-
ble :
I. The time, when it happened.
II. The place, where it happened.
III. The perſons to, and among whom it happened.
IV. The kind and manner of the miracle itſelf.
I. Touching the time or ſeaſon wherein it happened,
It was upon the day of Pentecoſt, next enſuing the
Paſſion, Reſurrection, and Aſcenſion of our Lord.
The People of Iſrael had ſeveral ſolemn feaſts, in-
ſtituted by Almighty God; and many of them had
a threefold uſe: namely, 1. Hiſtorical, in commemo,
ration of ſome ſignal thing fit to be remembred.
Religious, or ceremonial, for ſome ſpecial ſervice to be
performed unto Almighty God in thoſe times. 3. Ty,
pical, and in ſome kind prophetical of ſome eminent
obſervable relating to the Meffias that was to come;
and carrying ſome eminent prefiguration of fome emi-
nent occurrence that ſhould be found in, or concerning
the promiſed Meſſias. Thus the great wiſdom of Al-
mighty God in theſe inſtitutions, involved and compli-
cated theſe ſeveral uſes and ends.
Among
On the Day of Pentecost
345
Among thoſe
many
inſtituted feaſts and folemnities,
there were two of very great remark; namely, the Paſ-
chal Feaſt, and the Feaſt of Pentecoſt.
The Feaſt of Paſchal was inſtituted upon their com-
ing out of Egypt:: And again, commanded 2. Upon
the tenth day of the firſt month Abib (anſwering neareſt
to our months of March and April) they were to
chooſe a lamb, and to kill him the 14th day of that
month at even ; and to eat him with unleavened bread
that nights. This was the beginning of the feaſt of
unleavened bread. But becauſe the folemnity of feſti-
vals and fabbaths among the Jews began from the even-
ing of the day preceding, and ended at the evening of
the day following ; therefore the evening of this four-
teenth day was carried over to the day following, and
both are reckoned as the 15th day, and the 15th day
is reckoned the firſt day of the feaſt of unleavened
bread 4. This 15th day was a day of great folemnity,
and ſo was the 17th day following, for ſo long the
feaſt of unleavened bread laſted 5. The next day
after the firſt day of the feaſt, namely, the 16th day
of that month, the prieſt was to receive a ſheaf of
the firſt-fruits, and to wave it before the Lord 6.'
For in thoſe countries of Paleſtine, their corn harveſt
began early; namely, about their Paſchal-feaſt, as ap-
pears 7; and it ſeems that the time when the diſciples
of Chriſt pulled the ears of corn 8, was about the Paſ-
chal ſolemnity; namely, the ſecond fabbath after the
firſt, which feems to be the computation of the fabbaths
between Pafcha and Pentecoſt, or the ſecond Paſchal
fabbath.
The feaſt of Pentecoſt, called “The feaſt of weeks 9'
This was inſtituted : And ye ſhall count unto you
. from the morrow after the fabbath, from the day
is that ye brought the ſheaf of the wave offering, ſeven
Exod. xii.
4 Lev. xxiii. 6.
? Deut. xvi. 9.
? Levit. xxiii. and Deut. xvi.
5 Exod. xii. 16.
8 Luke vi. 1.
s Exod. xii. 3, 6.
6 Lev. xxiii. 11.
Duet. xvi.
1
.
fabbaths
346
On the Day of Pentecost.
fabbaths ſhall be complete, even unto the morrow
after the ſeventh fabbath ſhall ye number fifty
days "', &c.
This Feaſt of Pentecoſt, it ſeems, was always to be
the morrow after the fabbath-day, or the firſt day of
the week: and although our computation and the
computation of the Jews, in relation to their Pafchal
folemnity, differed, yet it ſeems herein they both agree
that it was to be on the firſt day of the week, only
our computation of fifty days includes our Eaſter-day;
their computation of the forty days began from the
Pafchal, excluſive of the firſt day of the feaſt.
Though we have it not expreſſed in the Scripture,
yet it is generally received among the Jews, that the
reaſon of the inſtitution of this feaft, was, in remem-
brance of the giving of the Law upon Mount Sinai,
which was, as they ſay, the fiftieth day after the firſt
day of the firſt Paſſover, when the people departed
out of Egypt. And beſides this tradition, the holy
text tells us2, that they came to Sinai in the third
month: and 3 the third day following the Law was
given : and if we ſhall reckon their months like the
months of the Egyptians, viz. thirty days to a month
then reckoning fifty days from the fifteenth day of
the firſt month excluſively, from the giving of theLaw,
it happened upon the fifth day of the third month;
but if we reckon them by Lunar months, one is
twenty-nine days, the other thirty days, then it is the
ſeventh day of the third month: either of which
agrees thus far with the holy text, and alſo with the
tradition of the Jews, touching the reaſon of the inſtitu-
tion of this folemn feaſt, that the law was given upon
Kar, near the fiftieth day after their departure out of
Egypt.
Touching the congruity or correſpondency between
the typical Pafchal and the true Pallover, the death of
Chriſt, the fame feems plain : 1. Chriſt our Paffover,
1 Lev, xxiii. 15. 9 Exod. xix. 10, . Exod. xix. 17
a Lamb
-
On the Day of Pentecost.
347
1
a Lamo without blemiſh, was ſlain : the Paſchal lamb
was an emblem, and a prefiguration of the innocence
and purity of the Meſſias, -The Lamb of God that
"taketh away the ſin of the world. 2. Not a bone
of the Paſchal lamb was to be broken, fulfilled in
our Saviour's death. Again, 3. The blood of the
Paſchal lamb was to be ſtruck upon the door-poſts,
as a propitiation againſt the vengeance of the deſtroying
angel 3. So the blood of Chriſt was a propitiation for
the fins of the world: he was the Lamb of God
* that taketh away the ſins of the world.' 4. But that
which I eſpecially obſerve, is the ſeaſon wherein Chriſt
ſuffered, being exactly that day, in the evening whereof
the Paſchal lamb was to be ſlain, or the fourteenth
day of the firſt month: for it is plain, Chriſt kept
the Paſſover, and inſtituted his Supper the night be-
fore his crucifixion 4. The ſame night he was brought
to the council of the Jews, where the High Prieſt fat as
chief; and there they examined him, and paſſed judg-
ment of death upon him), &c. The next day they
brought him to Pilate, who condemned him to death,
at the third hour, or nine of the clock the ſame day;
this day is called, the Preparation of the Sabbath 6."
The Preparation ; that is, the day before the Sab-
bath 7. “The preparation and the Sabbath drew on 8.0
The preparation of the Paſſover 9. And therefore the
High Prieſt and Scribes entered not into the Judg-
ment-hall, leſt they ſhould be defiled, but that they
might eat the Paſſover. . And the Jews, becauſe it
* was the preparation, that the bodies might not re-
( main upon the croſs upon the Sabbath-day (for that
day was a great day) beſought Pilate 10,' &c. It was
a great day in itſelf, for it was the fifteenth day of the
month, wherein was to be a folenin convocation by the
firſt inſtitution, as of, the firſt day of the feaſt of
* unleavened bread 11.' And it was a great day, bear
1 Exod. xii. 46.
2 John xix. $6.
3 Exod. xii. 7.
* Matth. xxvi. 17, 20.
5 Matth. xxvi. 57.
6 Matth. xxvii, 62.
ng Mark xy. 12.
8 Luke xxiii. 54. 9 Jolin xix. 14.
10 John xviii, 28.
11 Exod. sü.
caule
is
348
On the Day of Pentecost.
cauſe the Jewiſh Sabbath, or the ſeventh day of the
week, did follow with this folemn feaſt. After the burial
of our Saviour, the women brought ſpices, but reſted
the Sabbath-day l. But the Scribes and Phariſées
reſted not, for they reſorted to Pilate, to have the
fepulchre ſealed, viz. the day that followed the day of
preparation, “ The next day after the Sabbath, early,
namely, the firſt day of the week, the women reſorted
to the ſepulchre with the ſpices 2.'
This gives us an exact journal of our Saviour's death
and reſurrection : he was crucified upon the ſixth day,
the preparation of the Sabbath, and the preparation of
the Paffover; he reſted in the grave the ſeventh day of
the week, and aroſe the firſt day of the week, becauſe
the third day from his crucifixion.
So that Chriſt our Paſſover was ſlain that day wherein
the Pafchal lamb was killed ; namely, the fourteenth
day of the firſt month, for that was the regular time
of killing the pafſover : though in caſe of any legal
impediment it might be protracted or deferred to the
fourteenth day of the ſecond month 3.
And it ſeems the Jewiſh computation of the months
being lunar, their computation of the fourteenth day
of the firſt month, was the fourteenth day after the
firſt full moon that happened after the vernal equinox :
and this cuſtom was long kept among the Chriſtians,
till by the weſtern church, under Conſtantine, it was
reduced to be held upon the Lord's day, according to
a cycle eſtabliſhed and obſerved in the church; whereas
the Jewiſh pafcha fell ſometimes on one day of the
week, ſometimes on another, as their luna quarta de-
cima 4 happened.
Now that which makes ſome difficulty, touching
the day of the Meſſiah's paſſion, viz. whether it were
upon that day, in the evening whereof the pafchal lamb
was ſlain ; or the fourteenth day of the firſt month ; or
whether the next day after; namely, the fifteenth
I Luke xxiii. 56, ? Matth. xxyii. 62. Matth. xxviii. 1. Mark xvi. 1.
3 Numb. ix. 11. 2. Chron. xiii. 15.
fourteenth moon.
day,
John xx. 1,
h
On the Day of Pentecost:
949
day, which was the great folemn feaſt, or the firſt day
of the feaſt of unleavened bread, ſeems to be this,
becauſe it is apparent by the Evangeliſt, that our Sa-
viour did eat the paíſover the night before his paſſion;
and conſequently upon the fourteenth day of the firſt
month, according to the Mofaical inſtitution, and con-
fequently the day of his paſſion was upon the firſt day
of the feaſt of unleavened bread: which, though
it were the firſt day, yet it was antecedent to the
Jewiſh ſabbath that followed the next day.
To this it is variouſly anſwered: 1. Some ſay, that
although by the Divine inſtitution, the paffover was to
be eaten the fourteenth day at even, at which tinie our
Lord did eat it with his diſciples, according to the true
legal inſtitution; yet the Jews had a tradition among
them, that if the fourteenth day of the firſt month hap-
pened upon the firſt, third, or fifth day of the week,
the Paſchal lamb was not to be that night, but the
night following: and conſequently the lamb was ſlain
the fifteenth day, and the folemn firſt day of the feaſt
of unleavened bread was to ſucceed upon the fixteenth
day: and accordingly it was done here; Chriſt and
his diſciples did eat the paſſover upon the fourteenth
day, according to the Divine inſtitution, and the
gene-
rality of the Jews upon the fifteenth day, according
to their tradition. 2. Again others ſay, that upon
eminent occaſions it was lawful to anticipate a day in
the eating of the pafſover ; and that our Lord fore-
ſeeing his time was drawing near, wherein he muſt
fuffer, intending to eat the paſſover, and inſtitute his
fupper before he left the world, anticipated the cele-
bration of the paffover : but this ſeems hard, for it ap-
pears by the three Evangeliſts, that the diſciples took
notice that the folemn time was come, and ſpake firit
of it to our Lord 1. Therefore, 3. Some think that
the council of the Jews having a reſolution to deſtroy
our Saviour, and yet before the great ſolemnity of the
feaſt?, did procraſtinate the ſolemnity a day beyond
* Matth. xxvi. 17. Mark xiv, 12, . Matth. xxvi. 5. Mark xiv. 2.
the
N
i
350
On the Day of Pentecosta
the fet time; which the Sanhedrim, or the great
Coun.
cil of the Jews, pretended power to do; being thoſe
that did authoritatively decide the time of the new
moon, and their occaſional intercalation of days, to
put off the folemnity for a day or more, according to
their deciſions. Whether theſe, or any of theſe,
be the true cauſe, yet it is apparent, that the eating of
the paffover by Chriſt was upon the fifth day of the
week at even, or upon the Thurſday, and that the
eating of the paſſover by the generality of the people
and prieſts, was upon the ſixth day of the week at eveni,
at which day Chriſt our pafſover was ſlain.
But beſides this concordance in the time of the
death of Chriſt, upon the Paſchal folemnity, there are
ſome obſervables, touching this great feaſt, that ſeem to
bear ſome prefigurations of our Meffiah, and the end
of his ſuffering. I do not remember above five re,
membrances of the Paſchal folemnity under the old
law, viz. 1. Upon the deliverance out of Egypt',
agreeing with the great deliverance by Chriſt, from
the ſpiritual Egypt, the bondage of fin and death.
2. Upon the coming of the people into Canaan?; an
emblem of the way opened into the heavenly. Canaan
by the ſuffering of Chriſt. 3. That under Joſiah,
upon a great reformation of idolatry by him 8: And,
4. That after the re-edification of the temple and reſti-
tution of the people from captivity 4, who was a great
repairer of the Jewiſh church. 5. That under Heze-
kiah 5, which, though it were not obſerved at the
regular time, but in the fourteenth day of the fecond
month, yet it was upon a great reformation of the
church, and a renovation of their covenant with God. -
6. There ſeems alſo to be a remembrance of a great
pafſover kept by Solomono, which probably was after
his finiſhing of the temple. And as all theſe perſons,
Mofes, Joſhua, Solomon, Hezekiah, Jofiah, and Ezra,
were, in many things, types of the Meſſiah, ſo the
* Exod. n.
2 Kings xiii. 21.
buſineſs
1
3
2 Josh. v, 10.
2 Chron. XIX.
Ezra vi. 21,
6
2 Chron, xxx. 27.
On the Day of Pentecost.
!
J
buſineſs or occaſions that gave theſe ſignal ſolemnities,
were ſuch as bore a great analogy to that work that
our Saviour, in his paſſion, mightily performed;
namely, the deliverance of his people from the ſlavery
of ſin, and death, and hell, the opening of the king-
dom of Heaven to all believers; the reformation of the-
errors and lives of mankind; the folemnization of a
new covenant between God and man; and the erection
and eſtabliſhing of a living temple unto God; namely,
his Church, againſt which the gates of hell ſhould not,
prevail.' And although I doubt not there were
often anniverſary Pafchal feaſts, between the coming
out of Egypt, and the return from the Captivity; yet
the ſpirit of God, taking a more particular notice of
theſe great and folemn paffovers, ſeems to give us oc-
caſion to obſerve them with relation to Chriſt our
great pafſover.
The things remarkable in the analogy of the feaſt.
of Pentecoſt, ſeem to be theſe :
1. That as there were fifty-one days from the firſt
pafcha, and the giving of the law (in memory whereof
the feaſt of Pentecoſt was inſtituted) ſo there were the
like meaſure of time between the oblation of Chriſt,
the true Paſchal Lamb, and the ſignal miſlion of the
Holy Ghoſt, in the feaſt of Pentecoft.
2. That upon that time, wherein it pleaſed God
to promulge the law, the tenour of the old covenant
with the people of Iſrael, he alſo choſe to publiſh
the new covenant in the blood of Chriſt to all man-
kind.
3. That as the promulgation of the Law was efpe-
cially with two ſenſible manifeſtations; namely, the
great ſound of the trumpet, that waxed louder and
louder ?,' and the audible giving of the Law by the
voice of God?, and the voice of thunder, all which
affected the ſenſe of hearing, and alſo the appearance
of fire and ſmoke, the mountain burning with fire to
the midſt of heaven, which affected the ſenſe of ſee-
Exod. xix. 16.
1
& Exod. xx.
ing;
1
$52 On the Day of Pentecost
ing; both which great impreſſions upon thoſe two
fenfes of diſcipline, are briefly deſcribed by the Apoſ:
tle 1: ſo this promulgation of the Goſpel was made
upon this day, though not with equal terror, yet in
an analogy of external ſigns: 1. To the eye; the
Holy Ghoſt deſcending upon the Apoſtles in cloven
tongues like fire. 2. To the ſenſe of hearing; name-
ly, the ruſhing mighty wind, anſwering to the thunder
and voice of the trumpet in the giving of the Law ; and
the ſpeaking with tongues, not only audible, but in-
telligible, to people of ſeveral nations and languages
4. That as the law was publiſhed to the full afſem
bly of the people of Iſrael, ſo the Goſpel was publiſhed
to a full afſembly of perſons of almoſt all nations 2.
For Jeruſalem, as it was a great city, that received
many foreigners, fo eſpecially at this folemn feaſt;
many Jews and proſelytes reſorted hither from all
countries of their diſperſion.
5. That as the Law was publiſhed in the Mount of
God, Sinai in the wilderneſs ; fo this ſolemn promul-
gation of the Goſpel was made in the city of Jeruſalemi,
ordinarily ſtyled, “ The City of God, and Mount Sion.'
Thus as the promulgation of the Law began in Mount
Sinai, fo the promulgation of the Goſpel began in
Mount Sion, and from thence derived through all
the world.
Beſides what have been obſerved, there ſeems alſo
a ſtrange ſuitableneſs and congruity in proportion of
times and occaſions. I ſhall reckon up ſome of the
former, and ſome others.
1. The oblation of the Meſſiah upon the day that
the Paſchal lamb was to be ſlain.
2. His reſt in the grave upon that double fabbath,
as I may call it; for the firſt day of the feaſt of unlea-
vened bread, wherein no work was to be done, fell
upon the ſeventh, or fabbath-day of the week.
3. His reſurrection was upon the firſt day of the
"week, the day of the creation of all things, and the day
i heb. xii. 18, 19
appointed
:
.
1
t
* Acts xxv.
On the Day of Pentecost.
858
appointed by the law for the oblation of the fheaf of
firſt fruits, prefiguring the Reſurrection of Chriſt, who
is therefore called the 'firſt fruits of thein that ſleep,
1 Cor. xv. 20: compared with Lev. xxiii. 10. So that
although the Paſchal feaſt was not limited to any certain
day of the week, yet the coincidence thereof to the
ſeventh day of the week, made an admirable harmony
in the incidence of times : for,
4. The wife God chooſing this ſeaſon for the ſuf-
fering of the Meffiah, gave our Saviour's reſurrection
to be the firſt day of the week, which we comme-
morate in the place of the Jewiſh fabbath ; and gave
the feaſt of Pentecoſt to be likewiſe the firſt day of the
week, whereby there happened a coincidence of two
great matters ; namely, the day of the reſurrection,
and the day of the miſſion of the Holy Spirit, which
gave the occaſion to the Chriſtian church to keep the
feaſt of Pentecoft upon the Lord's day; namely, the
fiftieth day after the pascha christianum : fo the co-
incidence and communication of both theſe days gave
teſtimony and atteſtation each to other; whereas if the
Jewiſh paſcha had not happened upon the Jewiſh
fabbath, the next Pentecoſt could not have happened
upon the Chriſtian fabbath.
And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they
were all with one accord in one place, &c.
I will conſider, upon this occaſion, theſe things : 1.
The reaſon of the day of Pentecoſt, and the reaſon of
that inſtitution. 2. The reaſon why this great diſpen-
ſation was at this time, and the analogy iť bears with
the inſtitution. 3. The parts of this miraculous dif-
penſation. 4. The end and uſe of it, and the inſtruc-
tion ariſing from it.
For the firſt of theſe: we read i of the inſtitution
of the paſſover (the greateſt Jewiſh feaſt and ſolemnity),
! Exod. xii. 2,64
VOL. I.
and
2 A
1
354
On the Day of Pentecost.
1
tecoſt: which feaſt was, according to the tradition
and the time of its celebration, and the reaſon of it.
1. There is the inſtitution, or change of the months.
* This month, viz. Abib, ſhall be unto you the be.
ginning of months, the firſt month of the year.' 2.
There is the deſignation of that portion of this month,
for the celebration of the paſfover, in the tenth day of
this month, every houſholder was to ſeparate the
Paſchal lamb; and in the fourteenth thereof they
were to kill and eat it, at the evening of that day i.
Again, 3. There is ſet down the folemnity that was
to be uſed touching it; wherein, among
divers others,
there were theſe: it was to be a lamb without blem-
ilh ; it was to be roaſted whole, not a bone thereof to
be broken ; it was to be eaten with unleavened bread,
and bitter herbs, and in hafte, and nothing thereof to
be left till the morning. 4. There is the reaſon of
the inſtitution, viz. to be a perpetual memorial of the
goodneſs and mercy of God unto that people : 1. In
ſparing and paſſing over their families, when the de-
ſtroying angel New all the firſt-born of the Egyptians.
2. In bringing them out of that ſtate of captivity and
bondage, into a ſtate of liberty and freedom%.
At the ſeaſon wherein this feaſt was to be celebrated,
they were to prefent unto Almighty God a ſheaf of
their firſt fruits of their harveſt, as a recognition and
tribute unto God 3: for, according to the temperament
of that climate, their fruits were early, ſo that there
might be that preſent brought. This was to be done
on the morrow after the fabbath 4, which ſeems to be
the morrow after their Pafchal ſabbath: from this day
they were to account fifty days unto the morrow of
the ſeventh ſabbath 5, and this was the feaſt of Pen-
>
of the Jews, inſtituted in memory of the giving of
the law upon mount Sinai. And though this reaſon
be not expreſſed thereof in the Holy Scripture, yet the
diſtance from the time of their paſſing out of Egypt,
i Exod. xii. S, 6. * Exod. xii. 26, 51, · Lev. xxiii. 10.
4 Lev. xxiii. 11. 5 Lev. xxiii. 16.
unto
On the Day of Pentecosť.
355
unto the time of the giving of the Law upon Sinai, ſeems
to anſwer the diſtance between the Pafchal ſolemnity,
and that of Pentecoſt; for they came out of Egypt
the fourteenth day of the firſt month, the day of their
Pafchal celebration 1. They came to the wilderneſs of
Sinai in the third month,' the ſame day came they
into the wilderneſs of Sinaiz:' upon the third day fol-
lowing was the Law given upon Sinai, in that miracu-
lous and terrible manners. It is not expreſſed indeed
what day of that third month it was that the people
came to Sinai, or that the law was given : if we ſhall
reckon the Jewiſh months to be Lunar, conſiſting of
twenty-nine days and a half to a month, or, which
amounts to the ſame account, one month to be plena,
or full, conſiſting of thirty days; the other to be cava,
conſiſting of twenty-nine days ; two months made up
fifty-nine days; to which, if we ſhould add three days
more of the third month, the account will be fixty-
two days; out of which, if we ſubduct fourteen days,
there will remain forty-eight; whereunto, if we add
the fourteenth day itſelf, and the next day after, from
which the account muſt be made, unto the morrow
after the feventh ſabbath, there will remain fifty days:
ſo that upon this account, they came into Sinai upon
the firſt day of the third month, and the law was given
upon the third day of the ſame month: fo that this
Feaſt of Pentecoft, commonly in the old law called the
Feaſt of Weeks, was inſtituted as a folemn memorial
of that great and miraculous giving of the Law, by
Almighty God, upon mount Sinai, the one-and-fiftieth
day after the coming out of Egypt, and of the firſt
Paſchal celebration.
But the truth is, the computation of the fifty days,
was not from the morrow of the firſt day of the Pala
chal feaſt, but from the morrow of that ſabbath, that
happened firſt in the Pafchal feaſt : for the Jews did
not obſerve their Paſchal ſolemnity as we Chriſtians
do, upon the firſt ſabbath that happened after the
! Exod. xii. 42, 51.
SExod. xix. 11.
fourteenth
. Exod. xix. I.
2 A 2
956
On the Day of Pentecost.
fourteenth day incluſively after the new moon; but
upon the fourteenth day itſelf, upon whatſoever day
of the week it happened: for inſtance, if the four-
teenth day happened upon the Wedneſday, they kept
then their pafſover, and the firſt ſabbath or Saturday
then fell within eight days of their Paſchal ſolemnity;
and the preſenting of the ſheaf was the next day after
that firſt fabbath, being always' the firſt day of the
week; and from that firſt day of the week incluſively,
was the account of the fifty days for the celebration of
the Feaſt of Weeks, or Pentecoſt, which therefore
always happened upon the firſt day of the week; for,
from the morrow after the firſt day, next after the
firſt ſabbath, in the Paſchal ſolemnity, unto the mor-
row after the ſeventh ſabbath, reckoning both terms
incluſively, was their Pentecoſt always obſerved, which
made up their full fifty days; and therefore, though
their coming to Sinai was in the beginning of the third
month, yet it is not poſſible to determine in what pre-
ciſe day of that month they came to Sinai, becauſe we
know not preciſely what day of the week their firſt
Paſchal, or the fourteenth day of the firſt month, fell;
only it ſeems evident, that the Feaſt of Weeks, or Pen-
tecoſt, which began the fiftieth day after the firſt fab-
bath, in the Pafchal ſolemnity, was in memory of the
Law given upon Sinai, and that it was given the firſt
day of the week, on the fifteenth day after the firſt fab-
bath, in the Paſchal feaſt.
2. As to the ſecond matter, why this great diſpen-
fation, viz. the viſible and audible manifeſtation upon
the apoſtolical company, was poured out upon this
day; the reaſon ſeems to be this : the greateſt part of
the Jewiſh ſolemnities were intended as typical to the
Meſſiah, that when he ſhould come into the world,
theſe, as well as the ancient prophecies, ſhould bear
witneſs to him. And this is very eminently made
good in theſe two great folemnities, the Paſchal and
the Pentecoft. The Meſſiah was the true Pafchal
Lamb, prefigured in that of the Law; he was to be
1
flain,
On the Day of Pentecost.
357
flain, yet not a bone of him to be broken; he was to
bring life and immortality to light by the Goſpel, and
to deliver the elect of God out of that fpiritual Egypt,
the bondage of ſin,' and death, and hell, into the
liberty of the fons of God; and as all the ſolemnities
in the Paſchal facrifice were fulfilled in the true Pafchal
Lamb, Chriſt Jeſus, ſo he took that very preciſe time
to be offered up; wherein, according to the Jewiſh
law, the Paſchal lamb was to be flain, and that folem-
nity celebrated.
Our Lord roſe again from the dead the firſt day of
the week; he converfed upon earth about forty days,
and then he was viſibly taken into Heaven. By his life;
his death, his miracles, his reſurrection, his aſcenſion,
he was effectually declared to be the true Meſſias, the
great law-giver of the world, the light, and hope, and
falvation of the whole world, both Jews and Gentiles.
And as. Almighty God, by the hands of Moſes, and
by the ſervice of angels, gavę his law to the people of
Ifrael ; fo the fame God having appointed his Son to be
heir of all things, the, head, the law-giver, and go-
vernor of his family on earth : this great law-giver gave
his law, not only to the Jews, but to all mankind :
and for the more folemn publication of this law, and
to bear witneſs to the authority of it, he chooſeth to
uſe ſuch circumſtances, as though they were not in all
particulars the fame with thofe of the giving of the
law, upon mount Sinai, eſpecially in the terror of it,
yet they did bear a great analogy with them.
1. In Şinai, there was the miraculous voice of an
angel, in the articular delivery of the moral law: here
was a miraculous delivery of the wonderful works of
God in the ſeveral languages of the world.
2. In Sinai there was an appearance of fire, faming
up to the midſt of heaven: here was the appearance
of fire fitting upon every apoſtle, in the figure of cloven
tongues.
3. There was the voice of a trumpet, that waxed
louder and louder : here a voice from Heaven as of a
2 A 3
ruſhing
358
On the Day of Pentecost.
ruſhing mighty wind, that filled the houſe wherein
they were.
4. As Almighty God choſe the fiftieth day after
the Paſchal fabbath, for the promulgation of the law,
which had therefore this folemnity of Pentecoſt inſti-
tuted in memory thereof; fo our Lord chooſeth that
very feaſt and day, fifty days after his own Paſchal
oblation, to promulge to all mankind his evangelical
law in this miraculous manner.
Indeed there are two circumſtances that difference
the one from the other. 1. The promulgation of the
Law was not only miraculous, but terrible, as the hiſ-
tory of it evidenceth. But this promulgation, although
miraculous, yet it was gentle and ſweet, bearing a pro-
portion and analogy to the nature of the Law-giver,
who was meek and gentle, not willing to break a
bruiſed reed: and bearing alſo an analogy to the na-
ture of the meſſage and law that was to be promulged ;
a meſſage of peace and mercy, and reconciliation; an
eafy yoke, and a law of love, and therefore not fit to
be publiſhed with thunder as with a ſoft ſtill voice.
2. The promulgation of that Law, though ſecondarily
and conſequentially it was to all mankind, yet prin-
cipally and immediately it concerned the Jews, and
was certainly publiſhed at firſt in that language only.
But this law was, in its very firſt deſign, an inſtitution
univerſal to all mankind, as well Gentiles as Jews;
and therefore it is promulged in all languages and in
a voice intelligible to all hearers; and the divine pro-
vidence ſo ordered it, that it ſhould have hearers of all
nations and languages, whereby not only the miracle
itſelf, but alſo the matters delivered, were communi-
cated almoſt in a moment, to all quarters of the world, by
the auditors of ſeveral nations and languages that were
preſent, and heard it, though not without deſerved
amazement.
3. The third thing propounded is the confideration
of
On the Day of Pentecost.
359
:
of the ſeveral parts or manifeſtations of this great mi-
racle. The power of the Divine Spirit manifeſted itſelf
under two kinds of manifeſtations; one kind was viſi-
ble, which was objected to the ſenſe of ſight: there
appeared unto them cloven tongues, like as of fire,
and fat upon each of them. The other kind of mani-
feſtation was audible, manifeſted to the ſenſe of hearing.
1. A found from heaven, as of a ruſhing mighty
wind.
2. A ſpeech with other tongues.
Touching the former of theſe, the viſible ſigns, they
were theſe
;
1. The figure of the appearance: they were in the
figure of cloven tongues, importing the buſineſs or end
of this manifeſtation; an emblem of thoſe excellent
and miraculous operations, that, together with this ap-
pearance and conformable to it, were derived from the
fpirit unto them; namely, divine inſpiration, and va-
riety of languages. Under the Old Teſtament, the
ſpirit of God cured the infirmities of the prophet, by
touching his tongue or mouth 1. Under the New Teſta-
ment there are, as it were, new tongues given them
fitting them for their offices.
2. The feeming matter of them : they were like as
of fire, the moſt cleanſing and active element anſwer-
ing the prediction of the Baptiſt, 'He ſhall baptize
"you with the Holy Ghoſt and with fire 2.' And of
the prophets, He is like a refiner's fire. And he
* ſhall purify the ſons of Levi, that they may offer unto
the Lord an offering in righteouſneſs 3.' He ſent his
fiery appearance upon the apoſtles, to actuate and pu-
rify, not to conſume them.
$. The poſture of this appearance : it ſat upon each
of them, and thereby gave a more forcible and fenfi-
·ble demonſtration, that theſe miraculous varieties of
tongues they uſed, was, in truth, a ſupernatural effect
of a fupernatural cauſe, manifeſting itſelf in the viſible
emblem of cloven tongues.
Isa. yi. 7, 8.
2 Matth. iii. 11. s Mal. iii. 2, 3.
2 A 4
Touching
2
}
$60
On the Day of Pentecost.
<
Touching the audible ſigns, they were two.
1. The found from heaven as of a ruſhing mighty
wind. The Divine Spirit chooſeth many times to re-
ſemble the efficacy, and yet ſecretneſs of his opera-
tions, by the reſemblance of wind. The wind blow-
Seth where it liſteth, and thou heareſt the found
, thereof, but canſt not tell whence it cometh, and
· whither it goeth; ſo is every one that is born of the
Spirit 1.' And in that typical reſurrection of the dry
bones 2. The energy of the Spirit of God giving
life to thoſe bones, is reſembled under the expreſſion
of wind; the Spirit of God chooſeth this audible
emblem to manifeſt his preſence and energy.
The ſecond is that of ſpeaking with divers tongues,
intelligible by people of various languages. This con-
tinued a peculiar gift of the Spirit of God long in the
Church 3. As this was a great, a miraculous endow.
ment, that illiterate men ſhould in a moment receive
a faculty of ſpeaking the languages of ſeveral nations ;
fo it was ſeaſonable, in the firſt age of the Church, for
the planting and diffuſing of the truths of the Goſpel
through the ſeveral parts of the world : and at this time
they were fitted with auditors proportionate to this gift ;
namely, people of ſeveral countries and languages, as
well ſtrangers as inhabitants, who were preſent and
took notice of it; and could not but publiſh it to their
ſeveral countries and correſpondents.
4. The fourth thing propounded is the end of this
admirable miracle. The Spirit of God is the ſpirit of
wiſdom, and doth not things at random, or only for
ſhew and novelty, but for moſt wife and excellent
ends. The general end was this:
Chriſt, the promiſed Meſſiah, of whom the former
prophecies in the Old Teſtament ſpake, to whom the
types and ceremonies of the Law pointed, was by the
eternal counſel of God appointed the Meſſias, and to
bring to the world a new and perfect law, everlaſting
righteouſneſs, and the means to attain everlaſting life
John iil. . 2. Ezek. Xxxvij.
and
91 Cor. xix.
On the Day of Pentecost.
361
!
and happineſs. This doctrine he publiſhed in his
life-time, confirmed it with miracles, fealed it with his
death, and put it beyond doubt and controverſy by his
reſurrection and afcenfion.
And becauſe his death was confeſſed by all, but his
reſurrection and aſcenſion was, by the malice of the
Jews, as much difcredited as lay in their power'; and
becauſe if once the truth of the Reſurrection of Chriſt
were admitted, it gave ſuch a teſtimony to the truth
of this miſſion, and of his doctrine, that exceeded all
poſſible contradiction or diſpute ; and becauſe the doc-
trine of Chriſtianity that was now offered to the world,
muſt neceſſarily, if entertained, overthrow all the er-
rors and ſuperſtitions of other religions, and confe-
quently meet with as many enemies in the world as
there were earneſt profeſſors of other religions; and
becauſe the great buſineſs of the apoſtles of Chriſt was
in a ſpecial manner to bear witneſs to the truth of his
reſurrection, and they were to be the common pub-
liſhers unto the world of theſe great truths; and be
cauſe the ſame Chriſt, whoſe apoſtles they were for
the vindication of that truth that was delivered by
himſelf, and was after to be publiſhed by them, had,
before his aſcenſion, promiſed a ſignal teſtimony and
manifeſtation of the Spirit of God, that ſhould bear
witneſs to the truth of Chriſt and his doctrine 2; there.
fore upon theſe, and ſuch as theſe important confider-
ations, the bleſſed Spirit of God bears witneſs to the
truth of the teſtimony, doctrine, and miſſion of the
apoſtles, in their very firſt entry upon this great work,
of converting the world with ſuch marvellous ſigns
and appearances as thefe, ſuch as were obvious to
all the ſenfes of diſcipline, to be true and real; and
yet ſuch as were of ſuch a nature and kind, as could
be no other but ſupernatural and miraculous. And
hereby the divine power of Almighty God himſelf,
did fet to his own ſeal and teſtimonial to the truth
of the doctrine and miffion of Chriſt and his apoſtles,
9 Luke xxiv. 49. John xy. 16. Acts i. 4. 8.
with
Acts i. 22.
862
On the Day of Pentecosť.
not ſo much, that theſe ſtrange and miraculous things
with the greateſt evidence that it is poſlīble for reaſon
or ſenſe itſelf to expect or have to the aſſerting of any
truth.
And the great enforcement of this evidence reſts
many credible
were done in groſs, or for themſelves; but in that
they were done in order, and upon deſign to juſtify
and evidence the truth of fact and doctrines that were
delivered by Chriſt and his apoſtles, which had they
not been true, we cannot imagine that the glorious
God of Heaven would ſend out his own power, and
ſet to his own ſeal to juſtify and aſſert them; and yet
beſides all this, they are ſet to the juſtification and
making good of thoſe truths which were not without
a ſtrange evidence of credibility otherwiſe; as, namely,
the excellency of the doctrine, concurrence of pro-
phecy, and the concurring teſtimony of
perſons that were eye-witneſſes of the reſurrection of
Chrift, which alone, if admitted and believed, gives a
teſtimony of the truth of his doctrine and miſſion be-
yond all contradiction.
And this great teſtimony given by the Spirit of God,
in this great, evident, and ſenſible demonſtration, is
given out in the firſt beginning of the apoſtolical mi-
niſtry, and that in a fignal and public manner, that
it might gain a preſent, and powerful, and ſucceſsful
progreſs in the world. And it was not diſappointed
in the event it deſigned, as the teſtimony of the pri-
mitive and all enſuing ages abundantly prove; ſo
mightily grew the Word of God and prevailed.
That which we may learn from this, and other in-
ſtances of the like kind, is, firſt, to ſettle and eſtabliſh
our hearts in the true faith of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt,
and his holy doctrine, ſince we have all the evidences
imaginable to juſtify our faith, our reaſon, our ſenſe
to believe it; and have all thoſe demonſtrations that
any man of common reaſon can expect to ſatisfy us
thereof. 2. To render all humble thanks for the
goodnefs
1
On the Day of Pentecost.
363
goodneſs and bounty of Almighty God, who thus
deals with us human creatures, condeſcends unto our
natures and capacities, complies with our common
ſenſe and reaſon, giving us evidences of all ſorts to con-
vince and perſuade us to the entertainment and be-
lief of thoſe things that are our happineſs and felicity
to believe, and omits not any topic that may aſſure
us : applies to every avenue of our fouls and hearts
for the admiſſion and reception of thoſe truths, in the
belief whereof conſiſts our everlaſting bleſſedneſs.
CON.
CONCERNING
THE
WORKS OF GOD.
[ 366
1
CONCERNING
THE
WORKS OF GOD.
1
Having conſidered the Divine attributes, we come to
conſider the Works of God, or thoſe acts of Almighty
God, which are terminated in ſomething without him-
felf. And theſe are of two kinds.
1. The internal, or immanent works of God, which,
though they are within himſelf, yet I call them works,
becauſe they are terminated in ſomething without him.
And thoſe are of two kinds, viz. his knowledge, or fore-
knowledge,which relates to God, as we repreſent him to
ourſelves, under the notion of an intellectual being : and
the counſel or determination of his will, as we repre-
ſent him to ourſelves, as a free agent, or one who works
secundum intentionem 1
2. The external or tranſient works of Almighty God:
and theſe are of two kinds,viz. the work of creation, and
the work of providence, or gubernation.
The work of the creation is again of two kinds ; viz.
creatio prima,' the production of ſomething, or ſimple
creation ;' and creatio secunda, the production of
fomething out of what pre-exiſted;' but yet ſuch a
production as exceeded the activity or power
of
any
natural cauſe ; as the production of the heavenly and
elementary bodies, the firſt production of manners.
The work of his providence is of two kinds, viz.
Firſt, the general providence that concerns the uni-
verſe, and the particular beings therein, as they are
exertions of the Divine Providence, viz.
1. The common influx, whereby every thing is pre-
according to intention.
ſerved
1
Concerning the Works of God. 967
Served in genere entis; and in the particular nature
of ens tale.
2. The gubernation, or regiment of every thing.
The ſpecial work of Divine Providence is that which
relates to intellectual natures, viz. angels or men.
And that part of the Divine ſpecial providence, res
lating to men, is of two kinds, viz. that which relates
to him, in reference to his temporal fubfiftence, civil
or political : or that part of the Divine fpecial provi-
dence that concerns man in reference to his everlaſt-
ing ſtate or condition, which lets in the whole divine
economy, in relation to religion and religious con-
cernments.
To begin with the firſt of theſe kind of works, the
Divine knowledge and fore-knowledge of things.
We muſt premiſe, as we have done formerly, that
we are not able to have a right and due conception eia
ther of the knowledge, or of the counſel of Almighty
God; only thus much we are certain, that it is quite
another thing than any thing we can imagine concern-
ing it, and the reafon is, becauſe we have no other
meaſure to frame in ourſelves a conception of know-
ledge, but only the idea or image of that knowledge
which we have in ourſelves, which is utterly unſuitable
and difanalogical to that knowledge which is in God,
or the manner or nature of it. It is much more poffi–
ble, that a child of a ſpan long; nay, that a worm, or
a fly, might have a juſt and adequate conception of the
knowledge of the wiſeſt man in the world, and the
manner of it, than it is poſſible for the wiſeſt and moſt
knowing man to have a right meaſure or eſtimate of
the knowledge of God, or of the manner or nature of
it. And the reaſon is apparent; for the knowledge of a
child and a man differ only in degrees; the knowledge
of a worm and a man, though they differ not only in
degrees, but in kind and nature, and therefore cannot
form to itſelf the conception or iinage of the knowledge
of a man for it; but yet they agree in this, that even
the knowledge of a man is quid finitum : but the
knowledge
1
368 Concerning the Works of God.
any meaſure
knowledge that a man hath, and the knowlege that
God hath, differed not only in degree, and in their
kind and nature, but differ as quod finitum, and quod
infinitum ; and conſequently impoſſible that the finite
nature of the knowledge of man can be
or image of the infinite knowledge of Almighty
God.
This therefore we may ſuppoſe concerning the
knowledge of God; indeed rather what it is not, than
what it is.
1. It is not barely an objective knowledge, or ſuch
a knowledge as ariſeth from the impreſſion, that the
scibile, or thing known,' makes upon the intellect.
And this is evident, becauſe that this divine knowledge
pre-exiſts all things that are without him to be known;
he knows all things before they had any being, and
therefore before they had an objective impreſſion upon
that which knows.
2. It is not a diſcurſive, or rational knowledge; for
that ſeems proper to the human nature, deducing of
one thing from another, and collecting the effect from
the cauſe ; for this is a gradual ſucceſſive knowledge, a
manner of acting incompatible to a moſt ſimple and
uncompounded being.
3. It is not properly an intuitive knowledge; for all
intuition preſuppoſeth fomewhat pre-exiſting to what
is ſo looked into : this ſuppoſition (in reference to the
knowledge of Almighty God) muſt either ſuppoſe an
intuition of the things themſelves, which is in truth
nothing but an objective knowledge. But this ſerves
not here, for the knowledge of Almighty God pre-
exiſts the very being of all things without him, and
therefore it cannot be barely ſuch an intuitive know-
ledge: or elſe it muſt ſuppoſe a pre-determination of
every thing that ſhall be in the divine will ; and ſo by
the intuition of himſelf, and of his own moſt wiſe and
powerful determination, he inſpects whatſoever ſhall
be. This, though it be true, yet it takes not up the
whole extenfion of the Divine knowledge. For
Almighty
Concerning the Works of God. 869
1
Almighty God doth moſt certainly know ſome things
that are not actually within the compaſs of an abſolute
and complete determination. He knows not only
what ſhall be, but what may be; not only what is
within the compaſs of his purpoſe and determination,
but what is within the compaſs of his Almighty
power and omnipotence; and not only that neither,
there is a knowledge which fome do, änd we may
call scientia conditionata, a knowledge what a free
agent would do under ſuch or ſuch an objective mo.
tion, though he were not predetermined by the Divine
will.
And to put a period to our progreſſion, even nega-
re, in this inquiry into the Divine knowledge, his un-
derſtanding is perfect, unfearchable, and, which is
more than all we can elle fay, his underſtanding is in-
finite, exceeding the very compaſs of scibilia them
ſelves, fo far as they have, or indeed can have, any
actual exiſtencė; for that which is potentially infinite
is nevertheleſs impoſſible to be actually infinite: but
the divine knowledge is actually infinite, for it under-
Itands its own infinite being, which were enough
to denominate it fuch, were there no other scibile ; and
in the underſtanding of its own infinite being, it under-
ſtands its infinite power, and is, as I may fay, commen-
furate to the uttermoſt activity of that infinite power:
and although, what may be, is but quid potentiale,
for it is not, and poſſibly never ſhall be, yet he actu-
ally underſtands whatſoever may be, or that hath po-
tentiam non repugnantiæ to be, though it never ſhall
be actually.
Secondly: Touching the counſel of the divine will, it
is a depth and height above all created underſtanding
to ſearch into. All things are brought about by the
moſt powerful counſel of his will; and yet he al-
tereth not that law of rule of working which he
hath implanted into every thing, unleſs it be very
rarely, and for the manifeſtations of the ſupremacy of
his empire and power : ſo that ordinarily things natu.
VOL. I.
rally
2 B
370
Concerning the Works of God.
rally act according to the laws and rules implanted in
natural cauſes; and things voluntary act according to
the liberty of their own freedom, without alteration of
the former, or violence to the latter; yet by theſe, and
in theſe, he fulfils infallibly the counſel of his own will :
he manageth and ordereth even the finful actions of
free agents to moſt excellent ends, yet without infuſing
any obliquity into the man's will, or contaminating
the purity and holineſs of his own. This knowledge is
too wonderful for us.
:. Touching the counſel and decree of Almighty God,
ſomething hath been ſaid in the part going before,
touching Providence; I ſhall therefore here fay but
little concerning it.
The counſel, or decree of the will of God, is that
act, as I may call it, of the Divine will, whereby,
by one inviſible act, he did from eternity infallibly
pre-determine all the events that ſhould after come to
paſs.
And according to the object or terming of this di-
yine decree, we may diſtinguiſh it according to the fe-
veral forts of external acts, which have been or ſhall
be in the world, and thoſe are principally two, viz. the
creation of the world, and the government or providen,
tial ordering of the world.
The decree or counſel for the creation of the world
was that eternal purpoſe of the bleſſed Trinity, God
bleſſed for ever; that in ſuch a period he would, by
his Almighty power, create and perfect both the mate
ter and frame of the whole world : and although
the execution of this decree were a mutation in things,
or a tranſition from not being to being, yet the will
of Almighty God was eternally, immutably the fame;
whereby he determined to communicate the overflow-
ing of his goodneſs, and to create beings, that, accord-
ing to their ſeveral capacities, ſhould be receptive of
that goodneſs of his.
The decree of his providence is that eternal counſel
of his, whereby he did determine to ſupport and govern
the
Concerning the Works of God. Ehi
hath ſo fitted every thing with a law fuitable to the
the things that he had fo determined to make, accord-
ing to the moſt wife, moſt pure, unerring counſel of
his own will.
And the execution of this counſel, or the manner of
the divine regiment, or providential gubernation of
things, may be red:iced to theſe four kinds :
1. Supernatural, whereby the divine power, for the
manifeſting of his abſolute fovereignty, and upon moſt
wiſe and ſuitable emergencies, doth interpoſe his own
immediate power for the bringing about ſome coun-
fels; and thoſe are of two kinds, according to the
variety of objects which it concerns ; viz.
1. Miraculous interpofitions, which principally con-
cern natural agents, or effects; as the ſtanding ſtill of
the fun, &c.
2. Illapſes and irradiations, and infuſions of the
operations of the Divine Spirit, as in the Prophets, or
in converting of men to the knowledge and obedi-
ence of the truth: and this concerns rational creatures
2. Natural, whereby he orders all things ordinarily
in the world, according to the laws and conſtitutions
that he hath given naturally to ſecond cauſes, whereby,
according to their ſuitable conſtitution, the regiment
of things is managed, but under the moſt wiſe govern-
ment, and to moſt wiſe ends. And under this word,
natural, I likewiſe include even voluntary or free
agents, which though in ſome reſpect they are con-
tradiſtinguiſhed to natural agents, yet, in this reſpect,
I call them natural, becauſe their liberty and freedom
is natural to them: and ſurely upon a due conſidera
tion, the moſt incomparable wifdom and power of Al-
mighty God is no leſs conſpicuous in this natural re-
giment of things, than in that ſupernatural interpofie
tion above-mentioned, yiż. that the Divine Wiſdom
as ſuch.
exigence and convenience of its own being, and yet
lo ordered and fitted for contexture to the common
uſe and regiment of things, that they are ſuitable
2 B 2
and
372 Concerning the Works of God.
and natural to our conſtitutions, without violation of
them.
3. Permiſſive, which refers to the ſinful actions of
free agents, viz. whereby God Almighty having at
firſt conſtituted a being in freedom of will, and with
ſufficient power and knowledge to elect good, and to
fefuſe tlie evil; he decrees to permit him to uſe the
freedom of his own will, and in that freedom he falls
and fins. This permiſſive decree doth not at all neceffi-
tate the choice that it makes, though the infiniteneſs
of the divine knowledge foreſees what choice he
will make, and provides accordingly by that which en-
fues ; viz.
4. Directive providence; that although Almighty
God doth not by any pre-determination, counſel his
creature to fin, yet by the infinite proſpect of his
knowledge, foreſeeing that he will fin, the divine
counſel moſt wifely, holily, and mercifully manageth
and directeth even this ſinful action of men, or other
free agent, to the beſt good that it is capable of. That
a free agent fhould be made, and yet of a peaceable
and mutual nature, it was no error of Divine Provi.
dence: for indeed, as naturally every created being
is mutable, fo it is nothing of imperfection for a free
agent to be liber ad opposita 1: the electing of what
is evil, by fuch a free agent, indeed, is a thing per-
mitted by God, but is the act or obliquity of the agent
that might have done otherwiſe; but the direction and
conduct of that action to a moſt excellent end, is the
effect of this moſt wife, moſt pure directive counſel of
Almighty God.
But more ſhall be ſaid in relation hereunto, when
we come to conſider of the Divine Providence, in rela.
tion to man; for the truth is, the external guberna-
tion and providence is but divinum decretum. erilo
cleatum, the detection and diſcovery of that coun-
fel and decree of God that was before ſecret and hid.
6 den.'
i at liberty to choose the contrary,
I come
1
I
Concerning ihe Works of God. 878
I come to thoſe external acts of the Divine counſel,
the adminiſtration of his kingdom, viz. Creation and
Providence.
1. Creation is of two kinds, viz. creatio prima;
which is the production of a being from not being.
2. Creatio secunda; the production of a being out
of ſuch a being, and in ſuch a method or way as ex,
ceeds all created power.
For the former of theſe creations, viz. the produc-
tion of ſomething out of fimply nothing, which is the
greateſt effect that is imaginable, becauſe the diſtance
between the extremes, viz. fimple not-being, and be
ing in the infiniteſt diſtance that is imaginable, and
therefore is a work peculiarly belonging to an omnipo-
tent power.
This creation is of thoſe primordial rudiments of all
other things, and therefore compriſeth theſe two
things, viz. the production of ſpiritual or incorporeal
natures; and theſe ſeem to be completed in the firſt
creation, and had no other ſuperinduced formation or
creatio secunda upon them, but they were completed in
the completement and perfection of their being in the
firſt inſtant of their creation : ſuch are angelical na-
tures and ſeparate intelligences.
Secondly, the production of the rudiments of things
corporeal, which ſeems to include two things.
1. The common maſs of matter; and,
2. The common ſpirit of material beings,
As the former is the materia prima of bodies, ſo the
latter may poſſibly be the materia prima, as I may call
it, of fubitantial forms; and theſe lay confuſedly mixed
together, ſo that neither was the matter purely infor:
mis, for that were impoſſible to ſuppoſe ſuch a ſub,
ſiſtence of matter, or corporeal moles, without any
kind of form; nor is it, on the other ſide, imaginable,
that the spiritus universi, as I may call it, was diſtinct,
complete, or fubfiſting without matter, but they were
both mingled indiſtinctly together, till the particles of
this common matter, and the particles of this common
2 B3
fpirits
1
374 Concerning the Works of God.
ſpirit, or form, were called out in the creatio secunda,
or the formation of things, and reduction of theſe in-
digeſted rudiments of the mundus spectabilis into their
ſeveral ranks and orders.
Non bene junctaruin discordia semina rerum'.
And this way that chaos, the work of beginning,
conſiſting of theſe two parts, inentioned in the firſt and
ſecond verſes of the firſt of Geneſis, viz. the earth, or
that moles corporea, which is called the abyſs, or deep;
and that spiritus that moved, or agitated the waters,
which, with fubmiffion, I conceive was not the pure
effential Spirit of God, the third perſon in the ſacred
Trinity; but a ſpirit created by the energy and virtue
of that Spirit, and mingled with the maſs of matter.
In the precedent diſcourſes, the neceſſity of the hy-
potheſis of the creation of all things out of ſimply
nothing, is, to my underſtanding, fully evinced, and
there ſhall not need any repetition of it; and moſt
certainly the firſt chapter of Geneſis, which doth ad-
mirably ſhew the ſteps and method of the whole cre-
ation, doth wonderfully gratify even the light of na-
tural reaſon, diſcovering the particular method of that
production of the world which the light of reaſon
evinceth to have been at firſt produced; though it
cannot, without divine revelation, diſcover the ſteps
and method of it. And, on the other, the light of
nature doth suffragari, and bear witneſs to the trụth'
of the Scriptures, which light of nature carries us to
a recognition that it had an original; though, with.
out the help of Revelation, it cannot diſcover the
method or order of it.
The creatio secunda is that formation of things,
viſible or corporeal out of thoſe rudiments of matter,
and form, or fpirit, which was prepared by the crea-
tio prima; conſiſting principally in theſe things :
i. The ſegregation of certain parts of matter, and
ſuitable parts of the spiritus materiæ.
· Discordant elements of incongruous materials,
2. The
Concerning the Works of God. 975
i
/
: 2. The coagulation and coagmentation of thoſe fe-
parated parts, according to the various natures of
things.
3. The tranſpoſition and location of them in their
moſt ſuitable places and ſtations.
4. The accommodating them with thofe various ac.
cidents that were convenient and ſuitable to them, and
to the univerſe.
5. The moulding and faſhioning of the various fur-
niture of the ſeveral greater bodies, as by particles of
matter and form, or ſpirit, aſſumed and fitted for their .
individual and ſpecifical natures.
6. The conſtitution of man, and deriving into him
a reaſonable ſoul, of a higher and more noble allay
than that spiritus mundanus, which was, as it were,
the common ſpirit of the mundus aspectabilis.
And in this whole proceſs, not only of the creatio
prima, but of the creatio secunda, or the eduction of
particular things out of that maſs of common provi-
ſion, which was ſubminiſtred by the creatio prima,
we muſt, of neceſſity, acknowledge theſe enſuing
truths :-
1. That they were not the productions of ſecond
cauſes, but the immediate production of Almighty
God, by his will and power, and we need go no far-
ther for an evidence of it than this: if the tempera-
ture of the matter, the natural influx of the heavens,
the
energy of firſt qualities, were the cauſes of theſe
productions, why, in all the experience that the world
hath had theſe four thouſand years and more; why,
in all this time, hath not any part of the world yielded
a man, or ſo much as a horſe, or a ſheep, of ſuch a
production, without the ordinary courſe of generation ?
2. That yet it may be probable that the immediate
inſtrument which the Divine Power uſed in the ex-
ternal formation of creatures, may be the formation
of that ſubſtantial form, or fpirit, and uniting it to
matter, ſo that the formation of the external ſhape of
things might be the ideal impreſſion of that form upon
2 B 4
the
376 Concerning the Works of God.
the prepared matter. This poffibly may be, becauſe we
ſee the formation of the externals of bodies is ſtill im,
mediately effected by the ſeminal ideal energy of the
ſubſtantial form. But poſſibly it might be otherwiſe,
for poſſibly the firſt conftitution of things might be of
another nature than what now appears.
3. That as they were the immediate production of
the Divine Power, ſo it was a producțion not ex ne-
cessitate naturæ, but ex intentione intendentis.
4. That as it was the production of Almighty God,
not as a neceflary, but as a free agent, ſo it was a pro-
duction of infinite wiſdom, and admirable contrivance,
This is the ſubject of ſome of the precedent tracts.
OF
OF
POING AS WE WOULD BE DONE UNTO.
[ 378 )
tables', yet taken out of the ancient writings of the
OF
DOING AS WE WOULD BE DONE UNTO
MATTHEW vii. 12.
THEREFORE ALL THINGS WHATSOEVER YE WOULD
THAT MEN SHOULD DO TO YOU, DO YE EVEN
SO TO THEM ; FOR THIS IS THE LAW AND THE
PROPHETS.
LUKE xj. 31.
AND AS YE WOULD THAT MEN
MEN SHOULD DO TO
YOU, DO YE ALSO TO THEM LIKLWISE.
ALMIGHTY God, in his giving out the moral law
unto the Jews (which is, indeed, little elſe than a
repetition, or recapitulation, of the law of nature),
included, or infcribed, it in two tables; the firſt im,
porting the natural duties that a man owes to God;
the ſecond importing the duties a man owes to man,
or (which is all one) to his neighbour.
Our Redeemer made a ſhorter abſtract of both theſe
WOULD
law : The firſt and great commandment,' or the ab-
{tract of the firit table, Thou ſhalt love the Lord thy
. God with all thy heart, and with all thy ſoul, and
' with all thy mind;' which is the ſame in ſubſtance
with that of Deut. vi. 5. The ſecond commandment,
or the abſtract of the ſecond table, Thou ſhalt love
thy neighbour as thyſelf,' being the fame with that of
Lev.xix. 18. 'On theſe two commandments hang all the
• law and the prophets;' that is, the ſeveral precepts,
prohibitions, and counſels contained in the law and
* Math. xvii. 97, &c.
the
Of doing as we would be done unto. 379
1
the prophets, are, as it were, ſo many commentaries,
or explications, of theſe two great commandments.
And the apoſtle, Rom. xiii, 9, 10. having occaſion
to commend this great habit of love, which he elſe-
where, viz. 1 Cor. xiii. calls by the name of Charity,
follows his Maſter's doctrine, and reſolves the whole
duty of the ſecond table into the fame great command,
Thou ſhalt love thy neighbour as thyſelf.'
In this text of Matth. vii. 12. and Luke vi. 31. our.
Lord gives us an explication of this ſecond great com-
mandment, of loving our neighbour as ourſelf, in a
brief, but more clear propoſition or precept.
And the excellency of this precept conſiſts in theſe
particulars, among many others :
: 1. It is compendious and ſhort: the volumes of
morality that have been written, both by Chriſtian
and heathen philoſophers, though they contain many
excellent precepts, yet they are very large, and ſuch
as every man hath not opportunity to read, and thoſe
that have read them, or ſome of themi, cannot eaſily
remenber the many particulars contained in them,
Our Lord, therefore, hath given us this brief and
compendious precept, which is eaſy and familiar to be
femembred,
: 2. Though it be a compendious precept, yet it is a
comprehenſive précept, and ſuch as contains the whole
duty of man in relation to others.
.. There was well known, not only among the Jews,
but among the heathens, the probibitory part of this
precept ; namely, quod tibi fieri non vis alteri ne fe-
ceris 1. We find it among the ancient Jews, Tobit
iv. 15. and among the ancient heathens; inſomuch,
that one of the Ronan emperors cauſed it to be writ-
ten in letters of gold, as his choice motto, in ſeveral
parts of his palace.
And, indeed, that negative precept contains very
much of moral righteouſneſs, becauſe it extends to
the prohibition of all acts of injuſtice or unrighteouſ-
peſs; but this precept of the Goſpel doth not only
What you would not have done to thyself, do not to another.
virtually
880 Of doing as we would be done unto,
done to you.
virtually prohibit all acts of injuſtice and unrighteoul-
neſs, but it doth expreſsly command and enjoin all
acts of charity, goodneſs, and beneficence; and con-
ſequently is a precept not only of moral juſtice, but
of evangelical perfection, far beyond whatever the
choiceſt heathen moraliſt ever required, or ſo much
as thought of, as ſhall be in due time ſhewn. And
yet, farther, it doth not only comprehend all the fub-
jects or matter of moral juſtice and Chriſtian charity,
which is a large and comprehenſive ſubject, but it di-
rects, likewiſe, the manner, of it-Do ye even fo to,
them, with the fame fincerity, and integrity, and fim-
plicity, and affection of heart, as yoŲ would have it
3. As it is a compendious and comprehenſive, ſo
it is a plain and perfpicuous, and ſelf-evident rule ;
it ſends not a man to conſult with this or that philo-
fopher, ſchoolman, or caſuiſt, to be reſolved touching
the thing to be forborne or done, but ſends a man to
himſelf, and to that in himſelf which is moſt evident
to himſelf; namely, what he would wiſh to be done
to himſelf in the like condition; which, if a man will
be but as honeſt to himſelf as he may, he can eafily
determine and judge. So that of this precept I may
fay, as Moſes doth elſewhere concerning the law :
Behold! this commandment which I command thee
? this day, is not hidden from thee, neither is it afar
off. It is not in heaven, &c. neither is it beyond
the ſea, &c. But the word is very nigh unto thee,
in tay mouth, and in 'thy heart, that thou mayeſt
do it 1.'
4. It is ſuch a rule as in particular, and particų.
larly
. directive, as to the action in queſtion, under all
its circumſtances. It is true, that the general precepts
of doing that which is good and juſt are very true,
fourd, natural precepts, and common notions that are
implanted in our nature, and allowed by all; but yet
they ſerve not as ſufficient directions to particular ac-
· Deut. XXX. 11.
tions ;
1
Of doing as we would be done unto. 381
tions, and the reaſon is excellently given by the mo-
raliſt, becauſe ſtill the difficulty remains in a juſt and
true application or accommodation of theſe common
notions to particulår actions. And this is that that
makes perpetual controverſies between one' man
and another, though both parties agree in the com-
mon notions, that what is juſt and honeſt ought to be
done; but this precept gives a direction particularly
accommodated to every action of a man's life, be-
caiſe it is ſtill an eaſy and ready appeal : Would I
have that man do that to me, which I am about to
do to him?
· 5. It is a rule full of conviction. When another
man gives his judgment concerning my action, I am
rarely ſatisfied with his judgment, becauſe it differs
from that judgment which perchance I make; but,
when the judgment is my own, I muſt needs be con
vinced of what I judge. And, therefore, when Nathan
came to David, and put him a caſe in a third perſon,
which exactly ſquared with the caſe of David, in re.
lation to Uriah and his wife, and David pafſed his
judgment therein ; and, it after appeared that it was
his own caſe; there was nothing more to be ſaid, he
is convinced by his own judgment that he hath paſſed:
ſo when a man turns the tables, as the proverb is, and
makes another man's cafe his, his judgment muſt
needs be full of demonſtrative,' and unqueſtionable,
and cogent conviction, and conſequently muſt needs
have a ſtrange, forcible, and almoſt irreſiſtible direc-
tion, in relation to the doing, or not doing, of the
action propounded.
6. It is a rule that carries with it a ſtrange and for-
cible reaſonableneſs, congruity, and juſtice, if a man
gave himſelf but fo much leave and patience to ſcan,
and conſider, and examine it.
1. It is a moft reaſonable and evidently juſt rulę;
for with what imaginable juſtice can I do that to him,
that I judge unfit or unjuſt for him to do to me; or
with what pretence of juſtice, or congruity, can I judge
that
382
Of, doing as we would be done unto.
that which is fit for him to do to me, to be unfit for me
to do for him (taking in the qualifications hereafter
fubjoined).
Again. 2. It is a principle of much peace and ſecur
rity to him that practiſeth it. Among fome others
there ſeem to be two great occaſions of injuſtice, and
injury, and violence from one man to another.
1. The paſſion of revenge, which induceth retalia-
tion, or inflicting an injury upon him from whom a
man hath Teceived an injury.
2. The paſſion of fear, or ſuſpicion, leſt a perſon
may have opportunity and will to do a man harm;
and therefore the perſon fearing begins firſt with him
he fears, thereby to diſable hím to do the injury fear-
ed; and theſe two cauſe much of the injuſtice, vio-
lence, and oppreſſion in the world: but a man that
takes up and practiſeth this rule, as he cannot give an
irritation to revenge, becauſe this principle keeps him
from doing an injury, fo he is ſecure from the injury
ariſing from another's fear; becauſe his living accord
ing to this principle, gives a clear aſſurance to all men
that they need not fear, or fuſpect an injury from him,
becauſe inconſiſtent with this admirable rule, whereby
he directs his courſe, and ſo his innocence and juſtice
is his great foundation of his peace and tranquillity
in this life; and confequently this principle, and the
practice thereof, is the greateſt wiſdom, and the beſt
proviſion for peace in the world. If I do to others no
otherwiſe than I would have them do to me, no rea-
fonable man can be my enemy.
7. It is a rule that ħath that clear analogy with our
reaſon, and the terms fo evidently connected, that the
mind afſents to the truth and goodneſs of it, without
any proceſs of ratiocination. There are many moral
truths, that though they be moſt certainly true and
good, yet before the mind can clearly diſcover, or aſ-
fent unto them, it is neceffary to have ſome antece-
dent diſcurſive proceſs, or ratiocination ; ſuch are many
deductions and concluſions from the more univerſal
principles.
Of doing as we would be done untos 983
principles. But, again, as in nature and mathemati.
cal ſciences, fo in morals, there are ſome dictamina
moralia that have that clear and evident connection
in them, and that plain congruity to natural juſtice,
that at the firſt propoſal of them, nay, it may be,
without any propoſal of them, the foul afſents to the
things by a kind of immediate intuition, and primo
intuitu, without the uſe of ratiocination, or diſcurſive
diſquiſition. As the eye of ſenſe, as foon as it is open,
diſcerns the light, or call, without any kind of folemn
proceſs, to evince it to be ſuch, ſo there be ſome kind
of truths that the eye of the underſtanding afſents to,
quasi per saltum, & per intuitum, without the necef-
ſity or uſe of proceſſive or inductive ratiocination. The
connection between the terms of the propoſitions, or
antecedent and concluſion, are fo plain and evident,
that the aſſent is wrought in a moment.
Nay, yet farther, as in the ſenſible or vegetable nas
ture there ſeem to be implanted, by the wiſe God,
certain rules which we call natural inſtincts, that are
viſibly uſed in the higheſt degree of rational evidence
to their production, preſervation, and perfection ;
which, though they are moſt wiſe and rational rules,
yet the vegetable and ſenſible nature do, without any
innate active reaſon in themſelves, conſtantly follow;
ſo it ſeems in the rational foul, or conſcience, or mind,
or whatever elſe we pleaſe to term it, there are certain
moral truths, of great weight and moment, and necef,
ſity, for due regulation of the life of man, in order to
Almighty God himſelf; and others which are con-
naturally implanted in the mind, and may without
injury, be called rational inſtincts; which, though
they are admirably reaſonable, and ſuch as will evi,
dently appear fo, upon a diſcurſive proceſs, yet the
mind and inclination of the will is carried to aſſent
unto and approve them antecedently to any formal
ſucceſſive and deductive proceſs, or ratiocination of the
underſtanding, and grows up with a man to greater
trength, force, and efficacy, as he increaſeth in age;
and
884 of doing as we would be done unto:
1
and the moral precepts, that either by their ſelf-evi:
dence, primo intuitu, to the intellectual faculty, or by
their connatural implantation and inciſion into the ſoulg
.
are thus diſcovered, without the manuduction of a
diſcurſive proceſs, or train of ratiocination, are juſtly
called laws of nature.
And ſuch is this precept we have in hand, which,
without any antecedent inſtruction, or ratiocination, is
allowed, and approved, and embraced, primo intuitu;
either becauſe it is a moral and rational inſtinct con:
naturally implanted in the ſoul, as one of its inſcrip
tions or ſignatures; or, at leaſt, becauſe it holds ſuch
a clear, evident, plain congruity with our intellective
faculty, that at the firſt conception of it, without
more work, it aſſents to it as fit, and juſt, and good;
without any antecedent, either inſtruction, or argu-
mentation, or deduction; as it doth, at the firſt view,
conclude that two is more than one, without the ex-
pectation of a demonſtration thereof.
And hence it is, that all that have written of laws
of nature, although perchance they differ in their feve-
ral ſuppoſitions touching ſuch laws, and the reaſon of
them, yet have generally vouched this great precept,
quod fieri tibi non vis alteri ne feceris, among the una
queſtionable laws of nature.
They that ſuppoſe the laws of the rational nature
to be therefore ſuch, becauſe they are inſcribed, as it
were, and congenite with, and in the synteresis, or
ſeat of principles in the ſoul, ſuppoſe this moral rule
of juſtice and charity likewiſe inſcribed connaturally
in the natural conſcience; and they that ſuppoſe the
foul to be rasa tabula, and to have no ſuch moral or
other truths inſcribed in it, nor to have any connatu-
ral propoſition thereunto analogical to the inſtincts of
inferior animals, but only an accommodation of the
intelle&ual faculties to the external objects; yet fup-
poſe this to be a natural principle of moral juſtice and
righteouſneſs, becauſe it carries a plain and ready evi-
dence in itſelf, and a certain ealy congruity to our
faculties,
Of doing as we would be done unto. 385
1
faculties, whereby, at the firſt view, without any nes
cefſity of ratiocination, or deduction in a diſcurſive
proceſs, the underſtanding, primo intuitu, and “at the
firſt propofaľ thereof affents to it as true and good.
And, again, they that will not allow of laws of nature
upon either of the two former accounts, but only will
have fuch to be laws of nature which, upon an ac-
count of reaſon, appears to be immediately, or con-
ſequentially conducible to ſelf-preſervation ; yet allow
this to be a law of nature, even upon that account,
as highly conducible to the ſafety, good, and benefit
of every man; becauſe he that doth to another what
he would have another do to him, fecretly inclines an-
other to do the like by him.
8. It is a rule commenſurate to the whole reaſon-
able nature; every perſon that hath but the common
uſe of reaſon, may exerciſe it without any difficulty.
Every reaſonable man hath a reaſonable will; and
every reaſonable man may know what it is he wills,
and what it is he would or would not another
ſhould do to him: for the will is a rational power in
man; and, indeed, it is the complement of the ra-
tional procedure in the foul, and that which doth, or
ſhould, immediately follow the laſt act of the under
ſtanding ; willing it the full complete ripe fruit of the
rational ſoul in things to be done. And therefore
this, whatſoever ye would, ſuppoſeth an antecedent
confideration of theſe things :
1. A confideration of his own ſtate and condition,
that is about to do, or not to do, the thing under de
liberation,
2. A conſideration of the perſơn to whom the thing
under deliberation is to be done.
3. A conſideration of the thing itſelf that is under
deliberation.
4. A confideration of the ſeveral circumſtances, con-
gruities, and incongruities, that accompany the thing
under deliberation.
VOL. I.
5. A due
2 C
386 Of doing as we would be done unto.
1
5. A due tranſpoſing of the perſons by way of fic-
tion or ſuppofition; namely, he that is under propoſal
of being the agent, putting himſelf into the condition
of the patient, and putting the patient in the place o of"
the agent; and then making the deciſion upon it fairly
and impartially.
And although that one man’s reaſon, and learning,
and judgment, may be much greater and clearer than
another's, and there may be very many curious inqui-
ſitions and deſcants upon every action that comes un-
der this kind of deliberation, which every man cannot
attain unto, nor poſſibly reach, yet here is the excel-
lency of this rule, that he needs no other reaſon; no
other ſcrutiny, no other help but his own, to make
this deciſion, if he will be but what every one may
be, if he pleaſe, true and faithful, and honeſt to him
felf, he needs no other caſuiſt, no other umpire but
himſelf, though he have but an ordinary capacity, and
a common uſe of his reaſon and underſtanding:
9. This rule is a rule that, if followed, takes off
all that, that for the moſt part makes a man partial
and unequal, in determining touching his own actions.
The great reaſon of inequality in the actions of men
is ſelf-love, that makes a man partial to himſelf and
all his own actions; that warps a man from that equa-
lity and juſtice that ſhould direct him. When I find
that this or that action would be beneficial to me, I
preſently am carried away by felf-love, either to do it
without any farther examination, or, if I give myſelf
leave to conſider the lawfulneſs of it, felf-love and in-
tereſt blinds my judgment, and preſently perſuades me
that it is lawful, becauſe profitable to me; or, if I allow
myſelf any farther diſpute touching it, yet felf-love will
deceive me, and make thoſe arguments feem ſtrongeſt
that make for my intereſt : and ſo, on the contrary,
if I am under conſideration of ſome action that is to
my lofs, ſelf-love will uſe the like ſophiftry upon my
judgment, and bring me off from it; but this rule, if
followed,
1
Of doing as we would be done unto. ; 387
followed, diſchargeth me of that partiality that I have
to myſelf, or doth infallibly, even to my ſenſe, detect
it and take it off. For when I put myſelf in the ſtead
ảnd perſon of that other perſon to whom the action
is to be done, and find, that under that capacity and
ſuppoſition, I would not have that action done to me
which I am about to do to another, or would have that
action denied to me, that I ani about to deny to another,
the action appears to me truly as it is, and as it is ſtript
of that diſguiſe that felf-love would put upon it, and
removes that partiality that otherwiſe ſelf-love would
incline · me to, and gives ine a true repreſentation of
the action, whereby I cannot err through ſelf-love,
without apparent perverſeneſs, and wilful reſolved in-
juſtice, which cannot be preſumed in a reaſonable man.
And theſe be thoſe general obſervations, touching
the excellence and uſefulneſs of this excellent precept
of moral righteouſneſs.
I ſhall now proceed to conſider the parts and extent
of this precept. The heads whereof are as follow:
1. The object, touching which this precept is given;
it is moral actions between man and man, together
with the extent of the object, “Whatſoever ye would,
or whatſoever ye would not. '
II. The ſubject, with its extent; namely, man;
(Whatſoever ye would that men ſhould do to you,
4 that do ye to them. Men indefinitely, and there-
fore men univerſally.
III. The rule directing thoſe actions, no other but
the will of him that is to do the action under a change
or tranſpoſition of his perſon ; 'Whatſoever
ye
would
" that men ſhould do to you, that do ye to them.'
IV. The extent of the rule, under a threefold rela-
tion :
1. To the thing to be done.
2. To the manner of doing, 'Do ye even ſo to
$thern likewife.'
3. To the application of the rule, which is,
2 C 2
(1.) Pre-
1
388
Of doing as we would be done unto.
I
(1.) Preceptive, which it expreſſes, "Whatſoever
ye would that men ſhould do to you.
(2.) Prohibitive, implies, “What ye would not
that men ſhould do to you, that do ye not to them.”
I begin with the object of this rule, which are the
moral actions between men ; and therefore it will not
be amiſs to give ſome account touching them. Moral
actions of mankind are diſtinguiſhed either in reſpect
of the object to which they relate, or in reſpect of the
ſubject wherein they are, or in reſpect of the nature
and quality of the actions themſelves.
1. În reſpect of the object to which they relate ; and
they are theſe :
1. Either ſuch as relate to Almighty God, which
come under the denomination of piety, or impiety, ac-
cording to the nature of the actions ; or,
2. Such as relate to men ; ſuch are juſtice, righte-
ouſneſs, &c. or injuſtice, unrighteouſneſs, &c. Righte-
ouſneſs being a larger and more comprehenſive word
than juſtice,
II. In relation to the ſubject: ſo moral acts may be
diſtinguiſhed into ſuch as are internal; as love to God,
fear of God, reverence to him, dependance upon him,
with relation to God; love to man, compaſſion to him,
an internal active habit of righteouſneſs, goodneſs, juſ-
tice, with relation to man: or external, that flow im.
mediately from the outward man, though from an in-
ward principle, as adoration, external obedience unto
the commands of God, in relation to him; acts of juf-
tice, righteouſneſs, charity, in relation to men.
III. In relation to the nature and quality of the
action, whether towards God or man, intellectual or
external : fome actions are morally good, as piety,
obedience to God, love, righteouſneſs, charity to man.
Some are morally evil, as impiety, diſobedience to God,
malice, hatred, envy, cruelty, injuſtice towards men.
The moral goodneſs of every act or action of man-
kind, whether internal or external, relating to God or
man,
Of doing as we would be done unto. 389
man, conſiſts in the conformity thereof to the will and
command of God, which is the primitive rule of all
moral goodneſs : and the moral evil of any act or action
is the deformity, deviation, or contrariety thereof to the
will or law of God.
Our Lord, when he gave an abſtract of the will and
love of God, diſtributed it into thoſe two great com-
mandments, Love to God, with all the heart, and
with all the foul: and love to man as to ourſelves.'
The firſt of theſe is indeed the great command, that as
it is the root of our love to man, ſo it ought to be the
greateſt principle to move it, and the primitive rule to
qualify and direct it: but in the command in hand, the
latter, namely, the command touching our love to
our neighbour, or to mankind, and the offices there-
of, is the ſubject in hand: therefore it is our buſineſs
to enquire, what is that love of God that concerns our
acts or actions to mankind, whereby they are denomi-
nated good, if conſonant to that law, or morally evil,
if contrary to it.
The law of God, touching moral goodneſs, relating
to man, is of two kinds.
1. That which reſpecteth the inward man, or that
habit, or thoſe acts of moral goodneſs that originally
reſide in the mind, the principal whereof commanded,
is love; and that train of excellent habits that follow
it, as righteouſneſs, beneficence, charitableneſs, meek-
neſs, patience, gentleneſs, which are required by the
command of God, and in this rule preſcribed under the
words so and likewise. And, on the other ſide, the ha-
bits or vices forbidden by the law of God, are hatred,
malice, envy, revengefulneſs, cruelty, unmercifulneſs,
and all that black train of the diſeaſes of the mind:
2. That which reſpecteth the actions of the out-
ward man, may be reduced under theſe two general
heads ; namely, righteouſneſs and charity,
Righteouſneſs between man and man confiſts in
theſe two generals :
2 ¢ 3
1. In
990 Of doing as we would be done unto:
1
.
+
1. In doing no injury.
2. In giving to every man his due.
The former part of righteouſneſs conſiſts: in doing
no wrong: and regularly all ſorts of injuries are re-
ductive to the five laſt commandments of, the ſecond
table; though even under thoſe prohibitions there is
commanded virtually the contrary of what is in them
forbidden. By theſe prohibitory laws of God, all in-
juries to the perſon of any man, all violence, rapine,
deceit, cozenage, fraud, all falſe accuſation, lying,
falſe defamation, or teſtimony, are prohibited ; and in
theſe prohibitory laws the negative part of this 'rule is
moſt concerned, quod tibi fieri non vis alteri ne fecerise
The former, namely, the poſitive part'of-righteouſ-
neſs, suum cuique tribuere l, liath a double reſpect,
1. Either to mankind in general, or,
2. To mankind under ſome relation.
1. To mankind in general : and herein the great
root, or foundation of righteouſneſs between man and
man, is that great, divine and natural, precept' ſidein
serva?, or fides est'servandą.; for the truth is, all moral
precepts of righteouſneſs are reducible to this one; and
there are two kinds of fides: data, either that which is
given expreſſively, or that which is given impliedly,
or interpretatively: the former reſpects, eſpecially con-
tracts and bargains, and pacts; though even in theſe
there is alſo an implied faith ; as if I fell goods to ano.
ther, it is implied, that if I know them not to be my
own, I am bound to make reſtitution, for I ſell not
bona fide but mala fides.
The ſecond fort of fides, is that which is implied,
and by common interpretation ſo eſteemed. Thus,
as a man is a part of the common fociety of mankind,
he doth by way of interpretation undertake to obſerve
thoſe common laws that are introduced by the law of
nations : ſo if a man doth become a member of
any
civil ſociety, he tacitly obligeth himſelf to the obſer-
vation of the laws and cuſtoms of that ſociety; and
- to give every man his due. 2 observe good faith.
hither
Of doing as we would be done unto.
391
1
hither alſo reductively all the mutual offices (whereof
in the next ſection) may be brought, as to the primary
law, or obligation.
: Now this part of righteouſneſs that intervenes be
tween man and man, generally is, suum cuique tribuere :
this therefore ſuppoſeth a right or propriety ſettled in
that: perſon to whom it is given, and this right of pro-
priety may be lodged in another, by ſome of thefe
ways.
1. By the divine poſitive law. Thus under the ſtate
of the Jews, a right of propriety was lodged in thè
prieſts, för, their parts of the burnt-offerings; and in
the-Levites for their tythes ; and he that withheld
them was an unrighteous man, he did not suum tri-
buere,
2. Jure naturæ; as I have intereſt by the law of na-
ture: in my own breaſt, and family and children.
3. By the jus gentium ; where it is not corrected
by a municipal law. Thus the primus inventor, or
poffeffor of things, whereof no particular intereſt was
lodged in another, acquires a property, and he that
detains it from him is unrighteous: thus Reuben
hath a right to the mandrakes which he found againſt
Rachel, and they were not to be taken from him
but by his:own conſent, or the conſent of his parents,
who by the uſe then obtaining, had the power over
thèm.
4. By the municipal laws or cuſtoms of that king-
dom, or city, wherein a man lives : for, as hath been
faid, every man that enters into any ſociety, tacitly and
interpretatively, obligeth himſelf to obſerve the laws
and cuſtoms thereof, and particularly ſuch as direct
the manner of acquiring and transferring property.
5. By a man's own particular agreement: and this
may be with relation either to words or things.
66. In relation to words or ſigns. When one man,
either by words or ſigns, imparts any thing to another,
that other man hath an intereſt therein ; namely,
2 c 4
that
392 Of donig as we would be done unto.
that the man relates or imparts what is true; and
therefore he that knowingly, and with an intention to
deceive, tells another a lie, he doth not suum tribuere;
namely, that 'truth that the words or ſigns import;
and this part of juſtice between man and manis
called veracity.
2. In relation to things. I may transfer a right
or property to another, ſeveral ways ; for under this
head come all the ſeveral parts or reſpects of com-
mutative juſtice: I ſhall reduce them ſhortly to thoſe
two heads.
1. Tranſlation of properties, by way of contract,
whereby that which is mine, becomes another's in
point of propriety, as by fale, location, &c. It is a part
of this moral righteouſneſs, that I detain it not from
him to whom I have fold it.
2. Tranſlation of intereſt, by way of ſtipulation,
or agreement; which, though it do not always alter
the property, yet it gives another an intereſt in my
performance thereof; ſuch are the reſtitution of what
is borrowed, delivery of the pledge upon payment,
payment of money, or delivery of goods according
to promiſe. And thus far concerning that common
righteouſneſs which is between man and man.
2. The ſecond kind of righteouſnefs relates to
others, as they ſtand in a different relation : theſe are
thoſe which I have before called moral offices, or officia
moralis justitiæ ; whereas, though between theſe vari-
ous relations there are reciprocations of mutual offices,
yet therefore reciprocation is not in the ſame kind or
nature. And theſe relations are eſpecially two, ceca-
nomical, and political.
Firſt, the relations oeconomical conſiſt in three kinds
of relations.
1. Father and children ; wherein, though there be
ſome offices that are ſimply reciprocal, as love, and
mutual ſupport: yet there are ſome that are ſpecifical to
ſuch relation, as authoritative direction, command, and
correction
1
Of doing as we would be done unto. 393
!
correction to the father; ſubjection and obedience to
the children.
2. Huſband and wife ; wherein there be alſo ſome
duty ſimply reciprocal, as love, and fidelity ; ſo there
are ſome that are appropriate, as protection and main-
tenance to the huſband, reverence to the wife.
3. Maſter and ſervant; wherein alſo there are duties,
ſpecifically appropriate; as payment of wages, conve-
nient ſupplies, &c. to the maſter; diligence, fidelity,
and obedience to the ſervant.
Secondly, the relations political ; and principally,
prince or magiſtrate, and people; wherein,
1. The offices of the prince, or magiſtrate, are,
(1.) Protection.
(2.) Government according to law.
(3.) Adminiſtration of juſtice; retributive, to be
done juſtly, ſpeedily, with equality, and due moder-
ation: diſtributive, in diſtribution of public offices,
&c. to be done prudently, and according to deſert
and fitneſs.
2. The officers of the people, relative to prince or
magiſtrate; ſubjection, obedience; reverence, ſupport.
Theſe are various and divers, according to the ſeveral
conſtitutions of kingdoms, ſtates, and cities, wherein
their ſeveral municipal laws direct the quality or na-
ture of the ſeveral offices of prince and people, with
relation to each other.
And thus far touching righteouſneſs, according to
a regular and ſtridt ſenſe.
2. The next part of the Divine law is the law of
Charity, or rather love, philanthropy, which comes
equal under the command of the law, as that of
righteouſneſs or juſtice; and indeed it is but a ſpecies
of righteouſneſs in its large and comprehenſive ſeniſe;
yet, with this difference, the rules of righteouſneſs
are more defined and determinate : but the rules of
charity, in relation to the exerciſe of the particular
acts thereof, are, in many things, more left to the
dictamen
&
394 Of doing as we would be done unto.
1
dictamen tone conscientiæl, under the ſeveral circum-
ftances of time, place, perſon, manner, degree, &c.
wherein, nevertheleſs, this rule of our Saviour. will
be a fingular directive upon all occaſions, as fhall be
-hereafter fhown.
Now the parts of this charity, or philanthropy, feem
to be theſe:
1o. Beneficence, under which we reduce libera- -
lity, hoſpitality, eleemosyna, oralmſgiving,' the con-
trary whereof are, narrow-heartedneſs, covetouſneſs.
2. Clemency; under which we may reduce, firſt,
a mitigation, or remiſſion of the 'extremity of part of
our right, when it may be with a benefit to others,
and without an enormous detriment to ourſelves. Se- .
condly, the uſing. of equity, or moderation for the
good of others within the extremity of legal right.
Thirdly, moderation. Fourthly, longanimity, cr pá-
tient bearing of injuries. Fifthly, forgiveneſs of in-
juries to a perſon that ſeeks it: the contrary where-
of are, a rigorous exaction of our own rights to
the extremity, taking' the utmoſt advantage of the
feverity of laws; or implaçableneſs, vindi&tiveneſs,
fierceneſs:
3. Inoffenſiveneſs ; denying ourſelves in what we
may lawfully do, or require, rather than giving an
offence by our uſe of a lawful liberty.
4. Condeſcenſion to the weakneffes and infixmities
of others.
5. Compaſſion and fympathy. with thoſe in miſery.
6. Humility and lowlineſs of deportment to others,
giving them preference; the contrary whereof is,
pride, haughtineſs, arrogance, ſelf-attribution, and de
fpiſing of others, ambition, vain-glory.
7. A general frame of humanity and benignity to
all mankind, whether relations or ſtrangers, friends
or enemies, endeavouring all good offices to their
fouls, bodies, eſtatės, yet obſerving that due propor-
tion that becomes prudence. The contrary whereof is
I the dictates of conscience.
ſelfiſhneſs,
Of doing as we would be done unto. 395,
1
felfiſhneſs, making a man's ſelf the ſingle-scentre and
end of all he doth.
1.
8. Gratitude; acknowledging benefits received,
and looking upon himſelf as under an obligation fo
to do; and ſtudying all due and decent means and
opportunities of expreffing it. . '';
9. Decorum, or decency, in all our actions, that we
may avoid all poffible offences given, and iuſing this
decorum in our geſtures, applications, ſpeeches, ham
bit, addreſſes, receptions, and generally in all we do.. :
· 10. Simplicity and ſincerity in all our actions and
works; the contrary whereof is diſſimulation, hypo-
criſy, deceit, circumvention, craftineſs, guile, which
are as much againſt the law' of charity, as:cruelty or
revenge.
5711
11. Meekneſs and gentleneſs; the oppoſite wherea
unto is roughneſs, ſtubbornneſs, frowardneſs, monolitýs
cenſoriouſneſs, ſuperciliouſneſs:
ses
12. A fair and good opinion of others, and a fair
interpretation of their actions, without very juſt cauſe
to the contrary: the oppoſite whereof are evil.fur-
miſings, calumnies, backbiting, readineſs to receive
or believe falſe reports, cauſeleſs fufpicions. "*."
13. Rejoicing in the good and welfare of others,
whether friends or enemies. The contrary whereof
is envy, rejoicing in other men's harms, rejoicing
when an enemy falls into miſchief, an evil eye at:
others good.
14. An entire love to peace, and endeavouring; by
all due means and opportunity., to preſerve, and to re-
ſtore it, both in relation to himſelf and others, and
therefore is not eaſily provoked, and is eaſily pacified,
moderates his paſſions, keeps them under diſcipline,
ſeeks reconcilation.
Theſe are ſome of thoſe many parts i of charity;
or love, or philanthropý, that virtue, that ſo much
commends the Chriſtian Religion above all other ,
religions in the world, in relation to the mdral actions
between man and man; it is a large and comprehen-
five
1
i
A
396 Of doing as we would be done unto.
..
.
five duty, and ſuch as hath an influence into all the
moral actions of our lives, and therefore it is hardly
poſſible to enumerate all the parts of it. But this
may ſerve for our direction in the application of this
rule of our Saviour.
Thus we have the ſubject matter of this rule, the
whatsoever, including all the moral actions between
man and man, whether actions that relate to righe
teouſneſs, or juſtice, or the actions that relate to cha-
Tity.
And this rule of our Saviour is very uſeful in re-
lation to both; but eſpecially to thoſe actions that
concern charity ; for the works of moral juſtice, or
injuſtice, are more determinate, not only by the Divine
laws of God, but in a great meaſure by the very laws
of men alſo, in every particular kingdom or ſtate,
which commands ſome things, and prohibits others,
in things relating to moral juſtice or injuſtice; and
eſtabliſheth certain tribunals, or courts, that by civil
coercion, compel the obſervance of thoſe rules of
moral righteouſneſs injoined by laws, and puniſh the
violation thereof: and therefore the laws of men in
ſuch caſes, do not only direct that moral juſtice that is
to be between man and man, but compels 'the obſer-
vance of it.
But the Divine law of charity is not ſo determinate
and particular in its exerciſe, as the laws of righteouſ.
neſs and juſtice are: if a man kill another, he knows
he violates the fixth commandment; he knows, he
effends the municipal law of the kingdom wherein he
lives, and knows the penalty of it. But when a man
denies an alms, or is ſtrait-handed, where he ſhould
be free, it is more difficult for him to diſcern his duty,
or the neglect of it, becauſe though charity be in
joined by the Divine law, yet the ſeveral circum,
ſtances, when and how, and how far forth it is to be
exerciſed, are not ſo evident, but muſt neceſſarily
therein be left to the prudence and integrity of a good
conſcience.
5
Again,
Of doing as we would be done unto.
897
)
Again : When I borrow money, the law of the land
will compel me to pay it, and make me juſt, becauſe
it is a part of that moral righteouſneſs that is injoined
by human laws. But there are very many acts of chas
rity, which, though injoined by the command of God,
yet come not under any preciſe or determinate laws
of men. The Divine law of charity binds me to be
liberal, to give alms, to forgive offences, to be thank-
ful for benefits, &c. but theſe come not under the
conſideration of human law, and perchance it is not
fit they ſhould, becauſe it is impoſſible for any human
law to accommodate itſelf to the circumſtances of
thoſe actions, neither can it preſcribe the time, man-
ner, or meaſure of it; but it muſt neceffarily be left
in a great meaſure to the deciſion of the prudence
and integrity of the conſciences of particular per-
fons; and therefore this rule of our Saviour is of the
moſt excellent uſe, and indeed of neceffity, for the di-
rection of the conſcience, eſpecially in theſe caſes of
the law of charity.
1. Becauſe though the law is general, yet the con-
ſcience ſtands in need of direction, in relation to the
particular action, and the application of that general
law to this particular action.
2. Becauſe thoſe actions that ſimply relate to cha-
rity, do rarely come under the correction of a tempo-
ral law: for inſtance, the law of England tells me,
that I muſt pay my rates to the poor: now it is no
longer an act of charity fimply, but of juſtice. But
the laws of England do not compel me to give to this
or that poor man that aſks, therein I am only obliged
by the Divine law of charity; and my conſcience,
circumſtances conſidered, is my great directrix in this
action, and the rule of our Lord here preſcribed the
great director of my conſcience. This rule therefore,
though it be of admirable uſe in all actions of moral
righteouſneſs between man and man; yet it is not
only of admirable ufe, but even of neceſſity in relation
to acts of charity.
II. Having
298 Of doing as we would be done unto.
II. Having now done with the object of this pre-
cept, namely, moral actions, whether of righteouſ-
neſs or charity, I come to the ſubject, or perſons, to
whom this rule, or precept, is preſcribed, which is
man, under the pronoun,, Ye,' Whatſoever ye would,
&c. And this ſubject may be conſidered two ways.
1. Abſolutely, and in its full extent. 2. Relatively.
1. Abſolutely, and in its full extent; ſo it com-
prehends, all mankind; whatſoever ye men of any
kind of condition, ye buyers, ye ſellers, ye borrowers,
ye lenders, ye rich, ye poor, ye friends, ye enemies,
ye fathers, ye children, ye maſters, ye ſervants, ye
princes, ye ſubjects, whoſoever ye be, infomuch that
ye are all ſubjects to the great King of heaven and
earth.; and conſequently ye are, and ought to be ſub-
jects to the laws of God, whether they are the laws
of-imperate righteouſneſs or juſtice, or laws of love
and charity ; ye, whoſoever ye are, that are concern-
ed in any acts of morality towards any others, ye are
the perſons to whom this, command is directed,
“Whatſoever ye would that men ſhould do to you, do
ye even fo to them.
2. Relatively, or reſtrictively: ſo it is directed to
man, sub ratione agentis moralis, or, sub ratione ho-
minis moraliter acturi : in every moral action that a
man is doing, or about to do, there is the moral ac-
tion itſelf (whereof before); and the agent, 'the perſon
that is doing,' or about to do the action;' and the pa-
tient, the perſon to whom the action is done, or to be
done. This rule, or precept, or direction, is given to
the agent, or the perſon that is doing, or about to do
this moral action and thus the direction then runs,
ye men of what condition ſoever, under what relation
foever, that are doing, or to do, or about to do any
moral action to another, obſerve this rule for your
direction in this action that ye are about to do, or in-
vited to do to others, ‘ Do as ye would be done by.'
III. I come to the third thing; namely, that where-
in the vis directiva, or the rule of direction' confifts ;
which
1
Of doing as we would be done unto. 399
A
which is no other but the will of him that is to do, or
not to do the action in queſtion, under a tranfpofition
of the perſon ; namely, the will of him that is now the
agent, were he płaced in the ſtead or room of him that
is the patient. As if he ſhould have ſaid, You, Titus,
are now under a deliberation, whether you ſhould or
ſhould not do this or that particular action to Caius;
whether you ſhould forgive him that injury that he hath
done to you, or whether you fould over-reach him in
ſuch a bargain; conſider with yourſelf, that were
you Caius, and he Titus, would you not have him to
forgive you ? if you would, then now forgive him:
would you have him to over-reach you in this bargain?
if you would not, then do not over-reach him. Se
that the will of the party, under this ſuppoſition of
the tranſpoſition of the perfon, is that which is pre-
{cribed as the index directorius of the action under de-
liberation,
But becauſe the will in man is a rational faculty, and
proceeds to its determination, upon the previous deli-
beration of the underſtanding; therefore, in this judi-
ciary deciſion, we ſhall find theſe ſeveral acts, which
every man that hath but the ordinary uſe of reaſon,
may, and doth, with great facility exerciſe; and there
fore
may any difficulty, or intricacy, or uncer-
tainty, come to a right and juſt determination touching
any action to be done, or omitted, without ſtudying
caſuiits, ſchool-
men, or moral philoſophers ; namely,
1. He may, and eaſily can confider the action in
deliberation what it is, what are the circumſtances of
it: ſuppoſe, for the purpoſe, that the deliberation be,
whether he ſhall forgive ſuch a treſpaſs or no; he can
eaſily conſider what the treſpaſs is, of what value, how
it was done, or in what manner, or with what cir-
cumſtances; whether forgiveneſs would be deſired,
and what would the conſequence be, if the deſire
ſhould be granted; whether it would not be for his re-
putation, or would be a means of a future peace and
friendſhip,
Again,
without any
400 Of doing as we would be done unto.
1
Again, 2. He can eaſily conſider his own condition,
whether he would be much the worſe for relinquiſhing
his ſatisfaction of this injury; whether he be not well
enough able to bear it, and whether it would not pro-
cure him more contentedneſs of mind, if he did re-
linquiſh his fatisfaction, that would more than coun-
tervail the benefit of revenge.
3. He could eaſily underſtand the condition of the
wrong doer. Is he not very ſubmiſſive, deſires for-
giveneſs
, is forry for the wrong he hath done; and be-
fides all this, he is poor, and unable to make me fa-
tisfaction; and the wrong he did me was but by mil-
take.
4. It is then a very eaſy matter for him to conſider ;
fuppoſe I had committed the like injury to him, by
miſtake, or over-ſight, and I were as poor as he, as
unable to make ſatisfaction, as forrowful for the injury,
as ſubmiſſively deſiring his pardon, and he as rich as I
now, am, and might remit the injury without any great
detriment; certainly I may, with great eaſe, ſuppoſe
this; and fo change perſons and conditions with him
by way of hypotheſis or ſuppoſition.
5. He might, with the ſame facility, know, upon
ſuch a ſuppoſition, whether he would not, upon theſe
terms, willingly have the injury forgiven him, and
perchance would reaſonably think the other a very
hard and uncharitable man if he would not do it.
6. Laſtly, if he will not groſsly prevaricate with
himſelf, he can, upon this, conclude, that ſince I would
have him to do thus to me, were my condition his,
and his mine, I muſt now do the like to him, and for-
give him the injury he thus did me, upon ſubmiſſion:
I have given that judgment already againſt him, were
he in my ſtead, and I in his ; and therefore I muſt
not, in common ingenuity, retract, unleſs I ſhall be
perverſely unreaſonable againſt the very decree of my
own judgment and will,
Thus this excellent rule of our Lord fets up a tri-
bunal within every man's own breaſt, which will in-
fallibly
Of doing as we would be done unto. 401
fallibly and impartially direct him ; and his own will,
and the determination thereof, is become his law and
his judge. And if he will be but honeſt and true to
himſelf, he cannot be miſguided; and certainly if a
man will be honeſt and true to himſelf, he may be;
and all that is neceſſary is but to know his own mind,
or will, what he would in caſe the tables were turned,
and he himſelf to be the patient, and the other the
agent; and then reſolvedly to act according to ſuch a
will or deſire, which he would entertain or think rea-
ſonable under ſuch a tranſpoſition.
But there are ſome neceſſary cautions to be uſed in
this ſuppoſed tranſpoſition of perſons, and the reſult
of that judgment that is to be made thereupon.
1. Among men there be ſome that ſeem to ſtand in
a mere parity, as the ſeveral members of one commu-
nity or ſociety, whereby it comes 10 paſs, that the ac-
tions of ſuch men are, as it were, commenſurable, and
fall under the ſame common congruity, or incongruity.
What is unjuſt or unfit for Caius to do to Titus, is
unfit for Titus to do to Caius: and in ſuch caſes, the
practice of this rule is leſs difficult; for they ſtand up-
on the ſame parity of reaſon : if I would not have Ti-
tus cheat or deceive me, or take away my goods, or
beat me, I have herein a plain rule not to do ſo
to him.
But there are ſome perſons in a community that
ftand in a different relation each to other ; whereby
many: actions that are compatible to one, are incom-
patible to another; a magiſtrate and people, maſter
and ſervant, father and children: and in theſe actions
thắt are ſpecifically appropriate to one relation, a mea-
ſure is not to be taken by the actions appropriate to
the other : it is not reaſonable for a father to ſay, I
would not have my child correct me, and therefore I
mult not correct him: nor for a judge to ſay, I would
not have the malefactor to condemn me to the priſon,
therefore I muſt not condemn him : the actions are
ſpecifically appropriate to a relation, and becauſe of the
2 D
difference
1
VOL. I.
402
Of doing as we would be done unto.
1
difference of relation, there is not juſtly a reciprocation
of the congruity between them, nor a commenſurable-
neſs between the action's of one and the other.
2. But even in the particularities of the actions,
fpecifically appropriate to relations, this rule doth hold
with a due alteration of ſuppoſitions : for inſtance, it
is an appropriate action to the relation of a father to
correct his child, and there is no reciprocation in it: but
in the particular action itſelf, the father may, and muſt
go by this evangelical rule: I am about to correct my
child; ſuppoſe I were a child, and having the ſame rea-
ſon and judgment I have, would I have my father correct
me with a fault, or without due examination, whither I
committed ſuch a fault; or when the fault is ſo ſmall,
that it deſerves only a reprehenſion, and not a correc-
tion? or would I have him correct me in his paſſion?
or would not my ſubmiſſion and repentance expiate the
neceſſity of a correction? or would I have it done in ſo
fevere a meaſure? Again, I am a judge, and therefore
ſentence is my appropriate action, in caſe of a mälefac-
tor deduced into judgment before me: but were I de-
duced into judgment beforea judge, would Ibécontented
to be judged unheard, or without due examination of
the fact ? or would I be cenfured beyond the meafure
or nature of the offence ? In theſe and the like caſes,
the rule holds, quod-tili
fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris :
and the reaſon is, becauſe, though the father hath a
ſpecifical power of correcting, which is not reciprocal
from the child to hiin; and the judge hath' a power of
inflicting puniſhment upon a malefactor, without 'ie-
ciprocation of the like power of the malefactor upon
him; yet in the before-mentioned exceffés, he ex,
ceeds the power committed to him ; and indeed there.
in acts variouſly as a private man, and therefore is' un-
der the prohibition of quod-tili fieri non vis altéri rie
feceris.
3. And upon the ſame reaſon it is, that although
there be a diſparity of relations, which have their fe-
.
veral
1
l
Of doing as we would be done unto. 403
veral ſpecifical appropriate actions, without a parity of
reciprocation, yet in ſuch actions as do intervene be-
tween ſuch relations that are not ſpecifically appro-
priate to the terms of relation, this rule holds, as well
as between) pcrfons not ſo related one to another : for
inſtance, the ſpecifical actions appropriate to a maſter,
father, or magiſtrate, are without a true command in
things lawful, correction and punition, if there be
juſt occaſion. And the ſpecifical appropriate actions
of the ſervant, child, or ſubject, are ſubjection, re-
verence, and obedience : yet the actions of contract
and commerce are not appropriate to thoſe relations,
but concern them as perſons not under any ſuch re-
lation : and therefore the ſame rules of commutative
juſtice in contracts and commerce, hold between them
as between other common perſons, and conſequently
the natural rule in hand is equally applicable to both,
notwithſtanding the difference of relations; the maſter,
parent, or magiſtrate, may not deceive or circumvent
the ſervant, child, or ſubject, in buying or ſelling, nor
e converso; and therefore if I would not have my
maſter or ſervant, father or child, governor or ſubject,
deceive me in buying and ſelling, or break his word
with me, or injuriouſly take away my goods or land,
I muſt not do the like to them, for theſe are common
actions of commutative, or private juſtice, or rightes
ouineſs, that concern not a man under thoſe diſparities
of relation.
4. The conſcience, will, or judgment, which is here
preſcribed as the rule, muſt be the will, conſcience,
and judgment of him that is to take the meaſure of
his actions thereby: and therefore, though in caſes of
different relations, there is a neceſſity of tranſpoſition
of perſons in the application of this rule, ſo that he
that is about to do an action, for the due regulation of
that action, and the application of this rule, muſt of-
tentimes induere personam alterius , yet the judg-
ment and will, by which he muſt proceed, muſt be
his own: for otherwiſe this rule would be without
place himself in the situation of another.
2 D2
any
}
1
Of doing as we would be done unto.
:
any poſſible certainty, and would oftentimes occaſion
great abſurdity in action. The excellence of this rule
conſiſts in this, that a man hath a judge, or director
of his own, and within himſelf, whereby to meaſure,
direct, and regulate his actions, and is not neceſſitated
to go farther.
And the reaſons hereof are theſe:
1. Becauſe otherwiſe this rule would want much of
that perfection which it hath. If a man upon every
moral action which he is to exerciſe, ſhould be driven
to conſult the judgment of another, he would be to
feek many times for a director, when the eminence,
or preſent exigence of the action will not bear ſo much
elay. It is true, every wife and good man will, as
much as he can, endeavour, by reading, and advice
with others, to certify and ſettle his own judgment and
conſcience, but when he hath ſo done, the judgment
is ſtill his own; and though perchance he hath, by
theſe means, altered his own judgment from what it
was, yet this altered judgment is now become as
much his own as that he had before was his. I do
not diffuade any man from uſing the help of other
men's advice, direction, and knowledge, to rectify his
own judgment, either in the general habit thereof, or
in relation to particular actions, for this is prudent and
neceſſary for every good and juſt man. But all that
I contend for, is, that ſtill the judgment muſt, of ne-
ceſſity, be the man's own that muſt guide him in vo-
luntary moral actions of his own.
But, 2. In relation to the rule in hand, it muſt ne-
ceſſarily be a man's own judgment that muſt be his
guide. It is pofſible for another man, well converſant
in morals, to know better than myſelf in the theory or
notion whether this or that action be fit or juſt, or
exactly commenſurate to the rules of moral juſtice and
righteouſneſs; but it is impoſſible for any man in the
world to know ſo well as myſelf, whether I would
have another to do that to me, which I am about to
do to him ; this judgment or conception, namely,
the
Of doing as we would le done into. 4:05
.
1
the knowledge of what I would that another ſhould do
to me, lies only in my own breaſt.
Again, 3. The determination of a man's will, touch-
ing ſuch actions as he would have another do, or not
to do to him, is very much diverſified and varied, ac-
cording to variety of circumſtances of time, place,
perſon, and other junctures that accompany the action,
touching which the deliberation and reſolution is
exerciſed. And theſe circumſtances muſt neceſſarily
have a great influence upon the reſult of my will,
touching particular actions, which I would, or would
not that another ſhould do to me; and conſequently
my meaſure of ſuch actions, which I am about to do,
or not to do to him, muſt thereby be greatly diverſi-
fied; and the nature, quality, and efficacy of theſe
circumſtances are not poſſibly ſo clear and evident to
another, as they are to myſelf; and conſequently ano-
ther cannot ſo clearly determine, whether he would
that another ſhould or ſhould not do the action to him,
were he in my place or ſtead; becauſe he cannot have
the ſame clear proſpect of all thoſe circumſtances
which concern me in this action, whereunto he muſt
neceſſarily be more a ſtranger than myſelf.
4. Unleſs in the tranſpoſing of perfons, in order to
make my judgment of what I would or would not
that another ſhould do to me, and confequently to
make up thereby what I ſhould or ſhould not do to
him; I ſay, unleſs in ſuch a caſe, I ſhould uſe that judg-
ment which I have at the time of ſuch deliberation and
concluſion, there will follow uncertainty and deception
in the application of this rule; for inſtance, a ph;fi-
cian or chirurgeon hath' a patient that is under a def-
perate diſtemper, but he knows it not, or believes it
not, and therefore is utterly averſe to thoſe ſharp re-
medies that are neceſſary for the preſervation of his
life; the phyſician or chirurgeon muſt not meaſure.
his application to the patient by this rule. If I were
in this patient's caſe, and under that apprehenſion that
he is, I would not have theſe applications made to me,
2D 3
and
1
406 Of doing as we would be done unto.
!
and therefore I muſt not make them to him. But
this rule muſt be, were I in this patient's condition,
and had that clear ſenſe of the danger I were in, which
I now have concerning him, I would have theſe ap-
plications made to me, therefore I wili make them to
him.
Again : If a father ſees his child hath gotten a knife,
or fome dangerous thing, which the child is extreme-
ly fond of, but the father knows it will do him mil.
chief: in the deliberation of the father, whether he
fhall take away this knife, the rule he muſt go by
muſt not be thus; if I were this child, and had no
more underſtanding than he hath, I would not have
the knife taken from me, therefore I will iot take it
from him. Bụt this procedure muſt be tłus: I know
the child will do himſelf harm with this knife, and
therefore if I were this child, and had this underſtand-
įng which I have, I ſhould be conteni this knife that
pleaſeth me ſhould be taken from me, therefore I will
take it from him. Though to make the application of
this rule, I change perſons with my child, yet in this
ſuppoſed tranſpoſition of perfons, I carry along with
me my own judgment, diſcretion, and underſtanding
that I now have about me, and though i afſume my
child's perſon in this application, yet I aſſume not his
folly, childiſhneſs, and paſſion.
And by this explication, a queſtion that is often
made may be reſolved, viz. Whether a parent, a
nurfe, or a magiſtrate, or a phyſician, or any other
perfon, may not, for the goou of the child, ſubject,
patient, or other perſon, deceive him, when there is
no other expedient will avail the attaining of that
good, or the avoiding of ſome imminent evil (always
excluding a lie out of this controverſy): for inſtance,
a perſon deſperately fick, is utterly averſe to the taking
of a potion, that would certainly or probably cure
him, but extremely fond of a cup of ſmall beer, that
alone would endanger to hurt him. The patient calls
for ſmall beer, and the phyſician ſecretly conveys the
1
potion
Of doing as we would be done unto. 407
potion into the beer, and thereby deceives, but cures,
his patient. If we ſhould meaſure this rule by this ap-
plication; namely, if I were this patient, and under
his diſtemper and miſapprehenſion, I would not be
thus deceived, and therefore I will not thus deceive
him: I ſay, if we ſhould make this application in this
manner, tke phyſician, did ainiſs in this deception,
though the patient be recovered by it; which ſeems to
be a miſapplication in this tranſpoſition of perſons.
But the rule by which the phyſician doth and may
juſtify the lawfulneſs of this deception, is this : I know
the patient will be endangered if he take not this po-
tion, or drink cold beer without it; and though he,
through his diſtemper, knows not his own good to be
averſe to it, yet, were I in his caſe, I ſhould, under
that judgment I have of things, rather be contented
to be thus deceived for my cure, and therefore, I both
will and may thus deceive my patient for his good :
though to meaſure the juſtneſs or unjuſtneſs of this
deceit, I change the ſuppoſition of perſons with him,
yet in this tranſpoſition I aſſume not his diſtemper and
weakneſs of mind, but keep my own judgment and
underſtanding to guide my will, in relation to this
action, notwithſtanding the ſuppoſed aſſumption of
his perſon, thereby to apply this rule of juſtice, quod
tibi fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris. And upon the
ſame account I will d'eceive my child, by giving him
aloes, wrapt up in ſugar, to cure him of a diſeaſe, and
cheat him of a thing that is, or may be, noxious
to him, with what artifice I can, and yet without
any violation of this facred rule of juſtice; for had
my child that underſtanding that I have, though he
needed not be cheated or deceived in this manner, yet
he would be contented thus to be deceived for his
good, if it were not otherwiſe attainable.
And the reaſon of the difference of theſe caſes from
deceit and cozenage, in contracting or dealing, is, be-
cauſe, in the caſes propounded, there is a defect of
2 D A
underſtanding
?
408 Of doing as we would be done unto.
)
underſtanding in the one party, and the deceit is for
a neceſſary good to the party deceived, not otherwiſe
attainable. But in the caſe of ordinary contracts and
commerce between perſons, it is otherwiſe.
1. Becauſe a deceit therein founds to the damage
of the party deceived, and not to his benefit.
2. Becauſe there is, if not an expreſs, yet an im-
plied agreement, by the common preſumption and
cuſtom among men, that there ſhould be no deceit in
dealing.
And here, by the way, likewiſe, may be conſidered,
the lawfulneſs or unlawfulneſs of ſtratagems and de-
ceits between enemies in a ſtate of public war and
hoftility ; by a kind of convention between enemies in
hoſtility, force, and violence, mutual depredation and
ſlaughter ſeem to be allowed, otherwiſe no war could
be lawful. And it may ſeem probable upon
the
very
ſame account, that ſtratagems and deceptions, ſo they
arrive not at a plain lie, may be alſo lawful, becauſe
perſons in open hoſtility ſeem tacitly to have agreed,
that each ſhould do to the other all the miſchief they
can, fo far forth as that implied agreement is not con-
troled, either by expreſs pactions, as truces, leagues,
ſafe-conducts, or the like; or by the common laws of
war, whereby poiſoning either of weapons or rivers is
interdi&ted. Thus ſpringing of mines, ambuſhes, ſeem-
ing retreats, or flights, do draw the enemy into an in-
convenience; and a thouſand the like' ſtratagems of
war, are, and in all tiine have been, even by the law
of war, uſed and allowed: thus Joſhua did to the
people of Ai, Joſhua viii. ; Gideon with the Midianites,
Budges vii. Ifrael with the Benjamites, Judges xx.
And this ſeems juſtifiable, becauſe in ſuch a time
there ſeems to be, as it were, a reciprocal fuſpenſion
and laying aſide of thoſe methods of mutual com-
merce and intercourſe that are juſt and requiſite in
time of peace; and another kind of adminiſtration of
things, undertaken and allowed on both ſides, each
party publicly denouncing and profeſſing to others,
that
:
Of doing as we would be done into. 409
that they will uſe all acts of force and ſtratagem each
to other, and that they will expect no other each from
other, So that by this interpretative compact, each
party hath made that lawful in time of war, which
is unlawful in time of peace. And, in the practice
thereof, one party doth no otherwiſe to the other,
than what he interpretatively agrees and wills the other
ſhould do to him, and ſo not wholly out of the ex-
tent or direction of this rule: but yet, even in this
cafe, there ſeem to be theſe limitations; viz.
1. The perſon that thus practiſeth theſe ſtratagems,
or, indeed, any other acts of hoſtility, had need to be
very well affured, that the war itſelf is lawful and
juft; for that is requiſite to juſtify any hoſtile acts of
what kind foever.
2. That there be no expreſs lie, for that ſeems not
to be juſtifiable in any hoſtility, and ſeems, even by the
very laws of war itſelf, to be prohibited.
3. That there be no violation of any fides data, and
therefore the act of Jael, Judges iv. ſeems very hard in
relation to Sifera ; and that of Judith, in relation to
Holofernes, becauſe they both ſeem to be accompanied
with breach of faith, and the violation of the laws of
hoſpitality. Nothing can juſtify the former, but that the
Canaanites were a people devoted by Almighty God to
deſtruction.
4. How far an enemy may ſolicit a defection or
treachery, or may corrupt any of the adverſe party by
money, or otherwiſe, to betray a truít (a thing fre-
quently practiſed in moſt wars), is too large a theme,
only it renders the employment of a ſoldier and ſtatiſt
very full of difficulties.
And thus far for the rule, or directive faculty; name
ly, the will of the party or agent, under a change or
tranſpoſition into the party patient.
IV. The fourth thing propounded, is the extent of
this rule under a three-fold relation,
1. To the thing to be done, or not done.
2. To the manner of doing it.
8. To
1
410 Of doing as we would be done unto.
d
}
3. To the application of the rule negatively and
affirmatively.
1. The thing to be done or not done. It includeth
all moral actions from one man to another; all ac-
tions of moral righteouſneſs or juſtice, and acts of cha-
rity, come under the preceptive part; all'actions of
moral injuſtice, or unrighteouſneſs, or uncharitable-
neſs, cone under the prohibitive part of it.
2. The manner of the doing comes alſo under this
rule; for inſtance, where an act of charity conies un-
der the whatever, as giving of alms, or remitting of
an injury, I am not only under the command of doing
the thing, becauſe I would have another do ſo to me,
but I am alſo under the command of doing it,
(1.) Cheerfully.
(2.) Speedily.
(3.) Sincerely, and cordially, and with ſimplicity,
integrity, and ſingleneſs of heart, and not cunningly
or dilatorily, or hypocritically, and for by-ends; be-
cauſe, were I to receive an alms, or a forgiveneſs, I
would willingly have it done with theſe circumſtances
or qualifications.
3. In relation to the application. The rule, as it is
preſcribed in the Goſpel, is affirmative and preceptive:
. Whatſoever ye would that men ſhould do to you, do
ye even fo.'
But this affirmative precept implies the
negative, that ſo much celebrated rule of righteouſneſs
and juſtice, " That which ye would not that men ſhould
do to you, do ye not to them. This negative pre-
cept includes very much, and goes very far in the di-
rection of this moral righteouſneſs. But the precept
in the affirmative, as it is given in the Goſpel, is far
more extenſive, and includes a greater meaſure and
degree of Chriſtian perfection; ſo that the application
of this precept is,
(1.) Negative; and that neceſſarily implies,
(2.) Affirmative.
ì ſhall begin with the implied or negative precept:
Quod tibi fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris; and this exa
tends
of doing as we would be done unto.
| 411
ܕ
tends to prohibit all thoſe vicious habits or acts oppo-
fite either to righteousneſs or juſtice, or to charity or
goodneſs: and that upon this very reaſon or indica-
tion I would not have himn do, or be thus to me.
And, therefore, if we ſhould go through all thoſe
particular inſtances above given, of the oppoſite vices
to righteouſneſs or charity, we ſhall find them all ſuch
as we would not have others do to us.
Take it firſt in the vices and habits oppoſite to righ-
teouſneſs. There is no man in the world that would
have another malicious or envious to him, that would
have another kill, or maim, or wound him; or rob,
cheat, deceive, or oppreſs him in his goods or eſtate
that would have another corrupt his wife, falſely ac,
cuſe, or traduce him, tell him lies or falſehoods; or
that would have another break his oath, his word, his
promiſe, or faith given to himn; or that would have
his children diſobedient, or his parents unreaſonably
ſevere, his ſervants unfaithful or negligent, his maſter
tyrannical; that would have his inferiors inſolent, or
his fuperiors oppreſſive; that would have his magif-
trate partial, unjuſt, or tyrannical ; or his people under
him, falſe or rebellious.
Again, in the habits of affections, or vices oppoſite
to charity, there is no man would have another nar-
row-handed, when he is able to relieve his neceflity;
a rigid exacter of the extremity of the law; impatient,
proud, or inſolent in his carriage towards him; making
himſelf the centre of all he doth; ungrateful, rough,
and fevere and ſurly; craftily circumventing him ;
moroſe, cenſorious, ſupercilious; ready to cauſe or
entertain falſe reports or ſurmiſes; unpeaceable, un-
quiet, and the like. Theſe things are ſo plain, that
there needs no other evidence of the truth thereof,
than the common ſenſe and ſentiments of all mankind,
not one excepted; for, though there be many men
that know not, it may be, what the definitions of theſe
pices are, or that give a clear account wherein the for-
mal obliquities of them doth confift, yet there is no
man
412
Of doing as we would be done unto:
7
1
man ſo ſtupid, that by his own fenfe finds not that he
is unwilling to have another uſe or practiſe them upon
him, becauſe he is eaſily and readily ſenſible of the
ſmart inconvenience they bring to him; and therefore
his will hath an averſation againſt them, as noxious,
and uneaſy, and inconvenient to him.
This, therefore, is the firſt ſtep, or the firſt postula-
fum, which every man, even upon his own ſenſe,
without the help of any other proceſs or inquiry, con-
cludes, that he would not have another do, or uſe to
him, any of thoſe habits or acts that are thus contrary
to moral righteouſneſs, or juſtice, or charity.
2. The ſecond ſtep, or postulatum, is what this action
is that I am about to do to another, for the matter or
circumſtances of it, confidered nakedly in itſelf, with,
out examining whether it be or be not againſt the rules
of righteouſneſs or charity; as, for inſtance, I do moſt
certainly know that this action is the taking away of
another man's goods, wherein I have no property, by
the laws of the land werein I live; or it is an over-
Teaching of him in a bargain, and I know it to be fog
or the like.
3. The third procedure, after a man hath confi-
dered the action what it is, is for a man to conſider,
whether he would that another ſhould do that action
to him; and if he would not, he hath thereby given
to himſelf the rule and meaſure and determination of
the queſtion, whether he ought or not to do it to
another, without any curious inquiry or ſpeculation,
touching the juſtice or injuſtice, regularity or irregu-
larity of the action, according to niceties and ſchool-
diſtinctions. His own ſenſe is the judge; ſo that as
the eye doth ſee and diſcern this colour to be one,
and that to be another; this to be white, and that to
be black; or at leaſt diſcerns this is grateful, that
harſh, infipid, diſtaſteful, offenſive, without any phi-
loſophical, or logical argumentation ; even fo a man
may eaſily find that this, if it were done by another
to me, would be grievous and offenſive, and diſtaſte-
ful,
A
Of doing as we would be done unto. 413
ful, and in my own judgment, uncharitable and un-
juſt.
And thus, as my own ſenſe, without any other rati-
ocination, gives me a clear ſatisfaction touching the
general notion of what is unjuſt or uncharitable, that it
is ſuch as I would not have done to me; ſo this laſt-
ing as it were, the particular action that is under deli-
beration, gives me a plain and clear eſtimate, even
upon my own ſenſe and reliſh of it, that it is ſuch an
action which I would not have done to me.
And here is the excellence of this rule, that whereas,
as I before obſerved, the great difficulty in the regi-
men of a moral life, is not ſo much in the diſcovery
and afſent unto common notions, as in the due accom-
modation of particular actions to theſe common no-
tions, and the true ftating of the moral rectitude, or
obliquity of particular actions; this rule in hand gives
us the true and clear eſtimate of particular actions, not
upon a large philoſophical procedure, or diſcurſive
proceſs, but by the plain, eaſy, near evidence, as eaſy
and as obvious as ſenſe itſelf; it being no more but
this,—this is an action which I am very certain I would
not have another do to me.
4. The conſequence and concluſion, and the final
deciſion that is thereupon to be made, is this. I muſt
not therefore do it to him, and I muſt not do it upon
theſe two accounts:
(1.) Becauſe the Son of God hath brought from
heaven, and from the great Monarch of the whole
world, unto me, that I muſt not do that to another
which I would not have another do to me; and
if there were no other obligation upon me but his
command, it is enough to enjoin my obſervance...
:. (2.) If there were no ſuch expreſs commands given
me, yet the very precept itſelf includes a moft evident
conviction of an eternal and indiſpenſable juſtice in
it; for if I judge this action ſhould not be done to
me, and that it were unjuſt and unreaſonable if it
were ſo done, why ſhould I go about to do that
to
414
Of doing as we would be done unto.
to him, that I would condemn as unjuſt if done to
me?
So that the reſolution of this whole deciſion ſeems
to be into this fyllogiſm.
1. Whatſoever I would not that another ſhould do
to me, I may not do to him.
2. But this action now under deliberation, is fuch
that I would not another ſhould do to me.
3. Therefore I may not do it to him..
The evidence of the truth of the major propoſition
is grounded upon the cleareſt evidence.
1. Of the Divine Command.
2. Of the intrinſical juſtice of the precept itſelf.
The evidence of the minor is the cleareſt evidence
that can be ; for I do moſt certainly know what the
action is that I am about to do; and again, I do moſt
certainly know, that I would not have another do is
action to me: I know it as well as I know I can ſee or
feel; and therefore the concluſion is moſt certain and
infallible.
Only we muſt have recourſe to what hath been in
general premiſed; where I would have ſpoken of the
rule, or would in general ; eſpecially where perſons
are under different relations,
There ſeem to be two great obſtacles to the due and
conſtant obfervance of this excellent rule:
1. Paflion.
2. Self-love.
1. Paſſion many times ſo far prevails upon men,
that it makes them precipitate and incogitant in their
actions; and thereby this rule is often broken before
men think of it; but ſurely this is ſuch an infirmity,
that man may eaſily break by reſolution, to take a
due conſideration of what he doth; and if a man
will but inure himſelf a little, repeat this rule to him-
felf, before he undertake any action, he will very
eaſily maſter that precipitancy and incogitancy which
haſte and paſſion occafions; and he will ſoon find the
benefit of this experiment.
2. Self-
Of doing as we would be done unto. · 415
2. Self-love. Man is very much addicted to love
himſelf; and that ſelf-love blinds and ſeduceth his
judgment, whereby he oftentimes attributes to himſelf
ſuch circumſtances as render the very fame action
done by him to another to be juſt and righteous,
when the very fame action done by another to him
ſeems to be unjuft: for inſtance, Caius hath done
Titus a treſpafs : Caius comes to him, and tells him
he is forry for it; he is a poor man, and deſires
him to forgive him. Titus refuſeth ; Caius replies,
Sir, had you dóne me the like treſpaſs, and fought
to me, I ſhould have forgiven you, had you been as
poor as I am, and I as rich and well able to bear it
as you. Titus replies, But I have : formerly obliged
you by many kindneſſes, and againſt all theſe you
have treſpaſſed in this treſpaſs. - This is not the firſt
treſpaſs you have committed ; I have paſſed by many
formerly'; I ſhall grow contemptible, and every one
will be ready to do the like, if I paſs by this : though
I am richer than you, I have more dependants than
you, more children and relations; and I muſt bear
à part anſwerable to my place; and the damage that
I have ſuſtained by this treſpaſs, hath made you richer
than you were before, and me poorer; and therefore
upon theſe, and many other circumſtances, the caſes
are different, and I muſt have full reparation of the
damage, and alſo ſecure myſelf againſt future injuries
from you and others, by making you a ſevere exam-
ple for this. And by ſuch kind of arguing as this, there
will be a fair gloss put upon any thing; and the cir..
cumſtances which a man will draw together, to ex-
empt a man from his duty, will be endleſs. But let
Titus now be but honeft to himſelf, and ſincerely
deal thus with himſelf;-I know the treſpaſs that is
committed, the damage that hath been done me, the
condition I am in to bear it, the poverty of him that
cannot make me fatisfaction; I ſee his ſubmiſſion ;
were I in Caius's ſtead and place, would I not think
it too ſevere for Titus to exact the ſeverity of the
law,
1
416 Of doing as we would be done unto.
law, or to deny a.pardon for this treſpaſs that he can
never fatisfy. If I ſhould be of that mind then, I
will be of the ſame mind now, and forgive him upon
his fubmiffion, and promiſe of future amendment.
The truth is, this precept doth diſcharge ſelf-love from
having to do in this buſineſs ºf moral righteouſneſs
or charity; or at leaſt, puts it in that condition, by
tranſpoſition of the perſons, that it ſpeaks as much for
Caius as it doth for Titus, when Titus, by tranſpofi-
tion, ſuſtains the perſon. of Caius; and ſo felf-love
becomes equally, an advocate for Titus, and againſt
him.
Indeed, if a man will be wilfully and perverſely unl-
juſt; and although he be convinced, that he would
not have the ſame thing done to him, that he is about
to do to another, will, notwithſtanding the conviction,
do the thing : there is nothing to be ſaid to fuch a
a man, but that he hath rejected his duty to God, and
the common ſentiments of righteouſneſs and goodneſs
to mankind. But certainly he that deſires to walk
according to the true rules of juſtice and charity,
hath, if he will be but ſincere and true to himſelf in
this rule of our Saviour's, a plain, eaſy, and clear di.
rection for all actions of righteouſneſs and charity.
1
1
J
THE
THE
LIFE AND DEATH
POMPONIUS ATTICUS:
WRITTEN BY HIS CONTEMPORARY AND ACQUAINTANCE,
CORNELIUS NEPOS;
TRANSLATED OUT OF HIS FRAGMENTS.
TOGETHER WITH
OBSERVATIONS,
POLITICAL AND MORAL, THEREUPON.
A
VOL. I.
E
[ 419 ]
THE
EPISTLE TO THE READER.
READER,
Tus
His book preſents thee with the Hiſtory of the Life and
Death of POMPONIUS ATTICUS, and the various con-
cuſſions and revolutions that happened in the Roman ftate
and government in his time; and the wiſe methods which
that excellent man uſed to preſerve the honour, innocence
and ſafety of his perſon from the dangers that might occur
by them.
Two things I muſt caution thee in reading hereof;
Firſt, concerning the perſon and practice of Atticus.
Many things in him are worthy of imitation; his prudence,
learning, beneficence, compaſſion; his great care to avoid
engaging in any of thoſe factions that gave thoſe great dif-
turbances to the ſtate of Rome, his love to his country.
But ſome things were ſo appropriate to his perſon, condi-
tion, and circumitances, and the manners and occurrences of
that ſtate wherein he lived, that are hardly to be matched in
any other perſon, and therefore may poffibly in theſe reſpects
rather give matter of admiration of his fortune, than mat-
ter of imitation of fome of the tranſactions of his life.
Secondly, concerning the commonwealth of Rome, which
in the time of Atticus, was the theatre whereupon the heads
of the ſeveral parties and factions acted their parts, to the
great diſturbance of that ſtate, whereof ſome account is here-
after given.
The conſtitutions of kingdoms, ſtates, and commonwealths,
are in themſelves very various, but oftentimes much more
various in the circumſtances that attend them; as the tem,
per and diſpoſition of their officers, their different manage-
ments, their public concerns with other nations, and in-
finite more : ſo that it ſeems impoſſible that two ſtates may
in all things exactly match one another; whereby it comes
to paſs that ſome kingdoms, ſtates, and commonwealths are
more obnoxious to public evils, eſpecially that of the col-
lifom of factions than others.
Some
A
2 E 2
1
420
The Epiſtle to the Reader.
1
Some governments (eſpecially that of this kingdom of
England) are ſo wiſely conftituted, and ſo firmly eſtabliſhed
and fixed by Law and Cuſtom, that in all human reaſon,
they are not much obnoxious to ſuch factions, but if ſuch
at any time ſhould happen, yet they are quickly compoſed,
or effectually ſuppreſſed, or languiſh and die of themſelves. in
a little time. But the ſtate of the commonwealth of Rome
was ſo moulded, that it was ſcarce poffible for them to be
long without ſuch ſtorms and commotions, by great factions
arifing therein; as is hereafter ſhown.
That therefore which is written in this book, was not
written in relation to any kingdom or ſtate on this ſide Rome,
nor even to Rome itſelf, otherwiſe than it ſtood under thoſe
circumſtances of thoſe factions that were frequent therein
about the time of Atticus's life.
Therefore read this book with its due application to the
Roman ſtate; and to that ſtate as it was in at that time of
thoſe diſturbances, and as if thou hadft been a ſpectator of
the ſcene where thoſe tragedies were acted, and then thou
anſwereſt the intention of the writer; and poſſibly this
pamphlet may give thee the innocent diverſion of an hour,
and in ſome meaſure give thee an account of the ſtate of the
Roman commonwealth, and the reaſon of the occurrences
that happened therein, in and near the time of the life of
Atticus, though it be by no imeans applicable to the king-
dom, ftate, and country, wherein thou liveſt.
If thou find the tranſlation of the life of Atticus not to
run fo finoothly as could be wiſhed, I have this excuſe for
it, that as near as I can, I have in the tranſlation purſued
the letter of the original; which, by reaſon of the difference
of idioms in the Latin and Engliſh, will not allow that ele-
gance to the tranſlation, as it is to be found in the original.
In the equation of the Roman money, with the value of
ours, I'may in ſome places be miſtaken, becauſe of the dif-
crepance between them; but this may fairly be rectified by
the reader, and is not of any great confequence to the
hiſtory,
.
THE
THE CONTENTS.
!
The Life of Pomponius Atticus, written by his con i
temporary and Acquaintance Cornelius Nepos : Tranſlated
out of his Fragments,
Chap. 1. A brief Chronological Account of the Life of Atti-
cus.
Chap. 2. Touching Fastions in general; and the Reaſons of
the great Fallions in the Roman Empire, and why they
happened more at this time than for many hundreds of years
before.
Chap. 3. Concerning the Methods that ordinarily perſons uſe
to ſecure themſelves in the Viciſſitudes of prevailing Fac-
tions.
Chap. 4. Touching the Means whereby the Safety of At-
ticus was procured under the various Viciſſitudes in the
Roman State.
Chap. 5. Touching the Means that Pomponius Atticus uſed
to ſave himſelf from the Dangers of the Civil Wars that
happened in Rome; and firſt concerning the quality and
condition of the Man himſelf,
Chap. 6. Concerning the other Expedients that this wife
Man uſed to avoid the Difficulties of the Times wherein he
lived; and firſt of his Travels into Greece.
Chap. 7. The ſecond Expedient that he uſed for his ſafety
and Preſervation; his induſtrious avoiding of being
gaged in any Faction while he lived in Rome.
Chap. 8. The third Expedient that Atticus uſed for his Safe-
ty ; refuſing too great Kindneſles from Great Perſons.
Chap. 9. The fourth Expedient of Atticus; refuſing Offices
and public Employments in the Commonwealth by the
Suffrages of the Senate or People.
Chap. 10. The fifth Expedient that Atticus uſed to preſerve
himſelf, was the avoiding all thoſe Occaſions that might
procure unto him Emulation or Envy.
Chap. 11. The firth Expedient; the avoiding of all Occa-
jions of Enmity from any.
2 E 3
Chap.
?
422
The Contents.
Chap. 12. The Confideration of Things that Atticus did in
order to his Safety and Security againſt Dangers and Trou-
bles of the Times; and firſt, touching his Charity, Bounty,
and Liberality.
Chap. 13. The
ſecond thing which Atticus did, in order where-
by be ſecured himſelf.
Chap. 14. The third Expedient conducing to the Safety of
Atticus; his admirable Moderation and Equality of Mind
and Aktions.
Chap. 15. Concerning the fourth Expedient conducing to
the Safety of Atticus; his Conſtancy.
Chap. 16. Touching certain Cautions to be uſed in the Obfer-
zation and Imitation of the Life of Atticus in public Gola
lifons of Factions.
THE
[ 423 ]
THE
LIFE OF POMPONIUS ATTICUS:
WRITTEN BY HIS CONTEMPORARY AND ACQUAINT-
ANCE CORNELIUS NEPOS. TRANSLATED OUT OF
HIS FRAGMENTS.
POMPON
OMPONIUS ATTicus, being deduced from the firſt
origin of the Roman ſtock, obtained the dignity of a Ro-
man knight, derived unto him by an uninterrupted fuc-
ceſſion from his anceſtors. He had a diligent and indulgent
father, and rich according to thoſe times, and a great lover
of learning: as he loved learning himſelf, ſo he inſtructed
his ſon in all that learning wherewith one of his age was
fit to be furniſhed. Moreover, in this young youth, be-
fides his readineſs of wit, there was a certain ſweetneſs of
elocution and ſpeech, whereby he did not only readily learn
what was taught him, but did alſo excellently pronounce
it: by which means, even in his youth, he became emi-
nent among his equals, and ſhone forth with greater luſtre
than his generous fellow-ſcholars could bear with an equal
mind. He'therefore by his ſtudy pricked on others; among
whom were P. Torquatus, c. Marius, the ſon of Caius,
and M. Cicero, all whom, by his converſation, he ſo oblig-
ed unto him, that none was dearer to them than he. His
father died early; and Pomponius being then but a very
young man, was not without fome danger, by reaſon of
the affinity of P. Sulpitius, who was ſlain, being tribune
of the people. For Anicia the niece of Pomponius, mar-
ried Servius Sulpitius, brother of P. Sulpitius. P. Sulpitius
therefore being thus ſlain, as ſoon as Pomponius obſerved
that the city was diſturbed by the tumult of Cinna, neither
could he have liberty of living according to his rank, but
that he ſhould offend one party; the minds of the citizens
being disjointed, while ſome favoured the party of Sylla,
others the party of Cinna; concluding it therefore a fea-
fonable time to addict himſelf to his ſtudies, he went to
Athens, and yet neverthelefs helped with his wealth young
E 4
Marius,
424 The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
Marius, then declared a public enemy; whoſe flight he
affifted with his money. And left this his journey ſhould
bring ſome detriment to his eſtate, he removed thither a
great part of his wealth. He ſo lived at Athens, that he
became deſervedly moſt dear to the Athenians : for beſides
that great grace which appeared in him, being then but
young, he oftentimes relieved their public wants with his
own wealth. For whereas here was a neceſſity of public
verſura, taking up money at leſs intereſt, and to put it out
at greater; neither had they any equal conditions in the
doing thereof; he ever interpoſed, and in ſuch a manner
that he never received any uſury from them, nor ſuffered
his money to continue longer in their hands than the tinie
appointed; both which were of great advantage to them :
for hereby he did neither ſuffer their debts to grow ftale by
indulgence, nor to grow greater by the running on of uſury.
Alſo he added to this friendlineſs by another liberality : he
gave corn to all, ſo that to each perſon were given fix mea-
fures of wheat, which kind of meaſure at Athens, is called
medimnus (ſomething more than our Engliſh buſhel). He
.carried himſelf ſo, that he ſeemed common to the loweſt,
and yet equal to the chiefeft; whereby it came to paſs that
they publicly heaped upon him all the honours they could;
endeavouring to make him a free citizen of that city; which
yet he refuſed (which ſome interpret becauſe the liberty of
a citizen of Rome would be loft by becoming the citizen of
another city). As long as he was there, he oppoſed the
ſetting up of any ſtatue for him ; but could not hinder it
after his departure ; therefore they placed ſome for him, and
Pilia (his wife) in their moſt ſacred places; for in all the
buſineſſes of the republic they had him their actor and
their author.
Therefore it was firſt the bounty of his fortune, that he
was born in that city wherein was the palace of the empire
of the world, whereby he had the ſame for his country and
governeſs. But it was the evidence of his prudence, that
when he came into that city that excelled all other in anti-
quity, humanity, and learning, he became moſt dear unto it
above all others.
When Sylla came hither, as he returned out of Afia, as
long as he was there, he kept Pomponius with him, being
taken with the humanity and learning of the young man;
for he fpake Greek ſo well, that he ſeemed born at Athens.
But ſo great was his ſweetneſs in the Latin tongue, that
. there appeared to be in him a certain native grace, and not
acquired.
!
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 2.25
acquired. He pronounced poems in Greek and Latin,
so that nothing could be done better : by which means sit
came to paſs, that Sylla would never let him go from him,
and deſired to carry hiin along with him. To whom, when
he endeavoured to perſuade him, Pomponius ſaid, I pray
thee do not delire to lead me againſt thole with whom, (let
I ſhould bear arms againſt thee) I left Italy. But Sylla
commending the kindneſs of the young man, departing from
Athens, commanded that all the preſents which he had
there received, ſhould be delivered to Pomponius. Here
Jiving many years, he employed ſo unuch of his endeavours
for the affairs of his family, that he became a diligent father
of a family, and allowed all the reſt of his time either to
Searning, or the affairs of the commonwealth of the Athe-
nians; yet nevertheleſs he performed all civil offices to his
friends, for he came to their aſſemblies; and if any great
buſineſs was in action, he was not wanting : he yielded a
fingular fidelity to Cicero in all his dangers; to wham, fly-
ing from his country, he gave 250,000 Teſtertia (two thou-
Fand eighty-three pounds lix ſhillings eight, pence); -but the
1{oman affairs being appeaſed, he returned to Rome, 'L'.
Cotta and L. Torquatus being (as I think) confuls.; which
day the Athenians fo entertained, that by their tears they
ſhewed their ſorrow for their future loſs. He had an uncle,
Q. Cæcilius, a Roman knight, and a friend of L. Lucullus,
rich, of a nature 'hard to be pleaſed; whoſe frowardneſs he.
ſo weathered, that he kept, without offence, the good-wil
of that man, to his extremelt old age, whom no other
could patiently bear; by which means he gained the fruit
of his obſervances : for Cæcilius dying, by his will adopted
him, and made him his heir of three-fourth parts of all the
had; out of which inheritance, he received centies LLS.
(or to the value of 300,000 crowns, according to fame; or
83,360 lib. according to others). His ſiſter was maried to
2. Tullius Ciccro; which match M. Tullius Cicero brought
about; with whom, being his ſchool-fellow, he lived mom
entirėly, and much more familiarly than with Quintius:
whereby it appeared, that in friendſhip likeneſs of manners
was far more prevalent than affinity. " Hic uſed Q. Horten-
fius very intimately (who in thoſe times obtained ibe nafn
tery of eloquence), ſo that it was hard to underliand wha
Loved him beſt, Cicero or Hortenfius. And herein heef
fected that which was of greateſt difficulty, that between
thoſe betwixt whom there was thic grcatett emulation of
praiſe, there interceded no detraction, and that be becaine
the
426 The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
the common uniier of them both. He carried himſelf fo
in the commonwealth, that he always was, and was thought
to be of the beſt party; yet he would not commit himſelf to
the waves of civil diffention; which he eſteemed to be no
more in the power of him that ſhould deliver himſelf over
to them, than if he had been toffed on the waves of the
ſea, · He fought not honours, although they lay open to
him, either hy reaſon of his favour or of his dignity, be-
cauſe they could neither be fought according to the ancient
nfe, nor taken up with due obſervance of the laws, among
thoſe exceflive charges that accompanied ſuch competitions,
nor could they be born in the commonwealth without dan-
ger, the manners of the citizens of Rome being very much
corrupted.
He never came to public ſales, neither became he a pub-
lic farmer of any thing, or a ſurety thereof. He accuſed
no man, either by his own ſubſcription, or by proxy. He
never went to law touching his own intereft, nor had any
law-fuits. He entertained the prefectures of many conſu-
lates and prætors offered unto him, that he would follow
none to a province, being contented with the honour of the
offer, but deſpiſed the fruit of its - private advantage ; and
would not go even with Q. Cicero into Aſia, when he might
have obtained the place of legate with him. For he thought
it became not him, who would not be a prætor, to become
the follower of a prætor. In which thing he did not only
ferve his own dignity, but alſo his own tranquillity ; while
he avoided the very fufpicions of offences : whence it came
to paſs, that his reſpect was the more valuable to all men,
which they plainly ſaw was to be attributed to his kindneſs,
and not to hope.
The civil war of Cæſar happened when he was about 60
years old. He uſed that vacancy that belonged to his age,
neither did he ſtir any way out of the city. All thoſe things
that were needful for ſuch of his friends as went to Pompey,
he fupplied out of his own eſtate. Neither did he offend
his friend Pompey; for he would receive of him no eminent
bounty, as others, who by his means obtained honours or
wealth, part of whom, even againſt their wills, followed
him to the field, and part ſtaid at home, not without his
great offence. But the fitting ſtill of Atticus was fo ac-
ceptable to Cæfar, that when he returning victor, com-
manded money from private perſons by his letters, he was
not only not troubleſome to Atticus, but delivered up the
fon of his Gfter and Q. Cicero, taken in Pompey's camp.
Thus
!
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 427
Thus by keeping the old courſe of his life, he eſcaped new
dangers. After this, it followed, Cæſar being flain, when
the commonwealth ſeemed to be wholly in the power of
Brutus and Caffius and their party, and the whole city leem-
ed to ſtand at gaze what Atticus would do; he ſo dealt with
M. Brutus, that that young man uſed no equal more fa-
miliarly than he did this aged Atticus; and had him not
only the governor of his council, but alſo the companion of
his table. It was contrived by ſome, that a private treaſury
fhould be raiſed for the murderers of Cæſar by the Roman
cavalry. They thought this might eaſily be effected, if the
chief of that order did contribute money.
Therefore Atticus was called by C. Flavius, a familiar
friend of Brutus, that he ſhould be the chief of that under-
taking: but he who always eſteemed good offices to be done
to his friends without faction, and always kept himſelf from
ſuch kind of councils, anſwered, that if Brutus would uſe
any of his riches, he might uſe what they were able to bear,
but that he would neither ſpeak nor meet with any perſon
about that matter. So that ball of contention, by this one
man's diſcretion, was broken'. Not long after, Antony be-
gan to be uppermoſt, fo that Brutus and Caffius (the affairs
of thoſe provinces (which, by way of diffimulation, were af-
figned to them by the conſuls) being deſperate) were banih-
ed. Atticus, who would not give money with others to
that party when it flouriſhed, ſent to Brutus, being now an
abject, and going out of Italy, -LLS Centum, or' 3000
crowns, and gave order, being abfent, that 300 feitertia
more ſhould be delivered to him in Epirus: neither did he,
kipon bis change, the more flatter Antony, or leave the
diftreffed. After this followed the battle at Mucinia, where-
in, if I ſhould only call him prudent, I ſhould ſay lefs than
I ought; when rather he was divine, if a perpetual natural
goodneſs, which is neither ſhaken nor diminiſhed by any
caſualties, is to be called divineneſs.
Antony being a declared enemy, went out of Italy, hav-
ing no hope of reftitution; not only his enemies, who were:
then powerful and many, but even his very friends, gave
themſelves up to his adverſaries, and hoped they fhould ob-
tain ſome benefit by hurting of him; perſecuting thoſe of
his family, deſired to plunder his wife Fulvia of all her
goods, and went about to deſtroy his children. Atticus uſing
a moſt intimate familiarity with Cicero, and being molt
friendly to Brutus, did not only not allow them to injure
Antony, but on the contrary, as much as he could, bid
Mistranslated. See the Appendix to his Life.
thoſe
1
/
428 The Life of Poinponius Atticus.
1
thoſe of his family flying out of the city, and helped thert
with the things they wanted: and gave to P. Volummius, ſuch
things, that more could not have been from a father. And
whereas Fulvia was involved in fuits, and vexed with great
terrors; he performed his office of kindneſs toward her with
ſo much diligence, that ſhe gave nu pledge without Atticus;
he was the furety for all things. And further, whereas in
her proſperous fortune ſhe had bought a farm to be paid at
a day, and after this calamity, could not take up money to
pay; le interpoſed himſelf, and ſent her money without
uſury and without fecurity; eſteeming it the greateſt gain
to be known to be mindfúl and grateful; and to make it
manifeſt that he was uſed to be a friend to men, and not to
fortune; which things, while he did, no man could well
think he did it to ſerve the time; for no man thought that
Antony could ever return again. Nevertheleſs he was re-
proved by ſome great men, that he ſeemed too little to hate
evil citizens : but he being conſtant to his own judgment,
reſpected rather what was fit for him to do, than what
others were ready to commend. The wheel of fortune is
fuddenly turned. As Antony returned into Italy, every
man thought Atticus was in great danger, by reaſon of his
intimate familiarity with Cicero and Brutus : Atticus there-
fore at the coming in of the Emperor, withdrew from the
city, fearing baniſhment, and hid himſelf with P. Volun-
mius, to whom, as we have a little before ſhewn, he gave
his aſſiſtance (ſo great was the variety of fortune in thoſe
times, that fometimes theſe, ſometimes thoſe, were in the
greateſt power or danger), and he had with him Q. Gellius
Canius his equal, and very like him. And this is another
example of the goodneſs of Atticus, that he lived fo entire-
ly with him whom he knew his play-fellow from a boy,
that their friendſhip increaſed even to their utmoſt old age
but Antony, though he was carried with fo great hatred
againſt Cicero, that he was not only an enemy to him, but
allo to all his friends, and would banith them all, yet many
reminding him, he remembered the good offices of Atticus';
and when one had enquired where he was, he wrote to him
with his own hand, that he ſhould not fear, and that he
ſhould preſently come to him; that he had exempted him
and Gellius Canius from the number of the baniſhed : and
leſt he ſhould fall into any dangers, becauſe it was night, he
fent him a guard.
Thus Atticus, in his greateſt fear, was a ſafeguard not.
only to himſelf, but alſo to him whom he held moſt dear :
for
1
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 429
for he fought not only for his own ſafety, but jointly for
others; that it might appear, that he would no fortune of
his ſhould be disjointed from his friend. Therefore if a
pilot deſerves great praile, that ſaves his ſhip from the ſtorm
and rocky ſea, why ſhould not his fingular prudence be
valued, which out of ſo many and fo great civil lorms came
to ſafety : and to diſcharge himſelf from theſe evils, he did
nothing elſe than to become an aſſiſtance to the moſt in
what he could. When the common people, by the rewards
of the conqueror, redeeined: ſome of thoſe that were baniſh-
ed, none of the baniſhed came into Epirus, to whom any
thing was wanting: and all that came thither, had liberty
of remaining there. But alſo after the battle at Phillippi,
and the death of Caſſius and Brutus, he purpoſed to pro-
teet L. Julius Merilla the pretor, and his fon Aulus Tor-
quatus, and the reſt that were ſtricken with the like for-
tune, and took order that to them all things neceſſary
ſhould be privately conveyed from Epirus to Samothracia.
It is difficult to reckon up all things he did, and note ſuch as
are neceſſary to be remembered. This one thing we would
to be underſtood, that his liberality was neither temporary
nor crafty, that may be judged by the things and times
themſelves; that he commended not himſelf to thoſe that
were proſperous, but always helped thoſe that were in dif-
trefs, who therefore reſpected Servilia the mother of
Brulus no leſs after his death than while he flouriſhed: thus
managing his liberality, he maintained no enmity, becauſe
he neither injured any, neither if he received any injury,
had he rather revenge than forget it. With a never-dying
memory he retained benefits received; but thoſe which he
did, he only remembered ſo long as he continued grateful
that had received them. He did therefore, ſo that it ſeems
truly faid, every man's manners faſhion to every man his
own fortune ; and yet he firſt faſhioned himſelf before his
fortune, who took care that in nothing he might be juſtly
puniſhed. By theſe things he brought to paſs that M.
Ulpſanius Agrippa (one joined to young Cæſar in intimate
familiarity), who by reaſon of his own favour and Cæſar's
authority, had a power upon perſons of every condition, did
chiefly deſire the affinity of Atticus, and fued to have the
noble daughter of this Roman knight in marriage; and the
maker of this match was M. Antony the Triumvir of the
commonwealth.; hy whoſe favour, when he might have
increaſed his poffeffions, he was ſo far from the de of
money, that he uſed it in no other thing than in deprecat-
ing
30 The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
ms either the dangers or inconveniences of his frients
which was eminent even under the very profcription itſelf.
For whereas the Triumviri, according to the cuſtom whereby
things were then managed, fold the goods of L. Sanfeus, a
Romam knight, his equal, who lived many years at Athens,
being thereunto led by the defire of philoſophy, and had
fair poffeffions in Italy. By the labour and induſtry of
Atticus, it was brought to paſs, that by the ſame meſſenger,
Sanfeus was informed that he had loſt his patrimony, and
Fe-obtained it again. The fame Atticus delivered Julius
Claudius, the moſt elegant poet of his age, next after the
clicath of Lucretius and Cacullus, and a very good man, well
inftrueted in the beit arts; who after the profcription of the
Roman knights, was, for his large poffeflions in Africa,
brought into the liſt of the baniſhed in his abfence, by P.
Volumnius, general of the workmen of Antony; which at
prefent it is difficult to judge whether it was more painful or
glorious for him to effect, becauſe it was known that Atticus
had' a care for his friends in their dangers, whether abfent
or preſent.
And this man Atticus was eſteemed no leſs a good father
of a family, than a good citizen ; for whereas he was full of
money, no man was leſs a buyer, or leſs a builder : àrid yet
he dwelt very well, and enjoyed all things of the beſt : for
he had a houſe in the Quirinal-hill, left to hini hereditarily
by his uncle, whoſe pleafantnefs was not fo much in the
building, as in the groves adjoining: For his houſe -being
an ancient built houſe, had inore of decency thằn of cost;
wherein he changed nothing but what he was compelled to
by its decay.
He had a family, that, if we may judge by its profitable-
neſs, was the beſt; if by the form of it, not mean; for in
it were moft learned youths : excellent clerks, and many
well read in books; that there was ſcarce a foot-boy, but
could well do any of thefe buſineſſes; in like manner other
artificers requiſite for houfhold affairs, fingular good : and
yet he had none of theſe, but fuch as were born and taughit
in his houſe ; which is a ſign not only of continence, but of
diligence. For not intemperately to deſire that which thou
feelf deſired of many, ought to be eſteemed the ſign of a
continent perfon; and to procure rather by diligence, than
purchaſe it, of no ſmall induſtry. He was neat, not ſtately-;
handſome, not fumptuous; he affected with all diligence,
a cleanlinefs without fuperfluity; his houſhold ſtuff mode-
rate, not much; ſo that in it neither extreme appeared;
neither
1
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 431
neither ſhall I paſs by this, although I gueſs it may feein
light to fome. Whereas he was a chief Roman knight, and
did very liberally invite men of all ranks to his houſe, yet
we know that he ſpent not monthly more than 3000 ærii,
(about iol, ſterling); and this we ſpeak not by hear-fay,
but of our own knowledge; for by reaſon of our familiarity
with him, we were often preſent at his domeſtic affairs.
No man in his feaſts heard any other acroama than a phi-
loſophical lecture, which we eſteemed moſt pleaſant; neither
did he ever ſup without ſome philoſophical lecture, that his
gueſts might be delighted as well in their minds, as in their
appetites for he invited thoſe whoſe manners agreed with
his. When ſo great an acceſſion of money happened to
him, he changed nothing in his daily deportment, nothing
in the cuſtom of his life: and he uſed fo great moderation,
that neither under the 200,000 feſterces, or 60,000 crowns,
he had from his father, he carried himſelf leſs ſplendidly;
nor under the 100,000 ſeſterces, or 30,000 crowns (which
he had from his uncle) he lived with greater affluence than
he before had appointed; but under both fortunes he uſed
the like port. He had no gardens, no country-houſe, or
ſumptuous maritime dwelling. Nor in Italy had he more
than his country farm of Ardeali and Nomentanum. All his
rents were in what he had at Epirus, and city poffeffions,
whereby it may be known, that he was fully accuſtomed to
meaſure out the employment of his money, not by vaſt ex-
pence, but by reaſon. He neither would ſpeak, nor could
ſuffer a lie : therefore his mirth was not without ſeverity,
nor his gravity without affability; ſo that it was hard to
underſtand whether his friends more reverenced than loved
him. When any thing was defired of him, he promiſed
always with religious obſervance; becauſe he judged it the
part of a light, not of a liberal man, tó proiniſe what he
could not perform. His care was ſo great in endeavouring
the fulfilling of what he once undertook for any other, that
he ſeemed herein not ſo much to do another's buſineſs, as
his own: he never was weary of any buſineſs he under:
took; for he eſteemed his own credit to be concerned in it,
than which, nothing was dearer unto him: whence it came
to paſs that he performed all the buſineſſes of M. and Q.
Cicero, Cato, Hortenfius, Aulus, Torquatus, and many
other Roman knights beſides.
Whereby it may be well judged that he avoided the
procuration of the commonwealth, not for ſloth, but in
judgment. can give no greater teſtimony of his huma.
nity,
433 The Life of Pomponius Atticus
nity, than that being a young man, he was moff delight
ful to Sylla, an old man ; and being an old man, moft de-
lightful to Brutus, a young man . But with his equals,
Q. Hortenſius and M. Cicero, he fo- lived, that it is hard
to judge for what age he was fixteft. Although Cicero fo
greatly loved him, that his brother Quintius was not
more dear or familiar to him; and this was an evidence
hereof, that befides thoſe books that are now publiſhed,
in which he makes mention of him, there are fixteen
volumes of epiftles fent to Artieus, from the firſt confulare
of Cicero, to the laft end of his life ; which whofoever
reads, will not much want a continued hiſtory of thoſe
times : for all things concerning the deſigns of the great
men, the faults of the commanders, the changes of the
commonwealth, are fo fully written, that all things ap-
pear in thoſe writings ; and it may be eaffly collected that
prudence is in a manner divination : for Cicero did not
only foretel thoſe things that afterwards fell out in his life-
time; but alſo he preſaged, as a prophet, thoſe things that
how come to pafs." And what thould I relate more touch-
ing the piety of Atticus, when as I myſelf heard him truly
glorying at the funeral of his mother, who being urinety
years old, he buried, when he was fixty-feven years old,
that he never was reconciled to his mother, nor ever
at difference with his fifter, who was near his own age ;
which was a ſign that either there was never any contro-
verſy between them, or that he was of that indulgence to
his relations, that he held it a crime to be angry with thole
whom he ought to love. Neither did he this only by na-
ture, although all of us ought to obey it, but alſo by his
learning; for he fo well underſtood the precepts of the
chief philoſophers, that he uſed them for the ordering his
life, and not for oftentation. He was a ſtriet imitator of
the cuſtoms of the ancients, and a lover of antiquity, which
he fo diligently knew, that he declared it in that volume
wherewith he adorned the Roman magiſtrates : for there
was no law, no peace, no war, no notable thing of the
people of Rome, which is not ſet down in its order of time.
in that volume. And (which is a thing of great difficulty)
he ſo unfolded the original of families, that we may there
by know the pedigrees of eminent men: he did this alſo
ſeverally in other books, ſo that at the requeſt of M. Brutus,
he deduced in order the Junian family, from its root down
to this age : ſetting down who and of whom every one
aroſe, what honours they received, and in what time. In
like mbanner, he did, at the requeſt of Marcellus Claudius,
touching
Was
1
CH. 1.]
The Life of Pomponius Atticris. 433
touching the family of the Marcelli, and at the requeſt of
Cornelius Scipio and Fabius Maximus, touching the fanii-
lies of the Cornelii and Fabii, and alſo of the Emilii : than
which books, nothing can be more pleaſant to them that
have the deſire of the knowledge of eminent men. Alo I
believe he had ſkill in poetry; and was not wanting
in the ſweetneſs thereof; for he declared in verſe what per-
fons exceeded others of the Roman people in honour and
amplitude of great exploits ; fo that under the ſtatues of
every perſon he wrote. in no more than four or five verſes,
their exploits and magiſtracies (which is ſcarce to be be-
lieved that ſo great things ſhould be ſo briefly declared).
There was alſo another book of his in Greek, of the Con-
fulate of Cicero.--Hitherto theſe things were publiſhed by
us, Atticus living. Now becauſe fortune was pleaſed that
we ſhould ſurvive him, we will profecute the reſt; and as
much as we may, we will inſtruct the readers by examples
of things, as we have above declared, that every man's
manners procure to him his fortune ; for he being content
with the equeſtrial order, wherein he was born, arrived to
the affinity of Julius, the Emperor's ſon, whoſe acquaintance
he formerly gained by no other thing than the handſomeneſs
of his life; whereby he won to himſelf other princes of an
equal dignity and lower fortune: for fo great a proſperity
followed Cæſar, that fortune denied him nothing which he
had before given or beſtowed upon any, whereunto any
citizen of Rome could poſſibly attain. Now there was
born to. Atticus, a niece of Agrippa, to whom he had mar-
cried his virgin-daughter; her being ſcarce a year old,
Cæfar eſpouſed to Tiberius Claudius Nero, his ſon-in-law,
born of Druſilla; which conjuntion confirmed their
friendſhip, and rendered their familiar intercourſe the more
frequent; although before theſe eſpouſals, not only when
he was abfent from the city, he never ſent letters to any.
of his relations, but he ſent Atticus word what he did,
and principally what he read, and in what places, and how
long he was to ſtay; but alſo when he was in the :
city, and by reaſon of his infinite buſineſs, enjoyed Atticus
oftentimes leſs than he deſired ; yet no day almoſt paſſed
wherein be did not write to him, wherein he did not en-
quire of him, fomewhat touching antiquity; ſometimes he
propounded to him fome poetical queſtion; ſometimes,
inerrily jeſting, he drew out from him letters of length :
whereby it came to paſs, that the temple of Jupiter
Feretrius, built in the Capitol by. Romulus, by length of
time and neglect, becoming uncovered, was fallen down,
that
1
VOL. I.
F.
434 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [C#. Bu
that by the perſuaſion of Atticus, Cæfar took 'order for
rebuilding it : Neither, being abſent, was he leſs compli-
mented by letters from Antony, inſomuch that while he
was in exile, he acquainted Atticus what was done in the
land of his exile, what he did, and what he cared for. What
a kind of mattér this was, he will eaſily eſteem that can
judge of how great wiſdom it was to retain the uſe and
good-will of them between whom there was not only a
mutual emulation of matters of greateſt inonent, but
between whoin fo great defraction of either from other,
did intervene, as was neceffarily to be between Cæfar and
Antony, while each defired to be the Prince, not only
of Rorne, but of the whole world. In this manner, when
he had completed ſeventy-ſeven years of his life, and to
the extremity of his old age had increaſed no leſs in
dignity than in favour and fortune, (for he gained great
poffeffions by no other means than his goodnefs; and
had enjoyed 'fo' great a proſperity of health, that for thirty
years he wanted no phyfic) he got a diſeafe, which himſelf
and phyſicians at firſt deſpiſed; for at firſt they thought-
it a tenermus, whereunto fpecdy and eaſy medicines were
propounded.
Under this diſeaſe he continued three months without
any pains but what he received from the endeavour of his
cure. Suddenly ſo great a violence of the diſeafe broke in.
upon one of his inteftines, that at the latter end a putrid
fiſtula broke out through his loins. And before this hap-
pened, after that he felt his pains daily to inereafe, and
that a fever came upon him, he commanded his fon-in-
Jaw Agrippa to be ſent for to him, and with him P. Cor-
nelius Balbus, and Sextus Peducæus. As ſoon as he faw
they were come, leaning upon his elbow, he ſaid, There
is no need for me in many words to declare how great care
and diligence I have uſed in the prefervation of my health,
nce I have you the witneſſes of it. And becaufe I hope
I have fatisfied you that I have omitted nothing which
might belong to my recovery, it remains that I ſhould
now advife myſelf: I would not have you ignorant of this
thing; for I am purpofed to ceaſe to nourith my diſeaſe :
for theſe many days whatſoever meat I have taken, I have
thereby fo lengthened out iny life, that I have increaſed
my pains without any hope of health; therefore firſt I
defire of you, that you do approve of my purpoſe; and
next, that you do not vainly endeavour to diffuade me. This
ſpeech heing uttered with ſo great ſettledneſs of ſpeech and
countenance, that he ſeemed not to depart from life, but
elit
CH. 1.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 435
I
out of one houſe into another : But when Agrippa, weep-
ing and killing him, did pray and beſeech him that he
would not halten that to himſelf, which nature would
compel, and becauſe he might then live fomewhat longer,
that he ſhould reſerve himſelf as long as he might to him-
ſelf and his friends, he ſtopped his intreaties by a filent ob-
ſtinacy : ſo when he had forborn meat two days, his fever
fuddenly left him; ond his diſeaſe ſeemed more eaſy, yet
he continued his purpoſe. In the fifth day, therefore, after
he had taken this reſolution, prid. Calend. Aprilis, C. Do-
mitius and C. Sofius being Conſuls, he died. He was
raiſed up in his bed, as he commanded, without any
funeral pomp; all good men, and a great concourſe of
the common people accompanying him: he was buried
near the Via Appia, at the fifth ſtone from the city, in the
monument of Q. Cæcilius his uncle,
!
)
CH AP. I.
.
1
A BRIEF CHRONOLOGICAL ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE
OF ATTICUS.
Such was the life and death of this worthy Pomponius
Atticus, deſcribed by one that was contemporary with him,
and well acquainted with him, namely, Cornelius Nepos,
who, as himſelf witneſſeth, wrote this hiſtory about the
beginning of Auguftus, that every circumſtance thereof
deferves a diftinct obfervation.
And therefore I ſhall proceed to do theſe things. Firſt,
to give a chronological account of the life of Atticus, and
of thoſe great occurrences that happened in the Roman
ſtatę within the compaſs of his life. Secondly, to give
fome account of the reaſon of thoſe great motions that
happened in this period in the ſtate and commonwealth of
Rome. Thirdly, to make ſome obſervations touching the
honeſt and wiſe methods that Atticus uſed to preſerve hiin-
ſelf and his eſtatę, without loſs or diſhonour, among all
theſe great motions, revolutions and dangers, that happened
in the ſtate of Rome by theſe civil diffentions.
Touching the firſt of theſe, I ſhall give a ſhort chronological
account of the life of Atticus, and thoſe great diſturbances
and civil wars that happened in Rome during the time of
his life, that ſo it may appear what they were when they
happened, and the yarious ſucceſſes they had, whereby at
2 F 2
Once
436 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 1.
unce it may appear what difficulties' and ſtorms happened
in his time, and how they were by this man's prudence
weathered in the ſeveral periods of his life. And herein
I ſhall be but brief, and mention only thoſe of great mo-
inent, and ſuch wherein this man's concernment principally
Jay; omitting many, which though had they been ſingles
might have been worth the remembring; yet they were.
but branches of theſe greater commotions,
and ſprang from
them, and were but ſmall in compariſon of them.
Neither ſhall I be over curious in this account, but only
mention them ſo far as they conduce to my purpoſe. He
that liſts to take a full view of all the hiſtory, may find at
large in the Roman hiſtories, eſpecially Florus, Paterculus,
Dion. Caffius and Plutarchus, in the lives of Marius, Sylla,
Sertorius, Pompey, Cæfar, Antony, and Octavius, after-
Wards Auguftus Cæfar:
I ſhall diſpoſe of the times in their order, according as
they fall in the Julian period, becauſe of the difference
among chronologers touching the computations of the years
of the world, of the building of Rome, or of the Olympi-
ades into which thefe oceurrences nright be otherwiſe aptly
enough diſpoſed.
Pomponius Atticus died in the 77th year of his age,
Domitius. and C. Sofius' being conſuls, as Cornelius Nepos
tells us, which was in the 12th year of Auguſtus; the next
year before the Pugna Adiaca between Auguſtus and Mar-
eus Antonius, and two years before the taking of Alexandria
by Auguftus, which was the fatal and funeral deletion of
Antony. The death therefore of Pomponius Atticus was in
or very near the 4683 year of the Julian period ; and by
* This nieans we come to find out the ſeveral periods of his
birth, and other the occurrences that happened to him and
the ſtate of Rome, within the time of his life.
If therefore we ſubduct the years of Atticus's age,
Namely, 77 years current out of 4683 years, it gives us the
time of his birth, viz. about the year 4606 of the Julian
period, in or near the conſulate of Sulpitius Galba and
Marcus Scaurus.
Marius, that great commander and popular citizen, whom
we ſhall have occafion often to mention, grew into his great
power and authority by countenancing the popular intereſt
át Rome, againſt the fenate and the optimates. He laid
the foundation of all thofe future ſtorms in the ſtate of
Rome, which were the oceafion of ſo much bloodſhed, and
the final ruin of the ancient government thereof, and fet-
ting, üp that empire that began in Julius Cæſar, and was
completed
1
I
years old.
the proceſs whereof we confulate of Marius, by the help of
Ch. 1.] Tke Life of Pomponius Atticus. 437
completed in Auguſtus, his heir and fucceffor. The fixth
conſulate of Marius happened in the year of the Julian
period 4614, at which tíme Pomponius was about eight
And now the civil wars in Rome began to break out; -
followeth.
4614In the
Saturninus, tribune of the people, Metellus Nonus Dicus
was baniſhed; this cauſed ill blood in Rome.
4.616.-Fór within two years after, by the folicitation of
Quintus Metellus's father, Metellus was by the people
recalled out of baniſlıment; which was ſo great an eye-
fore to Marius, that he withdrew himſelf from Rome, and
went into Cappadocia.
After this Marius returned to Rome, when Lucius Cor-
nelius Sylla, a valiant man, was in great efteen, a friend
to the fenate and the nobility, a man that had been very
ſucceſsful in ſuppreſſing the war of the confederates of Italy
againſt Rome.
4526.--Between Marius and Sylla there grew great ani-
mofities and emulation, which at length broke out in open
violence. For Sylla was choſen by the nobility and fenate
{to whom he was greatly addicted) to proſecute the war
againſt Mithridates; and in purſuance thereof, took his
journey with his army. In his purfuit of this war, he took
Athens by long fiege; wliere he was often before his final
return to Rome, where he met with Pomponius Atticus,
and ſhewed him the reſpects mentioned in his life.
Marius, to carry on his own deſigns, and to root out
Sylla, falls in with the common people, and by the help of
Sulpitius, a bold and turbulent tribune, gets the province of
Afia, and the management of the war againſt Mithridates,
to be decreed to himſelf.
But the army being conſtant to Sylla, would not ſubmit
to the government of Marius. Whereupon, Marius put
divers of the friends of Sylla to death, and made a great
alteration in the ſtate of Rome.
4626-7.-Upon this infolence of Marius, things running
into a popular confufion under the conduct of Marius and
Sulpitius, the nobility gave advice thereof to Sylla: where-
upon he ſent Murena his legate, with the greateſt part of
his army, to profecute the war againſt Mithridates, and
takes the reſt with him, and returns to Rome.
Againſt him Sulpitius and Marius make oppoſition; but
Sylla prevailed ; Sulpitius is ſlain, and Marius flying, is by
edict
2 F 3
488 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. I.
ediet baniſhed, and fled into Africa, whither his ſon, young
Marius, the ſchool-fellow of Atticus, fled to his father.
This is that Sulpitius mentioned in the life of Atticus,
who being thus ſlain, Atticus ſeeing the ſtate of Rome 10
grow troubleſome and unſafe, all perſons of note being
drawn into the one party or the other, took his journey to
Athens. : He was then, as it ſeems, about twenty years
old.
Sylla intending to make all things as sure as he might,
uſed extreme ſeverity againſt Marius' party, killing ſome,
and baniſhing others; and having ſettled his buſineſs at
Rome, proceeded in his expedition againſt Mithridates.
4628.--C. Octavius and Cornelius Cinna are made con-
fuls. Cipna, though he had made firm promife upon his
entry into his conſulate, to adhere to Sylla's party, yet he
was in truth of Marius' party, and quickly diſcovered it
after Sylla's departure.
Hereupon there grew diffention between the two confùls,
and great ſlaughters and profcriptions ufed in Rome, accord-
ing as either party prevailed. At length Octavius prevailed,
and Cinna was baniſhed. :
Cinna, after his baniſhment, went into Africa, and met
with his friend Marius in an obſcure condition; where
they enter into new counſels, which created future diſturb-
ances: for the Marian faction was not ſo ſuppreſſed by
Sylla, but that they had ſufficient power to give new trou-
ble to the ſtate of Rome, if they had but Marius or Cinna
to head them. Thereupon Marius and Cinna return into
Italy, raiſe a ſufficient force of their friends and party, en-
ter into Rome, fubdue Octavius, and flew him.
And now again the party of Marius and Cinna grew as
high as ever; and it is incredible what flaughters they
made in Rome of ſuch as oppoſed them, or ſuch as they
þut ſuſpected not to be true and cordial to them.
4627-8.- In the very ſame year of Marius' return, Ma.
rius takes his feventh confolate, Cinna being his col-
league ; and they held up their faction for about four years
following, with great ſeverity againſt all they ſuſpected not
to be cordial to them, with murder and baniſhment : fo
hat moſt of the nobility that eſcaped their fury, fled to Sylla,
and ſolicited his return to relieve their oppreſſed country.
4631.- In the confulate of Scipio and Norbanus Flaccus,
being the third conſulate after Marius his ſeventh conſu-
late, Sylla having fettled his buſineſs of Mithridates, re-
turns
CH. 1.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 4.39
t
1
urns with a great army into Italy, and fubdued the tivo
conſuls Scipio and Flaccus.
But the party of Marius (who, as it ſeems, was ſlain in
this battle, or as others ſay, died) kept ſtill the city of
Rome; young Marius, the ſon of Marius, and Ç. Carbo,
are there made conſuls, and exerciſed extreme cruelty at
Rome, towards thoſe that were ſuſpected to be of Sylla's
party.
Againſt Rome Sylla draws his army and ſoon ſubdued
and flew theſe two conſuls, and took the city, where he was
created dictator; and again uſed all manner of ſeverity
againſt thoſe of the Marian party: he lived about four
years after he recovered Rome, and died in the conſulate
of Lepidus aud Catullus, 4636.
And theſe were the viciſſitudes of the factions of Marius
and Sylla, and their parties : firſt Marius prevailed, then
Sylla; then Marius again, and then Sylla again; and
then the faction of Marius ſeemed wholly ſuppreſt; yet
the root of this evil diſſention was not utterly extirpated;
but out of it there aroſe the feeds of all thoſe civil wars that
happened in the Roman commonwealth till the final change
of the government thereof in Octavius Cæſar. For all the
troubles and changes that happened afterwards
, between
Cæfar and Pompey, between Brutus and Antony, be-
tween Antony and Auguftus, did ſpring from thoſe par-
ties and factions whole foundations were laid in Marius
and Sylla.
And now things being for the time ſettled by the ſevere
government of Sylla, it ſeems that ſhortly after the death
of Sylla, Pomponius returned from Athens, being about
thirty years old, and brought with him a very great accef-
fion of learning, reputātion and honour, and the firname
of Atticus, and lived in Romé till his death.
When Atticus was near fixty years old, thofe mutual
emailations and jealouſies that had long fermented, began
to break out into a more public breach; namely, pre-
fently after the conſulate of Marcellus and Lentulus, about
the year of the Julian period, 4665: Preſently after this
confulate, Julius Cælár being ablent in the war coinmitted
to him, made fuit to be chofen conſul; Pompey being of
great power and intereſt, eſpecially with the nobility and
ſenate, oppoſed it as a thing unuſual for any to be choſen
conful being abſent. Though this were his pretence, yet
the true realon was, his fufpicion of the growing greatneſs
2 F 4
of
440 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. f.
:
of Cælar. By this means Cæſar was diſappointed, and
others choſen confuls.
Cæſar being.enraged with this diſappointment, and judga
ing that worſe was like to enſue by l'ompcy and his party,
drew. the army under his command into Italy, came to
Brundufium,. where Poinpey 'was but: eſcaped by, flight;
thence he led bis army to Rome; from whence the ſenate
were alſo fled. There he made hin ſelf conful, broke open
the public treaſury, and wanted nothing but the name of
being monarch or emperor; though he kept up the ſhell
and The form of their former government. After this he
fo cloſely perſecuted Pompey, that in the battle of Phar-
.falia, and ſome other enſuing battles, the forces and power
of Pompey were totally broken, and Pompey himſelf bafely.
Alain by Septimius.
Cæfar continued his greatneſs for about five years ;
and in the fifth year, Cæfar and Antony being conſuls,
Cæſar was bafely murdered by. Brutus and his accomplices
in the ſenate houſe; this was in the year of the Julian
period 4671, which was about the fixty-fourth year of the
Jife.of Atticus.
This villany was committed partiy to prevent the grow-
ing power of Cæſar, whereby they feared, his affectation
of the empire, and change of the government, and partly
. upon the ſcore of Pompey (for his aſſaſſinatęs, were moſt of
his party) and in revenge of his fall.
Cæſar, by his will, left Octavius, his ſiſter's ſon, his
adopted heir, who thereupon foon took the firname of
Cæfar.
After the death of Julius Cæſary theſe happened a
ftrange complicated faction in Rome Firſt, between the
murderers of Cæfar and the Pompeian party, of the one
part; and the Cæſarean party, Antony and O&avius, of
the other part. And then between Antony. of the one
part, and Octavius of the other part'; for Antony being
great and powerful, and finding that Octavius was the de-
clared heir of Julius Cæſar, thought himſelf neglected, and
began to envy Octavius, who not being above nineteen
years old, began to grow great in the army and city, being
a man full of worth, and looked upon as: one that might
probably and reaſonably fucceed his uncle in all his great-
neſs, eſpecially being declared his adopted heir.
And hence it' canie to paſs, that both Octayius and
Antony ſo far agreed as much as they could, to fuppreſs
the
1
CH. 1.) The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 441
1
the party of Brutuş and Caflius, and other the affaflinates
of Cæfar, and yet kepe a jealous eye one over the other.
But on the one ſide, the fenate and people of Rome
had a great reſpect and honour for Brutus and Caffius,
as being the pretended champions for the Roman liberty.
On the other ſide, Antony and Octavius had great re-
lations and great intereſt in the Roman armies.
The ſenate therefore, willing to divide the intereſts of
Antony and Oetavius, and diſcerning ſome animoſity
between them, as they kept up the repute of Brutus and
Caſſius, ſo they courted and complimented Octavius, and
withal at the ſame time made Oétavius pro-pretor, and
Antony declared a public. enemy.. This was done in thọ
year of the Julian period 4671, Hirfus and Pauſa being
confuls; and the proſecution of the war againſt Antony,
was, in name at least, conimitted to Oétavius, though ſtill
Brutis and Caffius were the perſons principally truſted.
The war againſt Antony ſucceeded well, and the
Pompeian party and ſenate having now obtained their
ends in: the honour they did to Octavius, naniely, the di-
viding him from Antony, and thereby ſtrengthening
themſelves, and weakening their opponents, in the ſame
year' began to give evidence of their public neglect of
Octavius; and having now ſerved their own turns by him
againſt Antony, declared their public diſlike and jealouſy
of Oétavius ; Caffius, Brutus, and the. Pompeyan party
were the great favorites of the ſenate,
In the ſame year Lepidus, maſter of the horſe to Oata-
vius, having received" Antony, a declared enemy, was
alſo, by the fenate, declared an enemy to the cominon-
wealth of Rome: ſo that now Oétavius, though not a
declared enemy, yet began, to be either ſuſpected or neg-
lected; and Antony and Lepidus declared.enenies.
This was that tiine mentioned in the life of Atticus,
wherein the condition of Antony was eſteemed deſperate,
and he invaded by his friends as well as his enemies; when
yet Atticus flood by his relations, and protected them
agażnit injuries.
The caſe thus ftanding, with theſe three great meņ,
Antony and Lepidus folicited Octavius to fall in with
them, otherwiſe he might look for the ſame ill ſucceſs
froin the ſenate that they had themſelves found; and that
as now he began to be neglected, ſo in a ſhort time he
would be oppreſſed by the Ponipeian party. Hereupon
in the ſame year, Qatavius, Antony, and Lepidus entered
into
1
1
442 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. I.
into a confederacy, to eſtabliſh in themſelves a triumvirate,
to laſt for five years, with conſular power, and the diſpoſal
of provinces amongſt themſelves as they thought good.
This being thus agreed between them, before the ſame
was known to the ſenate, Octavius being willing to have
a fair occafion to break with the ſenate, demanded a kind-
neſs, which he was ſure they would refuſe, namely, the
conſulate; wherein he was rejected. and fo had a fair oc-
cafion to fall off from them, who formerly and now had
fo much neglected and affronted him.
Thereupon, Oétavius, Antony, and Lepidlus joined their
forces, declared their purpoſe to reform the commonwealth
under the triumvirate of them three, and march with their
full power to Rome; which they enter and obtain ; and
in purſuance of their former counſel and purpoſe, diſpoſe
of provinces, create confat; ſome of thoſe that oppoſed
them they proſcribed, others they killed; amongſt whom
was Marcus Tullius Cicerco, the great friend of Atticus,
and the bitter enemy of Antony.
This was that feafon wherein Atticus being now about
66 years old, began to fear
, proſcription at leaſt; but was
delivered from that fear by the clenrency of Antony,
namely, in the year of the Julian period 4671,
Caffius and Brutus, that were formerly deſigned to
manage the war againſt Antony, accordingly purſued the
fame againſt the triumviri.
But they were overthrown at the battle of Philippi,
where Brutus was flain; and now the triumviri held the
entire government of the Roman empire, all opponents
being cut off or diſabled.
Shortly after, by the imprudence of Fulvia, the wife of
Antony, a difference was raiſed between Octavius and
Antony; but that was foon compo ed by a diviſion of
the Roman empire between them : the Eaſtern part aſſigned
to Antony, and the Weſtern to Octavius; and they en-
tered triumphantly into Rome, and ratified their agreement
by new alliance, Antony marrying the fifter of Octavius.
In the 466th year of the Julian period, the five years
appointed to their triumvirate, expired, and they pro-
rogued their power for other five years.
In the year following, Sextus Pompeius being over-
thrown by Oetavius, Lepidus' began to arrogate the ho-
nour of that victory, and began openly to oppofe his cok-
league Oétavius; but his army forſaking him, he reſigned
up his office of triumvir, and upon his fubmiffion and
importunity
CH. 1.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 443
importunity, Oétavius pardoned his life, but exiled him.
And now there were only Antonius and Octavius in the
exerciſe of that triumviral power,
In the ſame year, Octavius being 28 years old, returned
to Rone in triumph, where the ſenate decreed unto him
the honour and office of perpetual tribunus populi.
About the beginning of the year of the Julian pe-
riod 4682, Enobarbus and Sofius conſuls (which was the
year wherein Atticus died) new differences began to ariſe
between Antonius and O&avius. The conſuls and part
of the ſenate fly to Antony, who in teſtimony of his
defiance of Octavius, repudiates his wife Oétavia, the
filter of Qetavins, and open war was declared between
Octavius and Antonius, This ended the next year in the
victory of Octavius againſt Antonius at Adium, and
ſhortly after in the taking of Alexandria by Octavius, and
the death of Antonius, and Cleopatra the Egyptian queen.
4685. Thus was Octavius now fettled in the empire of
Rome, honoured by the fenate with the ſtyle of Auguſtus
and Imperator, namely, in his fifth confulate, and in the
year of the Julian period 4685.
And thus we have a ſhort account of the ſtate and fea-
fons of thoſe great motions and civil wars that happened in
the Roman commonwealth, during the life of Atticus. Unto
all which, we muſt add theſe enſuing confiderations, which
will much evidence the greatneſs of thoſe concuffions
and difficulties that accompanied theſe various revolutions ;
namely,
1. There were not any of theſe changes effected with-
out very great and bloody, wars between the ſeveral heads
of theſe factions and their parties; the changes were not
eaſy or familiar tranſitions from one faction to another;
but they were effected for the moſt part by great and formi-
dable armies and battles, and effufion of blood.
2. Theſe battles that were preliminary to the victory of
either party, were not ſlight velitations and conflicts, but
they were carried on with greater vehemency, violence,
fury, and blood, than many of their wars with foreigners;
each party engaging as many to their faction as they could
and each party carried on with this expectation, to be the
poffeffor of the other's honours and wealth, if they pre-
vailed; and being aſſured of utter ruin fron the prevailing
party if conquered by them.
3The ſucceſs of theſe battles was always with greateſt
ruin of the fubdued party that the victors could inflict.
It
1
}
114 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [Cfr. 4
It is truly noted by the Florentine politician, that the
Romans, when victors over their neighbouring nations,
never uſed mediocrity or a mean towards thoſe they con-
quered; but either uſed ſo great beneficence or favour
towards the conquered, that they thereby obliged them
from a future revolt; or elſe dealt fo feverely with them,
that they utterly diſabled them from it. But though in the
victory over the foreigners, the Romans, according to the
various temper of thoſe they conquered, uſed ſometimes thé
one extreme, ſometimes the other; yet in thoſe victories
that happened between the Romans themfelves in their
civil wars,' as they never uſed mediocrity, fo they never
uſed the former extreme, but always the latter ; omitting
no feverity that might render the fubdued party, in all pro-
bability, incapable of ever making head again. And this
they evidenced in their bloody ſlaughters that they made
after their victories obtained ; confiſcations and profcrip-
tions were their gentleſt animadverſions, not only upon
ſuch as, had been oppoſites, but alſo upon ſuch as they
ſuſpected not to be their real friends. If any were that
had ſtood neutral, and aſſiſted neither party, for the moſt
part. his wealth becaine his crime, and rendered him ob-
noxious to confiſcation or Baniſhment, or at leaſt to ex-
ceflive mulets and penalties, to help to gratify and reward
the foldiers and affiftants of the victor, and to ſtrengthen
and oblige his párty. Indeed, Otav. Auguſtus, when he
had ſubdued Antonius, was moderate towards the fub-
dued party; and he had reaſon, becaufe he then obtained
the full maſtery of all parties and made them his own, anel
beſides his own nature rendered him generally benign
and favourable to ſuch of his' enemies who were not im-
placable. But in theſe revolutions of ſucceſſes between
Marius and Sylla; Cæfar and Pompey, Brutus and Ain-
tonius, their feverities were horrid and violent, inſomuch,
that the very friends and relations of the oppreffed party,
though they never acted any thing againſt the victor; yet
to ſecure themſelves againſt the rage and jealouſy of iBe
'prevailing faction, became the perfecutors and betrayers
of thoſe that were fubdued, as is before declared in
the life of Atticus : upon all which confiderations it feems
little leſs than a miracle, that Atticus, a rich and wealthy
and honorable citizen, of great acquaintance and rela-
tions, of great eſteem, ſhould live in the midſt of all theſe
flames and ſtorms, and for the moſt time in that great city
which was the flage on which the greateſt and fevereſt
A.
1
part
CH. 11.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
part of thoſe bloody and terrible tragedies were in earneſt
acted, and yet retain his wealth, honour, and innocence,
and an awful eſteem and reſpect from all parties. But of
this, and the ſeveral honeſt methods whereby he preſerved
himſelf, his wealth, and honour, together with his inno-
cence and eſteem, more ſhall be ſaid in its due place. In
the mean time I ſhall, in the next chapter, make a ſhort
digreſſion to ſhew the nature and reaſons of theſe great
fadions in the Roman empire.
CH A P. II.
TOUCHING FACTIONS IN GENERAL, AND THE REI-
SONS OF THESE GREAT FACTIONS IN THE ROMAN
EMPIRE, AND WHY THEY HAPPENED MORE AT
THIS TIME THAN FOR MANY HUNDREDS OF
YEARS BEFORE.
The Roman ftate, in its firſt inſtituțion, ſeemed to be
principally monarchical, yet aided with a fenate, conſiſting
at firſt of one hundred, and afterwards of three hundred
perſons, called patres or patricii. After the expulſion of
their kings they fell into a commonwealth, confiſting of
their fenate, and two conſuls yearly elected, who had a
power in ſome things regal. Afterwards, ihere growing
conteſts between the conſuls and patricii, of the one party
and the reſt of the people, of the other part, the conſti-
fuition of their commonwealth was much altered by the
admiſſion of a popular power of the tribunes elected by
the people ; ſo that now their cominonwealth began to be
mixed, partly of an ariſtocracy, reſiding in the ſenate, and
ſomewhat analogical to a qualified and elective monarchy,
reſiding in the conſuls, and ſomewhat of a democracy, re-
fiding in the tribunitia poteſtas, in the tribirnes elective by:
the people.
Thus this mixed republic grew great and powerful, and
continued many years in great ſtrength and peace, only
fometimes there arofe jars and conteſts between the power
of the ſenate and people, which nevertheleſs ſeldom broke
out into wars, but ſometimes by the prudent intervention
of ſome wife ſenators in credit among the people, fome-
times by fcaſonable conceflions from the fenate to them,
fometimes by the occurrence of ſome forcigu war, theſe
differ-
i
}
1
i
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH.2,
differences were often allayed or diverted without any great
eletriment to the public.
But Marius being a rough, fierce, and bold perſon, a
man of wit and courage, a good ſoldier, ſucceſsful, ama
bitious, and that could not endure any opponent or rival,
began that fire in the commonwealth of Rome, that ſcarce
ever left burning till the commonwealth of Rome was at
laft neceffarily reſolved into the monarchy of Auguſtus.
And all thoſe civil diſcords and wars, all thoſe rapines and
violences, thoſe murders and baniſhinents, that in the
fpace of about fifty years after the fixth conſulate of
Marius, filled the city and empire of Rome, were the
fucceſs of that faction that he began, and of that breach
that he firſt made in the texture and contignation of that
goodly ſtructure of the commonwealth of Rome, and the
præludia to the monarchy of Auguſtus as the only cure
thereof.
Now inafmuch as the frame of the Roman common.
twealth confifted of the conſuls, the fenate, and the tri-
bunes, and had ſo ſtood for many years; and though in
all that time, there had been men of ſpirit, and ainbitious
enough to trouble a ſtate, and there wanted not frequent
brawls between the nobility and commoualty of Ronie, in
all this time, which might have as well given opportunity
to troubleſome fpirits, and to have given fire to the ambi-
tion and difcontents of perſons, and thereby have raiſed
civil wars, and put the ſtate of Rome into blood; it will
be ſeafonable for us to enquire what the reafon might be
why that commonwealth was no ſooner engaged in civil
wars; or if at any time fome ſuch thing happened (as
fome' fuch there ſometimes were, though not fo great or
dangerous) they were foon extinguiſhed, and things quickly
reduced into a peaceable ſtate; and yet in the time of
Marius fuch a civil war beguir as never left the common-
wealth of Rome, till it had in a great meaſure changed
its government; and how it came to paſs that the factions
in Roine were ſo deeply radicated that the commonwealth
could not be cured of it, till it grew into an empire, under
the government of Auguſtus Cæſar.
But before I come to the diſcuſſion of that enquiry, it
will be convenient, for the application of what follows in
this diſcourſe, to premiſe ſomething touching factions in
general, what they are, and what are fo truly denominated.
And I muſt premiſe, that the eſtabliſhed government of
kingdoms, ſtates, or commonwealths, are of various frames
and
i
government,
CH:2.) The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
and conſtitutions; and thoſe things may be lawful accord-
ing to the conſtitution of one Itatë, which are neither
lawful or tolerable according to the conſtitution of another
ſtate.
And therefore what I am about to fay concerning fac-
tions in a ſtate, muſt be underſtood with relation to that
or the like ftate or government whereof I write, viz. the
ſtate of Rome, as it ſtood in thoſe times when theſe trou-
bles broke out : and this I mention to prevent miſapplica-
tions and miſinterpretation of what I am writing
By a faction in a commonwealth, I do not mean that.
government which is by law or cuſtom ſettled; and there-
fore where the ſettled government is monarchical, I do not
take the adhering to the king, a faction; or where the
government is ariitocratical, or by a fenate, as it was fome-
times in Rome, ör mixed, partly ariſtocratica), and partly
popular, as it was after the fêttling of the tribrtnitia poteſtas
no faction; but it is ſo far from it, that the ablierenee' to
the government legally eſtabliſhed, whether it be inortar-
chical ariſtocratical, democratical, or mixed, is the duty of
every good fubject and citizen
But that which I call a faction in a ſtate, is one of
one
theſe enſuing kinds :
1. When a party of men ſhall confpire and unite them,
ſelves againſt the eſtabliſhed governnient, to ſubvert or alter
iti and this is the greateſt fa&tion, crimen læfæ majeſtatis.
2. When a party of men ſhall unite and confederate
themſelves together to gain either ſomething to themſelves
or to others, by force or fraud, againſt the will and confent
of that power that by law is entruſted with the conceflion
or denial thereof.
3. When any perſon entruſted by the ſovereign power,
with a particular power or authority, ſhall endeavour by
force or fraud' to extend that power wherewith he is en
truſted beyond the bounds of it'ſ as if in the ſtate of Rome
the tribunes ſhould, by ftirring up the people, or by force,
or ſecret confederacy enroach upon the power of the fenate
or conſuls, or è converfo: for though by the conſtitution of
the government they were inveſted with a juſt and real
power, yet when by violence or fraud they accroach a
larger power, this accroachment is an act done by them as
private perſons, and without the bounds and limits of their
authority, and therefore in ſuch an enterprize, they are no
inore excuſed from a faction by their authority that they
had.
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. III
live, to be their engines and inſtruments under the coun-
had, than if they were without any fuch authority; becauſe
they herein act beyond the bounds, and without the warrant
of that authority, and conſequently as private perſons.
4. When two or more great and eminent perfons, or
parties, and it may be of a conſiderable intereſt in a ſtate
or governinent; engage one againſt another, at firſt, it may
be privately, and as opportunity grows, it may be, inore
openly and viſibly crofling each other, accuſing publicly.
each other; each foliciting others to be of their party; at
length uſing diſcriminations of denominations, or habits or
figns, and poſſibly in a little time public affronts and ren-
counters, and at Jaſt it may be open hoftility; and all this
while the true real governors of that ſtate, whether monarch
or fenate, ſit ſtill and look on, it niay be out of fear of be-
ing oppreffed by the power of both or either party ; it may
be out of reſpect to ſome of the beads of either party ; it
may be out of policy, to ſuffer either party to worry and
weaken and ruin one another, hoping thereby to preſerve
the government; or it may be out of a weak and tame, and
inconſiderate opinion, contenting themſelves with the name
or external face, title and enſigns of government, and the
profeffed reſpects of either party, but not daring to interpoſe
any acts of real authority to ſuppreſs or remedy thoſe grow-
ing miſchiefs, fearing they fhould not be able to carry it
through in reſpect of the potency of parties; and ſo the
true governors ſtand by and look on, contenting themſelves
.
with the compliments and profeſſion of ſubjection by both
parties, till at laſt one party getting the better of the other,
lays by the diſguiſe of pretended ſubjection, and gives the
law to his lawful governors, and makes them do what he
pleaſes, or fuffer what it inflicts. And this commonly is
ibe miſchief that attends a government that out of any the
beforementioned reſpects, ſuffer factions to grow ſo great
that at laſt they become matterleſs, and either by conjunc-
tion of both parties, or prevalence of one, give the law to
their lawful governors.
5. When fome particular perſons that are or are not in
any authority in a ſtate or commonwealth, deſign fome
matter either for themſelves or againſt any other, and to
effect that defign, do by ſecret means or power, or fraud, or
otherwiſe, draw over the power of that Itate wherein they
tenance and fignature of their authority, to effect their
deſign.
For though the authority of the ſtate is engaged therein,
yet
CH. 2.) - The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 449
Į
yet that being obtained by the force, fraud or evil engine,
and to ſerve the particular intereſt or end of a party, and
not acting according to the true and native freedom and
integrity of their inſtitution, excuiſeth not this from being
really a faction, though ſometimes it be ſpeciouſly gilded
over with the countenance of public authority: for in-
ſtance, ſuppofe Marius and Sylla, two great leading meni
in Rome, had a jealouſy and animoſity one againſt the
other, and Marius deſires that Sylla' be deprived of the
province allotted to him, and that it be conferred on him:
on the other ſide, perchance Sylla hath the like deſign againſt
Marius ; Marius folicits, by bribes or menaces, as many of
the ſenate as he can prevail with, to take his part, and Sylla
doth the like for his part: the ſenate is near divided : Sylla
procures ſome of the ſenators of Marius' part to be ſent
away about ſome other employments, and thereby Marius is
over-voted and deprived of his province; then Marius makes
in with the tribunes, ſolicits the people to be of his party,
and a tumult is thereby raifed in the behalf of Marius, and
thereby, and by thoſe friends of Marius ibat are of the
ſenate, the former decree is repealed, and then Marius is
reſtored to his own province, and alſo obtains Sylla's pro-
vince.
The next day, Sylla, who is potent in the army, com-
plains of the wrong done him, and engageth the army
for him ; whereby again both tribunes and lenate are over-
powered ; and the ſenators of Marius' part withdraw
ihemſelves for fear of the army, and now Sylla carries it
both with the tribunes and ſenate, and re-obtains his
own and Marius' province, and perchance Marius fent
into exile, though here be the concurrence of the
governors in theſe viciffitudes.
Yet theſe are nevertheleſs but ſeveral factions. And this
was moſt commonly the diſcipline of the ſeveral factions of
Rome ; or if they that could get to have more intereſt or
power with the people, or with the army, or could make
the more bold and daring part of the ſenate, though leſs in
number, to over-rúle the greater part; or if they were ex-
ceſſively loved, or exceſlively feared, or were fubtle and
crafty, to fit either the people or the ſenate to their deſigns,
theſe were ſure to have a countenance of authority quickly
for what they did ; ſo that in the viciſſitudes of factions,
and of their prevalence, they never wanted a Senatus-con-
fultum, or a Plebiſcitum to warrant whatſoever they did.
And in the mean time, the favourers of the adverſe party,
fer
VOL. I
24 G
450 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 2.
for fear, or by-ends, withdrawing themſelves from the fe.
*nate or affèmblies; and then the others did what they pleaf-
ed in favour of their own party. And when it came to the
turn of the other party to be uppermoſt, the ſame method
was commonly held ; the friends of the depreſſed withdraw-
ing themſelves, or fitting filent, or changing their fuffrages,
and then all went ſmoothly the other way : whereby it came
to pafs, that as Sylla, at his return, wanted not the decree of the
fenate to juſtify all his murders and profcriptions, ſo Marius,
at his return, wanted not the like for his murders and profcrip-
tions, of the party of Sylla ; and the ſame viciſſitudes obtain-
ed between Cæfar and Pompey, Brutus and Antonius, An-
tonius and Octavius; and for the moſt part, the factions,
of Rome, whereof I have written, were of this latter kind,
and managed under the ſhadow and umbrage of the civil
authority, though in their original they aroſe from the pride
and ambition, envy and emulations, jealoufies and deſigns,
diſguſts and animoſities of particular perfons, who could not
brook any whom they ſuſpected might be rivals of their great-
neſs, honour, or power. And theſe prevailing, bore down
the magiſtracy of Rome before them; and yet looner or later
gilded all their exorbitances under the ſtamp, ſignature, and
countenance of the authority of the eſtabliſhed governors.
Now though it may
be true that theſe decrees of the au-
thority eſtabliſhed by law, though by this means obtained,
are binding, while they ſtand in force; yet the manner of
obtaining ſuch decrees by theſe and the like means, are un-
juſt and factious, and in true intrinſic juſtice do not ex-
cuſe or juſtify the obtainers thereof from oppreffion and in
juſtice, though they may poſſibly, for the time, be contem-
porary protections of them, when they continue unrepeated
or unavoided.
Now a few words touching the ſecond, namely, the rea-
fons why theſe civil wars broke out more abundantly and
violently at this time than formerly.
It is true, that the very conftitution and make of ſuch a
government as Rome had, being partly ariſtocratical, and
partly popular, and with ſome ſhadow of monarchical power
in the conſuls, renders ſuch a ſtate very powerful in relation
to foreign undertakings and wars; for foreign engagements
do concenter and unite a people, and the fabric of fuch a
ftate renders their power united againſt a foreign power,
and confequently more forcible, formidable, and for the
njoft part' ſucceſsful, the weight of the whole body
moving together in ſuch foreign enterprizes : but, on the
other
CH. 2.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 451
}
1
other ſide, theſe forms of governments have this diſeaſe
natural to them, that they are unquiet, and full of fac-
tions among themſelves, eſpecially when they have no
foreign diverſions.
Great bodies, they move ſlowly, yet move they muſt;
and if the mill have not corn 10 grind, the upper and ne-
ther milftone will grind each other. If we ſhould ſuppoſe
the ſupreme government had been only ariſtocratical, by a
fenate, conſiſting of three hundred perſons, reaſon and ex-
perience thew that factions are apt to riſe even in ſuch a
council : much more when the common people were tharers
alſo in the government.
.
For firſt, commonly in ſuch great aſſemblies, fome par-
ticular perſons are the leading men, who think themſelves
entitled by their parts, or reputation, or intereft, to govern
the councils, and that raiſeth envy and emulations in others,
who think they have as much reaſon to ſway in fupreme
councils as others ; which preſently engageth that council
in parties and factions,
Again, 2. It is commonly feen in ſuch numerous coun-
cils where they are ſupreme and abſolute, ſome there are
that drive on their particular intereſts, offices, and advance-
ment of their families and relations; and becauſe others
among them, have the ſame deſigns for themſelves, which
muſt needs croſs and diſappoint one another, every one ga-
thers and engageth as many as they can, to carry on their
own deſigns; which preſently engageth either the whole
council, or very conſiderable numbers thereof into parties
and factions : upon theſe, and many the like emergencies,
where the ſupreme government reſts in many, it is hardly
poffible to avoid breaking themſelves into parties or fa&tions ;
unleſs ſome one fupreme governor be to check and control,
and diſperſe theſe factions; or unleſs ſome foreign emergency
happen, that may concenter them in a common union againſt
a common eneiny ; but beſides all this, the mixture of the
Roman governors, conſiſting partly of the Patricii, optimates
of nobility, and partly of the people and their tribunes who
were their delegates, between which the ſovereign power was
in many things diſtributed and divided, did ftill adminiſter
occafion of conteſt and difference, and gave opportunity to
buſy and unquiet and diſcontented ſpirits, to intereſt them-
ſelves with the ſenate againſt the people, or é converſo; but
eſpecially with the popular party, and by ſecret fuggeftions
or infinuations, or by open declainations or orations to
create diſturbances in the ſtate; a co-ordinate power in
ſeveral
1
26 2
452 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 3.
!
1
i
ſeveral parties, councils, or offices, rarely reſting quiet till
fome one perſon or party hath gotten the maſtery of the reſt ;
as appears among many inſtances in that of the Roman
triumvirate of Octavius, Antonius, and Lepidus; wherein,
firſt Lepidus, and then Antonius were reduced into the ſingle
power of Octavius, together with the empire : and beſides
the conftitution of their commonwealth, partly confiſting in
the authority of their conſuls, partly in the ſenate, partly in
the people and their tribunes, there was yet a fourth fountain
of continual commotions, namely, their ſtanding army: if
any of the conſuls, that were annually choſen, was of a tu-
multuous or ambitious nature, and it may be of too great
a ſpirit for his companion, or not willing to be difpoffeffed
of his power at his year's end, and his preſent power in the
army, gave him opportunity to ſatisfy his ambition : if a
man were of a great wit, intereſt and elocution, he had a
great opportunity of leading the ſenate, or the greater nun-
ber of them, whither he pleaſed, unleſs he had ſome anta-
goniſt of equal wit, intereſt, and elocution, and then their
collifion begat emulation and contrary factions. Again, a
man that was bold and confident, and a great affertor of
liberty, that could make plauſible invectives againſt the
ſenate or nobility, and could cry up the intereſt of the peo.
ple, that could find faults with the adminiſtrations of the
lenate, or could fet up ſome popular law (as that of the
Lex Agraria, which bred ſo many tumults in that ſtate)
ſuch a man had an admirable opportunity to work tumults
and factions among the people. Again, if a man that were
an officer in the army (as the conſuls, the magifter equitum
was) and were eſteemed a gallant man, a man of courage,
reſolution and conduct in the army; a man fucceſsful and
*fortunate, liberal, and of a good prefence and elocution, ſuch
a man had a great powr and influence over the army,
could lead them as he pleaſed, make what alterations, inno-
vations he, pleaſed by them in the commonwealth; ſo that
the ſtate of Rome, as they could not live without a ſtanding
army, conſidering their military condition, ſo they were in .
danger by then, if they had the leaſt intermiſſion from
foreign wars; that their magiſtrates, fenate, people, army,
were as fo many common places and topics, in or from
which, men of unquiet, ambitious and turbulent fpirits, had
opportunitiss to create or nouriſh factions and parties, which
muſt neceſſarily in time, either by their mutual colliſions,
or the prevailing ſucceſs of either, make great changes, or
ftrange earthqnakes and concuſſions in the ſtate.
Certainly
i
}
C#. 3.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 453
war
Certainly the Roman'ſenate were a noble council, without
which Rome could never have riſen to that grandeur ; yet
they being ſupreme and numerous, could never be long free
from factions; much leſs when the tribunes of the people,
and the great officers of the army, had ſuch a-ſhare in the
governnient.
But theſe are but generals; there ſeem certain ſpecial rea-
fons that occafioned theſe great and continuing factions and
civil broils in the ſtate of Rome at this time, beſides that
general habitude and propenſity: to factions, ariſing from
the frame and conſtitution of their governors, when they
had no foreign enemies; which ſeem to be principally-theſe?
1. The commonwealth of Rome about that time, and
ſhortly after that under Sylla, after their victory over the
confederates of Italy, had gotten the maſtery of all their
neighbouring nations, that they ſeemed to have little left
for them to do in military engagements, and therefore being
à buſy, active people, they were ſtill reſtleſs, and for want
of enemies abroad, they were (by the reſtleſſneſs of their
active fouls, accuſtomed to wars) carried on to exerciſe their
fervour and fire one among another : and the wifer part of
the council eaſily found that this would be the neceſſary
conſequence of their peace with others"; and therefore al-
though they had ſubdued all their near neighbours, and
had little neceffity of any foreign wars, yet they fought oc-
caſions for the diverſion of this unquiet humour, by ſending
abroad their armies to remote courtries, as Gallia and Bri
tain, and Spain, and the farther parts of Aſia, in their un-
things quiet at home, by employing their fiery, active
ſpirits in remote actions, dealing by their armies, and nuli.
tary, ambitious men, as they ſay, conjurers do with the un-
quiet ſpirits that they have raiſed, fet them about ſome im-
poſſible or difficult employment; as, filling a fieve with
water, or making a rope of ſand, that they may not do mil-
chief. So the Roman councils, to keep reſtleſs, ambitious,
and troubleſome perſons in motion and action, though they
had many times little need or reaſon for it, fought enemies
at a diſtance, or made them fuch, that they might divert by
revulſion thoſe other inconveniencies that otherwiſe they
might find from them at home. But now when theſe
great hroils fell ont, namely, after the 6th confulate of
Marius, they had in effect, fubdied all opponents; and
although Sylla was employed then in the war againſt Mith-
ridates, yet he did but play with it, and protracted the
war,
1
2 G 3
454 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 2.
war, which he at his pleaſure could have fooner concluded;
as appears by the peace he made with him at laſt. This
ſeems therefore the firſt reaſon of the eruption of theſe
inteſtine wars at this time ; becauſe the Roman power had
maſtered all their neighbouring nations, and reduced them
into a perfect ſubjection, or into fuch a kind of affociation
with them, as ſtill left the Roman ftate the ſupreme over
them. And theſe wars they then had, were not ſuch as
were neceffary, nor vear, but ſuch as were at a diſtance,
and undertaken either politically, for the end above declared,
or at leaſt ambitiouſly, and to augment their grandeur, nog
out of any other neceflity.
2. The ſecond caufe or reaſon ſeems to be this: they at
firſt gave too much heed, and too much power to ambiti,
ous and intemperate ſpirits; which thereupon radicated a
faction, and habituated great ſpirits to the fame. Marius
was a high-ſpirited and factious man, and the common:
wealth indulged him too much, and too often in great
commands and great offices. He was fix times choſen
conſul, and once he made himſelf ſo; and by this means
he accuſtomed and habituated many of the grandees of
Rome to the knack, and practice, and fķill of managing a
faction; and when Sylla was ſet up againſt him, he grew
a great favourite, truſted with great power, oftentimes made
conful, and at laſt dictator ; and under his diſcipline, thoſe
of his party got the trick of managing a faction, and taſted
the ſweetneſs of power, and could never be perfectly weaned
from it. The like might be inſtanced in Pompey, Cæſar,
Antonius, Brutus, Octavius, &c. For theſe men were
lifted up to high by the great and over-long truft, and
power, and offices, and commands that were committed to
ihem, that in a little time they grew too big for the com-
monwealth ; and although the ſenate and people bore the
name of a commonwealth, yet in truth they were but
cyphers, and did no more than what theſe great men, while
they were in power, and had the army at their command,
did either command, or direct, or permit. And theſe great
commanders and officers, though they pretended an inferi-
ority to the commonwealth, and that they were but their
ſervants, yet in truth thoſe were but compliments; for in
their feveral viciffitudes of power, they exerciſed as great
and greater monarchical, or rather tyrannical power, than
ever Octavius did after he was faluted by the name and
ſtyle of Auguſtus. And by this means the generality of
great fpirits in Rome were taught to deſpiſe the former re-
gular
1
1
1
i
CH. 2.]
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 45.5
gular conduct of the commonwealth of Rome, and aſpired
after greater matters, initiated and lifted themſelves under
factions, learned the art and ſkill of them, deſigned to
themſelves as much greatneſs as they had ſeen acquired by
thoſe grandees to whom they had joined themſelves, and
were not patient of being any longer under the commands
of the fenate, but were filled with ſpirits, and habits, and
deſigns, not conſiſtent with a commonwealth; and accord-
ingly as opportunity happened, they broke out into new in-
teltine commotions; whereas the former diſcipline of the
commonwealth of Rome was not to make men too great, or
if neceffity exacted it of them, as when they created dic-
tators, in time of deſperate danger or neceſſity, they con-
tinued it not longer than the neceffity laſted : By this means
men were not very long in great power or offices, and there.
by were kept from growing too great.
Faclions growing by them, or under their umbrage, had
not time enough to ferment or take root, or grow ſtrong;
but à fubftitution of new men in office and power, foon
ſuppreſſed, or ſcattered, or ſtarved the budding factions be-
fore they grew too maſterleſs. And men that were natu-
rally high-ſpirited or ambitious, or fond of power or great-
neſs, had thereby diſcouragement or interruption in their
projects, and the generality tutored into obedience and
quietneſs, having no examples of ſucceſsful factions: and
by this great moderation and reſtraint of too great or too long
power in any, they prevented that envy and animoſity
which is naturally apt to riſe un or againſt men in a com
monwealth, that are grown too great or too powerful : but
on the contrary, the courſe that about Marius' time was
uſed in Rome, gave neceſſary occaſions of the growth and
turbulency of factions by theſe three neceſſary conſequents
thereof:
1. He that was thus raiſed to too great and long a do-
mination, was neceffitated to maintain a faction to ſupport
and keep him in that ſtate of grandeur to which he ar-
rived.
2. That the accuſtomed grandeur of any one perſon did
as naturally raiſe envy in others againſt him, and conſe-
quently the railing of faction againſt him to ſuppreſs or re-
duce him to a lower condition.
3. It ſuddenly inſtructed men in the methods of raiſing
factions, and accuſtomed men with a kind of facility and
dexterity in managing of them, and invited them to the
% G-4
frequent
1
!
456 The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
[CH. 2.
frequent uſe of theſe practices, by the ſweetneſs of power,
and the ſucceſs of others that had prevailed by them.
3. The third occaſion of the multiplied factions that
happened in Rome, after the dance began by Marius, was
that very thing which was ordinarily uſed for the ſuppreff-
ing them ; namely, the violence, rage, and revenge that was
uſed by that faction that prevailed againſt the faction that
was fubdued.
For inſtance, when Marius was uppermoft, be uſed all
manner of ſeverity againſt Sylla's party that oppoſed him.
Again, when Sylla prevailed, he uſed the like ſeverity
againſt the party of Marius. The like was done again by
Marius and Cinna, and their party. Thus like fooliſhpal-
ſengers in a boat, when the waves roll, and the boat tilts to
one ſide, they run on the other, and make it tilt worfe; and
then run again to the other fide, till they endanger. the caſt-
ing away of the veffel and themſelves.
Thus theſe great heads of factions, and their parties, by
the violent and outrageous dealing with the depreſſed
party, endeavouring thereby to ſecure and eſtabliſh them-
ſelves in the free enjoynient of their acquired victory and
greatneſs, and utterly to diſable the adverſe party ever to
appear again in power, did obtain a quite contrary effect,
and ſuddenly ruin themſelves, and by their violence give
life to that party they tbus endeavour by theſe means to ex-
tinguiſh : and thus iu muit neceſſarily be, and in experi-
ence hath been commonly found to be; and the reaſons
of it are thele:
1. Theſe exceffive ſeverities do raiſe in the generality of
mankind theſe two paflions, which do moſt ordinarily bring
to paſs that which I have ſaid; namely, a loathing and de-
teftation of that cruelty and inhumanity, and of that party
that practiſeth it; and a pity and compaſſion towards their
fellow-citizens, whom they ſee thus cruelly handled; and
that hatred doth moſt commonly waſte, and in time ruin
the conquering party; and this pity doth ſecretly animate,
affift, and buoy up the depreſſed party, and oftentimes give
it life, when it ſeems extinguiſhed and dead.
2. Theſe exceſſive ſeverities can never wholly extirpate
all thoſe that are of the adverſe party ; fome will remain, do
what they can : and if they would wholly extirpate every per-
fon that ever app-ared againſt {hem, yet it will be impoftible
to-extirpate all their relations or acquaintances, unleſs they
phould wholly diſpeople their country of all but themſelves.
There
1
.
CH. 2.]
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 457
There is not a perſon that they murder, but it may be hath
twenty others under ſome relation or other unto the pèr-
ſon murdered, either as a father, or ſon, or brother, or kin-
dred, or friend, or dependant. And the more of the ad-
verſe party they deſtroy, the more relations they leave that
ſurvive them. And fo many of the adverſe and ſuppreſſed
party as are of their relations, that ſurvive, will bear in
mind the remembrance of that cruelty, and harbour a ſecret
and violent paffion of revenge againſt it; and this paflion,
as it is fierce, cruel, and implacable, ſo it is vigilant and
induſtrious to gain an opportunity to ſatisfy itſelf. And
this was it that principally cauſed that villainý againſt Cæfar,
and the endangering of all thoſe that adhered to him. It
was not altogether the jealouſy they had of the greatneſs of
Cæfar, the fear of his invading the empire'; but it was the
memory of Pharſalia, and the death of Pompey, and thoſe
feverities which he uſed againſt that party (though he were
not immoderate therein after the battle ended). The love
and memory of Pompey, and his party that ſurvived him in
his friends and relations, and the ſpirit of revenge that they
had long harboured, was that which made, and united, and
fortified the conſpiracy againſt Cæfar. And poſſibly the
death of Antonius, and the deſtruction of his party, by
Octavius Cæfar, might have produced as unbappy effects,
had not the experience of Octavius Cæſar, and his fingular
prudence and moderation, and his deſerved eſteem in the
Roman empire, conquered as well the revenge and envy
of the relations of Antonius' party. Thus theſe ſeverities
of prevailing parties too oftentimes perpetuate and unite
their enemies, inttead of extirpating and extinguiſhing
them. -
It is true that the lawful governors of a kingdon or ſtate
muſt neceffarily fometimes uſe great feverities upon rebels
and diſturbers of the government; and this is neceſſary as
well by way of juſt retribution of great demerits, but prin.
cipally for example, and ſo prevent others froin the like ex-
orbitances, ut poena ad paucos, metus ad omnes; rewards
and puniſhments being as well the two great pillars that
ſupport governm nt, as the two great wheels that-keep it
in a regular and orderly motion.
But yet there is great prudence and moderation to be
uſed therein, as well in reference to the kinds and degrees
of the puniſhments, as in the extent of them ; for if they
be too inhuman and barbarous, or be extended to all the
perſons that are offenders (when the number of them pof-
fibly
458 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 2.
1
fibly is very great) it may prove likę phyſic that is too
ſtrong for the bodies, and brings many times greater danger
than the diſeaſe it defigus to cure.
But the caſe of thoſe factions in Rome, was not like that
of the civil magiſtrate in puniſhing malefactors in a ſtate;
but it was the paſſions and animofities of one faction or
party againſt another, and therefore ſuch horrid and exten-
five ſeverities that they uſed one againſt another, rendered
their feverities, and the extent of them, as inexcuſable, ſo in
the event, dangerous and unſucceſsful to thoſe that uſed them:
the reafon above given.
4. The fourth, and indeed the great cauſe of theſe com-
notions at this time, and for ſo long a continuance, was
this : ftates and commonwealths have certain periods of
their duration and conſiſtency appointed them in the ordi-
nary methods of Divine Providence; and ſometimes thoſe
periods determine in a final deſolation or exciſion: Thus .
ihe commonwealth of Carthage was finally deſtroyed by the
Roman. Sometimes this period doth not expire in a defo-
lation, but in ſome great change and alteration in it: and
if the compages and fabric of the commonwealth be ſtrong
and firm, the change is more difficult, it hath a ſtrong
and great ftruggling before that change can be effected
and preparatory to the effecting thereof, there are ordinarily
great aſpiring attempts endeavoured by great ſpirits ; con-
kufiions and ſhakings antecedent and preliminary to it, as
if the very complexion and temperature of the great and
more regnant ſpirits in it, were tending to ſome ſuch change.
And thus it fared with the ſtate of. Rome at this time; the
period of its former ariſtocratical and popular government
was within fixty years of its end, and a new and better
ſhape of government to be aſſumed. And now all the great
and active fpirits in Rome ſeem to be reaching after a monar-
chical or imperial government; as firſt; Marius, then Sylla,
ihen Pompey, then Cæſar, then Antonius, then Auguſtus:
and although aļl theſe were not able to acquire the full ac-
compliſhment of it, yet every one of theſe drew nearer to
imperial power than the other; Sylla's power grew greater
than Marius's ; Pompey's than Sylla's; Cæſar's than Pom-
pey's; till at laſt it fixed and was completed in Octavius
Auguſtus.
And all theſe were ſo many indications that 'now at this
time the genius of the Roman republic, or rather more
truly, the genius, the diſpoſition, temperament and com-
plexion of the Roman ftate, was drawing towards, and
breathing
)
5
CH, 3.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus, 4.59
•
breathing after a monarchy, as that which was now the
moſt ſuitable government for it, and that theſe ſeveral earth-
quakes, raiſed by theſe fiery ſpirits, were but as ſo many
trokes of a ſkilful ſtatuary, to bring the Roman common-
wealth into the more ſtately ſtatue and configuration of an
imperial government, which ſeemed now not only to be the
complement and perfect growth and ſtature of the Roman
ſtate, but that which was abſolutely neceffary to preſerve it
from ruin by civil dilíentions, and to preſerve its grandeur ;
ſo that as the ſtate and condition of the natural body arrives
from a more imperfect degree, to a more perfect, and paſſeth
through various changes, till its complement and perfection,
and then gradually declines; ſo the Roman ſtate paſſed
through theſe various forms, which in its ſeveral feafons
were ſuitable to it, till it came to its goodly and complete
ſtation, whereunto it attained under Auguftus. And theſe
yarious concuſſions and ſhakings that it had in thoſe fixty
years before Auguſtus, were but the preparatory endeavours,
and ſtrugglings, and tendencies of the ſpirit and genius of
the Roman ſtate, that tended to it, and the ſtrokes and ham-
merings that were neceffary for its effecting; and therefore
this was the periodical ſeaſon for theſe attempts and prepa-
rations to a change. And thus far (by the way) of the rea-
fons that might probably occafion theſe civil broils in the
Roman commonwealth at this ſeaſon more than formerly.
1
CHAP. III.
CONCERNING THE METHODS THAT ORDINARILY
PERSONS USE, TO SECURE THEMSELVES IN THE
VICISSITUDES OF PREVAILING FACTIONS.
WE
E have found Rome in the whole compaſs of the life of
Pomponius, to be a theatre of great and tragical commo-
tions, full of unquietneſs and danger, and of various vicilli-
tudes; ſometimes one faction prevailing, and ſometimes
the 'contrary faction being uppermoſt; and then again the
former returning; whereby the ſcene was oftentimes varied.
And now I ſhall briefly conſider of thoſe methods that com
monly perſons uſe, and in that feafon did uſe for their fecu-
rity and ſafety, and the errors and ineffectualneſs thereof, tą
the ends here propoſed, that thereby the prudence and wiſą
dom of Atticus, and the fingular diſcretion of thoſe means
which
460 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 3.
which he ufed for his own fecurity, may the more clearly
appear. The means that ordinarily men chooſe in ſuch un-
quiet ſtates, are for the moſt part fuch as theſe:
1. They commonly' ftrike in with that party or faction
that is in preſent power, and join with it, and commit their
fortunes into the ſame vefſel with it; the imprudence whereof
is apparent in this, that they venture all in the conſtancy of
the ſucceſs of that parry or faction which they eſpouſe.
· And confequently, if they prevail not, or happen to receive
at any time 'a ſhock, they are ruined with them, or at leaſt
eſcape that ruin with infinite difficulties. And herein is ap-
parent their want of due confideration of the ſtate of things
of this' nature. They judge according to the preſent face,
and ſhow, and appearance, and do not conſider that truth
which reaſon and experience makes evident and common;
namely, that factions in a ſtate never long hold their
ground; but if they are not ſuppreſſed by the natural
power of the ſtate wherein they ariſe, yet by the ſame or
like means, whereby at any time they obtain, they are com-
monly broken and diffolved; and by the fame artifices where-
by they gain the ſaddle, they are commonly unhorfed,
either by the adverſe party, or by ſome diſtemper rifing in
their own party, which is equally miſchievous to them.
The game being ordinarily thus managed, that when one
faction hath ſuppreſſed another, the victorious party fall
into diviſions among themſelves; ſome thinking they have
too ſmall a ſhare in the acqueſt, and others too much, and
ſo weaken their party, and render it leſs and narrower; and
then commonly one of the ſubdivided party, that finds itſelf
weakeſt, falls in with the remainders and reliques of the
nrſt party, and ſo oppreſs that ſubdivided party that laſt ob-
tained; whereby it comes to paſs, that if the perſon that
fell in at firſt with the prevailing party, takes that fubdivid-
ed party that ſeems prevalent, he ſuffers ruin with them ;
and if it be his lot to fall in again with the weaker fubdivid-
ed party, and fo join with the old ſuppreſſed party, yet his
former oppreſſion is remembered, and he is never truſted;
and commonly as the old party gets advantage and power,
he is expoſed to infamy, contempi, or loſs. But be the ſucceſs
what it will be, he is ever in an uncertain, unſtable and
tumultuous condition, and ſtill put upon neceſſities-of new
devices, ſhifts, and contrivances to ſave his ſtake; whereby
he never can enjoy true tranquillity either of life or mind.
2. Another expedient that men uſe to ſave themſelves, is
ever to be of the prevailing faction by all mcthods and arti-
fices
Ch. 3.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 461
!
,ficés imaginable ; and as the parties.change in their fuc-.
ceſſes, fo to fall to them or from them; and herein they
have a difficult and troubleſome game to play, and they had
need be their crafts-maſter, if at the firſt change they are
not at a loſs; but if they keep their ground upon the firſt
change, they never can weather the ſecond; for they irre-
coverably loſe their credit; their tricks, and ſhuffling, and
difpofition will be known, and then they will be like ſtrata-
gems in war, that can never be practiſed twice with any
ſucceſs, at leaſt, by and between the ſame parties. And
now theſe artifices wherein men thus fave themſelves, are
commonly flattery and diffimulation, pretenſions of their
being formerly miſled; and now their eyes are opened ; pro-
feſſions of great ſatisfaction with the proceedings of the
party prevailing, and extreme indignation againſt that party
which they forinerly took ; ſuing for opportunities to mani-
feſt their indignation againſt them, and hatred of them ;
and to gain credit with their new maſters, and give a teſti-
mony of their thorough converſion to them, offering their
ſervice, and employing it in the bittereſt perſecutions, trea-
cheries, and crueltres againſt thoſe that they formerly ſerved.
It is obſerved in the life of Atticus, that when Antonius was
declared an enemy, and Brutus and Caffius obtained in
Rome, there were none more bitter perſecutors of Antony's
family, than thoſe in his proſperity had been his friends :
but the folly of theſe fycophants and followers of fortune,
:
1. That though poſſibly they may ſave their ſkins by ſuch
tricks, yet they never gain credit enough with their new
friends to be either loved or truſted: they may uſe them
for their end, but always ſecretly hate and deteſt them, as
men of baſe diſpoſitions and principles, and ever ſuſpect
them, as ſuch as would do the like with their new friend's
upon any turn of fortune.
2. Their new friends, if they employ them at all
, employ
them in the baſeſt offices, and ſuch as are commonly, though
perchance uſeful to their occaſions, yet hateful and delelta-
ble to human nature, as to be affafinates, fpies, betrayers of
thofe that were of the former party, and ſuch fordid em.
ployments; and they dare not boggle or fcruple at fuch
employments, nor perform them perfunctorily or ineffec-
tually; for then they are rendered obnoxious to their new
maſters, and commonly ſuffer worſe than if they had never
complied. And if they go through with theſe baſe employ-
ments, they are rendered odious to all good men; and if
)
appears in this:
i
ever
462 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. .
ever the adverſe party gain ground again, they are ſure to be
ruined: thus they purchaſe their peace with their new
maſters at the deareſt price, and become everlaſting llaves
to ſave their ſkins and eſtates.
3. The third miſchief that they are involved in, is this:
that if ever the former faction prevail again, they are ſure
to be dealt with worſe than the worit of enemies, and can
never ſave themſelves by new flatteries and tergiverſations :
nay, if it fall out (as commonly it doth) that this laſt pre-
vailing faction breaks and ſubdivides into factions, and one
part falls in with the old faction, to ſtrengthen themſelves,
and carry this ſycophant along with thein; yet the remains
of the old faction will never forget this man's revolt; but,
one time or other, will work his ruin, unleſs his fortune be
better than his wiſdom or defert.
4. Another, and the moſt ordinary help is upon the pre-
valence of the adverſe party, men that are obnoxious to
them, purchaſe their peace, if they be rich and able: but
this is not without danger too, for ſuch a man ſhall rarely
fit quiet under the party with whom he fo compounded;
but they will ever find fome device to be always draining of
money from him ; partly becauſe their neceilities will be
ſtill calling; and partly that they may diſable him from giving
new fupplies to the adverſe party, if ever they ſhould appear
again. And if ever ſuch a turn happen, he ſhall be fure
his old friends will expcét a greater contribution from him;
and make him pay a double raniom (if he be able) to expi-
ate his former compoſition with their enemies, who will
pretend it a piece of juſtice to ſet the higher mulet upon
him.
Theſe are ſome of thoſe ordinary helps whereby men uſe
to ſecure themſelves under the viciffitudes of factions; but
theſe were not ſuch as were uſed by Atticus ; they were
quite of another kind, and ſuch as were more noble, pru-
dent, and fafé; as ſhall be feen when we come to confider
theni,
CHAP.
CH. 4.]
463
The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
A
CHAP. IV.
TOUCHING THE MEANS WHEREBY THE SAFETY OF
ATTICUS WAS PROCURED UNDER THESE VARIOUS
VICISSITUDES IN THE ROMAN STATE.
$
The hiſtory of this man’s life gives us the relation of theſe
things :
1. It gives us a ſhort and obfcure account of thoſe forms
and civil wars of Rome, whereof I have given an account
fomewhat more particularly in the firſt and ſecond chapters.
2. It gives us an account how, that notwithſtanding all
theſe ſtorms, this man enjoyed a quiet and ſerene life, and a
peaceable death, after he had lived 77 years,
3. It ſhews alſo the ineans which he uſed for the attain-
ing of this tranquillity of eſtate, among all thoſe troubleſome,
conteſts and difficulties.
4. It alſo tells us of the excellent learning, virtue, good-
nefs, liberálity, frugality, conſtancy, and other excellencies
of this excellent man.
Touching the firſt of theſe, I have ſaid enough before; touch-
ing the ſecond, I ſhall fay but little; becauſe the hiſtory of
his life fully relates it. He always in theſe times lived in
great peace, quietneſs, and tranquillity. 2. In.great wealth
and plenty. 3. In great eſteem and reverence with the
nobility and common people of Rome. 4. In great value
and eſteem with all parties; no faction, though never ſo pre-
valent or violent, did him any hurt; but ſtudied and endea-
voured all ways imaginable to oblige him; inſomuch that in
his old age, his daughter was married into the family of
Auguſtus Cæſar. 5. Which is yet more, he kept a fair
and open viſible correſpondence with all conteſting parties,
even iu the times when their differences and animoſities were
higheſt, and yet without any diſtaſte or jealouſy, by either
party; all parties courting, and honouring, and eſteeming
him in their greateſt heats, and conteſts, and civil wars one
againſt another. Indeed, upon the return of Antony to
Rome, this good man began to be ſomewhat afraid of pro-
ſcription : this fear attacked him by reaſon partly of his old
age, which naturally is móre obnoxious to fear, than younger
age ; and partly by reaſon of that extremity and violence
uled againſt Cicero his intimate friend. But it ſoon appcar-
ed
464 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 4:
ed that he was niore afraid than he had cauſe; for Antonius
did not only give him an aſſurance of his own ſafety, but
at his interceffion, ſpared many more, that had otherwife
been obnoxious to the danger of this revolution. In ſhort,
he lived as happy and as honourable a life as could poſſibly
be expected in the moſt ſerene and quiet times.
Touching the fourth of theſe, namely, the virtues of this
excellent man, I have occaſion to mention them in the
next chapter. And the buſineſs of all the following dif-
courſe ſhall be principally employed in the ihird general ;
namely, the means and methods whereby this excellent
man was preſerved in the midſt of theſe civil flanies and
ſtorms. And next under the livine Providence (which
fecretly and powerfully ordereth and governeth all things
and events in the world) I think the preſervation of this
excellent man, may be attributed, in the firſt place, to the
virtue and prudence of Alticus himſelf; and ſecondly, to
the temper and conftitution of the affairs of Ronié at this '
time, and of the nobility and citizens thereof.
And becauſe my great dehgn in all this diſcourſe is to
trace out thoſe excellencies, and that prudent conduct of
Atticus herein, I reſerve the firſt of thefe to the full en-
quiry of the enſuing chapters, and ſhall take up the ſecond
conſideration, which as it was the leaft of the conducibles
to his preſervation, fo it ſhall.be but briefly handled.'
There ſeems to be in the condition of affairs and citizeng
of Rome, theſe two expedients; that though to an ordinary
perfon, they might be of little uſe in theſe calamities, yet
man
of that eminent worth and goodneſs, and deſert
that was in this nian, might be ſome affiſtance to his own:
prudent conduct of affairs in relation to his fafety and pre-
fervation,
Firſt, the experience that the Roman ftate had gained
of the mutability of things before fuch time as Atticus re-
turned to Rome from Athens; for he went to Athens
about the tune of Sylla's firſt return to Rome againſt Ma-
rius, he returned not till after Sylla's death, as it ſeems,
and thongh that after his return, the factions and viciffitudes
thereof in Rome were great, yet I think ſcarce any hif-
tory gives an account of ſo great troubles and viciſſitudes
and changes in ſo ſhort a time, and between two ſingle
heads of factions, as happened between Marius and Sylla.
And this inſtability and viciſſitude of things gave a leſſon
to enſuing factions, of ſome more moderation than appear-
ed between thoſe two: parties of Marius and Sylla ; and
therefore
to a
1
1
CH. 4.] The Life of Pomponius Atticiis. . 465
therefore, it ſeems that in conteſts between Cæfar and
Pompey, there was ſomewhat more of moderation, than
was between Sylla and Marius.' But this was foon for-
gotten (I muſt confeſs), for the aſſaſſination of Cæſar by
Pompey's party, foon made both parties forget moderation,
as appears by the cruelty of Antonius againſt Cicero, and
divers others, at his return to Rome.
This was fomething conducible to the quiet of Atticus,
namely, the experience that all parties had of the viciſſitude
of fortune, taught them ſomewhat more of moderation
than formerly and inen engaged in factions, were con-
tented to keep an intereſt in fo good and worthy a man as
Atticus; though he took not part with them; becayſe they
knew not how ſoon they might ſtand in need of his friend,
thip, either to relieve their diſtreſſed condition, or intercede
for them.
2. A ſecond confideration relating to the great men, and
chief officers, and citizens of Rome, was this, that long
and great experience had given them a great obſervation
and judgment of men, and their difpofitions and worth.
Athens indeed was then the greateſt ſchool in the world
for the attaining of the knowledge of learning and arts: but
there was no ſchool in the world equal to Rome for the
knowledge of men ; for they had the beſt opportunity to
have the experience of this kind, by their, frequent con-
verſe with men of all difpofitions, inclinations, employ-
ments, and nations, both in the reſort of foreign agents
thither, and in their own negotiations and expéditions
abroad, and the great variety of occaſions and actions,
and oceurrences of ſeveral natures. Theſe. opportunities
taught, eſpecially the grandees of Rome, admirably well
- to underſtand men as well as bufneſs.
And they found that Atticus was not only a very learned,
wiſe, and excellent man (this indeed had been ſufficient to
have protected him no more than it did Cicero), but that
he was a man of eſteem, and well beloved by the citizens
generally; and a man that really and ſincerely declined
any intermeddling with any faction, did not ſtand in the
way of that honour and grandeur that ambitious men looked
after ; that he was contented with his ſtation, affected not
power nor wealth ; that his beneficence was great to all, and
not out of contemplation or ſtudy of parties, but as a friend
to human nature and mankind in general. And upon
this account they found that it was not at all their intereſt
,
neither did the neceflity of their affairs engage the victori-
VOI, I.
H
QUS
466 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 4
ous faction to bend themſelves againſt him; nay they, well
knew it would have been a diſreputation to their cauſe, to
have oppreffed a man of that credit and innocence that
Atticus was of. And beſides, they found, that as the ſtate
of all affairs was ſo mutable, that ſometimes one party,
ſometimes another, was uppermoſt, ſo he was a common
magazine and treaſury of goodneſs and beneficence to the
neceſſities and exigencies of mankind, though he induſtri-
ouſly declined cheriſhing or encouraging their factions and
animofities. And they prudently forelaw a poſſibility of
the change of their own condition, wherein they might
ſtand in need of his beneficence hereafter ; and therefore
not only out of juſtice, in contemplation of his innocence,
but out of prudence, in contemplation of the mutability of
things, and the uſe they might have of his relief and bene-
ficence upon a change of affairs, they did not only not op-
preſs or injure him, but they endeavoured, by all offices of
kindneſs and reſpect, to oblige him. And hence it was,
that although the great heads of factions, when they pre-
vailed, were ſevere to all that oppoſed them, and jealous
of all that were not of their party, were ready to receive
occaſions againſt them, and enriched themſelves, and gra-
tified their affiftants with the ſpoils of all ſuch as they
ſuſpected : yet they would receive no accuſation againſt
him, and generouſly did bear with the reliefs he gave to
their enemies in diſtreſs; and interpreted it not as an ad
hering to the adverfe faction, but to be, as indeed it was,
the fruit of his natural beneficence and goodneſs to mankind
as ſuch. And therefore they were not of ſuch narrow and piti-
ful ſouls, to give ear to buſy inforıners or fycophants againſt
a man of his worth and goodneſs, as one that ſtrictly fided
with the adverſe party, or that his beneficence towards meni
in diſtreſs was an owning or eſpouſing of their follies and
factions: for they underſtood and knew the man to be
wiſe, and juft, and peaceable, though liberal and compaſſion-
ate to thoſe that wanted. And this was another occaſion
of his fafety, namely, the prudence and generoſity of thoſe
great men, who, though by reaſon of their felf-love, intereſt,
ambition, affectation of power, and greatneſs of ſpirit, and
emulation, could brook no opponent or rival in their great-
neſs; yet had ſo much wiſdom as to know men; and ſo
much generoſity and nobleneſs of mind, as to value and
eſteem ſuch a one whº was really, a common friend and
benefactor to human nature. And there be ſome of thoſe
foreigu and accidental contributions to his preſervation :
but
I
CH. 5.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 467
but all theſe are but little and inconſiderable. The great
foundation of his ſafety (next under Divine goodneſs and pro::
videnc) were his own worth, virtue, goodneſs, prudence and
wiſe conduct of himſelf and his actions, whereby he be-
came, as the author of his life obſerves, ſuæ ipfius fortunæ
opifex, one that moulded and ſhaped his own ſucceſs and
happineſs through the whole courſe of his life.
And this is the buſineſs and deſign of the enſuing
difcourſe, namely, to thew thoſe excellent, wife and honeſt
methods whereby be ſerved the great fuperintendant pro-
vidence of the Governor of the world, in his own preſerva-
tion, and ſteering of his life in peace and happineſs through
all the ſtorms and tempeſts of that troubled ſtate of Rome,
till he arrived at his reſt in a good old age. And this
argument I ſhall proſecute at large in the enſuing chapters,
as the principal end of this diſcourſe.
1. Becauſe it may
give a more diſtinct account of the admirable prudence and
wiſdom of this excellent man. 2. Becaufe it will give a
fingular' example, and poſſibly a uſeful inſtruction how a
man may preſerve at once himſelf, and his innocence, and
tranquillity in difficult and' tumultuous times, and ſteer
himſelf between the rocks of conteſting factions without
ſhipwreck.
1
CHAP. V.
TOUCHING THE MEANS THAT POMPONIUS ATTICUS
USED TO SAVE HIMSELF FROM THE DANGERS
OF THE CIVIL WARS THAT HAPPENED IN ROME:
AND FIRST,
FIRST, CONCERNING THE QUALITY AND
CONDITION OF THE MAN HIMSELF.
The means that this excellent man uſed for his preſerva-
tion, were not of thoſe low and deſpicable kinds that are
before mentioned in the third chapter; but they were fuch
as are honeſt and generous, juſtifiable and rational; ſuch
as conſiſted with innocence, worth and prudence, and ac-
cordingly proved fingularly ſucceſsful, as well 10 preſerve
his reputation, as his ſafety.
And I Thall digeſt them under theſe three heads ; viz.
1. What he was, and how the qualifications and condi-
tion of his perfon conduced to this end.
2 H ?
2. What
}
468 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 5.
2. What he principally avoided.
3. What he principally did in order to this attainment.
And in all theſe I Mall 'follow that faithful defcription of
him and his life, by his contemporary Cornelius Nepos;
though I ſhall perchance order and tranſpore the ſeveral
circumſtances and paſſages in it, in fome different order
from that deſcription, fingling out, and. laying together the
fame under various heads or ſections.
For the firſt of theſe, what he was :-He was a man of
deſerved veneration and eſteem wherever be lived; and
that eſteemn obtained not by a bare, light, popular air, but
raiſed upon the firmeſt and moſt deſerving accounts, ariſing
in or from himſelf, or thọfe acceſſions or contributions that
were of great vicinity to himſelf; ſo that he had a kind of
intrinſic propriety in the reputation he had, becauſe it was
but the natural reflection of what was his own, and not
from the donatives, or charity or liberality of others. By
this means his honour and eſteem became fixed, ſtable, and
permanent.
1. Though he were not of a Patrician race, yet he was
of a generous extraction and family, derived to him by a
ļong ſucceſſion of progenitors of the Equeſtrian degree.
2. He had a fair eſtate deſcended to him from his father;
which was increaſed by the acceffion he had from his
uncle; and this he increafed, not by great offices, or mili-
tary rapine, farming of cuſtoms, or by merchandize, or
by any mechanical employments, but by a prudent and
generous frugality, favouring neither of parſimony, nor
profuleneſs.
3. He was educated in all ſorts of learning, firſt in
Rome, and after at Athens, the univerſity of Greece, and of
the world.
· 4. He had perſons of great eminency and learning, that
were the companions of his education.
5. He made a great proficiency in all kinds of learning,
as Greek oratory, poetry, antiquities and philoſophy; in all
which he exceeded his contemporarics.
6. He was a man of exquiſite parts, of a great wit, pro,
found judgment, admirable elocution, fingular. wiſdom
and prudence.
7. All theſe he improved by uſe and experience in mat-
ters of public concernment, whereof he was a great ob-
ſerver; and though he would net meddle as a public officer;
yet he much afliſted the commonwealth of Athens with
his private advice and aſſiſtance in the buſineſſes of the
cominonwealth;
I
CH. 5.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 469
1
1
commonwealth; and after his return to Rome, he was
looked upon as a very wiſe man in ſtațe affairs ; inſomuch,
that if he would have engaged himſelf in public councils,
he had been able probably at any time to have weighed, more
than any one man, the public counſels and actions of that
Itate.
8. He was a man of great truth, veracity and ſincerity,
that hated lying and flattery. ;
9. He was a man of fingular prudence in his domeſtic
affairs; frugal without partimony or procligality'; his houſe
and furniture neat and handſome, without fumpiuouſuels ;
his family great, but orderly: his entertainments plentiful,
without ſuperfluity.
10. He had a great proſpect into the affairs both private
and public, and could at a diſtance foreſee the events of
things. Tully, that was a wiſe man, conſulted him as his
: oracle; and had he followed the counſels or exainple of
Atticus, he had eſcaped the violence of Antony.
11. He was a man of a large-heart, liberal, bountiful,
compaſſionate to thoſe in want, diſtreſs, or neceſſity, and
yet placed his bounty with that wiſdom, that be avoided
the luſpicion of popularity, and the danger of countenancing
factions or parties; and this he slid by theſe two methods :
he did what he did in this kind, openly and generouſly,
not ſneekingly, as if he was aſhamed or afraid of what he
did; and he did it indifferently, and without indiſcrimi-
nation of parties.
12. He was a man of great affability and cheerfulneſs,
and yet mingled with ſuch authority and gravity, that as by
the former he gained love, lo by the latter he upheld his
reſpect and reverence; that as my author tells us, it was
hard to judge whether he was more feared, or reverenced,
or loved. He converſed with the meaneſt with a handſome
condeſcenſion, and yet loſt. nothing of his awe and due
diſtance ; and he correſponded with the greateſt without
adulațion or flattery; with the ineaneſt without ſupercili-
oufneſs or infolence.
Theſe are ſome of thoſe many qualifications of this man,
that rendered him acceptable to all; beloved of all, reve-
renced and eſteemed by all ; ſo that none would or
durſt do him hurt: all courted his friendſhip and faniilia-
rity. And by that excellent humanity and goodneſs, and
ſuitableneſs of diſpoſition to the true genius of human na-
ture, he obtained a ſecret interelt and party, as it were,
in every man; for although moſt of mankind be tranſported
either with paffion or ambition, or felf-love, or interelt,
whereby
?
2 H 3
470 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 5.
whereby they are carried out to many unruly and diſorderly
actions, yet there is in every man a ſecret genius of humani-
ty, a ſecret biaſs towards virtue and goodneſs, that a man
can never ſo far forth put off and diſcharge himſelf from,
but that he will ſtill retain an approbation of virtue and
goodneſs, a ſecret eſteem of it, and of them that practiſe
and uſe it; though mens' paffions, and errors, and incogi-
tancy may carry then off from the practice of it themſelves.;
ſo that the common biaſs and ſecret fympathy of the hu-
man nature in all men with virtue, goodneſs and honeſty,
gives an honeſt and a worthy man intereſt almoſt in the
worſt of men, whereby they are before they are aware,
inclined to love, reverence, and honour him, whom yet their
pafſions and intereſt many times forbid to imitate. And
this goodneſs of Atticus was that which gave unto him a
ſecret intereſt and party, as it were, in thoſe rough, great
and ambitious commanders and officers, and all others of
the Roman empire, that they durſt not injure bim, but
loved, honoured, and admired him as a inan framed accord-
ing to the true ſtandard of the human nature.
And as this connatural benignity of this man was the
root and fountain of all thoſe excellent actions hereafter
mentioned, which were thoſe other auxiliaries that pro-
cured his fafety, fo I do look upon that native and acquired
worth, virtue, goodneſs, and congruity to human perfection,
and that deſerved eſteem and honour that from thence re-
ſulted unto him from the generality of men, to be one of
the greateſt procurers of his
fecurity in troubled times. And
indeed upon the bare account of his worth, wiſdom, and
excellence, I do look upon him as a greater man than Sylla,
or great Pompey, or Cæfar, or Antonius, or Auguſtus him-
felf; for theſe great men being circled about with great
armies, with horfemen and legions, with ſwords and pikes,
and other inſtruments of force and cruelty, ſubdued and
conquered cities, and kingdoms, and armies, and after-
wards ſhattered and broke one another, and with theſe
aſſiſtances ruled the ſenate, the city, the people; but this
ſingle man, without either armies, or military power, or
external force, without any inſtruments of terror, by his
own perſonal virtue, goodneſs, and worth, commanded the
love and eſteem of all, prevented injuries, conquered the
conquerors, and reduced them all fucceffively, one after
another, when they were in their greateſt ſplendor and
power, to court him to ſtrive to oblige him, to pay an awful
reverence to him ; ſo that he was in truth greater than
the greateſt of them, and better fortified and guarded againſt
the
Ch. 6.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 471
the common violences that attended thoſe times, than
either Pompey or Cæſar, in the midſt of their greateſt and
moſt formidable armies.
!
c H A P. VI.
CONCERNING THE OTHER EXPEDIENTS THAT THIS
WISE MAN USED, TO AVOID THE DIFFICULTIES
OF THE TIMES WHEREIN HE LIVED; AND FIRST,
OF HIS TRAVELS INTO GREECE.
In the former chapter we have ſeen Pomponius Atticus
an excellent, good and virtuous man, and in great eſteem
by reaſon thereof, wherever he lived, and the great fe-
curity he had upon that account, of the great reverence and
veneration that all men owed and paid to him: and this
was the great baſis both of his ſecurity and tranquillity in
troubled and factious times, and the root and ſpring of all
thoſe virtuous actions and prudent management of his life,
which, together with the reverence and veneration of his
worth, contributed to his fafety and happineſs of life.
Theſe actions and prudent diſpoſals I have before diſtri.
buted, with relation to their objects, into theſe two kinds :
1. The things which he avoided.
2. The things which he did.
1. The firſt eſſay that he made, was to avoid the ſcene
of the troubled eſtate of Rome, upon a wiſe foreſight of the
enfuing commotions, and the difficulty for him, being
young, rich, and in efteem, to avoid, if he ſtaid in Rome,
engagement in thoſe dangerous factions that were now
hatching, and partly broken out; and for that purpoſe he
retired with a confiderable part of his perſonal eſtate, to
Athens. And this he did principally to avoid thoſe growing
ſtorms which were beginning, but yet with a fair and
worthy deſign to improve himſelf in learning at Athens,
which was the learnedeft ſchool in the world, and the place of
young reſort of gentlemen, not only of Greece, but of Rome,
and other parts of the Roman empire, for their education :
and the manner and occaſion of this his withdrawing from
Rome, was thus :
Marius became a great man in Rome, had been now
fix times conful, a man of an active, buſy., fierce, and im-
perious ſpirit, and projected great alterations in affairs to
2 H 4
the
472 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 6
1
the detriment of the ſenate and nobility of Rome; and by
his often holding the magiſtracy, had gotten many active
fpirits of his party, among which was Julius Cæſar, though
privately and cautiouſly, and many other gentlemen of
ſpirit and fortune.
Pomponius lived all this time in Rome, being bred there
in the time of Marius's power, and bred up with one of his
fons, and with divers gentlemen that could not chooſe but
be devoted to the party of Marius.
In the fixth conſulate of Marius, he began to be almoſt
of man's eſtate, about eighteen years old, the ſeaſon for
young gentlemen of Rome to mingle themſelves in public
affairs, or to be initiated in military employinent; and
doubtleſs he could not choofe but be folicited and impor-
tuned thereunto about that age, and could hardly avoid it
without an imputation of ſluggiſhneſs and cowardice, or of
being no friend to the preſent ſtaţe of Rome; and the
rather becauſe he was known to be rich, and nobly deſcended.
And beſides all this, he was linked into affinity and ac-
quaintance with many of the party of Marius, eſpecially
with 'Sulpicius the tribune, a great friend of Marius, whoſe
brother married his fifter.
And now the fenate and nobility of Rome ſmarting under
the power of Marius, and deſirous to avoid his infolence,
folicited Sylla to return to Rome for their deliverance.
Sylla returns with his army, and being oppoſed by the
power of Marius and Sulpicius, overcomes them, kills
Sulpicius, baniſheth Marius, and fits heavy upon the party
of Marius, with death, confiſcation, and baniſhment, as
hath been before ihewn.
Pomponius finding the buſineſs to grow warm and dan-
gerous, and fearing the increaſe of troubles, and being now
about nineteen or twenty years old, and having an handſome
and juſt excuſe and opportunity to go to Athens, to im-
prove his learning and knowledge, takes the opportunity;
and in the interval of the domination of Sylla, and poſſibly
foreſeeing a probability of the party of Màrius to engage
Rome in new troubles, repairs to Athens, and there he
ſtays for about eight years, and as it ſeems, till after the
fecond return and death of Sylla.
And by this: handſome retirement, he gains thefe two
advantages.
1. The opportunity of his increaſe in learning.
2. The declining and avoiding the ſtorms at Rome, and
the neceffity of being ſome way unhappily engaged in one
of
+
CH. 6.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
of the parties, or cruſhed between both; and yet the reaſon-
ablenels of the former, namely, his {caſonable going to
Athens for the acqueſt of learning, according to the cuſtom
of young gentlemen of that age and time, fairly covered.
his latter deſign of avoiding the troubleſome concerns of
the Roman ſtate, and was a juſt and reaſonable excuſe for
his retreat thence, though there had been no other cauſe.
So that herein ihe wiſdom of this young man appears ;
namely,
1. In chooſing ſuch a ſeaſon to retire from Rome, when
it was not ſafe for a young gentleman to remain there, un-
leſs he would vainly hazard all by engaging in a faction.
2. In chooſing ſuch a ſeafon of his age ; namely, about
- twenty years'; and ſuch a place for his retirement, as was
proper for his advance in learning, and carried his apology
with it, and avoided all juſt caufe of exçeption by either
party.
And if any ſhall ſay it was a piece of pufillanimity for
him then to retire, when his country ſtood in need of his
advice, affiſtance, and countenance; it is eaſily anſwered,
the whole city was then divided into thoſe two factions ;
if he had gone about to have appeared againſt both, it had
been vain and ridiculous, and utterly ineffectual; he had
imprudently loſt his labour, and expoſed himſelf inevitably
to be ruined by both; or either had he ſtood fingle in ſuch
oppoſition, every man would juſtly have eſteemed him a
fool; and had he engaged others in ſuch an oppoſition, he
had ruined his friends and participants as well as himſelf;
which had not only been vain, but alſo inhuman, to have
involved others in ſo fruitlefs and deſperate an enterpriſe.
But, on the other ſide, had he fallen in with either faction,
he muſt neceſſarily have been carried with a violent torrent
of the faction wherein he was engaged, either in their com-
mon oppoſition of his country, and the cruelties which they
uſed againſt their opponents, if they prevailed; or muſt
needs have funk in the calainity of that party, if they were
fubdued : fo that his retirement in this ſeaſon, was an act
of great prudence ; becauſe unleſs he had ſo done, he had
no pretence, conſidering his youth and eminence, to
avoid the entanglement in one faction, or the deſperate
oppoſition of both, ir he had ſtaid; but afterwards in that
faction between Pompey and Cæſar, he being then near
ſixty years old, kept his ſtation in Rome without any re-
tirement, having the fair excuſe of his old age, to apologize
againſt engagement with either. This therefore was the
firit
474 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. . [CH. 7,
firft fpecimen of his prudence, his ſeafonable and juſtifiable
retirement to Athens in his youth, when factions grew
violent, and chooſing that time and place for his quiet im-
provement of learning, which he might with moſt oppor-
tunity and ſafety dedicate to that employment:
1
CHAP. VII.
THE SECOND EXPEDIENT THAT HE USED FOR HIS
SAFETY AND PRESERVATION; HIS INDUSTRIOUS
AVOIDING OF BEING ENGAGED IN ANY FACTIO
WHILE HE LIVED IN ROME.
INDEED
DEED the generality of the honeſt methods of this good
man to preſerve himſelf and his tranquillity, together with
his innocence, níay be reduced to theſe two general heads;
his care to avoid the making of enemies, and his endea-
vours honeſtly to make all men his friends: for the latter,
both will come under the conſideration of what he avoided
in order to his preſervation : and under this general falls
this particular confideration of avoiding engagement in
any factions.
In order thereunto was that expedient
mentioned in the former chapter; namely, his retirement
from Rome.
And now I ſhall conſider the farther profecution thereof
in relation to thoſe importunities that were uſed to engage
him in parties after his return to Rome, and even while he
was in Athens; and ſhall make theſe obſervations touching
it, that may be uſeful in relation to it.
When Pomponius was at Athens, Sylla reſorted to him,
there preſented him with gifts, complimented him, and
uſed all methods to endear him. And this he did for
1
many reaſons.
Firſt, out of the great reſpect and honour that he bore to
his learning and worth; this was fair and noble, and became
ſuch a man as Sylla was, who was a great lover of learn-
ing. But this was not all.
Secondly, therefore Sylla being now engaged againſt the
party of Marius, and now about to return to Rome, upon
that defign, thought that it would be an advantage to him
and his proceeding, if he could but publicly poffefs the
world
Ch.7.]
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 475
world with an opinion of a great familiarity and intimacy
between himſelf and Pomponius, who was a perſon of
great honour and reputation, not only at Athens, but at
Rome; and the ne!vs would quickly Ay thither touching
the great kindneſs - between Sylla and Pomponius, and this
would quickly beget an opinion that Pomponius was won
over to his party; that Sylla communicated his counſels
to him, and uſed his advice; and that all the courſes he
ſteered were guided by Atticus' compaſs; and then
the veneration that all perſons had of Pomponius and his
wiſdom, would give a great credit to his undertaking,
when once the people of Rome were poffeffed of that
great intimacy and dearneſs between him and Sylla. And
beſides it was well known, that although Pomponius-would
never be drawn into the party of Marius, or any other,
yet he had many friends and relations in that party;
and ſuch a report would give a great diſcouragement to
that party : and this is no Itrange piece of policy. Aan-
nibal, when he came into Italy, ſhewed all the kindneſs to
the relations and poſſeſſions of thoſe men in Rome, that
he moſt feared; thereby to poffefs the people with a jca-
louſy of them, that they were of his party, or with a
greater kindneſs to himſelf, that he favoured thofe the
people honoured. And it hath been an uſual trick in
times of public differences, that when uſurpers, or the
heads of any factions, were about any pernicious or mil-
chievous action, theỳ would immediately, before the pro-
palation of ſuch buſineſſes, fend for perſons of greateſt
reputation and credit, and poſſibly thoſe that they knew
to be greatly in credit with the adverſe party, careſs them,
entertain private converſe and ſpeech with them, though
perchance of ſome idle impertinent buſineſs ; as of a
horſe-race, or hunting-inatch, and then preſently after
publiſh, or go about ſome pernicious action, that the
world might think to be the product of ſome advice from
thoſe perſons whom they thus entertained. And this was
another reaſon that Sylla maintained this great familiarity
with Atticus at Athens, that the world might think that
furely he was now of Sylla's party, and that they had
communicated counſels each with other, for the farther
advance of Sylla's undertakings.
3. It reſted not here; Sylla, being a great man, and
having the province of Aſia alligned to him, wherein
Athens lay, uſed all theſe friendſhips to Atticus, to ſee
whether he could really draw him over unto him; and
having,
476 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. (CH. 7.
1
having, as he thought, prepared him with to great ap-
plications, and addreſſes, and familiarity, from ſo great a
man as himſelf then was, thought that now it might be
ſeaſonable to perſuade him to go along with him to Rome,
and in plain terms to be of his party; but he was not
only diſappointed herein, but by the overacting of this
part, he loſt all that advantage which he might have gained
by the former policy, namely, to have perſuaded the world,
by that great intercourſe between them, that Atticus was
ſecretly, at leaſt, of his faction. When Sylla therefore
a little before his going from Athens, plainly broke his
inind to Atticus, and perſuaded him to go along with him
to. Rome, he gave him the peremptory, yet reaſonable
anſwer : Noli adverſum eos me velle ducere cun quibus, ne
contra te arma ferrem, Italiam reliqui: 'Perſuade me not to
go againſt them; for I left Italy, that I might not bear
arms with them againſt thee.' Sylla, though he loſt his
compliments and defign, yet outwardly, at leaſt, appeared
ſatisfied with the reaſonableneſs and juſtneſs of his anſwer,
gave him fair reſpects at his departure from Athens, and
returned to Rome, where he gave another turn of things,
and quite routed the party of Marius.
Again, when Pompey was in his great.power, and upon
the difference between him and Cæſar, marched againſt
Cæſar, with the vote and ſuffrage of the fenate and the
city of Rome, though Atticus, now in Rome, ſhewed him
all private and friendly reſpect, yet he would by no means
be drawn to follow Pompey into the field, or to intereſt
himſelf in the concern of that faction; but fairly excuſed
himſelf by reaſon of his age, being then about threeſcore.
This Cæſar interpreted to his advantage (though he would
moſt certainly have given the like anſwer to him, had
Cæſar had the like opportunity of the like requeſt), yet I
ſay Cæfar took it kindly, and was willing, for his credit's
fake, to interpret it to his own advantage ; and therefore
when he returned victor over Pompey, he did not only
ſpare Atticus (though he laid at Rome) froin any ſuch
thing as profcription or confiſcation (the eaſieſt animadver-
fion that the victors uſe upon their enemies), but excuſed
him from that mulęt or fine that was impoſed upon neu-
ters. Yea, he did not only ſpare him from any thing of
puniſhment, but uſed him with all the humanity and re-
ſpect imaginable.
Again, when Brutus and Callius, and their party, baſely
murdered Julius Cæfar in the ſenate, and Brutus was
there.
1
Ch.7.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 477
thereupon raiſed up, not only by the party of Pompey,
as the Vindex Pompeiani fanguinis, but by the generality.
of Rome, as the great patron of their liberty. that as the
firſt Brutus delivered them from the power of kings, fo
the fecond Brutus reſcued them from the power of a king,
under the name of a perpetual dictator; and the ſenate
and people magnified him as the great affertor of their li-
berty : I ſay, when Bruius rid upon this triumphant chariot
of popular applauſes, there was a ſecret deſign on foot for
the raiſing of a private bank or treaſury for Brutus, the
head of this commonwealth-party, and the deſign was
laid that it ſhould be done by a ſubſcription, and thoſe of
the Equeſtrian order ſhould be the fir{t fubſcribers : and
the contrivers of this advice, knowing Atticus to be rich,
liberal, of great reputation, and therefore that his example
would be of great authority, they thought to begin with
him, and that his name ſhould be the firſt in the fub-
fcription-roll, but they were deceived : Atticus plainly told
them, that although Brutus ſhould command his purſe, as
a private perſon, for the relief of his perſonal exigencies,
as he had often done before, yet he would by no'nreans
meddle in ſuch an enterprize, which favoured ſo much
of an engagement in a faction, and a public owning-of
à party; and thereupon the deſign broke, and was no: füre
ther profecuted. And this was no fniall occaſion of his
fafety and preſervation, and alſo of his honour and eſteem,
when the tide of affairs turned, and Antony returned to
Rome victorious againſt Brutris.
And by all theſe, and many more indications of this
kind, Atticus made it evident to all men, that he was
refolved againſt any engagement in any faction ; and this
gave him that great ſecurity and privilege, that whenfo-
ever he relieved any of any faction, it was not with any
contemplation of their party or faction, but, as I have
often ſaid, upon the common account of reſpect to human
nature, and a certain native philanthropy. to miankind in
general: and again, when he reſolutely denied any ſuch
action or thing as might be jųftly conítrued an ckpouſing
of a faction, yet he was not thereby obnoxious to the
indignation of that party that he fo refuſed, he did but;
folitum obtinere; - keep his cnliom,' and did equally, and ima
partially reject the ſolicitations of all pastics in this kind;
and hereby be ſtood upon his own balis and bottom; kept his
ſtation, was neither engaged in any faction, not was he
-rendered -thereby obnoxious to the indignaion:of the parties
which
478 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [C#. 7.
which he thus refuſed, though they were in power, and
able to do what they plealed; becauſe they found by
experience, he did but hold his principle, and was impar-
tial therein, equally refuſing other factions as well as their’s.
It is true that he relieved Brutus after his exile; but fo
he alſo relieved Antony after his exile, though both were
extreme. enemies each'to other; but ſtill it was for their
private relief, not to ſupport their factions. Brutus uſed
him as his great counſellor, as we are told in his life: but
it was not upon the account of Brutus his public undertak-
ings, but only touching his private concerns; which ap-
pears beyond all queſtion in that in their higheſt fani.
liarity and friendſhip, he refuſed not only to ſubſcribe for
the treaſure deſigned for Brutus, but would not ſo much as
meet about it.
And the reaſons that moved him to this kind of neu-
trality in factions, are evident, and may be fatisfactory.
Firſt, He did it upon an account of greateſt prudence;
for it was evident to him by great experience, and by a
wife proſpect of things, that theſe factions and their fuc-
ceſſes were ſtrangely mutable and uncertain. Our author
tells us, Tanta varietas iis temporibus fuit fortune, ut modò
bi, modo illi in fummo efent faſtigio aut periculo: "The ſuc.
ceſſes of factions were ſo uncertain, and the viciſſitudes
ſo ſtrange and various, that thoſe that now prevailed, and
ſeemed in an impregnable condition, were ſuddenly tum-
bled down; and again, thoſe that ſeemed in an irrecoverable
and deſperate ruin, regained the government, even to a
miracle. And the reafons are partly given in the ſecond
chapter; and therefore by engaging in any faction, he was
fure to undergo the common fate which that faction had;
which was either wholly to be ruined, if the adverſe party
prevailed, or at beſt, in caſe the party wherein he ſhould
be engaged, prevailed, yet they were but in a tottering,
uncertain, unquiet, reſtleſs condition, and were not like
to hold that power or intereſt which they had ſo difficultly
gotten,
Secondly, He did it upon account of common juſtice and
honeſty, for thoſe factions in the ſtate of Rome were not
the true, lawful, ſettled government thereof; for therein
Atticus and all good men ought to have engaged; for it
had been their duty and glory to have affiſted it, and a cer-
tain baſeneſs and pufillanimity of mind to have deſerted:
But thoſe factions in Rome were ſuch as I have before
deſcribed in the ſecond chapter; certain excreſcencies, tu-
inours,
i.
CH. 7.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 479
mours, and diſeaſes arifing in the Roman ſtate, by the
power, ambition, and unquiet fpirits of certain buſy men in
Rome, that either thought their worth neglected, or not
fufficiently rewarded, or were provoked to animofities by
mutual jealouſies and emulations one of another. And
although it is true in the ſeveral viciffitudes of the prevalence
of any faction, they did ſo handle the ſenaie and people by
artifices, and tricks, and threats, and affrights, that they
minted their factions oftentimes with the ſtamp and face of
the ſenate and public authority; yet the truth was, they
were really ſtill no other than factions and parties, which
like prevalent noxious humours, or putrified diſtempers in
the body, overpowered the true ſtate and genius of the civil
government, and rendered the whole body in diſorder; yet
it could be no more eſteemed the true complexion of the
Roman government, than a fever or calenture, though it
overſpread the whole man, can be accounted the true and
natural complexion of the man. And although the pa-
roxiſms or fits that the Ronian ſtate was put into were vari-
ous, and contrary each to other, according as one or the
other prevailed, like the hot fit and the cold fit in an ague,
yet ſtill the commonwealth of Rome was fick, and laboured
under the diſteniper of either faction, whichfoever of them
prevailed, as the hiſtories of thoſe times abundantly inform
And therefore all thoſe ſeveral factions, as they were ex-
tremely cruel and ſevere unto one another, ſo they were all
infinitely pernicious to the commonwealth ; which by the
competitions of thoſe turbulent fpirits, was torn in pieces.
And therefore Atticus, in common juſtice, and upon the
account of that love he owed and bore to his country, had
no reaſon to join with one or other party, which were in
truth but fo many cancers, and ulcers, and diſeaſes of his
country, which, though they were too ſtrong for him to
cure, yet he had no realon to affift.
I do confeſs that commonly all factions, to gain them-
ſelves credit, at leaſt make foine pretence for the good of
their country, fomething that they would pretend to re-
form. And it may be really there was ſomething in the
ſtate of Rome that was neccffary to be reformed, and the
diſorder might be ſo powerful, ſtubborn, and obſtinate, that
they thought it could not be done by ordinary means; and
that at the firſt attempt might be the thing that they, or at
leaſt many of them really, and it may be only, or at leaſt
principally,
US,
480 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 7.
!
i
principally, aimed to ſet áright: but Atticus was a' wife
man, and did taſily ſee,
1. That many times reformation was pretended, but the
great defign was private intereſt, or revenge. Or,
2. If ſome men, in the ſimplicity of their hearts, meant
well to the ſtate of Rome, that were engaged in thoſe fac-
tions, yet when once a faction is ſet on fuot, men that have
other deſigns, either of ambition or covetouſneſs, mingle in
it, and commonly in a little time become prevalent, and
diſtort all to their private ends and advantages, and engage
others in the like, who are féd, or do feed themſelves with
the like hopes. And,
3. He well knew that in a little proceſs of time, variety,
ſucceſſion, and occurrences, and new emergencies, and
counſels, carry factions qui:e beyond their firſt deſigns, into
greater rapine, fury, and cruelty and revenge, than ever
they themfelves, it may be, at firſt thought they ſhould ever
have been guilty of.
And therefore the experience that Atticus had of the
pródigious cruelties and bloodſhed, and rapine, and violence,
that former factions had produced in Rome, made him
peremptory againſt engaging in any, notwithſtanding their
moſt ſpecióus pretences and earneſt iinportunities to engage
him ; for he well knew that if he ſhould be engaged in
any, yet had it obtained the beſt fucceſs that they could
reaſonably expect, namely, vietory, and a full enjoyment
and poſſeſſion of the power they deſired, yet the rage and
exaſperation of the foldiery, the deſire of revenge of thoſe
injuries the conquering party had formerly ſuffered, the 'op-,
portunities of enriching themſelves by the ſpoils and con-
fifcation of the conquered, the neceſſity of gratifying many
neceſſitous and indigent perſons of their party, the politic
endeavour to fecure themſelves in their new acquired power,
by the death and ruin of all ſuch whom they knew or feared,
or fufpected were or might be their oppoſites, and the
ſtriving to eſtabliſh themſelves againſt any poſſibility of fal-
ling under the power of thoſe that they had injured; theſe,
I ſay, and ſuch as theſe, would preſently engage the victo-
rious party to exerciſe all cruelty and violence, confiſcations
and profcriptions, death and murder, upon thoſe they hated,
or feared, or injured, or ſuſpected; and all this Atticus nult
behold, and not be able in the leaſt degree to help; and ſo
his firſt engagement into this party, though vi&orious;
muſt interelt him in all the villanies, and injuries, and
unjuſtneſs that muſt be the fruit of this ſucceſs.
3
In
Ch.7.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 481
In the firſt motion of enterprizes of this nature, the pre-
tences are commonly fair, modeft, nothing pretended but
reforination of abuſes, and great moderation profeffed; and
this is ſo carried by heads of factions, partly to cover their
deſigns, partly to gain to themſelves credit and good eſteem
with good men, or at leaſt with the vulgar, that thereby the:
heads of parties may with the more eaſe and plauſibility
attain their deſired ſucceſs. Yea, it may be poffible that
the heads of parties might in their firſt attempts really in
tend what they at firſt pretended. But when the ſucceſs is
attained, and poſſibly by great bloodſhed, the governors of
factions quickly outgo the ends and deſigns at firſt pro-
pounded. New fucceffes give new reſolutions, new deſigns,
new attempts, which before either were not diſcovered, or,
it may be, not thought.on by the firſt undertakers in their
firſt undertaking. And Atticus well knew, that if once he
was engaged in the enterprize, he muſt follow not only the
fortune, but alſo the commands and counſels of the party
and their governors, and ſo be engaged in all the villanies
and injuſtice that attended their ſucceſs, and ſo loſe his in-
nocence; or if he ſhould go about to declaim and proteſt
againſt the unjuſt proſecution of their ſucceſſes, and en-
deavour to reſiſt them, his endeavour might be his ruin;
but at the beſt, could never be prevalent or fùcceſsful; and
the beſt fruit he could expect from his engagement in the
party, would be repentance too dearly bought, the loſs of
his credit, if not of his innocence, the fad ſpectacle of the
violence and injuſtice of that fa&tion wherein he thus had
un happily engaged, and a miſerable, deplorable, diſappoint-
ment in all his endeavours to reclaim it, or reſtrain' thoſe
violences that muſt accompany its fucceſs; the motions of
a powerful, prevailing, and ſucceſsful faction, being or-
dinarily as ungovernable by the interpofition of a private
perſon, as the rolling of a mighty, ſtone from the top of a
Iteep hill, which will never leave rolling, till it comes to the
bottom; and the longer it runs, the more violent and un-
governable is its motion.
Nay, it very often comes to paſs, that a faction in a ſtate,
if it háth any continuance, grows utterly unlike to what it
firſt was; the counſels and firſt deſigns muſt neceffarily
change; new men, and of new principles, ſucceſſively come
in play, which bring new counfels in faſhion and requeſt :
Nay, every variety of ſucceſs changes the counſels of them
that at firſt preſided in it; though they continue the ſame
perſons, they put on new purpoſes, reſolutions and under-
takings';
.
.
VOL. I.
2 I
482 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 7.
takings; ſo that if Atticus could have perſuaded himſelf to
have engaged in any faction, he muſt have reſolved to have
kept thoſe plauſible principles which firſt led him to that en-
gagement, and then he had been quite out-run by his own
party, or elſe he muſt have reſolved to hold pace with his.
party in all their changes and practices, and then he muſt
out-run his innocence, his conſtant integrity, himſelf. And
aş, thus his prudence kept him from mingling himſelf in
faction, by a due proſpect of the ill conſequences that muſt
needs ariſe to him thereby; fo the very habit, complexion,
and conſtitution of his mind, admirably ſecured him againſt
all temptations thereunto.
There is in moſt men a certain intemperance of paſſions
that renders them very obnoxious to fall in with factions; but
among them there are three forts of paſſions, or rather indeed
putrefactions of paſſions, and diſeaſes of the foul, namely,
ambition, or the deſire of honour, power, place, preferment,
covetoufneſs, or the deſire of riches, or vindictiveneſs, or
the deſire of revenge. And if a man do but take notice of
the politic managements either of the governors of ſtates
or kingdoms, or of particular affairs of leſs note, the con-
cerns of the world are very much carried on by ſetting of
handles to thoſe diſtempers in men, and then they are led
about and guided as men guide puppets on a ſtage, by un-
feen wires or pullies; ſo that thoſe motions which to out-
ward appearance ſeem free and from themſelves, yet, in
truth, they are in kind neceſſary, and managed by others,
that either wiſely or craftily propoſe but objects to thoſe un-
ruly paſſions; and they follow them as the needle doth the
loadſtone. And this the crafty heads of factions make
great uſe of; and if they find a man that is under the regi.
ment of any of theſe diſtempers, 'tis a thouſand to one but
they win him over: If he find an ambitious, or a mutinous,
or a revengeful man, he fiddles him in the head with ſuch
inſtances as theſe: Would thou be great, or rich, or power-
ful, or revenged for ſome public neglect or affront, I will
ſhew thee a ſure and compendious way of attaining thy de-
fires; thou ſhalt not need to run the long, tedious, laborious
race of virtue, to attain honouror make thee great, nor the tedi-
ous induſtrious application of thyſelf to ſome trade or calling,
to make thee rich; nor the regular motion of a judicial
proceſs to avenge thy injuries : fall in with us, and all the
honours, and power, and riches of Rome, ſhall at one clap
fall into our diſpoſe, and thou ſhalt have the opportunity to
be thine own avenger of thy affronts and injuries. Nay
further,
!
CH. 7.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 483
1
further, to ſay the truth, fuch is the magic and enchant-
ment that ariſeth from thoſe intemperances of the mind,
that without any ſolicitation from without, they carry men
headlong that way they think ſhorteſt to fatisfy themſelves ;
and therefore are eaſily caught and entangled in a faction,
as that which promiſeth the compendious method for the
attainment of their deſires.
But the conſtitution and complexion of the very ſoul of
Atticus was ſuch, that thoſe diſtempers of ambition, covet-
ouſneſs, or revenge, dwelt not there, and by this ineans he
was proof againſt temptations from within or from without,
to ſide with a faction. He was honoured and eſteemed
for his own worth and virtue, and he was not ambitious of
any other acceflions of honour, place, or preferment.
He had a competency of eſtate, decently to fupport him-
felf and his family, and relieve his friends in neceffity; and
he was contented with his condition, was not deſirous of
more: and as he was ſo happy, as never to have received
any ſuch injury as might provoke revenge, ſo he had ſuch
a calm, ferene, even frame of mind, that that paffion could
get no hold upon him: and he had abundantly well learned
the beſt leffon of the ſtoical philoſophers, not to injure
himſelf hy paſſion or perturbation becauſe another did him
wrong; if the injuries were finall, he took no, notice of
them; if great, he ſoon forgot and forgave them. And
this was all the revenge he took of injuries; and to ſay the
truth, it is an exquiſite, yet innocent kind of revenge ; for
it makes the wrong-doer quickly ſenſible of his own injuſ-
tice, and revenge the ſame upon himfelf by forrow and're-
pentance.
There, and the like confiderations, were obnoxious to his
experience, as well as his reaſon ; and therefore, although
he were acquainted, and poſſibly very familiarly, with many
perſons engaged in thoſe factions; nay, though he might:
ſee eaſily an apparent demonſtration of their ſucceſs, yet he
would never engage in them himſelf, but avoided it as a
peſt or a plague-lore, wherein he was ſure, if he were once
engaged, he Thould loſe either his ſafety, or his innocence,
or both
1
.:
2 1 2
CHAP
1
1
484
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 8.
CHAP. VIII.
THE THIRD EXPEDIENT THAT ATTICUS USED FOR
HIS SAFETY, REFUSING TOO GREAT KINDNESSES
FROM GREAT PERSONS.
1
i
The third expedient which this man uſed for his fafety,
was this; that although he was always ready to oblige a}}
men by all offices of kindneſſes, yet he would never re-
ceive over-great kindneſſes from great perſons, eſpecially if
they were of fuch a kind or meaſure, as he might not be
able probably to requite; as great or profitable places,
offices, honours or donatives : and the reaſons that induced
him to this abſtinence and declining of fuch greát obliga-
tions, feem to be theſe:
I. He was a man that contented himſelf with his con-
dition; which, as it was plentiful enough, ſo he was very
well ſatisfied with what he enjoyed, and had neither an
ambitious mind to become greater, or a cuvetous mind to
become richer than his father and his uncle left him.
2. He was a modeſt man, and did not fet ſo high a rate
upon himſelf or his merits, as to expect a tribute of bene-
ficence from others, as the deſert of his worth.
3. He was a grateful man; he was forgetful of injuries
done to him, but mindful of benefits received by him, and
thankful for them, and eſteemed himſelf ſtill in debt till
he had made a proportionable return for kindneſſes re-
ceived. And therefore, if the benefits were'fo great, that
they were beyond requital, he thought himſelf in the con-
dition of ſuch men as owe more than they are able to pay;
which is a troubleſome and flaviſh condition: and ſuch his
own would have been, if he had been furcharged with im-
menfe courtefies.
But, 4. and principally, the reaſon why he declined ſuch
obligations, was, becauſe he would retain his own liberty,
and continue maſter of himſelf and his actions; for moſt
commonly immenſe benefits received from great men,
expecially if inclinable to any faction, render the receiver
under a great ſervitude to his benefactor, and is a great
obligation for a man to think, and ſpeak, and act as their
patron deſires or expects; and certainly in a troubled ſtate,
inclinable to factions, ſuch kind of obligations are pernicious
to the obliged, renders them as it were, the clients and
vaffals of their patron, and by a kind of ſecret charm or
enchantment, makes them fervants to him; and this
obſtinacy
!
CH. 8.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 485
obſtinacy of Atticus in theſe commotions of Rome, was à
great' means of his peace, liberty, ſafety, and diſengagement
from parties : and therefore, when Pompey (who was a
great man, popular and beneficent) endeavoured to place
great gifts and offices upon him, he warily and prudently
declined them; and by that means, when Pompey folicited
him to appear of his party againſt Cæſar, and to go with
him to the wars, he was in a condition to refuſe it, and ac-
cordingly excuſed himſelf from that engagement, and fate
ſtill at Rome, when at the fame time thoſe perſons whom
Pompey had obliged with great offices and large donatives,
were fain to come to him, upon his ſummons, and engage
with him in that great conteſt between him and C:eſar, and
fall with him; for although they would have been gladly
excuſed from this undertaking, yet they durſt not decline it,
being under this unhappy dilemma, that if Pompey pre-
vailed, they ſhould have loſt his favour, and thoſe honours
and offices that they enjoyed by his bounty; if Cæſar pre-
'vailed, yet being perſons fo greatly obliged by Pompey,
they would have been ſuſpected and oppreſſed by Cæſar,
or at leaſt neglected by him, as perfons that were really of
the Pompeian faction, though they declined the preſent
engagement. But howſoever their reputation would have
ſuffered, and they would have been accounted a ſort of un-
grateful people, that after all ſuch obligations as they had
received from Pompey, ſhould ungratefully defert their be-
nefactor, when danger or difficulty appeared.
But on the other ſide, this prudent obſtinacy of Atticus,
fairly excuſed his declining of Pompey’s_engagement, with-
out the leaſt imputation of ingratitude, and was yet of fin-
gular advantage to him when Cæſar returned victor, who
highly honoured him at his return to Rome, and much ad-
vanced the reputation of his prudence and diſcretion, that
ſo wiſely refuſed ſuch an engagement in Pompey's faction,
that in the fuccefs might otherwiſe have ruined him; and-
fo wiſely refuſed all thoſe great obligations that Pompey
would have put upon him, that, had they been received,
would, in all probability, have engaged him in his faction.
Thus our author tells us, Nullum enim à Pompeio habebat
ornamentum, ut ceteri qui per eum aut honores aut divitias
-ceperant; quorum partim invitiſimi Caftra funt fequuti, par-
tim fumma cum ejus offenfa domi remanferunt.'
1 " For he would receive of him no eminent bounty, as others, who
by his means obtained honours or wealth, part of whom, even against
their wills, followed him to the field, and part staid at home, not
without his great offence."
And
r
2, I 3
486 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 9.
And there was another reaſon of his modeft refuſal of
public honour's and offices from thoſe who had the power of
conferring of them, and that had a favourable reſpect for
him; for he made uſe of their favours for a better and nobler
end, namely, to reſcue and relieve men that were, or might
be oppreſſed, or in extremity, in the colliſion of factions :
this uſe indeed he made of their favours, as he had oppor
tunity. And had he taken reſpects from thein for his own
advancement or wealth, thoſe rewards and gratuities would
have precluded his opportunity of intercellion for others.
He therefore prudently declined the collation of bounties,
offices, or honours to himſelf, from thoſe that had the oppor-
tunity and will to confer them upon him, and reſerved their
reſpects for the good or deliverance of others, whom the
inconſtancy and change of affairs rendered obnoxious to thoſe
that were in preſent power,
1
CHAP. IX.
THE FOURTH EXPEDIENT OF ATTICUS REFUSING
OFFICES AND PUBLIC EMPLOYMENTS IN THE
COMMONWEALTH,' BY THE SUFFRAGES OF THE
SENATE OR PEOPLE.
I COME to the fourth thing which Atticus induſtriouſly
voided, namely, public offices.
Some offices in Rome were in the power of particular
perſons; as principally, their legati provinciarum, lieutenants
of provinces, which were in the gift of theſe public miniſters,
whether conſuls, tribunes, or others, to whom the governa
ment of provinces were allotted. Theſe ſubſtitutes had very
honourable and profitable employments, commanding in
affairs of peace and war in theſe provinces in the ablence of
the chief, and alſo of a great authority while they were
prefent.
Other offices were elective or conſtitutive by the ſenate or
people, as conſuls, tribunes, pretors, ediles, cenſors, &c.
In the former chapter, I have thewn his 'declinirig the
reception of offices from the hands of private perſons; and
now I ſhall ſhew his avoiding of ſuch public offices as were
of public choice or donation.
Offices in Rome were rarely offered, but ſought; they
were beneficial and honourable employments, and wanted
not
1
1
!
CH. 9.] The Life of Pomponious Atticus. 487
not competitors; but Atticus was ſo far from ſeeking offices,
that he would not take them when offered, but induſtriouſly
declined them; when the citizens would have elected him
pretor, he refuſed it; and he made this handſome advantage
hereof, that when his brother-in-law Quintus, being after-
wards elected pretor, and had a province aſſigned him, and
offered Atticus to be his legate, he told him that he had
formerly refuſed the office that Quintus now had, and there.
fore it was not decent for him to take a ſubſtitution from
him.
This therefore was Atticus's principle; he would do all
the good offices he could, either for particular perſons, or
for the commonwealth, in the ſtation and capacity of a
private perſon; thus he did for the republic of Athens,
while he lived there, and thus he did in Rome: but neither
in the one city nor the other, could he be drawn to under-
take any public office or employment. The reaſons whereof
ſhall be hereafter ſhewn.
Firſt, touching public offices and employments in general,
certainly the generality of men are ſtrangely miſtaken. It
ſeems a wonder to me, to ſee the folly and vanity of men,
that ſo fondly hunt after great offices and employments :
heretofore, in the ſtate of Greece eſpecially, men better un-
derſtood themſelves and their intereſt, and peace, and hap:
pineſs, than voluntarily to engage themſelves in offices and
great employments, infomuch that there were then com-
pulſory laws to enforce men to undertake not only inferior
and petty offices that were of burden and charge, but greater
offices that had honour and profit annexed to them ; which
though they are more honourable, and more profitable, yet
they are more dangerous and hazardous; and the truth is,
that it hath been the ſkill and art of the wiſer fort of man.
kind to annex to ſuch great employments thofe blandiſh-
ments of honour, eſteem, and profit, to invite men to the un-
dertaking of them; as phyſicians gild their bitter pills,
that they may be the eaſier fwallowed. The plain truth
is, offices and places of great import and truſt, are neceſary
for the good of others, and for the preſervation and order of
kingdoms, ſtates, and commonwealths, and therefore the
wiſdom of thoſe kingdoms and ſtates is to be commended,
that annex to them thoſe enſigns of honour and honourable
fupplies for their ſupport, to invite and encourage men to un-
dertake them; yea, and further, where thoſe invitations wil
not ſerve to draw men of worth and ability to undertake
them, thoſe ſtates are to be commended that enact laws to
24 I 4
compel
488 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [C#. 9.
)
/
compel ſuch men to undertake them. But it is moſt certain
that any man that ambitiouſly hunts after them, nay, that
man that doth not induſtriouſly decline them, if poſſibly he
may, underſtands not himſelf, nor his own peace, happineſs,
or contentment; which will appear, if theſe, things be
confidered.
1. A man that undertakes a public office or employment,
doth neceſſarily draw upon himſelf much envy; and the
reaſon is, becauſe the generality of mankind have a good
opinion of themſelves, and think they deſerve thoſe offices
and employments that others enjoy, and they think alſo very
well of the offices and employments themſelves, look upon
them as goodly, fine, gaudy buſineſſes, and are fond of the
honour and wealth that is annexed unto them, and they
would fain be at them, and think thoſe that do enjoy them
ſtand in their way, and therefore they envy, and malign
them, and envy is a buſy active humour, and reſtleſs, until
it un horſe thoſe upon whom it faftens, or break itſelf in the
attempt.
For it is ordinarily true, whoſoever poſſeffeth that which
nany deſire, hath as many enemies and enviers as he hath
rivals and competitors, and as many competitors as there
are ambitious or covetous men in the world. And beſides
this, all great offices have commonly fomewhat of power
annexed to them. And although ſocieties of men can never
fubfiſt in order without ſome power be over them, yet par-
ticular perfons commonly hate and envy any power in any
but themſelves.
2. A man that undertakes a public employment, is under
a powerful temptation to loſe and give up all that quiet, and
reſt, and tranquillity that a private ſtation yields; and if not
all, yet a great part of his liberiy, and diveſts himſelf of
himſelf; and do what he can, he muſt in a great meaſure
give himſelf up to others, as the price of that honour, pre-
eminence, and power which he enjoys; which is too dear
a purchaſe for any wife and conſiderate man that can well
avoid it.
3. There is no man ſo wiſe, ſo dexterous in buſineſs of
public employment, fo attentive to it, nor ſo fortunate in it,
but hath his defects, incogitancies and inadvertencies,
or at leaſt misfortunes in it; and theſe deficiencies in
a private ſtation, are leſs perceived and obſerved, and
the conſequences of them are narrow, and moſt com-
monly within the confines of a man's ſelf or his family:
but in a man of public employment, firſt, theſe defects
are:
1
CH. 9.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus, 489
are more eaſily obſerved and feen; as his perſon and
ſtation is conſpicuous, ſo his defects are eaſily ſeen by any
by-ſtanders.
2. As they are eaſily feen, ſo they are diligently watched
and obſerved; he wants not ſuch fpectators as make it their
buſineſs to be diligent ſearchers and obſervers of them.
3. When thoſe defects at any time appear, though per-
chance they are but few and ſmall, yet they are the objects
of moſt ſevere cenſure and animadverſion.
If a private man's wiſdom, goodneſs, or prudence, do ad
plurimum overbalance his follies or inadvertencies, the man
paffeih for a wiſe and good man; but a little folly in a man
in a great employment, ſhall cloud and overſhadow in the
public eſteem all his wiſdom and goodneſs, though this be
far the greater.
4 But that which is worſt of all, the errors, miſtakes,
miſcarriages, or inadvertencies of a private man, hurts none
but himſelf or his narrow relations : but even ſmall errors,
or miſtakes, or follies, in a man of public employment, and
in the exerciſe thereof, may be of a vaſt and compre-
henſive concern, and he ill conſequences thereof oftentimes
irreparable. An error of a judge in his judgment, may
inillead or undo thouſands; an error in counſel in a coun-
fellor, may ruin a ſtate or kingdom; an error in conduct in
a general
, may deſtroy an army: and ſurely every wiſe man
will, as much as he may, keep himſelf out of theſe hazardous
conſequences, fince every wiſe man knows that his is not
without his mixtures of folly and weakneſs.
4. Again, let a man in public employments manage
them with all the integrity and wiſdom imaginable, yet the
race is not always to the ſwift, nor the battle to the ſtrong ;
there may be, there will be oftentimes ſuch diſappointinents
and croſs events, that will bring ill ſucceſs to the beſt and
wiſelt endeavours, and then, notwithſtanding all his wiſdon,
and fidelity, the ill ſucceſs ſhall be attributed to his want of
integrity, courage, or wiſdom. Every fool will be ready to
ſay, if the counſel had been thus, the event had been other-
wiſe; and the people ſhall either perſuade themſelves, or be
perſuaded by others, that the man was either falſe or fooliſh
in his employment; yea, and the ſtate wherein he lived,
either to humour the people, or to hold up their credit, and
an expectation of hetter ſucceſs when others are employed,
will be ready to make a politic facrifice of ſuch a miniſter of
ftate, whoſe fault was not to be falfe, or a fool, but only to
be unfortunate.
6. Again,
490 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 9.
1
6. Again, there is no public officer in the world, but muſt
neceſſarily make a confiderable party of mankind his enemy:
if he beone in judicial employment, he muſt pronounce to the
diſadvantage of one party, and then that party that hates
him, if he be an officer employed in the iffining of the pub-
lic revenue, he that ſtays longeſt for his money, hates him ;
if he be employed in diſpenſation of rewards, offices or
places, as military commanders, he that is difappointed in
his expectation, or that finds fefs than he expected, hates
him: and it will not be material to the ſafety of him that
is hated, whether there be cauſe or not, if the party pro-
voked think he hath caufe, his indignation is as high as if it
were juft; and moſt commonly is provided with a calumnny
to infuſe into the people to make them believe it fo. And if
it be faid in all theſe and the like caſes, the party makes as
many friends as he doth enemies ; for if one be diſappointed,
another is rewarded ; and if one be pronounced againſt, ano-
ther is pronounced for; this mends not the matter : for fup-
poſed injuries are longer remembered than real benefits;
and commonly he that receives a benefit, eſteems it his due;
be that goes without it, thinks it an injury : and hatred
and revenge are more active and vigilant to do miſchief upon
à fuppoſed injury or neglect, than duty or gratitude is to
defend one, from whom either juſtice or benefit hath been
received.
Upon all theſe, and many more evident reaſons, it is be-
yond queſtion, that no conſiderate man hath reaſon to be
fond of any public employment, though attended with
honour, power and profit, but fairly to decline it if he may :
and therefore it is no wonder that Pomponius Atticus, who
was a wiſe, knowing man, was ſo far from ſeeking it, that
he declined it when offered.
2. But fuppofing that in a calm, fedate time, this wife
and good man might have been perſuaded to take an honour-
able public employment, and that it had not been only con-
fiſtent with his wiſdom, but his duty fo to have done; and
that if he had declined' it, it had been either an argument
of pufillanimity or fooliſhneſs, yea, and injuſtice, to partake
of the benefit and protection of the public miniſters and
officers of Rome, and to have denied 'the fame common
offices to others, when by the fuffrages or nomination of
thoſe who were intruſted therein, he was appointed a pub-
lic minifter; yet certainly conſidering the time wherein he
lived, and the great diſtempers that prevailed in that ſtate,
bis declining of public employments, was not only excuf-
able
CH. .9] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. . 491
able and juſtifiable, but alſo very ,commendable, and an
abſtinence full of prudence and great diſcretion : for he that
takes a public employment in a troubled ſtate, is (without
the intervention of a marvellous providence) firſt, and be-
fore any others, expoſed to the ſhock of all public commo-
tions : if a faction prevail, if he either oppoſe it, or be fuf-
pected by it, he is ſure to be one of the firſt that muſt be
ruined by it, becauſe he will be thought an impediment to
the deſign; and it is a wonder if he eſeape without an exile
or confifcation. On the other ſide, if he be in the good
opinion of that faction, and ſo continued in his employment,
he is under an engagement, not only in the hazard of their
fortune, but alſo in the purſuit and execution of all thoſe
deſperate enterprizes that ſuch a faction thinks neceſſary or
convenient for their eſtabliſhment; which if he do not,
then unleſs they otherwiſe fear him, or exceedingly rever-
ence his perſon, as one that may credit their party, he is
ſure to be dealt more feverely with, than if he had at firſt
oppoſed them. On the other ſide, if he comply with them,
and ſerve their turns, and proſecute their deſigns in the
public ſtation wherein he ſtands, he ſhall loſe his reputa-
tion, and his innocence, and be entangled in a moft bafe
ſervitude, and be made inſtrumental in thoſe actions which
perchance he inwardly abhors; and if he ſtart or boggle at
them, he ſhall be dealt with as the worſt of enemies; and
if ever there come a turn of affairs, he ſhall be ſure to be one
of the firſt that is cruſhed by the prevailing party: and this
Cicero found to be true, to his coſt; for he, that while he
was but an advocate, ſtood unſhaken in all thoſe troublefome
times wherein he lived (though he ſometimes uſed his
tongue with too much liberty in his public orations) yet
when once he became entangled in public offices of conſul
and ſenator, he quickly felt the power and vindictiveneſs of
the party of Antony, upon his return; and loſt his life in
the fury and rage of his incenſed adverſary, which he had
eſcaped, had he followed the wiſe example of his friend
Atticus, in declining public employment. And therefore
Cato Uticenſis, who the greateſt part of his life had been
concerned in public offices and employments in Rome, yet
' when he found himſelf over-borne by the Cæſarean party,
learned, though too late, Atticus's wiſdom, and left this
legacy to his ſon, that he ſhould never engage himſelf in the
public adminiſtrations, offices, or employment of the com-
monwealth.
And truly. Atticus, by this wiſe abſtinence from public.
office
!
492 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 10.
offices and employments, obtained much of that ſafety and
happineſs which he enjoyed.
1. By this means he enjoyed himſelf and his tranquillity
of mind and life, and all thoſe advantages and opportunities
of improving his learning and knowledge, which he could
never have had in a public ſtation.
2. By this means he kept himſelf free from enemies or
erulationenvy and detraction, the common attendants of
public and great employments.
3. By this means he kept both bis ſafety, his innocence,
and reputation; all of which muſt neceſſarily be greatly en-
dangered, if not utterly loft, had he taken upon himſelf
airy public office in thoſe turbulent times.
4. By this means he preſerved his power; intereſt, and
generation among
all parties, and was able to do better offices
with the prevailing party, for the ſafeguard and preſervation
of good men, than if he had borne the greateſt offices, and
with the beſt applauſe in the city of Rome, as appears by
the hiſtory of his life.
1
CHAP. X.
THEEXPEDIENT THAT ATTICUS USED TO PRESERVE
HIMSELF, WAS, THE AVOIDING OF ALL THOSE
OCCASIONS THAT MIGHT PROCURE UNTO HIM
- EMULATION OR ENVY.
.
T
HE fifth remedy that he uſed againſt the danger of
tumultuous times, was, to avoid with ali care all ſuch things
ás might procure an exile, envy, or emulation againſt him.
This appears already in part, by his declining of offices,
of honour, of power and profit ; but I ſhall give this as a
diſtinct confideration, becauſe I fhall evidence it with farther
inſtances.
When he was at Athens, he was ſolicited to accept of
honourable employments: but although, as a private man,
he did them all the friendly offices he could, yet he refuſed
their public honours; they then deſired that he would be
enrolled as a free citizen of Athens; but this he alſo refuſed,
as knowing it would be interpreted to be a deſerting of his
native city of Rome, and might procure enemies, or at leaſt
envy: they alſo folicited him, ihat his ftatue might be ſet
UP
!
CH. 10.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 493
up at Athens, among their worthies and benefactors; but
this alſo he would by no means allow of, for the ſame reaſon;
although after his receſs from that city, the citizens, not-
withſtanding his refufal, did in his abſence ſet up his ftatue.
And this refuſing of this piece of pageantry, namely, the
public ſetting up of his ftatue or picture, though it feems a
ſmall matter, was ſurely an act of great prudence ; for he that
allows the ſetting up of his ſtatue or picture, firſt, draws
upon himſelf much envy: other perfons that have not the
fame honour done them, malign him that hath it, as having
that piece of public favour done hiin, which another thinks
he as well at leaſt deſerves,
2. It gives unſeen detractions or cenſure, expoſing to
every man's eye that object that adminiſters occaſion of cen
fure; this is that man's ftatue, that did ſuch an injury, that
committed ſuch an error or overſight : ſo it becomes a mo-
nument of ſo much more diſadvantage to the prototype, by
how much men are more apt to take notice of, and remember
the evils, than the goal of any perſon. -3. If that ſtate or
city take up any diſtaſte againſt the perfon, the poor ſtatue
commonly receives the public contumely, and the man is
proſecuted in effigy; he bath committed a depoſitum unto
that ſtate or city, that muſt engage him to their perpetual
ſervice and pleaſing of them, or in default thereof, to be
the ſubject of their contumely or public indignity in effigy,
When he came back to Rome, beſides his refuſal of
public and honourable offices, he kept himſelf in the ſtate
of a private gentleman; and notwithſtanding the acceſs of.
a fair eſtate from his uncle Cæcilius, he never exceeded his
former charge or inethod of houſe-keeping; indeed he there-
upon enlarged his private liberality and beneficence to per
Lons that ſtood in need thereof; but he did not at all there-
upon advance the port or equipage of his houſe-keeping or
manner of living ; his houſe was plain, though noble; and
he never would by new building, make it ſtately or fplendid,
but contented himſelf with it as he found it: and although
he were rich, yet to avoid the glory of being ſaid to be a
great purchaſer, he never would make any new purchaſes,
but kept the poffeflions which were left him by his father
and uncle; well knowing that great purchaſes would make
a great noiſe and rumor, occaſion envy, and become but a
troubleſome burden and incumbrance, rather than a benefit
or advantage in a troubled ſtate.
His money would be a portable commodity for bis fub
fiſtence, and ready to fupply the neceſſities and emergencies
1
of
494 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 10.
of himſelf and his friends, when his lands muft be neceffa-
rily fixed, and in troubled times' might yield him little
revenue, and were of neceſſity to abide the ſtorms of that
place wherein they lay. In ſhort, he kept ſuch a mediocrity
in his houſe, his furniture, his houſehold expences, his
entertainments, and the manner of his living, that neither
expoſed him to fcorn on the one hand, nor cenſure, or envy,
or imputation of affecting either too much grandeur and
popularity, on the other, nor conſumed or waſted his eſtate,
but left himſelf in a continual capacity of ſupplying the exi-
gence of his friends, which he juftly eſteemed the beſt em-
ployment of his wealth; and yet he ſo ordered his affairs and
expences, with that decency and prudence, that kept himn
above the imputation of bafenefs or unworthy parſimony,
And by this means he avoided envy on the one hand, and
contempt on the other; keeping himſelf in a middle and
conſtant conduct between all extremes. It is true, in
the latter end of his life, he was, by the importunity of An-
tonius and Octavius, drawn to match his niece into the
family and relation of Octavius, which feemed to be a ſtep
beyond his degree, and that mediocrity that he uſed and
affected in the former courſe of his life : but it was not a
thing fought by him, but from him, the great triumviri of
Rome being ambitious of his affinity, whom they very well
knew to be a man of as great intereſt, and eſteem, and power
in the city of Rome, as any private perſon could poſſibly be;
and that intereſt, eſteem, and power bottomed upon as firm
a bafis as could poſſibly be expected; namely, the native
and experimented prudence and worth of the man: and
therefore they thought, that whatever mutability of fortune
their high flying attempts might meet with, yet they
had, by this affinity with Atticus, a more firm intereſt in
Rome, than if they had matched their relations into the
family of a commander of an army of forty thouſand
men. Befide all this, he was rich and might probably
leave a fair fortune, which he accordingly did. And
laftly, the times now ſeemed pretty well fettled; the
triumvirate of Antonius, Octavius, and Lepidus had maſter-
ed all oppoſition ; and although there afterwards broke out
wars between Octavius and Antony, yet that was not long
-before Atticus 's death; and as he was not likely to live to
ſee thoſe eruptions, ſo if he ſhould, he could not probably
ſurvive their" ifſue; neither did he : for he died the year
before the battle of Actium, wherein Antony was overthrown
by Octavius : and yet if theſe differences had been in his
proſpects
A
CH. 11.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 49.5
1
proſpect, he was reaſonable ſecure againſt whatſoever iffué
fhould happen in it, both the heads of that fáation being
his admirers and friends, and his great age giving him the
protection and privilege of fitting ſtill between them.
1
C H A P. XI,
THE SIXTH EXPEDIENT, THE AVOIDING OP A L'E
OCCASIONS OF ENMITY FROM ANY.
1
The fixth thing that this wife man induſtriouſly avoided,
in order to his fafety, was, all manner of envy from any,
and all occaſions and opportunities thereof, that humani
prudence could poſſibly foreſee.
This hath been in part ſhewn before in the precedent
chapters, in his declining of factions, offices, and excita-
tions of envy; but it ſhall be here profecuted with farthérin-
ſtances, that more directly and ſpecifically were ordered
againſt this inconvenience; and the former inſtances-moré
eſpecially relate to the avoiding of public différencés, and
the enmities ariſing by it; but thefe relate to fuch enmities
as concern a man in a private ſtation.
There be thefe enſuing occaſions, that commonly create
animofities and enmities.
1. He that is an accuſer or informer againſt any man for
matters of crime or miſdemeanor, makes the party accuſed,
and all his relations, his 'enemies; nay, though he do it but
as an advocate. I do verily believe, that the ſharpneſs of
Tully's tongue in his declamations, though it procured him
fome friends, it created him many more enemies, that didt
fit cloſe upon him when they had opportunity; though the
occaſion of his ruin, was his public action : but Atticus
was ever caref:il to avoid this.
He never would be an accuſer of any, either as party or
advocatė, nor ſubſcribe any' public accuſation.
2. A ſecond thing that creates enemies, is litigiouſneſs,
contention, and going to law for every trifle : this excellent
man did with that prudence order his affairs, that the author
of his life tells us he never had any law-fuit. His wiſdom
was ſuch, that it prevented him from great or waſting injuries:
and his goodneſs was ſuch, that he rather forgave injuries
of a leſs magnitudë, than prófécuted the wrong-doers : it
was one of the great commendations of his life, that he
quickly
496
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 11.
quickly forgot the injnries that he received, and the kindneſs
that he had done.
3. A third thing that creates many enemies, is when a
man is farmer or collector of thoſe troubleſome quties,
where many are concerned, a publican or farmer of cuſtoms
or tolls : for ſuch men are commonly hated by the generality
of the people. Now Atticus, although ſome conjectures
there are, that he was ſometime farmer of the Vectigalia,
yet the writer of his life affures us the contrary; or certainly
if he were fo at any time, he quickly left that employment,
as a probable root of contentions, and enmity, and animofity.
4. A fourth thing that creates enemies, is when a man
deals much in the goods or lands that are confiſcated by the
power of any faction : ſuch confifcations were frequent in
Rome, becauſe the viciffitudes of the prevalence of factions
were frequent; and hither perſons often came, and met with
good bargains : but Atticus wholly declined thoſe public
markets, not only becauſe it would be a mark of a covetous
mind, but becauſe he knew that the former owners would
bear a ſecret indignation and enmity againſt the purchaſers
and pofſefſors of their goods; and ſuch purchaſes carried
with them a clear evidence that the purchaſers approved the
party and violences of thoſe men that thus confifcated and
expoſed ſuch goods to fale; and it was againſt the principles
of Atticus, to give ſo much countenance or credit to the
proceedings of any of thoſe factions.
5. A fifth thing that often creates men trouble, eſpecially
in a troubled ſtate, is the too much prodigality of ſpeech.
An over-free, inconſiderate commendation of ſome perſons
of one party, or too liberal invectives or cenſures of the
perfons engaged in another, create oftentimes enemies, and
give a man a blow when he hath forgot it, or thinks not of
it; fome enemy of a perſon commended, or friend of the
perſon cenſured, oftentimes reporting to the diſadvantage
of the firſt ſpeaker: in this kind Atticus was very wary; he
was not liberal of his tongue either in praiſes or diſpraifes of
this or that party, or the perſons concerned in it: and if any
time he commended any perſon, it was upon the account of
his due perſonal worth and virtue, without contemplation
or reſpect of parties, or the concerns thereof.
Pride and haughtineſs of deportment do infallibly create
more enemies than any one diſtemper beſides, and indeed
is commonly the root of all contentions and animofities both
in public and in private perſons. A proud man in effect -
reſiſteth all men, and therefore doth either neceffitate, or at
leaſt
1
C#. 11.) The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
497
lealt engage all m'oz to oppoſe him, and become his enemy
but herein was Atticus's great wiſdom, that in his whole
courſe of life, he always kept an humble inind, and an
humble deportment: when he lived at Athens, our author
tells us, fic fe gerebat ut communis infimis par principibus
videretur ; ex quo fa&tum eſt ut huic omnes bonores quos póſ-
ſent publicè haberent': the like was his depórtment at Rome.
And certainly this humility of mind, and depórtment, and
freeneſs from all manner of pride, brought him very gréat
advantage; for it kept him in a true eſtimate and judgment
of things. Pride and vain-glory blind the judgment;
humility, and lowlineſs, render every thing in its true and
juſt eſtimate and value.
2. It kept him in great tranquillity of mind, as well as
of life; it is not poſſible for any man to ſuffer lo much tor-
ture and vexation from all the affronts and injuries without,
as from a proud heart that galleth and vexeth itſelf, when it
cannot have its will; but an humble man in all ſtates and
conditions ſtands ſquare upon his own bafis, without any
great diſorder or perturbation.
3. By this means he greatly ſecured his own ſafety in
public dangers; for by reaſon of his humble déportment,
he got but few enemies; and if there were any fuch, this
humble carriage either melted them into friends, or gave
that relaxation and abatement to their fervour and animo.
ſity, that they never attempted to hurt him, though polli.
bly the prevalence of a faction wherein they were parties,
gave them opportunity.
And yet though his deportment were full of humility
and condefcenfion, yet it was not without a becoming
gravity and grandeur, whereby, though he was affable and
cheerful, yet he rendered not himſelf cheap and contemp-
tible ; ſo that, as the author tells us, it was a hard thing to
tell, whether the very ſame men did more love or fear him.
And certainly this part of Atticus's management was a
fingular means of his fafety, and an excellent indication
of his prudence, eſpecially in troubleſome and difficult
times; namely, a wife and circumſpect avoiding of mak-
ing enemies. It is the common folly of men great in
place, power or wealth, to think themſelves above the reach
of enemies, of the meaner fort eſpecially; and therefore
they care not how many they diſoblige by their infolence,
1 « He carried himself so that he seemed common to the lowest, and
" yet equal to the chiefest; whereby it came to pass that they publicly
heaped upon hiin all the honoujš they could.
VOL. I.
scorns,
498.
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH: 12..
fçorns, injuries, or neglệets: this is a piece of great weak-
neſs and fully; for it is a certain truth, that there is no
man, though never fo mean, but once in ſeven years will
inave an opportunity to do the greateſt man much good or
inuch harn. Whent he mouſe troubled the ſleeping lion,
and diſturbed him, and happened to fall under his paw,
he deſired the lion to ſpare hin, he was but a mouſe, and
yệt might live poffibly to do him a kindneſs; but howſo-
eyer was not worth his indignation : the mouſe afterwards
fěrved to eat aſunder that net that entangled the lion, and
ſo deliver him, that for all his greatneſs, could not deliver
himſelf
. Kindneſs, and affability, and gentleneſs are' but :
cheap and eaſy things, and as eaſily exerciſed as rough='.
neſs and acerbity; and when a man can make a friend
upon as eaſy terms as he can make an enemy, 'he is in-
prudent if he do the ſatter ; for a mean friend may be able
ſometimes to do a great kindneſs to a.great man, and à ļittle
enemy may have an opportunity to do a great miſchief.
In tumulţious times an, ordiņary common foldier 'is
maſter of another man's life' and eſtate, either in the un-
bridled rage of a ſtorm, or by. â falſe accuſation : he there-
fóre that means to fit ſafe in ſtormy times, muſt be care-
ful, with Atticis, to avoid the making of enemies, even in
his private ſtation, as well as in his public, and muſt never**
think any perſon ſo deſpicable, but that he may fome way
or other, or at ſome time or other, do him a miſchief;
and therefore muſt never unneceſſarily provoke any, oř make
,
hii án enemy, if he can fairly avoid it.
And theſe are the principal things obfervable in the life-
of Atticus, which he principally avoided in order to his
ſafety and trậnquillity in troubleſome times.
1
CH A P, xi.
THE CONSIDERATION OF THE THINGS THAT AT-
TICUS DID, IN ORDER TO HIS SAFETY AND SÉ-
CURITY AGAINST THE DANGERS AND TROUBLES
OF THE TIMES ; AND FIRST, TOUCHING HIS
CHARITY, BOUNTY, AND LIBERALITY.
I have done with thoſe things which this wiſe man
avoided in order to his fafety in troublefome times. I come
now to the things he did ; which as they were worthy and
honourable in themſelves, ſo they were the great means of
his ſafety and preſervation.
+
In
CH. 12.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 4,99
In the precedent chapter, I ſhewed his prudence and
induſtry to avoid making himſelf enemies ; this was that
he conſtantly avoided : But he did not only avoid the pro-
curing. of enemies, but was prudent and wife in making
very many friends; this conduced greatly to his ſafety and
preſervation.
And the means whereby: he' thus made fo many his
friends, was his liberality, beneficence, and bounty, eſpeci-
ally to thoſe in-diſtreſs.
But although the fafety that he had, was partly the con-
ſequence of his inany friends that he procured, and the
beneficence that he uſed, was one great means of procuring
friends, yék herein confifted the excellence of the man,
that he was not bountiful and beneficent upon the bare ac-
count of procuring-friends, or by thein to ſecurè his fafety :
but the principle of his beneficence was higher and nobler
than his own intereſt and ſafety; for it aroſe from the
nobleneſs of his diſpoſition, and was a certain native gene-
roſity and beneficence to mankind; that prevailed upon hini
to be grateful to thoſe that did him kindneſs ; bountiful' tơ :
thoſe he loved, corrrpaffionate to thoſe in miſery, and bene-
ficent to mankind in general: indeed the conſequence and
effect of this goodneſs was the multiplication of friends,
and his ſecurity in times of danger. But thať was not the
great whecl. tbat moved him to it, but the admirable con-
ftitution and habit of his mind, which would 'haveren-
dered him fuch, though there had neither been friends nor
ſafety acquired by it: for he had a ſelf-contentation in the
egreffes of his own bounty and goodniefs, though it had
never reflected to his own honour, ſafety, or advantage.
And this is the more evideñt; for that the inſtances of
his libérality and beneficence were moſt frequent and eni-
nent towards ſuch as were in greateſt distreſs, and below:
the expectation of ever making a retribution : whereby, as
our auihor tells us, it was evident that neither hopes nor
fears, nor felf-ends or advantage, were the motives of his
liberality, but the virtue, goodneſs, and beneficence of his
nature and foul. .
-But becauſe if his beneficence had been ſingly to any
one fingle party or faction, or only-to'that faction that were
undermoſt, it inight have been interpreted á fecret compli-
ance with them, and adherence to them, and ſo rendered
him ſuſpected to thoſe that attained the upper hand, he fo
wiſely ordered bis charity and benefiċence to the oppreffed,
that at the ſame time hetallo liberálly preſented the victors
and
>
2 K 2
500 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 12.
1
and thoſe things he did not poorly and ſneakingly, but
boldly and openly, that the oppreffed might ſee he counte-
nanced not their cauſe, but regarded their wants; and the
victors might fee he durſt do good to the neceſſitous, though
their enemies; and all the world might ſee that his charity
and goodneſs was directed to the human nature, not to
encourage or ffatter factions : fome inſtances hereof are
given in the hiſtory of his life.
When Marius was declared an enemy to the ſtate, he af-
fifted him with neceffaries in his flight ; and when Sylla,
a declared enemy by Marius, viſited Atticus at Athens, he
entertained him with honour and refpect.
When Pompey was hardly beſet by the power of Cæfar,
he ſupplied him and his aſſiſtants with money for their fupe
port; and yet at the ſame time fupplied Cæſar and his fol-
lowers with money for their wants.
When Brutus and his aſſiſtants were oppreſſed by the
power of Antony, he fupplied them with neceffaries and
when afterwards it was Antony's fate to be declared a
public enemy, and his condition feemed deſperate, inſo-
much that the very friends of Antony turned bitter ene-
mies of Antony's family, he then undertook the patronage
and protection of the family of Antony, relieved and fup-
ported Fulvia, the wife of Antony, and Volumnius, one
of his family, and ſtood between them and the violence
uſed againft them, and ſupplied them with neceffaries.
And in this liberality and beneficence of Atticus the
things are very obſervable.
1. That it was full of ſincerity and integrity ; his greateſt
bounty and erogations commonly eiñployed upon thoſe that
were not in any likelihood of making him any return; ſuch
were his diſtribution of corn among the poor at Athens,
his relief of Marius, Pompey, Brutus, and the family of
Antony, when they were at the loweſt, and their caſes ſeem-
ingly deſperate ; nec deſperatos reliquit.
2. That it was full of equiality and impartial : if Brutis
were in diſtrefs, he relieved him; if Antony, though of a
contrary faction, were in diſtreſs, he "relieved him: his
liberality was not intựitu partis, or governed by regard to
any particular faction; být intuitze humani generis, a common
benignity to human nature, that whatfoever the party was,
yet if he were in diſtreſs, he had the experience of his
bounty. And upon the obfervation hereof, neither party
took amifs what he did for the other, becauſe they found
he did the like for them, when their turn was to be lower-
most.
CH. 12.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 501
nioſt, And indeed the viciffitudes of the fucceffes of the
factions of Marius and Sylla had made all parties wife, ſo
that they became pretty well contented to find ſuch a com-
mon promptuary and treaſury of beneficence, which though
their ſuppreſſed adverſary now taſted, might be of equal ad-
vantage to them at the next turn of fortune.
3. That it was full of fingular prudence : Pompey and
Tis party were in fome diſtreſs; he relieved them; Cæfar
wanted not his relief; yet Atticus preſents him liberally;
this was not to bribe each party , but it was to give affift-
ance to their neceſſities : Cæfar no leſs honoured him than
Pompey. And by theſe prudent contemporations he made
his liberality ſafe, and gave aſſurance to all parties, that the
bounty to either party, was not a compliance with parties,
but an excellent beneficence to mankind in general.
And therefore when either party folicited him to any
thing that ſavoured of the countenance of a faction, he
conſtantly declined it; as when Sylla perfuaded him to go
with him to Italy, and the party of Brutus folicited him to
contribute to a private treaſury for Brutus, and Pompey en-
deavoured to draw him to his army. By all which, all
parties and all men were fully ſatisfied that the bounty of
Atticus was not in contemplation of factions, or for pri-
vate deſigns or ends, but ihé emanation of a noble and
benign foul, full of rivers of goodneſs, clemency, and bene-
ficence.
And now we will a little conſider the ſingular effects that
this beneficence, liberality, and charity, had in all the ſucceſſes
òf his life.
1. By this means he removed out of the minds of all
men all that envy which conimonly waits upon wealthy
men ; for he was ſo true a ſteward, and generous diſpenſer
of wealth he had, that no man envied his riches, but wiſhed
it more: for they well knew that when their misfortunes or
neceſſities made them ſtand in need of relief, he was ready
to diſpoſe of it for their ſupply.
2. There is nothing in the world renders a man more
popular and beloved of all; and ſo it made him.
And although popularity is a dangerous thing in a ſtate,
when it meets in an ambitious ſpirit, yet it is ſafe and
deſirable when found in a good, and peaceable, and wife
mạn.
3. This liberality or bounty was ſo diffufivè, that it ex-
ceedingly multiplied his friends. Every man that had taſted
of his bounty, became his friend and advocate; inſomuch
2 K 3
that
502 The Life of. Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 12
.
that there was no one party or faction in Rome, but bad
a conſiderable perſon of it obliged unto Atticus, by his
benefits, whereby it came to paſs that in all the revolutions
and viciſſitudes of ſucceſſes of contefting factions, he never
wanted fome conſiderable perfons in power, that were
ftudious of ſerving him and his friends, and were his ad- .
vocates, if he had occaſion.
4. Conſequently this bounty and liberality of Atticus
was one of the great inſtruments of ſafety in all thoſe va-
rious revolutions that happened in Rome during his life.
This was one thing that rendered Atticus fo fafe, and ſo
acceptable to Cæfar, after his return victor over Pompey :
the kindneſs and liberality which he ſhewed to the family
and relations of Antony in his diſtreſs, was that which
rendered him fo acceptable to Antony, at his return victor
over Brutus ; that while thouſands were baniſhed or de-
ſtroyed, and Cicero himle)f (lain in the rage of that revolu-
tion, Atticus was protected and highly favoured ; inſomuch
that he obtained protection not only for himſelf, but divers
of his friends that were in the black liſt of death, confiſca-
tion, or baniſhment, as appears at large in the hiſtory of
his life.
It is true that this expedient of ſafety is not exerciſeable
by men. of mean fortunes, neither is it needful for them;
men of low condition have nuch of their ſecurity in times
of common diſtraction, from that which ordinarily miſtaken
men account a piece of miſery or infelicity, namely, their
poverty ; ſuch be below the ſtorms and tempeſts in a ſtate,
they blow over them, and rarely hurt them, unleſs they
are over bufy or wilfully entangle themſelves in thein: but
wealth and greatneſs ſtand in the eye of troubles and ſtornis
of this nature, becauſe it commonly invites every neceflitous
or ambitious man to make ſuch the prize of rapine; and
therefore the wiſdom of this man that was wealthy and
eminent, is more confpicuous, in that he enjoyed his peace
together with his wealth, and ſo prudently managed the
latter, that he fecured the former; and yet without any
enormous detriment or waſting of his wealth, while he
wiſely placed ſuch part thereof that he could reaſonably
ſpare, and hereby fecured both himſelf and a fair compe-
tency of the reſt.
And theſe were the effects of this excellent man's bounty
and liberality, which always returned with great advantage
to his honour and ſafety,
CHAP
CH. 13.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
503
CHA P. XIII.
.
THE SECOND THING WHICH ATTICUS DID IN ORDER
WHEREBY HE SECURED HIMSELF.
.
The ſecond obſervable in the practice of Atticus, was
his conſtancy to his friends under all conditions ; whereby
he never ceaſed to do them all offices of kindnefs and
beneficence, were their fortunes never ſo low and deſperatệ.
Marius, though a turbulent perſon, yet was perfonally
the friend of Atticus, and his ſon bred up at ſchool
with him; when the father fled from Rome, he ſupplied
him with neceflaries in his flight.
Pompey was a friend of Atticus, and in his diſtreſs
Atticus fupplied him liberally in his neceſſities.
Brutus was a familiar acquaintance of Atticus, and when
he was forced to defert Rome, he ſupplied him in his
ſtraits and neceſſities with money, and after the battle
at Philippi, where Brutus was flain, maintained Servilla
his mother, and uſed his intereſt with Antony, and pro-
cured the liberty of many of his friends that were taken
after that battle, as Gellius, Canius, Julius Canidius, and
others; the like he did after the battle of Philippi, for
Julius Morilla the Pretor, Aulus Torquatus, and the fon
of Quintius his brother-in-law, and others of his friends
that were engaged in the quarrel and misfortune of Pompey :
thus he always improved his intereſt that he had in Julius
Cæſar, Antony, and the other heads of great factions in
Róme, when the victory fell on their fide, not to make
himſelf rich or great, but to deliver his friends from the
common calamities that befell them in the fall of that
party wherein they were unhappily engaged : only the
ruin of Cicero was ſo ſudden, that it prevented the inter-
cefſion of Atticus in his behalf.
Neither can I omit that admirable piece of fidelity to his
friends, and yet that admirable prudence, that though it
fell out oftentimes that many of his friends were engaged in
oppoſite factions, and extreme animofities and irreconcile
able differences, yet ſo be ordered the matter, that he kept
an intimate friendſhip with them all, correſponded with
them all, and had the entire love and ſervice of them all,
without any breach of friendſhip, or incurring the difplea-
fure or jealouſy of any of them, or of their relations. Marius.
2 K4
!
was
504 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 14.
was his friend, and so was Sylla, and yet engaged in
irreconcileable enmity between themſelves. Pompey was
his friend, and ſo was Julius Cæſar, yet engaged in defpe-
rate wars each againſt the other. Brutus was his friend,
and ſo was Antony, yet mortal enemies one againſt another.
Again, Antony was his friend, and fo was Octavius
Cæſar, and yet both implacable enemies to each other.
Cicero and Hortenſius the two greateſt maſters of eloquence
of Rome, had great emulatians between them, and yet
notwithstanding all thoſe bitter and irreconcileable feuds
and emulations between theſe friends of Atticus, though he
were not able to reconcile their differences, he ſtill kept up.
an entire friendſhip with them all, correſpond with
them by letters, entertainments, and all offices of friend
fhip with them all, was bountiful
bountiful to them all, re-
lieved them all, in the viciffitudes of their exigencies
aud misfortunes, and kept himſelf yet free from en-
gaging in their differences, nor rendered himſelf ſuſpected
to either party. They all knew his integrity and his wif-
dom, and were abundantly fatisfied that his friendſhip and
beneficence to either party, were acts of pure and generous
goodneſs, and not leavened, or tainted, or ſtained with
baſe ends, or hopes, or deſigns. And this fidelity and
conſtancy to his friends, cauſed all men to love and ho-
nour him, and to defire his friendſhip, and engaged his
friends in great firmneſs and fidelity to him. And this
among all the reſt of his honeſt and prudent managements,
was a great ſecurity to him : for, as before I obſerved, his
friends were hereby ſo multiplied and increafed, that there
was not, nor indeed could be any party in Rome, but had a
confiderable number of the friends of Atticus, whom he had
formerly engaged by great benefits mingled with it, which
were as ſo many protectors, or at leaſt advocates and in-
ftruments of his fafety and preſervation upon any revolutions
that happened, or could happen in the city or ſtate of Rome.
CHAP. XIV.
THE THIRD EXPEDIENT CONDUCING TO THE SAFE.
TY OF ATTICUS ; HIS ADMIRABLE MODERATION
AND EQUALITY OF MIND AND ACTIONS,
One of the greateſt enemies to any man's peace and ſafety,
is the immoderation and exceſs of paífion which ordinarily
carries
.
CH. 14.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 505
carries men into exceſſes and extremes, and creates to
a man enemies and troubles if it find none ; tranſports men
beyond the bounds of wiſdom or reaſon; ſometimes it
-breaks out into rude, harſh and offenſive actions, fome-
times into provoking and irritating ſpeeches, and always
diſorders the judgment, and brings precipitation and inad-
vertence into the actions ; but our worthy perſon was quite
of another make ; he governed his paſſions, and thereby
governed his actions and ſpeeches, was deliberate, and con-
liderate, and of great moderation: he was not preſently tranſ-
ported to love and admire every man that either did him a
kindneſs, or was great in the commonwealth; he under-
ſtood and weighed wherein their ends and deſigns lay :
neither was he preſently tranſported with hatred and indig-
nation of every perſon that was voted an enemy by the
fenate he allowed fomething in thoſe ſentences to the
paſſions, intereſts and ends of perfons, parties and factions :
though he was an enemy to faction in the ſtate, yet he
did not preſently conclude that all the men that were en-
gaged in a party, were enemies to the commonwealth ;
he conſidered that ſome might mean well, and were igno-
rant of the deſigns and ends of thoſe that commonly go-
verned the party; who like a prevailing humour or dir-
temper, many times carried weak or well-meaning men
beyond their intentions, and therefore he was not of that
common humor of the vulgar, whereof it is faid,
Sequitur fartunam ſemper ; & odit Damnatos".
And therefore, as on the one fide he was not cheated into
the parties by the goodly pretences of them that raifed or
managed them ; ſo he was not tranſported with hatred and
deteftation of all that were of them : as he had his allay
that made him not over credulous of the former, fo he had
an allowance of charity and gentleneſs for the latter; where
he was moderate in his cenſures of them and their pro-
ceedings, left ftill a room for their relief in their neceffities,
and for an interceffion for mercy for them, with thoſe in
power.
He looked upon the commotions in the ſtate of both
fides to be but the product of faction, a diſeaſe and diſa
temper, not the true temperament and complexion of the
ſtate, and therefore in the collifion of factions, he did not
preſently judge that the beſt that prevailed, nor that the
worſt that was ſuppreffèd ; they had each their errors, and
faults, and mischiefs to the commonwealth, which poſ-
• He always joins with the fortunate and opposes the unpopular.
fibly
1
506 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 15.
fibly, were in themſelves equal, notwithſtanding the dif-
crimination of the ſucceſs : and therefore he did not pre-
ſently fall in with the prevailing party, and adore it, nor
deny thoſe meaſures of charity to the adverſe party, which
he uſed to deal to them in diſtreſs ; : pollibly he thought
them not leſs innocent than the former, though leſs fortu-
nate, and therefore eſteemed them much as one in their
merit or rather demerit ; only the diſtreſſed ſtood. more
in need of his charily than the victors, and therefore they
had more of it.
Again, when he ſaw the rage and fury, and profcriptions,
and condemnations that the conquering party uſed againſt
thoſe that had been engaged on the other ſide, though he
hated and deteſted that cruelty, and fierceneſs that he ſaw
exerciſed by citizens of the ſame commonwealth and
city, againſt their fellow-citizens, as breaches not only of
the bonds of civil ſociety, but as invaſions upon humanity
itſelf; yet he kill governed himſelf with that moderation,
as not to fall foul upon the victors with public invectives
and philippics: for he well knew that would but irritate
and provoke their rage, and poſſibly diſable him to do thoſe
offices of kindneſs for his friends that fell under the power
of the victors : and beſides, experience of the viciffitudes
of fuccefles in adverfe factions, had well affyred him that
it was the common method of whichſoever faction pre-
vailed, to uſe all extremities againſt the other : and al-
though this .cruel cuſtom did no way juftify the things
they did; nor rendered them excuſable in the judgment of
Atticus, yet it gave a little allay to the centure of their
ſeverity, that had the other faction prevailed, they would
have done no leſs by them.
And this moderation of Atticus gave him great ſecurity
in troubleſome times, procured him friends, kept him con-
fiderate and circumfpečt in all he did, that he never overſhot
himſelf with folly, paſſion, or precipitancy, in words or
action.
CHA P. XV
CONCERNING THE FOURTH EXPEDIENT CONDUCING
TO THD SAFETY OF ATTICU'S; HIS CONSTANCY.
F I ſhould follow Atticus through all thoſe expreſfions of
his prudence and wiſdom, joined with fingular virtue and
goodneſs
CH. 15.] The Life of Pomponius Articus. 507
(
goodneſs, my ob/ervations would be too voluminous: the
truth is, there is ſcarce any one part or paſſage of his life,
but deſerves remark. My author truly ſays, difficile el
omnia dicere, & non neceſaria: I ſhall therefore con clud
all with this one obſervation more, namely, his conſtancy:
1. He was conſtant to his friends even in their loweſt
and moſt deſperate condition ; he ever retained his love to
them, and it was not complimental love, but ſuch as ex-
preff:d itſelf in real indications, relieving them in their
extremities, engaging all his endeavours and intereſt for
their deliverance out of dangers, and never giving over his
endeavours till he effected what was poffible for their good
- and ſafety.
2. He was conſtant to his mode and faſhion of life; he
lived in the ſame houſe, without any conſiderable alteration,
he kept the fame equipage, notwithſtanding the increaſe
and acceſs of his fortune ; the ſame rules and obſervances
in his houſehold, his entertainments, his houſe-keeping,
pari faftigio ſtetit in utraque fortuna.
3. He was conſtant to his principles; what he oncc was,
he always was; and what he once practiſed, he always
practiſed; he ufed the fame moderation and equality, the
ſame juſtice and integrity, the fame quietneſs and even-
neſs of mind, the ſame virtue and goodneſs, the ſame
piety and honour to his parents, the ſame humility
and affability, the fame gravity and decency, the ſame
compaſſion to the afflicted, the ſame bounty and liberality
to all; and no variation of ſucceſſes or fortunes, no diſlikes
or diſtaſtes of other men, no hopes, no fears, no perfuafions,
'no finifter ends or deſigns, could ſhake him from his prin-
ciples, or unſettle him from his baſis of honour or virtue,
upon which he ſtood fixed, ſquare and unmoveable. And
therefore when Antony was in his loweſt condition, de-
clared an enemy to the ſtate, Brutus and Caffius in the
vogue and eſteem in Rome, and ſeemed to ride upon the
ſtrength of the common breath of popular applauſe, and
yet in this
condition of affairs, Atticus affifted and
protected the family of Antony with his money and intereſt,
in their loweſt and deplorable condition: and when the
great men of the time began to look four upon him, and
complained, quod parum odiſe, malos cives videretur,
that he was too favourable to the public enemies of the
ftate', yet he continued conſtant in his way, and as our
author tells us, rather thought it honour for him to do,
than what others would commend.
And certainly this conſtancy of Atticus to his friends,
to
508 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 15.
to himſelf, to his principles, was not only his honour but his
ſafety; all the world looking upon him as a common bene-
factor to human nature, not changed nor ſhaken from his
goodneſs by any variety of fortune. A man that is un-
Itable or tottering, is loved by no man, becauſe he is not
fit to be truſted ; but a man conſtant to worthy and generous
principles, retains the like conſtancy of eſteem and venera-
tion from all men, and, together with his honour, and
eſteem, and worth, commonly retains his fafety and ſecurity
in public concuffions.
And thus I have gathered out of the hiſtory of the life of
Atticus fuch things as ſeemed to me the great means of his
unexampled peace, fafety, honour, tranquillity, and happi-
nefs, in a continued ſeries of incomparable and matchless
concufſions and ſtorms in the Roman ſtate; I ſhall con-
clude with theſe few general obfervations upon his life, and
with fome cautions touching it. The obſervations are theſe :
I. That moſt certainly virtue, goodneſs, and integrity
is the beſt policy and greateſt means of ſafety in the mot
dangerous times and places.
2. That moſt certainly virtue, and goodneſs, and integrity
is the trueſt way for any man to gain true honour, vene-
ration, and eſteem among men- it is more conducible
than riches, and armies, and triumphs, and victories.
3. That as it is the trueſt way to get honour, fo it is the
beft means to keep it, becauſe liich an honour hath not its
dependence upon any thing without a man ; his fortune,
wealth, power, or ſucceſs, theſe are changeable and vari-
able; but a good, wife, virtuous man carries the root and
ſpring of his honour in himſelf; he ſhall never ceaſe to be
honoured till he ceaſe to be good. ·
4. That there is a ſecret veneration of goodneſs and
virtue in all men, even in the worſt and vileft; a man
cannot fo far put off humanity, but that goodneſs, wiſdom,
and virtue will have fo much of party and intereſt in his
nature, that he cannot chooſe but pay a fecret approbation,
veneration, and eſteem to thoſe that have it.
5. That conſequently wiſdom, beneficence, virtue, and
goodneſs have a great connaturality to human nature, and
are the true genuine ſpirit or genius of it, and that it is ſog
is evident, 1. By the great good it procures to human
nature, honour, and ſafety; and 2. by the great eſteem
that mankind hath of it, and the common intereſt it main-
tains in the common nature of mankind,
CHAP
CH. 16.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus.
509
$
CH A P. XVI.
TOUCHING CERTAIN CAUTIONS TO BE USED IN THE
OBSERVATION AND IMITATION OF THE LIFE OF
ATTICUS, IN PUBLIO COLLISIONS OF FACTIONS.
W
E have ſeen in the former difcourſe not only the fin-
gular virtue and goodneſs of Atticus, but alſo his admirable
ſafety in times of public factions and commotions in the
ftate of Rome.
And yet we may obſerve in his life ſome things practiſed
by him with great ſucceſs and ſecurity, which yet were
things of great danger and hazard, and poffibly' ſuch as
may
not be undertaken or adventured upon by others, and
exceed the limits of common example. When a perſon is
by the lawful fupreme authority of a ſtate or country de-
clared a public enemy, or a traitor, proſcribed or baniſhed,
ordinarily common humanity of all ſtates allows of relief
and ſupport to his wife, children, family, ſervants, and de-
pendents, but for the moſt part (if not always) forbids fup-
plies to be ſent to the perſon thus profcribed; or declared
an enemy, or any communication or converſe with him
becauſe though poffibly it may be all done upon a perſonal
account, and intuitu perſone, without reſpect to his condi-
tion in relation to the public; yet it cannot chooſe but be
a. ſupport to him, and a countenance of him, whereby he
may be enabled to gather new ſupplies, or at leaſt
courage or
encouragement for farther attempts to the promoting of his
faction, party, or deſigns. And although in the Roman
ftate thoſe declarations of enemies, whether Marcus, or
Sylla, or Brutus, or Antony, or Pompey, or Cæſar, were
obtained by the prevalence and folicitation of the adverſe
party or faction, and were in a manner extorted from the
ſenate and people; yet it is plain, that according to the
conſtitution of the Roman republic, the ſupr. me authority
was lodged in the ſenate, or fenate and people; and there-
fore the public acts, decrees, or laws made by them were
in force till repealed by the like folemnity or authority,
though perchance at firſt unduly obtained. For fuch vene-
ration is neceſſarily due to laws or conſtitutions enacted
by the full, fupreme, legiſlative, legal power, according to
the true conſtitution of the civil government, that they are
not to be reſcinded by private perſons, upon their pretence
of being unduly obtained, till they are regularly avoided by
the like legal.power by which they were enacted or inſtituted.
And
1
1
+
510 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 16.
And therefore a private (ſuch as Atticus was, or any
other might be) that ſhould go about to relieve and ſupply
Marius or Sylla, Pompey or Julius Cæſar, Brutus or An-
lony, Octavius or Lepidus, while they were under theſe
public declarations or proſcriptions, by the civil power of
the Roman ſtate, according to the ſettled laws of that, ſtate,
mult needs be under a violation of the law, and ſubjected
to the danger and inconvenience that arifeth: from violations
of public laws. Beſides, it may ſeem this liberty taken
by Axicus of relieving perſons thus declared enemies to the
commonwealth, and holding ſueh intimate correſpondence
with them; neither became a good citizen nor a good man,
which according to the old ſtandard of the Roman inorals,
was,
Qui conſulla pntrum, qui leges jüraque fervit !.
And therefore though the general ſcheme of the life of
Atticus afford a prudent and good example of imitation,
efpecially in the like ſtate of affairs, yet it were hard to
make him a pattern of imitation in this particular of his
füpplies of enemies, fo publicly declared by the true ſu-
přenre power of the Roman ſtate, (I ſay the true fupreme
power of the Roman ſtate) nor in his correſpondence
with them. For it is ſo far from proving a man's ſafety,
that, according to the uſual methods and laws of govern-
ment, it expoſeth a man to the greateſt danger, and that
even by the law itſelf.:.
What Atticus therefore did in this kind, is fingular and
fcarce compatible to another perſon, becauſe it is hardly.
poſſible that any other perſon could be under the fanie
circunſtances with Atticus when he uſed this practice,
and therefore that which he did in this kind with ſafety,
yea and honour to himſelf, may not be ventured upon by
any perſon that ſtands otherwiſe circumſtantiated, and,
ſtudies his fafety.
Although the Roman itatė were fevere enough in prohi->
biting ſupplies to their foreign enemies, or holding corref-
pondence, or clandeſtina cum hoftibus colloquia, yea and
had and ufed the like ſtrictneſs in relation to thoſe muti-
nies, or conſpiracies, or rebellions immediately or directly
levelled againſt the ſtate or commonwealth itſelf; as in the
conjuration of Catiline, their bella servilia with their ſlaves,
and the like; yet it ſhould ſeem at this time they had not
that ſtrict animadverſion againſt the diſſenting parties or
factions, which though they were. bitter and cruel one,
towards
! Who respects the laws and constitution of the state.
dám
camion
CH. 16.)
The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 511
1
.
towards another, yet they all pretended a common love and
care, of the commonwealth or government cloſely; and each
party poſſibly at ſometimes might really intend the prof-
:perity and advancement thereof, though the means where-
by they attenipted it proved pernicious to that end.
2. Again, and principally, although by the power and
induſtry of a prevailing faction the ſenate and people were
oftentimes brought to countenance them with a decree or
law in their favour, and with a profcription or declaration
to the diſadvantage of the adverfe parly, yet every body
knew that it was but a kind of forced compliance by the
true body of the ſenate or people, and that the concern lay
merely between the parties litigant, and not ſo much in
the true genius of the Roman government, which would
- have been glad to have been free from both the competi-
tor's. And therefore the animadverſions and feverities uſed
againſt either party, though they were oftentimes great and
cruel, yét were not ſo much from the tempér of the Roman
government, as from the diſtemper, jealouſy, animoſity, and
hatred, between the contending parties themſelves : and
therefore they that fuffered, looked upon their ſufferings
not as ſo much the exertions of the juſtice of the Roman
ftate, as the violence of the prevailing party.
3. Again, the various' fucceffes that thoſe factions and
their heads and parties had in the common experience,
and in their fucceffes, feemed by degrees to make men
ſenſible, that a good man and beneficent was neceſſary to
be protected, becauſe no party knew whether it might not
ſhortly be his turn to make ufe of his beneficence : fo that
a man not addicted to either faction as a party in it, was
by a kind of tacit compact free from animadverſion or
puniſhment for his affiftance to the oppreſſed; and was
fpared in thefe public concuflons, as temples or ſacred
places are in time of public hoftility.
4: But again, Atticus had given in the whole courſe of his
life inoſt certain and infallible indications that he did not,
would not engage in either party or faction, and that he did
with an equal indifferency Tupply the neceſſities, and en-
dcavour to remove the calamities of any of what party
ſoever he was ;. and bare a fair and equal reſpect to all of
what party foever, whether of the party of Marius or Sylla,
of Cæfar or Pompey, of Bratus or Antony; by all which
all inën concluded him to be a common friend to mankind;
büt no fomenter, or encourager, or maintainer of any fac-
tion. And it is foarce poffible for any other man to have
all:
(
:
512 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [C#. 16.
all theſe happy circumſtances to contribute to that common
good opinion that all parties, yea all men had of Atticus;
whereby it came to paſs that theſe ſupplies and correſpon-
dencies' that he held with the ſeveral engaged parties,
never brought him into the danger or fufpicion of being
à promoter or favourer of their factions, or to render thoſe
his acts of humanity any way unſafe or dangerous to him.
And therefore fince the danger that might befall Atticus
in his relief of thoſe that were declared enemies to the
commonwealth, muft neceffarily ariſe either from the reſent-
ment of the fenate and people of Rome, in relieving thoſe
they had declared enemies, or from the jealouſy, indigna-
tion and animoſity of that party or faction that then ob-
tained, and might be offended at his kindneſs to an adverſe
party, he was in both theſe reſpects under a competent de-
gree of ſecurity, notwithſtanding thoſe ſupplies and correſ-
pondencies; for the ſenate and people of Rome, though
by the force of a prevailing party they were drawn to, or
Father driven to make decrees and declarations in their
favour, and againſt the other party; yet in truth they
really diſliked both, and would have been glad to be at
quiet; and therefore were not over-eager, or buſy, or fierce
in proſecuting thoſe that were beneficent to either party,
eſpecially if he were no friend to the faction itſelf.
And on the other ſide, the factions themſelves were not
over violent in their animadverſion upon Atticus's bene-
ficence to either party, becauſe it was apparent he did it.
not in contemplation or favour of a faction, but as a com-
mon benefactor to men in want and extremitv; and ſo
between both he eſcaped thoſe ſeverities which poffibly
the rigour of the law might have înflicted upon an aſſiſtant
to a declared eneny, or the jealouſy of a prevailing party
might have brought upon him.
5. Again, he was a man of that great and deſerved repu.
tation for his prudence, learning, worth, love to his country,
liberality, beneficence, fincerity, tha: he had a high vene-
ration with all men of all parties and factions; every man
thought it a kind of barbarouſneſs and inhumanity to
accule or injure. ſuch a perſon, eſpecially that had fo obliged
all mankind. When a bold tribune did accụfe Scipio Afri-
canus, that great Roman captain, he anſwered his accuſation
with no other language, but led the people up to the capi-
tol and other places, where the monuments of his triumphs
and benefits, to the Roman ſtate gave them the freſh re-
membrance of his merits, and thereupon the accuſation
vaniſhed,
CH. 17.] The Life of Pomponius Atticus. 513
vaniſhed, and the accuſer llunk away aſhamed of his at-
tempt. But in all the whole life of Atticus we find not
ſo much as any accuſation of him, no not to the heads
themſelves of the combating parties. He was ſo much
above cenfure, that he never ſo much as fell under any
accuſations; which poffibly may be a privilege that few
men living in public concuſſions, and of any eminence, are
capable of.
And therefore as this example of the liberality of Atticus
to parties obnoxious to a public declaration of being ene-
mies to the ſtate, and his familiarity, intimacy, and cor-
reſpondency with them may be a ſignal evidence of his
wiſdom, yea and alſo of his fortunate fuccefs under fo dan-
gerous adventures; yet it cannot be allowed to be a com-
mon example to other perſons to run the like hazard,
becauſe it is morally impoſſible they ſhould be under ſuch
happy aud beneficial circumſtances in this kind as Atticus
was, and therefore cannot expect the like fucceſs therein
as he found,
Indeed if the fenate and people of Rome that made theſe
decrees in favour of thoſe that got into the ſaddle, had been
but uſurpers of the ſupreme authority, or had it not been
really and legally fixed in them, or had they been a pack
of men that had but pretended the ſupreme authority, and
the ſtate-power of making laws or politic edicts, proſcrip-
tions, and declarations of this nature, without any legal
and true power ſo to do; it had not only been an act of
nobleneſs and generoſity, but poffibly of duty, to have
miniſtred relief and ſupply to thoſe that were oppreſſed
by them. But the caſe was otherwiſe; the true fupreme
authority of the Roman ſtate was engaged in thoſe ediets
and profcriptions, though drawn thereunto by the power
of a prevailing party. And therefore the adventure of
Atticus was great in miniſtring ſupplies to thoſe that fell
under thoſe ſentences and decrees, though his great wiſdom
in managing thereof, the great and public veneration of
his goodneſs, and the junctures of the affairs of the Roman
ſtate, rendered him ſafe and ſecure from danger under that
adventure. And whoſoever ſhall adventure in like manner
had need be ſure his circumſtances be the ſame with thoſe
of Atticus, and that he hath as good a judgment, yea, and
fortune alſo, to diſcern and weather difficulties, as he had,
otherwiſe in ſuch adventures he cannot be without great
danger.
L
And
VOL. I.
1
514 The Life of Pomponius Atticus. [CH. 17.
And as I have added this caution touching the practice
of Atticus in his life, ſo there is another caution to be
added touching his deportment near his death. It ſeems
to me, that his obſtinate reſolution not to take any nou.
riſhment to preſerve his life, becauſe it would prolong his
pain together with his life, was not at all commendable;
but as it favoured too much of impatience, unbecoming
a philoſopher, ſo it was an act of much wilful imprudence,
for the receiving of convenient nouriſhment might-pro-
long his life, and poſſibly abate his pain, But the wilful
refuſal of it muſt neceſſarily be (as it was) an immediate
cauſe of his death, which he thereby haſtened; and ala..
though ſelf-murder was grown too much in faſhion among
ſome of the grandees of Rome, as appears by the inſtance
of Cato and others, yet certainly it was a practice not
only of inhumanity, but of ſo much pufillanimity and im-
potence of mind, and a miſerably miſtaken choice, to
chooſe death, the worſt of evils, rather than endure pain or
diſgrace in the world; which a little philofophy would
have taught them to bear with patience rather than to
avoid by deſtroying their own lives.
A DIS
А
DISCOURSE
TOUCHING
>
PROVISION FOR THE POOR.
2 1 2
TEE
[ 516 ]
THE PREFACE.
A DUE care for the relief of the Poor is an act, 1. of great
piety towards Almighty God, who requires it of us: he
hath left the poor as his pupils, and the rich as his ſtewards
to provide for them : It is one of thoſe great tributes that he
juſtly requires from the reſt of mankind; which, becauſe
they cannot pay to him, he hath ſcattered the poor amongſt
the reſt of mankind as his ſubſtitutes and receivers.
2. It is an act of greateſt humanity among men. Mercy
and benignity is due to the very beaſts that ſerve us, much
more to thoſe that are partakers of the fame common nature
with us.
3. It is an act of great civil prudence and political wiſdom :
for poverty in itſelf is apt to emaſculate the minds of men,
or at leaſt it makes men tumultuous and unquiet. Where
there are many very poor, the rich cannot long or ſafely
continue ſuch; neceflity renders men of phlegmatic and
dull natures ftupid and indiſciplinable ; and men of more
fiery or active conſtitutions rapacious and deſperate.
At this day it ſeems to me that the Engliſh nation is more
deficient in their prudent proviſion for the poor than any
other cultivated and chriſtian ſtate; at leaſt that have ſo
many opportunities and advantages to ſupply them.
In ſome other countries a beggar is a rare fight, thoſe
that are unable to maintain themſelves by age or impotency
are relieved. And thofe that are able to fupply their wants
by their labour are furniſhed with employments ſuitable to
their condition,
And by this means there is not only a good and orderly
education and a decent face of the public; but the more
populous the ſtate or country is, the richer and the more
wealthy it is.
But with us in England, for want of a due regulation of
things, the more populous we are the poorer we are; ſo that,
that wherein the ſtrength and wealth of a kingdom conſiſts,
renders us the weaker and the poorer.
And
Preface.
517
And which is yet worfe, poor families which daily mul-
tiply in the kingdom for want of a due order for their em-
ployment in an honeſt courſe of life, whereby they may
gain fubfiſtence for them and their children, do unavoidably
bring up their children either in a trade of begging or ſtealing,
or ſuch other idle courſe, which again they propagate to
their children, and ſo there is a ſucceſſive multiplication of
hurtful or at leaſt unprofitable people, neither capable of
diſcipline nor beneficial employment.
It is true we have very ſevere laws againſt begging, the
very giver being in ſome caſes ſubject to a penalty by the
ſtatute of 1. Jac. cap. 17. But it takes little effect. And
indeed as the caſe ſtands with us, it is no reaſon it ſhould:
for what man that is of ability can have the conſcience to
deny an alms, or to bring a wanderer to the puniſhment
directed by that ſtatute, and the ſtatute of 39 Eliz. when he
cannot chooſe but know that there is not that due, courſe
provided, or at leaſt ufed, that perſons neceſſitous and able
to work may have it ; indeed were there a clear means
practiſed for the employing poor perfons, it were an un-
charitable action to relieve them in a courſe of idleneſs. But
when I do not know there is ſuch a proviſion, I dare not
deny, my relief, becauſe I know not whether without it he
may be ſtarved with hunger, without his own default.
We have alſo very fevere laws againſt theft, poflibly inore
fevere than moſt other nations, yea, and than the offence
in itſelf fimply conſidered deſerves; and there is little to be
faid in the defence of the ſeverity of the law herein, but the
multitude of the offenders and the deſign of the law rather to
terrify than to puniſh, ut metus in omnes, poena in paucos ":
but it is moſt apparent that the law is fruſtrated of its deſign
therein; for although more ſuffer at one ſeſſions at Newgate
for ſtealing and breaking up houſes, and picking of pockets,
and ſuch other larcenies
out of the protection of clergy, than
ſuffer in ſome other countries for all offences in three years,
yet the jails are never the emptier ; neceſſity, and poverty,
and want of a due proviſion for the employment of indigent
perſons, and the cuſtom of a looſe and idle life, daily lup-
ply with advantage the number of thoſe who are taken off
by the ſentence of the law : and doubtleſs as the multitude
of poor, and neceſſitous, and uneducated perſons, increaſe,
the multitude of malefactors will increafe, notwithſtanding
the examples of feverity.
So that upon the whole account, the prudence of pre-
That the punishment of a few may operate 13 a warning to all.
2 1 3
vention,
518
Preface.
vention, as it is more chriſtian, fo it will be more effectual
than the prudence of remedy: the prevention of poverty,
idleneſs, and a looſe and diforderly education, even of poor
children, would do more good to this kingdom than all the
gibbets, and cauterizations, and whipping-poſts, and jails
in this kingdom, and would render theſe kinds of diſciplines
lefs neceſſary and leſs frequent.
But hitherto I am in generals, which rarely proſper into
action of conviction : I therefore ſhall conſider principally
theſe things &
1. What proviſions there are already ſettled by the laws
in force for the relief and employment of the poor.
2. Wherein the defects are, in relation to thoſe laws or
proviſions, and the conſequences thereof.
3. What may be thought a convenient ſupply of thoſe
defects, and the conſequences of ſuch ſupplies.
A DIS-
[
519 ]
A DISCOURSE
TOUCHING
PROVISION FOR THE POOR.
C Η Α Ρ. Ι.
TOUCHING THE LAWS AT PRESENT IN FORCE FOR
THE RELIEF AND EMPLOYMENT OF THE POOR.
The laws relating to the poor are of two kinds, viz.
1. Such as concern the relief of the aged, and impotent, that
are not able by their labour to maintain themſelves.
2. Such as concern the employment and fetting of work of
ſuch as are able. And this latter, as ſhall be thewn, is the
more comprehenſive and beneficial charity, although both
are neceſſary and become us, both as men and as chriſtians;
much more touching the former of theſe, viz. the relief of
the impotent poor, the laws of England have provided a
double remedy. Firſt, by giving great encouragement to
voluntary undertakings of good and liberal minds in this kind,
2. by compulſory means upon all.
Again as touching the former of theſe, the ſtatute of
39
Eliz. cap. 5. has given a great encouragement to ſuch as
fhallerect hoſpitals, houſes of correction, and maiſons de dieu.
And the ſtatutes of 39. Eliz. cap. 6. and 43. Eliz. cap.
4. have taken ſpecial care for the due employment of gifts to
charitable uſes. And certainly fuch voluntary allignations
argue an excellent aud charitable mind in thoſe that ſhall
fo voluntarily give; and the ſtatutes have given a fair en-
couragement to the charities of men in this kind. But this
proviſion doth but little in order to relief: for, 1. for the
moſt part ſuch hoſpitals extend but to a few aged perſons
limited to fome particular town, unleſs it be in the large
hoſpitals in London, where there is ſome proviſion more
extenſive in reſpect both of nuinber and age, as St. Thomas's
hoſpital, Chriſt Church hoſpital, and ſome others. 2. But
beſides this thoſe are but voluntary and not compulſory; al-
though there may be ſome that may be charitably minded,
yet for the moſt part men are backward in works of charity;
2 L 4
felf.
520
A Discourse touching
1
ſelf-love, covetouſneſs, diſtruſt of the truth and providence
of God, keep moſt from overflowing charity of building or
endowing hoſpitals.
2. Therefore there was a compulſory laid upon men for
the relief of the poor within their reſpective pariſhes, viz.
the ſtatute of 43. Eliz. cap. 2. being the firſt compulſory
law that I remember of that kind : and indeed it now be-
came neceffary to be done by a compulſory means which
before that time was left more arbitrary, becauſe the king -
dom became then much more populous than in former times,
and with it the poor alſo greatly increaſed, and beſides many
of thoſe methods of their voluntary relief was then much
abated; which ſtatute enables the church wardens and
overſeers, &c. to do theſe things :
1. To take order for ſetting to work the children of thoſe
wboſe parents are not able to maintain their children.
2. To take order to ſet thoſe to work as, having no means
to maintain themſelves, uſe no ordinary trade. But pro-
vides not fufficient compulſories to make them work.
3. To raiſe weekly by taxation a convenient ſtock of flax,
hemp, &c. to ſet the poor on work: but no means at firſt,
before the return of the manufacture, to pay them wages in
expreſs words, but is fupplied by the latter general clauſe-
* And to do and execute all other things, as well for the diſ-
poſing of the ſaid ſtock, or otherwiſe concerning the premiſes
as to them thall ſeem convenient.'
4. To raiſe competent ſums of money for the impotent
poor not able to work.
5. Alſo for the putting of poor children apprentices, but no
coinpulſory for any to receive them.
Among all theſe proviſions, the 4th concerns the relief of
the poor by taxation, and contributes to fuch as are impo-
tent, the four other particulars concern their employment,
and of ſuch as are able to work, which is the far greater
number. And although the relief of the impotent poor
feeins to be a charity of more immeditate exigence, yet the
employment of the poor is a charity of greater extent, and
of very great and important conſequence to the public
wealth and peace of the kingdom, as alſo to the benefit and
advantage of the poor.
I therefore come to that fecond buſineſs relating to the
poor, viz. the ſetting the poor 'on work.
The law's that concern that buſineſs of the employment
of the poor are of two kinds; viz. that which contains a
compulſory means of providing work for the poor, which is
the
1
Provision for the Poor.
521
7
the ſtatute of 43. Eliz. And ſecondly, thoſe laws which are
in ſome kind compulſory to force perſons to work; and theſe
are of two kinds, viz. -
1. Thoſe that concern children and the-binding of them
apprentices, viz. the clauſe of the ſtatute 43. Eliz. cap. 4.
before mentioned, and the ſtatute 7 Jac. cap. 1. which
makes fair proviſion for the raifing of money to bind them,
and directs the manner of its employment. But as before
is obſerved, hath not any ſufficient compulſory for perſon
to take them, and perchanc, it might be fit to have ſome
fuch qualifications in that compulſory which might not leave
it too arbitrary in the juſtices of the peace to compel whom
they pleaſe to take whom they pleaſe : but this is not the bır-
fineſs I drive at, perchance the general proviſion which I
deſign may make this at leaſt not ſo frequently neceſſary.
2. In reference to rogues, vagabonds and idle and dif-
orderly perſons, the ſtatute 7 Jac. cap. 4. gives power,' 1.
to the juſtices of the peace to ſend them to the houſe of
correction, which they are thereby required to cauſe to be
erected. 2. Power to the maſter of ſuch houſe of correction
to keep them to work.
But even in this particular there are defects. I, It is not
general for all perfons, but at moſt idle and diſorderly perſons.
2. That deſcription is very uncertain in reference to ſuch
perſons, and leaves the juſtices either too great or too little
power. 3. For want of a convenient ſtock to be raiſed for
ſuch houſes of correction, and advantageous ways for ſuch
work, it either leaves ſuch as are ſent without an employment,
or renders their employment ungrateful in reſpect of the
{mallneſs of the wages, and rather makes people hate em-
ployment as a hell then to entertain it as a means of com-
fortable ſupport; which though it may be well enough as
a puniſhment for diſorderly perſons that refuſe to work, yet
it is not applicable to thoſe that are only idle, it may be
becauſe they have no work: 4. It is a difficult thing to
determine who ſhall be ſaid an idle perfon; it is a reaſonable
anſwer to that, they are idle for want of ſuch work as they
are able to do, or for want of fuch wages as might give them
a reaſonable ſupport; for there is no power given, nor is it
reaſonable it ſhould, to compel perſons, to ſet them on work,
or to ſet them on work at convenient wages: 5. And laſtly,
it is not univerſal; many perſons are not within that law
which would work if they might: or if they might at reaſon-
able rates, whereby they might live. There is need, there-
fore, of ſome ſuch proviſion that might be as ample as the
occaſion
522
A Discourse touching
occaſion, and without which indeed all the laws already
made are either weak and ineffe&tual to their ends, and the
generality of the poor left deſtitute of a convenient ſupport
and proviſion.
"
1
CH A P. II.
TOUCHING THE POWER BY THE LAW SETTLED FOR
THE GENERAL PROVISION FOR THE POOR, AND
THEIR DEFECTS.
poor, the
-UPON the confideration of the ſtatutes for the
only ſtatute that provides univerfally is that of 43 Eliz.
which generally makes two proviſions.
1. For the impotent poor that are not able to work : and
it is true is a good and effectual proviſion for ſuch, if duly
executed. But, as I ſaid before, the plaiſter is not fo large
as the fore, there are many poor that are able to work if
they had it, and had it at reaſonable wages, whereby they
might ſupport themſelves and their families, which often-
times are inany. Theſe are not within the proviſion of the
law, and if they come for exhibitions, they are denied, or at
Jeaſt have but very ſmall, and ſuch as cannot ſupport them
and their families. And indeed if they ſhould have ſufficient
exhibition for the ſupport of them and their families, the
pariſhes where they live were not able to ſupply them in a
proportion anſwerable to their neceffities, or anſwerable to
that ſupply which a full employment would afford them ;
for inſtance, a poor man and his wife, though able to work,
may have four children, two of them poffibly able to work,
two not able : the father and the mother are not able to
maintain themſelves and their family in meat, drink,
clothing and houſe rent under ten ſhillings per week, and
fo much they might probable get if employed; this amounts
to 261. per annum; if there were forty fuch' families in a
great pariſh, and they lived upon this exhibition collected
by rates, it would ariſe to above 8oolper annum, which in
many pariſhes exceeds the yearly value of their lands or rents,
yet when theſe perſons are kept on work thus much muit be
gotten by them, and without a fupply equivalent to this
they muſt live by begging, or ſtealing, or ſtarve. Therefore
the fecond proviſion is,
2. For thofe poor that are able to work, and in reference
1
1
to
Provision for the Poor.
523
to them it gives power to raiſe ſtocks by rating the pariſh-
ioners, and ſetting the poor on work.
The defects of this proviſion are,
1. In the execution of the law already made ; for let any
man look over moſt of the populous pariſhes in England,
indeed there are rates made for the relief of the impotent
poor, and it may be the ſame relief is alſo given in a narrow
meafure unto ſome others, that have great families, and upon
this they live miſerably, and at beſt from hand to mouth, and
if they cannot get work to make out their livelihood they
and their children ſet up a trade of begging at beſt. But it -
is rare to ſee any proviſion of a ſtock in any pariſh for the
relief of the poor. And the reaſons principally are theſe :
1. The generality of the people that are able are yet un-
willing to exceed the preſent neceſſary charge, they do chooſe
to live for an hour rather than project for the future; and
although poffibly trebling their exhibition in one grofs fum
at the beginning of the year, to raiſe a ſtock, might in all
probability render their future yearly payments for ſeven
years together leſs by half or two thirds, than what muſt
be without it, yet they had rather continue on their yearly
payments, year after year, though it exhauſt them in time,
and make the poor nothing the better at the year's end.
2. Becauſe thoſe places, where there are moſt poor, confiſt for
the moſt part of tradeſmen, whoſe eſtates lie principally in
their ſtocks, which they will not endure to be ſearched into
to make then contributory to raiſe any conſiderable ſtock for
the poor, nor indeed ſo much as to the ordinary contributions:
but they lay all the rates to the poor upon the rents of
lands and houſes, which alone without the help of the ſtocks
are not able to raiſe a ſtock for the poor, although it is very
plain that ſtocks are as well by law rateable as lands, both
to the relief, and raiſing a ſtock for the poor. 3. Becauſe
the churchwardens and overſeers, to whom this power is
given, are inhabitants of the fame pariſh, and are either
unwilling to charge themſelves or diſpleafe their neighbours
in charging more than they needs muſt towards the poor :
and although it were to be wiſhed and hoped, that the
juſtices of peace would be forwardly to enforce them if they
might, though it may concern them alſo in point of preſent
profit, yet if they would do any thing herein, they are not
empowered to compel the churchwardens and overſeers to
do įt, who moſt certainly will never go about it to burthen,
as they think, themſelves, and diſpleaſe their neighbours,
unleſs
524
A Discourse touching
I
unleſs ſome compulſory power were not only lodged by law,
but alſo executed in ſome that may have a power over them
to enforce it, or to do it if they do it not, and to do it ef-
fectually, if they do it either partially or too fparingly:
4. Becauſe people do not conſider the inconvenience that will
in time grow to themſelves by this neglect, and the benefit
that would in a little time accrue to them by putting it in
practice if they would have but a little patience, as ſhall be
flewn hereafter.
2. The ſecond defect is in the law itſelf; which are theſe.
1. No power in the juſtices of the peace, or ſome ſuper-
intendent power to compel the railing of a ſtock where the
churchwardens and overſeers neglect it.
2. The act chargeth every pariſh apart where it may be
they are able to do little towards it, neither would it be fo
effectual as if three, four, five or more contiguous pariſhes
did contribute towards the raiſing of a ſtock proportionable
to their poor reſpectively.
3. There is no power for hiring or erecting a common
houſe, or place for their common work-houſe, which may
be in ſome refpects, and upon fome occafions, uſeful and
neceffary, as ſhall be ſhewn.
CHAP. III.
THE REMEDY PROPOUNDED.
I.
...
That the juſtices of the peace at the quarter-feffions
do ſet out and diſtribute the pariſhes in their ſeveral coun..
ties into ſeveral divifions, in each of which there may be a
work-houſe for the common uſe of the reſpective diviſions,
wherein they are reſpectively placed, viz. one, two, three,
four, five or fix pariſhes to a work-houſe, according to the
greatneſs or ſmallneſs, and accommodation of the ſeveral
pariſhes.
2. That at that ſeſſions the church wardens and over-
ſeers of the poor of the reſpective pariſhes, bring in their
ſeveral rates for the relief of their reſpective poor upon oath,
And that the ſaid juftices do aſſeſs three, four or five yearly
pays to be levied and collected at one or two intire fums
within the time prefixed by them for the raiſing of a ſtock to
fet the poor within thoſe precincts on work, and to build or
procure
i
1
525
1
Provision for the Poor.
:
procure a convenient work-houſe for employing the poor, if
need be, in it, and for lodging materials, and for inſtructing
children in the trade or work.
3. That there be yearly choſen by the faid juſtices a maſter
for each work-houſe, with a convenient ſalary out of the
faid ſtock or the proceed thereof, to continue for 3 years,
and two overſeers to ſee the iſſuing and return of the ſaid
ſtock, and to take the accounts quarterly or monthly of the
mafter, as they ſhall think fit.
4. That the ſtock be delivered to the overſeers, and by
them iſſued to the maſter, as there ſhall be occaſion, and that
they alſo from time to time receive the proceed of the ſaid
ſtock and the acompts for the fame.
5. That at the end of every year the maſter and overſeers
give up their accounts to the two next juſtices of the peace
at times by thein prefixed, and publicly notified to the
inhabitants of each precinct, to the end that they may take
any exceptions to ſuch accounts, if there be cauſe.
6. That the maſter and overſeers of every reſpective work-
houſe ſtand and be incorporate by the name of maſter and
overſeers of their reſpective precincts, and capable to take,
in ſucceſſion, by will or otherwiſe, lands, goods, or money,
or other legacies or gifts for the benefit of the poor, within
their reſpective precincts.
7. That they alſo be accountable, as well to their reſpe&tive
fucceffors, and alſo to the juſtices of the peace at their
quarter-feffions, for the benefit and proceed and employment
of ſuch gifts and bequeſts.
8. That they be diſabled to grant any lands to them given
or bequeathed for any longer term that one year, and at an
improved rent.
9. That if any perſon that is able to work, and not able
to maintain' himſelf, ſhall refuſe to do ſo, he may be forced
thereunto by warrant of two juftices of peace by impriſon-
ment, and moderate correction in fuch work-houſe.
10. If any perſon employed by the maſter ſhall embezzle
or wilfully prejudice, or ſpoil his work, he ſhall upon com-
plaint and proof thereof by the party grieved to any juſtice
of peace, and by warrant from him, receive imprifonment or
moderate correction by warrant of ſuch juſtice.
Theſe be the heads of that proviſion I could wiſh for the
ſetting the poor on work, which is but an eſſay, and may re-
ceive alterations or additions upon confideration.
The benefits, that would come by this method, would be
very
1
1
526
A Discourse touching
occur to, ine.
1.
.
very many and great : I ſhall fet down fome of them that
By incorporating of theſe work-houſes, which are the
beſt kind of hoſpitals, charitable-minded perſons would have
as it were a pillar whereunto to faſten their charity, which
would prevent many difficulties in the faithful adminiſtration
thereof, and would invite benefactors.
2. Whereas hoſpitals provide for lome few poor impotent
people, this would prevent poverty, and in a little tract of
time bring up hundreds to be able to gain their livelihoods.
3. Whereas in that ſtate that things are, our populouſ-
nefs, which is the greateſt bleſſing a kingdom can have,
becomes the burden of the kingdom, by breeding up whole
races and families, and fucceſlive generations, in a mere
trade of idleneſs, thieving, begging, and a barbarous kind
of life, which muſt in time prodigiouſly increaſe and over-
grow the whole face of the kingdom, and eat out the heart
of it: this courſe within one ſeven years alters the whole ftate
of this diſorder, and brings people and their children after
them into a regular, -orderly, and induſtrious courſe of life,
which will be as natural to them as now idleneſs, and beg.
ging, and thieving is.
For no perſon will have need to beg or ſteal, becauſe he
may gain his living better by working.
And no man will be fo vain, and indeed hurtful to the
public as to give to ſuch as beg, and thereby to encâurage
them, when he is fure they may gain their living by work
ing. And all the laws againſt vagrants, beggars and wans
derers, will be then effečtually. put in execution, when we
ay be ſure they may be employed if they will : but till that
the interdicting and puniſhing of the beggars and givers,
feems to me a moft'unreaſonable piece of imprudence as
well as uncharitableneſs.
4. By this means the wealth of the nation wil} be increafedin
manufactures advanced, and every body put into a capacity
of eating his own bread; for upon what imaginable accoun
can we think, that we ſhould not be as able to improve our
populoufnefs to our wealth, as well as Holland, and Flanders,
and Barbadoes, if we had but their induſtry and orderly:
management; if it be faid, their difpofition is more induſ-
trious than ours; it is true, in that condition that matters
are ordered; but, if we had the ſame induſtrious education,
we ſhould have the ſame induſtrious difpofition: let a mans
one that hạth been bred up in the trade of begging, he will
never
Provision for the Poòr.
527
!
never, unleſs compelled, fall to induſtry; and on the other
fidė, it is a wonderful neceffity indeed that ſhall bring one
bred
up in civility and induſtry, to beg : as is eaſily ab-
fervable in many poor places and families.
And were there no other benefit to the kingdom in general,
nor to the particular places where ſuch work-houſes ſhall be
ſettled but this, although the ſtock were wholly loſt in four
years, it would be an abundant recompence, by the accuſ-
toming the poor fort to a civil and induſtrious courſe of life,
whereby they would ſoon become not only not burdenſome,
but profitable to the kingdom and places where they live.
5. by this means there would ſoon be an improvement of
the ſeveral manufactures of the kingdom, both for the ne-
ceffary conſumption of the kingdom, and for exportation,
whereby our trade outward would exceed our trade inward,
which outward trade, as it is the baſis and foundation of
all our trade inward, and the exceſs and over-balance of our
trade outward to our trade inward is the only means not
only to keep our money at home, but to gain an increaſe
of money, and ſo advanceth the true intrinſic wealth
of the kingdom ; for as of our hand, if our trade outward
exceed our trade inward, the exceſs muft of neceffity be re-
turned in money or bullion; fo if our trade inward exceed
our trade outward, the exceſs muſt be made good from
hence in money, which muſt needs inſenſibly impoverith
the kingdom; and experience makes us know it to be true,
Now the advance of our manufactures would be by this
means plainly evident; for, woollen manufactures of cloth,
the ſtaple commodity of this kingdom, would be more, and
theſe other woollen manufactures, as kerſies, ferges, baize,
which though now confined to ſeveral parts of the kingdom,
as Devonſhire, Norfolk, Colcheſter, would be by this means
diffuſed over the whole kingdom, and thoſe places which
have little of woollen manufacture, as. Lincolnſhire, Nor-
thamptonſhire, and other counties, would foon fall into it;
ſo likewiſe knitting of ſtockings, caps, waiſtcoats, and the
like. 2. Our linen manufactures, as linen cloth, laces
of all forts, nets, fails, &c. would become native, and fup-
ply the want of the kingdom, and prevent the neceflity of
importation of linen cloth from Holland and France, of
laces from Flanders : and as this trade is in ſome degree
uſed in Lancaſhire, Leiceſterſhire, and ſome other places,
ſo it would be communicated to other places of the kingdom :
and it is very conſiderable the numbers of poor that would
be by this mcaņs employed in dreſſing of hemp and flax,
ſpinning,
!
A
528
A Discourse touching
spinning, weaving, whitening, and the like. And if any
fhall fay, we want the materials, and we want thoſe that
ſhould inſtruct the poor in the ordering of them, the anſwer
is at hand; if once the manufacture were begun to be put
into a method by this way, all men would quickly fow hemp
and flax in ſome parcels of their tillage, and poſſibly ſome
lands that were not ſo fit for other tillage, would be ema
ployed in this : two acres of hemp and Max in every pariſh
would employ multitudes, which now people neglect to fow
becauſe they have no way to vent or employ it. And for
inſtructors, when once the alarum is abroad of ſuch a de-
fign, it will draw over workmen from other foreign parts ;
and by this means we gained, or at leaſt recovered the ſkill
of making woollen cloth from other parts, as appears by
undeniable evidence. And if it ſhall be ſaid that this will
defraud and ſtraiten us of labourers in our woollen manu-
factures, there can be no fear of that; for we have poor
enough to be employed in both: and it is moſt certain, that the
populouſneſs of the kingdom ſtill increaſeth, notwith ftanding
its great exhauſtings by wars and plagues, and foreign plan-
tations, and conſequently the poor will be proportionably
increaſed, fo that we may reaſonably ſuppoſe, that in one
ſeven years, by the bleſſing of God, the very proceeds that
will be able and fit to work, of poor families, will be more
than double to what they are now, which will continually
increaſe in a kind of geometrical progreſſion, whereby there
will be enough for double the employment that is now for
them.
6. By the means of theſe work-houſes, there will be an
opportunity for one or two perſons, ſkilled in any manu-
facture, to inſtruct twenty in the trades, by common reſort,
meeting, and daily reſidence of children and young people
there; and there may be opportunity to teach children to
read, without any interruption in the employments of them
that are able to teach them, or of them that are able to
work.
7. By this means the yearly contributions for the neceſſary
relief of poor, that are able to work, and their families,
and thoſe kind of contributions which in time will be im-
poffible to ſupport the poor, will be changed into a ſupply
every way more eaſy for them that are to pay, though at firſt
it may require a more liberal aſſiſtance for the raiſing of the
ſtocks, and every way more beneficial and advantageous for the
poor; firſt, becauſe they will hereby be educated and inured
to
Provision for the Poor.
529
to a way of civility and induſtry. 2. They will gain a trade,
walch will go along with them as the conſtant ſupport of
their lives. 3. The wages that they will gain will be a
greater and better ſupport than they can have by any con-
tributions that are able to be aſſeſſed for them, for they may
be able to gain, two, three, four, five, and fix ſhillings a
weck, for every perſon able to work, which is five times
more than their weekly or yearly contributions do or can
amount 'unto, without exhauſting more than the revenues
of the pariſhes wherein theſe poor are in many places : and
this ſhall be demonſtrated to the eye of any that will conſider
this inſtance, which I have exactly tried and examined,
and found to be true.
The ordinary proceſs and time, and charge, of making a
common courſe medly cloth of our Glouceſterſhire wool, at
this day is :
1. In every ſuch cloth of about 32 yards long there is
ninety pounds of wool, which will coſt at this day, at 12d.
per pound, 41. 1os. viz. ordinary in a gray cloth,
1. s. d.
541b. of abb; 341b, of warp ; 21h, of mixture
4 100
2. The charge of making this cloth:
i Parting and picking
ö 30
2.Colouring
O 16 0
3
3 Breaking and ſpinning the abb, at twopence } 1 7 9
farthing per lb.
4 Breaking and ſpinning the warp at 5d. per lb.
O 186
5 Cards and oil
6 Weaving, ſpooling and warping
1 3
7 Milling and burling
8 Shearing and dreſſing
O 18 o
9 Drawing
I 6
10 Carriage and factorage
70
A
I
I.
o
~ 12 0
Dy
1.
O
So the whole charge comes to
1
II 15 0
Out of which, deducting the materials of wool and cards,
and oil, viz. 51. 1os. there remain entirely for the expence of
work, 61. 5s.
It is true, at this day this cloth yields not above 121. to
be fold, which is only 5s, profit; but when trade is quicker
it may yield 131. or more.
3. The people that are employed in bringing about this
cloth to be ready, are fourteen, viz. three weavers and
ſpoolers, two breakers, fix ſpinners, one fuller and burler,
VOL. I.
? M
one
530
z
A Discourse touching.
1
1
year after.
one fhear-man, one parter and picker: the weavers fupply
the office of spooler and warper,
4. Theſe will bring about the firſt cloth in about two
months ſpace : but being continued in a conſtant track, the
cloth will be brought about in three weeks time; for all
the other workmen are at work, and fit the cloth for the
weaver in that ſpace that he is weaving the firſt cloth,
5. Conſequently this one loom thụs employed all the
year round, allowing two months to the firſt cloth, and
three weeks to every other, will make fourteen returns, the
firſt year, of cloth ready for ſale, and fixteen returns every
6. Conſequently, that which this yields for bare wages to,
theſe 14 poorworkmen for the firſt year is eighty-feven pounds
ten ſhillings, and for the following years is ninety-ſeven
pounds: and by this computation it is eaſy to ſee what every
workman can gain a week, being fully employed.
7. About one hundred pounds ſtock will for ever keep
this loom's work going, and maintain theſe fourteen work-
men; and conſequently a ſtock of four hundred pounds will
keep on foot four looms work, and keep on work fifty-fix
perſons, and be able to abide the ordinary delays of ſale inci,
dent to the markets.
8. But if it could be ſuppoſed that the cloth could be fold
as ſoon as made, which is not I confefs reaſonably to be ex-
pected, then a ſtock of four-and-twenty pounds would, by its
continual return, provide materials, and pay the workmen
for one loom's work in perpetuity. But becauſe the returns
by ſale cannot be as ſpeedy as the work is done, the ſtock
muſt be near 100l, to abide the delay of a month, two, three,
four, or more, in point of ſale, and likewiſe to buy wool fea-
fonably for work. And by this it appears that although one
hundred pounds ftock by its 16 returns yields but an incon-
fiderable advantage to the maſter, at five ſhillings per cloth,
viz. but four pounds in the year, yet it yields a confiderable
adv age to the poor workers, viz. near one hundred pounds
per annum; and conſequently a ſtock of four hundred pounds
yields near four hundred pounds per annum. And con-
ſequently theſe fifty-ſix poor people that are kept on work
with this ſtock of four hundred pounds could not live better,
if the pariſh were, at the yearly penſion of four hundred
pounds per annum, to relieve them, nor indeed ſo well,
conſidering they are by this means kept in a way of em-
ployment and honeſt induſtry; and yet without ſo.ne fup-
ply either by wages or contribution, thoſe fifty-ſix poor
people,
Provision for the Poor..
531
!
people, being deſtitute of wages or contributions to this value
or near it, muſt live by ſtealing or begging, or ſtarve.
And let it be alſo conſidered that this ſtock, thus raiſed
and ſet going, mainiains itſelf by a perpetual ,circulation
and viciffitude; without any confiderable help by any further
ſupply, and yet perpetually countervails a contribution of
near four hundred pounds per ann. for the relief of theſe
fifty-fix poor perfons.
By all which it will appear, that the advantage of a ſtock
employed, and once ſet on foot, doth countervail a great
contribution; and indeed greater than can be raiſed and
yearly continued by moſt places; and will at laſt, in time,
render thoſe yearly conſtant contributions lower and leſs
needful.
9. But yet farther, by this means there will be a reaſon-
able gauge ſet to wages of workmen : It is not unknown
how that fome covetous maſters, in hard times, if they are
well ſtocked and of abilities, will ſet on work many poor;
but they muſt take fuch"wages as they are not able to live
upon, and that alſo many times paid in corn, wool, cheeſe,
and other things, at rates high enough : and indeed, if they
will work upon theſe terms they may, but if not, they turn
them off, or not employ them, and thereupon the poor work-
men, not being able to live without work, and having no
place to reſort for any, are under a neceſſity of working to
them at inconfiderable rates. And ſuch maſters make
greater advantage, by this means, when trade is low than
when it is open : but by this means there would be a refuge
for the poor to be employed at reaſonable wages; and the
reaſon is evident, becauſe this being but an expedient,
not ſo much for gain to the maſter, as for employment for
the poor, as long as the ſtock makes but good itſelf, or be
managed without conſiderable loſs, it attains its end, and
therefore may give competent wages. But, on the other
hand, the trading maſter looks for his profit; and if his ſtock
turns not to him for gain, he gives over, or reduceth the
workman to inconſiderable wages, that his own gain may
be the greater. And although it may be there be ſome
honeft-minded and charitable maſters that will be content
for fome time to employ their ſtock, though without gain,
yet they are but rare to be found, and ſuch as commonly
hold not out long unleſs they find profit, though, perchance,
they ſuffer no lofs.
Theſe be fome of thofe confiderations that ſhew the ufe-
fulneſs of this expedient: I ſhall now conſider ſome of the
objections that may be made againſt it.
1. Obj.
2 M 2
.
1
---
532
1
A Discourse touching
/
1 Obj. It is a great buſineſs to raiſe for the purpoſe four
years pay, at once to make up a ſtock; and yearly contribu.
tions are more eaſy.
I anſwer, it is true; and yet the advantage, even to the
objectors themſelves, is even to their fenſe apparently great :
if a man had a rent of inheritance iſſuing out of his land,
he would not think much of giving fixteen years purchaſe
to buy it in: and the charge that goes out for the poor, as
it is as much and as certain a charge as a rent, ſo it is evi,
dent to us that it hath increaſed yearly; and of neceflity, the
longer things are continued in this careleſs way, it muſt in-
creaſe in an exceſſive proportion : and to give four years
purchaſe to abate it, or if it were but to keep it ať a ſtay,
were good huſbandry. 2. Beſides this, let a man confider
what other lofies do accrue, by the want of a due proviſion
of work, and an induſtrious education for the poor, in
thieving and ſtealing, and ſending ſuch malefactors to gaols
at the charges of the pariſh, in profecuting them at aflizes
and feflions, in cutting and deſtroying of woods, pulling of
hedges, and treſpaſſes to corn and graſs thereby, in alıns-
giving at the door; theſe would bé, if not altogether
prevented, yet, in a great meaſure they would, when
that moſt unchriſtian and indeed inhuman way of living,
among moſt ordinary indigent people, is remedied by conve-
nient employment and wages.
2 Obj. But there are a furt of idle people that will rather
beg than work, though they may be employed; and fo
that trade of begging and idleneſs would be ſtill continued.
I Anfwer, 1. That we do furmiſe a compulſory law to en.
force idle perſons to work; which would prevent it. 2. By
this means, the benefit of working would exceed the benefit
of begging, which would caufe perſons to leave it. 3. By
the educating of children in a way of induſtry, there would
be gradually a diſaccuſtomedneſs to that way, which would
in time quite remove it. But, 4. Whea men were once af-
ſured by a clear evidence, that the poor might have work
upon reaſonable terms, no man would give; the laws againſt
wanderers that were able to work, and againſt the relievers
of ſuch, would be cheerfully put in execution, which now
men, even upon the account of cominon charity, cannot
bring themſelves to.
3 Übj. But what conſiderable advantage would ſuch a
ſtock as four hundred pounds do, when perchance, in a time
of trading, four or five thonſand pounds employed by maſters
in a pariſh is but enough to ſet their pour on work, where iť
may
!
Provision for the Poor..
533
1
may be there are two or three hundred perſons that are thus
employed.
I anſwer, it would be a great help to the poor, in a time
of ſcarcity of work, although it ſhould lie ſtill in a time of
plenty of work. The ſupply of work, for a month, or two,
or three, in a year, when traders for advantage give over,
keeps induſtry on the wheels, and yields a conliderable fup-
ply. 2. In good times, when there is no need of it, it is
as capable of increaſe and improvement, being employed, as
private men's ſtocks are, which would enlarge it, or at leaſt
enable it to bear fome loſs in times of lowners of trade.
3.
If once ſuch a ſtock were going, it would not only increafe
by itſelf, but it would have continual acceſſion by charitable
gifts, which would do five times the good thus employed, than
employed as they are in doles and little yearly penfions, which
confume and come to nothing, but are ſwallowed up in the
preſent neceſſity of the poor, and leave but ſmall ſigns of ad-
vantage behind them: whereas the following of the method
now propounded will at leaſt leave the perſons to whom it
is applied, the advantage of an induſtrious education and
profeffion, which will abide by them.
4 Obj. But n.en that are concerned for their own benefit
in the profecution of their trade, as for inſtance, of clothing,
and conſequently more careful than perfons employed for
others, yet do. loſe by their trading, and many times im-
pair their ſtocks; and therefore this, that cannot be ex-
pected to be neither fo induſtriouſly norſucceſsfully managed,
may be in the ſame condition.
I anſwer, 1. In general, in this way there muſt needs
be one of theſe events :
I. Either there will be gain, and then it doth inprové
the ſtock, and lays up an advantage that may compenſate a
former loſs, and enable the bearing of a future lofs. And
I know no reaſon but that in this management, there may
be ſome times, at leaſt, of advantage, as well as in private
trading. The times are not always at a ſtand in trade, but
fometimes, and inoſt-ordinarily, there is ſome gains in it,
though not ſo much as at other times, and then the good
times make amnends for the bad.
2. Or elſe, though there be no gain, there will be no loſs,
but it ſtands at a itay; and if it doth ſo, this deſign attains
its end, which is the employment of the poor. Though it
yields not the inafter or trader any gain, yet it yields the
poor a fubfiftence, in their wages and work. It is true,
a private tradeſman looks to gain ſo much as may at leaſt
nyaintain himſelf and his family. And if he doth not, he
gives
!,
2
534
À Discourse touching
1
gives over his trading, as not anſwering his end; and it maj
be in fome caſes reaſonable to do ſo : but though there be
little or no gain, yet. the end is attained, becauſe the poor
are employed and paid, though the ſtock increaſe not.
3. Or elle there is lofs. To this I ſay, 1. If there be
lofs, yet it is but gradual, not altogether. Suppoſe it be
twenty, ihhty, or forty pounds in a year, in a ſtock of 400).
then by that account, this ſtock will not be wholly
exhaufted in five or fix years, and if it ſhould be fo, yet
the loſs to the pariſh would not be more than it would be
if its old courſe of contribution were at the height that it
would have been during the ſpending of that ſtock, which is
thereby, as-before is obſerved, in a great meaſure remedied.
2. Theſe decays may poſlibly be repaired by charitable gifts
and bequeſts. 3.-But if it were not, yet ſuch gradual de-
cays may be ſupplied by the pariſhes with the ſame eaſe
that their contribution would have been, all things confi-
dered; and, poſſibly, beitertimes of trade may happen, at leaſt
once in two or three years, which may repair the loſs, or at
leaſt keep the ſtock at its full gauge, with ſmall helps. 4. But
ſuppoſe the worſt,' and that in the compaſs of three or four
years the whole ſtock were wholly drawn dry ; I ſay confi-
dently, that the advantage the country would have by a
courſe of induſtrious education of the poor, continued but
one three or four years, will more than countervail the loſs
of a very conſiderable ſtock, in preventing that trade of idle-
nefs which grows up in poor families, which will daily in-
finitely increaſe, and will receive a very great check, and
poſhbly ſuch as will for ever prevent the return of ſuch a courſe
of life by the interruption of a track of three or four years of
employment, and will put thouſands in that track of time into
a courſe of trade and livelihood, which they will carry with
them all their lives after. 5. And befides all this, it is not
likely the trade will ſuffer a perpetual interruption, but even
while this ſtock is in this wane and declination, private men
will be trading, and then in this decay, and declination of
the ſtock (if it ſhould be unfupplied) there will be work at
private hands, and perſons inftructed and fitted and able 10
do it, which may prevent a totat interruption of an indufa
trious education, and may give fome intervals of relaxation
of the employment of the common ſtock, at leaſt in that ful-
neſs as formerly, till it be recruited by new ſupplies, 6. But
farther. The method of the propoſed employment, though
it be principally bottomed upon the trade of woollen cloth-
ing, jet-it will have other fupplies, as is propounded; as,
+
yet
making
Provision for the Poor.
595
1
inaking of kerſeys, baize, knitting of ſtockings, dreſſing
and ordering of liemp and fax, and ſpinning and weaving
it. And though there were no other but the woollen
manufacture, yet if it ſhould pleaſe our fuperiors to intera
dict the wearing of foreign manufactures, our own con-
ſumption at home, and the neceſſity that they have in foreign
parts of our woollen manufactures, would double the trade
of woollen manufactures.
5. Obj. The poor have work already, if they will work;
and the ſetting up ſuch a public trade will bui make work-
men the more independent, and decline the employment of
private traders, which will tend to the decay of trade.
I anſwer,' 1, It is true, when trading is quick, poſſibly
they inay have work enough; but iipon any chick in trade
they are oftentimes turned off, unleſs they will work ai ex-
trenie low wages, and ill paid. -2. When work is ſo pleo-
teous at private hands, there may be an intermiſſion or
relaxation of the employment of the common ſtock ; tſpie-
cially if they can have better wages at private hands; for it
will be enough for this to be ſupplemental of the defects of
work at others hands; and it fufficiently attains its end, if it
may be a refuge at the time of need for thoſe that would
work and cannot get it, and an expedient to force thoſe to
work that can and will not.
6 Obi: Poor that do their work well, and are' honeft
and induſtrious, cannot want work when any is to be had
in the country; and thoſe that are not employed are either
ſuch as will not work, or cannot tell how to work, or will
ſteal or purloin their work : theſe will undo the workhouſe.
I anfwer, 1. Sometimes there are, when the honetteft
workmen cannot get work, and this will be a referve for
them, 2. But as for others, here will be an expedient to
teach them to work that cannot, and to compel them to
work that can, and to puniſh them that are diſhoneſt in
jheir work. 3. And if there were no puniſhment, yet when
a workhouſe and ſtock is once ſettled, that would be fuf.
ficient to make them work : for when every man were once
ſure that they that would honeſtly work might have it, and
reaſonable wages, 'every wanderer and beggar would be ef-
teemned ſuch a perſon as will not work, or will be diſhoneſt
in it, and not fit to be relieved, but the laws to be ſeverely
put in execution againſt them.
7 Obj. But where ſhall we have men that will undertake
the employment, and be faithful and truſty in it?
I anſwer, 1. There be many poor and honeſt men, who,
for a ſmall ſalary and a room orstwo to work and lodge in
the workhouſe, would be fit enough to undertake the en-
ployment
536
A Discourse, &c.
of peace
playment of a 'maſter; and yet he would have no great truſt
upon himn, for the ſtock would be lodged in the hands of the
overſeers, and they to deliver it out, and take weekly or
monthly accounts; which overſeers may be ſubſtantial men,
and at no great trouble, and eligible either by the juſtices
or pariſhioners, yearly, or once in three years ;
and' their trouble would be no greater than the trouble of
overſeers of the poor, or church wardens, in any pariſh.
And thus I have haftily and curſorily gone through the
method, reaſons, and objections of this propoſal, which
I am ſure, if it can be brought to a due accompliſhment, is,
I. A work of great humanity, and ſuch as we owe to
thoſe of our own nature, as we are men, The wife God
did tell his ancient people, that the poor ſhould be always
among them; which was, 1. To exerciſe their liberality
and charity, in fupplying the wants of ſome by the abun-
dance of others. And 2. To exerciſe their diſcretion and
induſtry, to think of and ſet on foot fuch means as might
put them in a courſe of honeft employment, and encourage
them in it. They that are rich are ſtewards of their wealth,
and they that are wiſe are ſtewards of their wiſdom, unto
that great Maſter of the family of heaven and earth, ta
whom they muſt give an account of both; and one, I am
fure, of the beſt accounts they can give of bath, is to em,
ploy them in the reformation and relief of thoſe that want
both or either. 6 Am I my brother's keeper ?" was the an.
fwer of one of the worſt of men,
2. Awork that as well becomes a Chriſtian as any, Chriſ-
tianity recommending charity as one of the principal Chrif-
tian virtues. And indeed, the ill proviſion for the poor in
England, is one of the greateſt reproaches to us in relation
to our Chriftian profeſſion.
3. A work for a good Engliſhman. The want of a due
proviſion for education and relief of the poor, in a way of
induſtry, is that which fills the gaols with malefactors, and
fills the kingdom with idle and unprofitable perſons, that
conſume the ſtock of the kingdom without improving it, and
that will daily increafe, even to a defolation, in time and
this error in the firſt concoction is never remediable but by
gibbets and whipping. But there muſt be a found, prudent,
and reſolved method for an induſțrious education of the poor,
and that will give better remedy againſt theſe corruptions
than the after-gain of penalties can,
.
FINIS.
Printed by R. Wilks, 89, Chancery-Lane,
1
>
UNIV.OF MON
SEP 13 1916
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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SI QUAERIS.PENINSULAMAMOENAME
1837
É. PLURIBUS-UNUM
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CIRCUMSPICES
SCIENTIA
ARTES
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