Chapter VIII: Front Matter (8)

Edmund Waller, was borne to a very fayre estate, by the parsimony or frugality of a wise father and mother, and he thought it so commendable an advantage, that he resolved to improove it with his utmost care, upon which in his nature he was to much intent; and in order to that he was so much reserved and retyred, that he was scarce ever hearde of, till by his addresse and dexterity, he had gotten a very rich wife in the Citty, against all the recommendation, and countenance, and authority of the Courte, which was throughly ingaged on the behalfe of M'r Crofts, and which used to be succesfull in that age, against any opposition. He had the good fortune to have an allyance and frendshipp with D'r Morly, who had assisted and instructed him in the readinge many good bookes, to which his naturall parts and promptitude inclined him, especially the poetts, and at the age when other men used to give over writinge verses (for he was neere thirty yeeres of age when he first ingaged himselfe in that exercize, at least that he was knowen to do soe) he surpryzed the towne with two or three pieces of that kinde, as if a tenth muse had bene newly borne, to cherish droopinge poetry: the Doctor at that tyme brought him into that company which was most celebrated for good conversation, wher he was receaved and esteemed with greate applause and respecte. He was a very pleasant discourcer in earnest and in jest, and therfore very gratefull to all kinde of company, wher he was not the lesse esteemed, for beinge very rich. He had bene even nurced in Parliaments, wher he sate when he was very young,[1] and so when they were resumed agayne (after a longe intermission,[2]) he appeared in those assemblyes with greate advantage, havinge a gracefull way of speakinge, and by thinkinge much upon severall arguments (which his temper and complexion that had much of melancholique inclined him to) he seemed often to speake upon the suddayne, when the occasyon had only administred the opportunity of sayinge what he had throughly considered, which gave a greate lustre to all he sayde; which yett was rather of delight, then wayte. Ther needes no more be sayd to extoll the excellence and power of his witt, and pleasantnesse of his conversation, then that it was of magnitude enough to cover a world of very greate faultes, that is so cover them, that they were not taken notice of to his reproch, a narrownesse in his nature to the louest degree, an abjectnesse and want of courage to supporte him in any virtuous undertakinge, an insinuation and servile flattery to the height the vaynest and most imperious nature could be contented with: that it præserved and woone his life from those who were most resolved to take it, and in an occasyon in which he ought to have bene ambitious to have lost it, and then præserved him agayne from the reproch and contempt that was dew to him for so præservinge it, and for vindicatinge it at such a pryce: that it had power to reconcile him to those whome he had most offended and provoked, and continued to his age with that rare felicity, that his company was acceptable, wher his spirit was odious, and he was at least pittyed, wher he was most detested.

[Footnote 1: 'in his infancy' struck out in MS. before 'very young'.]

[Footnote 2: 'and interdiction' struck out in MS. after 'intermission'.]

54.

THOMAS HOBBES.

_Born 1588. Died 1679._

By CLARENDON.

(On Hobbes's _Leviathan_.)

I have proposed to my self, to make some Animadversions upon such particulars, as may in my judgment produce much mischief in the World, in a Book of great Name, and which is entertain'd and celebrated (at least enough) in the World; a Book which contains in it good learning of all kinds, politely extracted, and very wittily and cunningly disgested, in a very commendable method, and in a vigorous and pleasant Style: which hath prevailed over too many, to swallow many new tenets as maximes without chewing; which manner of diet for the indigestion M'r _Hobbes_ himself doth much dislike. The thorough novelty (to which the present age, if ever any, is too much inclin'd) of the work receives great credit and authority from the known Name of the Author, a Man of excellent parts, of great wit, some reading, and somewhat more thinking; One who ha's spent many years in forreign parts and observation, understands the Learned as well as modern Languages, hath long had the reputation of a great Philosopher and Mathematician, and in his age hath had conversation with very many worthy and extraordinary Men, to which, it may be, if he had bin more indulgent in the more vigorous part of his life, it might have had a greater influence upon the temper of his mind, whereas age seldom submits to those questions, enquiries, and contradictions, which the Laws and liberty of conversation require: and it hath bin alwaies a lamentation amongst M'r _Hobbes_ his Friends, that he spent too much time in thinking, and too little in exercising those thoughts in the company of other Men of the same, or of as good faculties; for want whereof his natural constitution, with age, contracted such a morosity, that doubting and contradicting Men were never grateful to him: In a word, M'r _Hobbes_ is one of the most antient acquaintance I have in the World, and of whom I have alwaies had a great esteem, as a Man who besides his eminent parts of Learning and knowledg, hath bin alwaies looked upon as a Man of Probity, and a life free from scandal; and it may be there are few Men now alive, who have bin longer known to him then I have bin in a fair and friendly conversation and sociableness.

55.

Notes by JOHN AUBREY.

I have heard his brother Edm and M'r Wayte his schoole fellow &c, say that when he was a Boy he was playsome enough: but withall he had even then a contemplative Melancholinesse. he would gett him into a corner, and learne his Lesson by heart presently. His haire was black, & his schoolefellows[1] were wont to call him Crowe.

[Footnote 1: 'his schoolefellows' written above 'the boyes'.]

* * * * *

The Lord Chancellour Bacon loved to converse with him. He assisted his Lo'p: in translating severall of his Essayes into Latin, one I well remember is[1] that, _of the Greatnes of Cities_. the rest I have forgott. His Lo'p: was a very Contemplative person, and was wont to contemplate in his delicious walkes at Gorambery, and dictate to M'r Thomas Bushell or some other of his Gentlemen, that attended him with inke & paper ready, to sett downe presently his thoughts. His Lo'p: would often say that he better liked M'r Hobbes's taking his Notions[2], then any of the other, because he understood what he wrote; which the others not understanding my Lord would many times have a hard taske to make sense of what they writt.

[Footnote 1: 'is' above 'was'.]

[Footnote 2: 'Notions' above 'thoughts'.]

It is to be remembred that about these times, M'r T.H. was much addicted to Musique, and practised on the Base-Violl.

* * * * *

... LEVIATHAN, the manner of writing of which Booke (he told me) was thus. He walked much and contemplated, and he had in the head of his staffe[1] a pen and inkehorne; carried alwayes a Note-booke in his pocket, and as soon as a though[t][2] darted, he presently entred it into his Booke, or otherwise[3] he might perhaps[4] have lost it. He had drawne the Designe of the Booke into Chapters &c; so he knew where about it would come in. Thus that Booke was made.

[Footnote 1: 'staffe' above 'Cane'.]

[Footnote 2: 'though' above 'notion'.]

[Footnote 3: 'otherwise' above 'els'.]

[Footnote 4: 'might perhaps' above 'should'.]

* * * * *

He was marvellous happy and ready in his replies; and Replies that without rancor, (except provoked). but now I speake of his readinesse in replies as to witt & drollery, he would say that, he did not care to give, neither was he adroit[1] at a present answer to a serious quaere; he had as lieve they should have expected a[n] extemporary solution[2] to an Arithmeticall probleme, for he turned and _winded_ & compounded in philosophy, politiques &c. as if he had been at Analyticall[3] worke. he alwayes avoided as much as he could, to conclude hastily.

[Footnote 1: 'adroit' above 'good'.]

[Footnote 2: 'extemporary' above 'present', 'solution' in place of 'answer'.]

[Footnote 3: 'Analyticall' above 'Mathematicall'.]

* * * * *

[Sidenote: His manner[1] of thinking]

He sayd that he sometimes would sett his thoughts upon researching and contemplating, always with this Rule[2], that he very much & deeply considered one thing at a time. Sc. a weeke, or sometimes a fortnight.

[Footnote 1: 'manner' above 'way'.]

[Footnote 2: 'Rule: Observation' above 'proviso'.]

* * * * *

[Sidenote: Head]

In his old age he was very bald[1], which claymed a veneration; yet within dore he used to study, and sitt bare-headed: and sayd he never tooke cold in his head but that the greatest trouble was to keepe-off the Flies from pitching on the baldnes: his Head was ... inches (I have the measure) in compasse, and of a mallet forme, approved by the Physiologers.

[Footnote 1: 'recalvus' above 'very bald'.]

[Sidenote: Eie]

He had a good Eie, and that of a hazell colour, which was full of life & spirit, even to his last: when he was earnest, in discourse, there shone (as it were) a bright live-coale within it. he had two kind of Lookes: when he laught, was witty, & in a merry humour, one could scarce see his Eies: by and by when he was serious and earnest[1], he open'd his eies round (i.) his eielids. he had midling eies, not very big, nor very little.

[Footnote 1: 'earnest' above 'positive'.]

[Sidenote: Stature]

He was six foote high and something better, and went indifferently erect; or, rather considering his great age, very erect.

[Sidenote: Sight Witt]

His Sight & Witt continued to his last. He had a curious sharp sight, as he had a sharpe Witt; which was also so sure and steady, (and contrary to that men call Brodwittednes,) that I have heard him oftentimes say, that in Multiplying & Dividing he never mistooke a figure[1]: and so, in other things. He thought much & with excellent Method, & Stedinesse, which made him seldome make a false step.

[Footnote 1: 'never ... figure' above 'was never out' ('out' corrected to 'mistooke').]

[Sidenote: Reading]

He had read much, if one considers his long life; but his Contemplation was much more then his Reading. He was wont to say that, if he _had read as much as other men, he should have knowne no more then[1] other men_.

[Footnote 1: 'knowne ... then' above 'continued still as ignorant as'.]

* * * * *

[Sidenote: Singing]

He had alwayes bookes of prick-song lyeing on his Table: e.g. of H. Lawes &c. Songs: which at night when he was a bed, & the dores made fast, & was sure no body heard him, he sang _aloud_, (not that he had a very good voice) but to cleare his pipes[1]: he did beleeve it did his Lunges good, & conduced much to prolong his life.

[Footnote 1: 'to cleare his pipes' above 'for his healths sake'.]

56.

THOMAS FULLER.

_Born 1608. Died 1661._

He was of Stature somewhat Tall, exceeding the meane, with a proportionable bigness to become it, but no way inclining to Corpulency: of an exact Straightnesse of the whole Body, and a perfect Symmetry in every part thereof. He was of a Sanguine constitution, which beautified his Face with a pleasant Ruddinesse, but of so Grave and serious an aspect, that it Awed and Discountenanced the smiling Attracts of that complexion. His Head Adorned with a comely Light-Coloured Haire, which was so, by Nature exactly Curled (an Ornament enough of it self in this Age to Denominate a handsome person, and wherefore all Skill and Art is used) but not suffered to overgrow to any length unseeming his modesty and Profession.

His Gate and Walking was very upright and graceful, becoming his well shapen Bulke: approaching something near to that we terme Majesticall; but that the Doctor was so well known to be void of any affectation or pride. Nay so Regardlesse was he of himselfe in his Garb and Rayment, in which no doubt his Vanity would have appeared, as well as in his stately pace: that it was with some trouble to himselfe, to be either Neat or Decent; it matter'd not for the outside, while he thought himself never too Curious and Nice in the Dresses of his mind.

Very Carelesse also he was to seeming inurbanity in the modes of Courtship and demeanour, deporting himself much according to the old _English_ Guise, which for its ease and simplicity suited very well with the Doctor, whose time was designed for more Elaborate businesse: and whose MOTTO might have been sincerity.

As inobservant he was of persons, unless businesse with them, or his concerns pointed them out and adverted him; seeing and discerning were two things: often in several places, hath he met with Gentlemen of his nearest and greatest Acquaintance, at a full rencounter and stop, whom he hath endeavoured to passe by, not knowing, that is to say, not minding of them, till rectifyed and recalled by their familiar compellations.

This will not (it may be presumed) and justly cannot be imputed unto any indisposednesse and unaptnesse of his Nature, which was so far from Rude and untractable, that it may be confidently averred, he was the most complacent person in the Nation, as his Converse and Writings, with such a freedome of Discourse and quick Jocundity of style, do sufficiently evince.

He was a perfect walking Library, and those that would finde delight in him must turn him; he was to be diverted from his present purpose with some urgency: and when once Unfixed and Unbent, his mind freed from the incumbency of his Study; no Man could be more agreeable to Civil and Serious mirth, which limits his most heightned Fancy never transgressed.

He had the happinesse of a very Honourable, and that very numerous acquaintance, so that he was noway undisciplined in the Arts of Civility; yet he continued _semper idem_, which constancy made him alwaies acceptable to them. At his Diet he was very sparing and temperate, but yet he allowed himself the repasts and refreshings of two Meals a day: but no lover of Danties, or the Inventions of Cookery: solid meats better fitting his strength of Constitution; but from drink very much abstemious, which questionlesse was the cause of that uninterrupted Health he enjoyed till this his First and Last sicknesse: of which Felicity as he himself was partly the cause of by his exactnesse in eating and drinking, so did he the more dread the sudden infliction of any Disease, or other violence of Nature, fearing this his care might amount to a presumption, in the Eyes of the great Disposer of all things, and so it pleased GOD it should happen.

But his great abstinence of all was from Sleep, and strange it was that one of such a Fleshly and sanguine composition, could overwatch so many heavy propense inclinations to Rest. For this in some sort he was beholden to his care in Diet aforesaid, (the full Vapours of a repletion in the Stomack ascending to the Brain, causing that usual Drowsinesse we see in many) but most especially to his continual custome, use, and practise, which had so subdued his Nature, that it was wholy Governed by his Active and Industrious mind.

And yet this is a further wonder: he did scarcely allow himself, from his First Degree in the University, any Recreation or Easie Exercise, no not so much as walking, but very Rare and Seldome; and that not upon his own choice, but as being compelled by friendly, yet, Forcible Invitations; till such time as the War posted him from place to place, and after that his constant attendance on the Presse in the Edition of his Books: when was a question, which went the fastest, his Head or his Feet: so that in effect he was a very stranger, if not an Enemy to all pleasure.

Riding was the most pleasant, because his necessary convenience; the Doctors occasions, especially his last work, requiring Travel, to which he had so accustomed himself: so that this Diversion, (like Princes Banquets only to be lookt upon by them, not tasted of) was rather made such then enjoyed by him.

So that if there were any Felicity or Delight, which he can be truly said to have had: it was either in his Relations or in his Works. As to his Relations, certainly, no man was more a tender, more indulgent a Husband and a Father: his Conjugal Love in both matches being equally blest with the same Issue, kept a constant Tenour in both Marriages, which he so improved, that the Harmony of his Affections still'd all Discord, and Charmed the noyse of passion.

Towards the Education of his Children, he was exceeding carefull, allowing them any thing conducing to that end, beyond the present measure of his estate; which its well hoped will be returned to the Memory of so good a Father, in their early imitation of him in all those good Qualities and Literature, to which they have now such an Hereditary clayme.

As to his Books, which we usually call the Issue of the Brain, he was more then Fond, totally abandoning and forsaking all things to follow them. And yet if Correction and Severity (so this may be allowed the gravity of the Subject) be also the signes of Love: a stricter and more carefull hand was never used. True it is they did not grow up without some errours, like the Tares: nor can the most refined pieces of any of his Antagonists boast of perfection. He that goes an unknown and beaten Track in a Dubious way, though he may have good directions, yet if in the journey he chance to stray, cannot well be blamed; they have perchance plowed with his Heifer, and been beholden to those Authorities (for their Exceptions) which he first gave light to.

To his Neighbours and Friends he behaved himselfe with that chearfulnesse and plainnesse of Affection and respect, as deservedly gained him their Highest esteeme: from the meanest to the highest he omitted nothing what to him belonged in his station, either in a familiar correspondency, or necessary Visits; never suffering intreaties of that which either was his Duty, or in his power to perform. The quickness of his apprehension helped by a Good Nature, presently suggested unto him (without putting them to the trouble of an _innuendo_) what their severall Affairs required, in which he would spare no paynes: insomuch that it was a piece of Absolute Prudence to rely upon his Advice and Assistance. In a word, to his Superiours he was Dutifully respectfull without Ceremony or Officiousnesse; to his equalls he was Discreetly respectful, without neglect or unsociableness; and to his Inferiours, (whom indeed he judged Christianly none to be) civilly respectfull without Pride or Disdain.

But all these so eminent vertues, and so sublimed in him, were but as foyles to those excellent gifts wherewith God had endued his intellectuals. He had a Memory of that vast comprehensiveness, that he is deservedly known for the first inventer of that Noble Art, whereof having left behind him no Rules, or directions, save, onely what fell from him in discours, no further account can be given, but a relation of some very rare experiments of it made by him.

He undertook once in passing to and fro from _Templebar_ to the furthest Conduit in _Cheapside_, at his return again to tell every Signe as they stood in order on both sides of the way, repeating them either backward or forward, as they should chuse, which he exactly did, not missing or misplacing one, to the admiration of those that heard him.

The like also would he doe in words of different Languages, and of hard and difficult prolation, to any number whatsoever: but that which was most strange, and very rare in him, was his way of writing, which something like the _Chineses_, was from the top of the page to the bottom: the manner thus. He would write near the Margin the first words of every Line down to the Foot of the Paper, then would he begining at the head againe, fill up every one of these Lines, which without any interlineations or spaces but with the full and equal length, would so adjust the sense and matter, and so aptly Connex and Conjoyn the ends and beginnings of the said Lines, that he could not do it better, as he hath said, if he had writ all out in a Continuation.

57.

JOHN MILTON.

_Born 1608. Died 1674._

Notes by JOHN AUBREY.

He was of middle stature,[1] he had light abroun[2] hayre, his complexion exceeding[3] faire. he was so faire, that they called him the Lady of Christs college. ovall face. his eie a darke gray.... he was a Spare man.

[Footnote 1: Aubrey wrote first 'He was scarce so tall as I am'; then added above the last six words, 'q[uaere] quot feet I am high'; and then above this 'Resp: of middle stature'.]

[Footnote 2: 'abroun' (i.e. auburn) written above 'browne'.]

[Footnote 3: 'exceeding' above 'very'.]

* * * * *

He was an early riser: Sc: at 4 a clock manè. yea, after he lost his sight: He had a man read to him: The first thing he read was the Hebrew bible, and that was at 4'h. manè 1/2'h.+. Then he contemplated. At 7 his man came to him again & then read to him and wrote till dinner: the writing was as much as the reading. His daughter Deborah 2[1] could read to him Latin, Italian, & French, & Greeke; married in Dublin to one M'r Clarke [sells silke &c[2]] very like her father. The other sister is Mary 1[1], more like her mother. After dinner he usd to walke 3 or 4 houres at a time, he alwayes had a Garden where he lived: went to bed about 9. Temperate, rarely drank between meales. Extreme pleasant in his conversation, & at dinner, supper &c: but Satyricall. He pronounced the letter R very hard. a certaine signe of a Satyricall Witt. from Jo. Dreyden.

[Footnote 1: '2' and '1', marking seniority, above the names.]

[Footnote 2: 'sells silke &c' above 'a Mercer'.]

[Sidenote: Litera Canina.]

He had a delicate tuneable Voice & had good skill: his father instructed him: he had an Organ in his house: he played on that most. His exercise was chiefly walking.

He was visited much by learned[1]: more then he did desire.

[Footnote 1: 'by learned' added above the line.]

He was mightily importuned to goe into France & Italie. Foraigners came much to see him, and much admired him, & offered to him great preferments to come over to them, & the only inducement of severall foreigners that came over into England, was chifly to see O. Protector & M'r J. Milton, and would see _the house and chamber_ wher _he_ was borne: he was much more admired abrode then at home.

* * * * *

His harmonicall, and ingeniose soule did lodge[1] in a beautifull and well proportioned body--In toto nusquam corpore menda fuit. Ovid.

[Footnote 1: 'did lodge' above 'dwelt'.]

He had a very good memory: but I believe that his excellent Method of thinking, & disposing did much helpe his memorie.

* * * * *

Of a very cheerfull humour.

He was very healthy, & free from all diseases, seldome tooke any Physique, only sometimes he tooke Manna[1], and only towards his later end he was visited with the Gowte--Spring & Fall: he would be chearfull even in his Gowte-fitts: & sing.

[Footnote 1: 'seldome ... Manna' added above the line.]

He died of the gowt struck in the 9th or 10th of Novemb 1674, as appeares by his Apothecaryes Booke.

58.

Note by EDWARD PHILLIPS.

There is another very remarkable Passage in the Composure of this Poem [_Paradise Lost_], which I have a particular occasion to remember; for whereas I had the perusal of it from the very beginning; for some years as I went from time to time to Visit him, in a Parcel of Ten, Twenty, or Thirty Verses at a Time, which being Written by whatever hand came next, might possibly want Correction as to the Orthography and Pointing; having as the Summer came on, not been shewed any for a considerable while, and desiring the reason thereof, was answered, That his Veine never happily flow'd, but from the _Autumnal Equinoctial_ to the _Vernal_, and that whatever he attempted was never to his satisfaction, though he courted his fancy never so much; so that in all the years he was about this Poem, he may be said to have spent but half his time therein.

59.

Notes by JONATHAN RICHARDSON.

One that had Often seen him, told me he us'd to come to a House where He Liv'd, and he has also Met him in the Street, Led by _Millington_, the same who was so Famous an Auctioneer of Books about the time of the Revolution, and Since. This Man was then a Seller of Old Books in _Little Britain_, and _Milton_ lodg'd at his house. This was 3 or 4 Years before he Dy'd. he then wore no Sword that My Informer remembers, though Probably he did, at least 'twas his Custom not long before to wear one with a Small Silver-Hilt, and in Cold Weather a Grey Camblet Coat....

I have heard many Years Since that he Us'd to Sit in a Grey Coarse Cloth Coat at the Door of his House, near _Bun-hill_ Fields Without _Moor-gate_, in Warm Sunny Weather to Enjoy the Fresh Air, and So, as well as in his Room, receiv'd the Visits of People of Distinguished Parts, as well as Quality, and very Lately I had the Good Fortune to have Another Picture of him from an Ancient Clergyman in _Dorsetshire_, Dr. _Wright_; He found him in a Small House, he thinks but One Room on a Floor; in That, up One pair of Stairs, which was hung with a Rusty Green, he found _John Milton_, Sitting in an Elbow Chair, Black Cloaths, and Neat enough, Pale, but not Cadaverous, his Hands and Fingers Gouty, and with Chalk Stones. among Other Discourse He exprest Himself to This Purpose; that was he Free from the Pain This gave him, his Blindness would be Tolerable.

* * * * *

... besides what Affliction he Must have from his Disappointment on the Change of the Times, and from his Own Private Losses, and probably Cares for Subsistence, and for his Family; he was in Perpetual Terror of being Assassinated, though he had Escap'd the Talons of the Law, he knew he had Made Himself Enemies in Abundance. he was So Dejected he would lie Awake whole Nights. He then kept Himself as Private as he could. This Dr. _Tancred Robinson_ had from a Relation of _Milton's_, Mr. _Walker_ of the Temple. and This is what is Intimated by Himself, VII. 26.

_On Evil Daies though fall'n and Evil Tongues, in Darkness,
and with Dangers compast round, and Solitude_.

* * * * *

Mr. _Bendish_ has heard the Widow or Daughter or Both say it, that Soon after the Restauration the King Offer'd to Employ this Pardon'd Man as his Latin Secretary, the Post in which he Serv'd _Cromwell_ with So much Integrity and Ability; (that a like Offer was made to _Thurlow_ is not Disputed as ever I heard) _Milton_ Withstood the Offer; the Wife press'd his Compliance. _Thou art in the Right_ (says he) _You, as Other Women, would ride in your Coach; for Me, My Aim is to Live and Dye an Honest Man_.

* * * * *

Other Stories I have heard concerning the Posture he was Usually in when he Dictated, that he Sat leaning Backward Obliquely in an Easy Chair, with his Leg flung over the Elbow of it. that he frequently Compos'd lying in Bed in a Morning ('twas Winter Sure Then) I have been Well inform'd, that when he could not Sleep, but lay Awake whole Nights, he Try'd; not One Verse could he make; at Other times flow'd _Easy his Unpremeditated Verse_, with a certain _Impetus_ and _Æstro_, as Himself seem'd to Believe. Then, at what Hour soever, he rung for his Daughter to Secure what Came. I have been also told he would Dictate many, perhaps 40 Lines as it were in a Breath, and then reduce them to half the Number.

60.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

_Born 1618. Died 1667._

_Of My self._

It is a hard and nice Subject for a man to write of himself, it grates his own heart to say any thing of disparagement, and the Readers Eares to hear any thing of praise from him. There is no danger from me of offending him in this kind; neither my Mind, nor my Body, nor my Fortune, allow me any materials for that Vanity. It is sufficient, for my own contentment, that they have preserved me from being scandalous, or remarkable on the defective side. But besides that, I shall here speak of myself, only in relation to the subject of these precedent discourses, and shall be likelier thereby to fall into the contempt, then rise up to the estimation of most people. As far as my Memory can return back into my past Life, before I knew, or was capable of guessing what the world, or glories, or business of it were, the natural affections of my soul gave me a secret bent of aversion from them, as some Plants are said to turn away from others, by an Antipathy imperceptible to themselves, and inscrutable to mans understanding. Even when I was a very young Boy at School, instead of running about on Holy-daies and playing with my fellows, I was wont to steal from them, and walk into the fields, either alone with a Book, or with some one Companion, if I could find any of the same temper. I was then too, so much an Enemy to all constraint, that my Masters could never prevail on me, by any perswasions or encouragements, to learn without Book the common rules of Grammar, in which they dispensed with me alone, because they found I made a shift to do the usual exercise out of my own reading and observation. That I was then of the same mind as I am now (which I confess, I wonder at my self) may appear by the latter end of an Ode, which I made when I was but thirteen years old, and which was then printed with many other Verses. The Beginning of it is Boyish, but of this part which I here set down (if a very little were corrected) I should hardly now be much ashamed.

9.

This only grant me, that my means may lye
Too low for Envy, for Contempt too high.
Some Honor I would have
Not from great deeds, but good alone.
The unknown are better than ill known.
Rumour can ope' the Grave,
Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends
Not on the number, but the choice of Friends.

10.

Books should, not business, entertain the Light,
And sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.
My House a Cottage, more
Then Palace, and should fitting be
For all my Use, no Luxury.
My Garden painted o're
With Natures hand, not Arts; and pleasures yeild,
_Horace_ might envy in his Sabine field.

11.

Thus would I double my Lifes fading space,
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,
These unbought sports, this happy State,
I would not fear nor wish my fate,
But boldly say each night,
To morrow let my Sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to Day.

You may see by it, I was even then acquainted with the Poets (for the Conclusion is taken out of _Horace_;) and perhaps it was the immature and immoderate love of them which stampt first, or rather engraved these Characters in me: They were like Letters cut into the Bark of a young Tree, which with the Tree still grow proportionably. But, how this love came to be produced in me so early, is a hard question: I believe I can tell the particular little chance that filled my head first with such Chimes of Verse, as have never since left ringing there: For I remember when I began to read, and to take some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my Mothers Parlour (I know not by what accident, for she her self never in her life read any Book but of Devotion) but there was wont to lie _Spencers_ Works; this I happened to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted with the Stories of the Knights, and Giants, and Monsters, and brave Houses, which I found every where there: (Though my understanding had little to do with all this) and by degrees with the tinckling of the Rhyme and Dance of the Numbers, so that I think I had read him all over before I was twelve years old, and was thus made a Poet as immediately [1] as a Child is made an Eunuch. With these affections of mind, and my heart wholly set upon Letters, I went to the University; But was soon torn from thence by that violent Publick storm which would suffer nothing to stand where it did, but rooted up every Plant, even from the Princely Cedars to Me, the Hyssop. Yet I had as good fortune as could have befallen me in such a Tempest; for I was cast by it into the Family of one of the best Persons, and into the Court of one of the best Princesses of the World. Now though I was here engaged in wayes most contrary to the Original design of my life, that is, into much company, and no small business, and into a daily sight of Greatness, both Militant and Triumphant (for that was the state then of the _English_ and _French_ Courts) yet all this was so far from altering my Opinion, that it oncly added the confirmation of Reason to that which was before but Natural Inclination. I saw plainly all the Paint of that kind of Life, the nearer I came to it; and that Beauty which I did not fall in Love with, when, for ought I knew, it was reall, was not like to bewitch, or intice me, when I saw that it was Adulterate. I met with several great Persons, whom I liked very well, but could not perceive that any part of their Greatness was to be liked or desired, no more then I would be glad, or content to be in a Storm, though I saw many Ships which rid safely and bravely in it: A storm would not agree with my stomach, if it did with my Courage. Though I was in a croud of as good company as could be found any where, though I was in business of great and honourable trust, though I eate at the best Table, and enjoyed the best conveniences for present subsistance that ought to be desired by a man of my condition in banishment and publick distresses, yet I could not abstain from renewing my old School-boys Wish in a Copy of Verses to the same effect.

Well then; I now do plainly see
This busie World and I shall ne're agree, &c.

And I never then proposed to my self any other advantage from His Majesties Happy Restoration, but the getting into some moderately convenient Retreat in the Country, which I thought in that case I might easily have compassed, as well as some others, who[2] with no greater probabilities or pretences have arrived to extraordinary fortunes: But I had before written a shrewd Prophesie against my self, and I think _Apollo_ inspired me in the Truth, though not in the Elegance of it.

Thou, neither great at Court nor in the War,
Nor at th' Exchange shal't be, nor at the wrangling Barr;
Content thy self with the small barren praise
Which neglected Verse does raise, &c.

However by the failing of the Forces which I had expected, I did not quit the Design which I had resolved on, I cast my self into it _A Corps perdu_, without making capitulations, or taking counsel of Fortune. But God laughs at a Man, who sayes to his Soul, _Take thy ease_: I met presently not onely with many little encumbrances and impediments, but with so much sickness (a new misfortune to me) as would have spoiled the happiness of an Emperour as well as Mine: Yet I do neither repent nor alter my course. _Non ego perfidum Dixi Sacramentum_; Nothing shall separate me from a Mistress, which I have loved so long, and have now at last married; though she neither has brought me a rich Portion, nor lived yet so quietly with me as I hoped from Her.

--_Nec vos, dulcissima mundi
Nomina, vos Musæ, Libertas, Otia, Libri,
Hortique Syluæq; anima remanente relinquam._

Nor by me ere shall you,
You of all Names the sweetest, and the best,
You Muses, Books, and Liberty and Rest;
You Gardens, Fields, and Woods forsaken be,
As long as Life it self forsakes not Me.

[Footnote 1: 'irremediably' text 1668, 'immediately' errata 1668.]

[Footnote 2: 'who' omitted 1668, inserted 1669.]

61.

By THOMAS SPRAT.

I think it fit to direct my Speech concerning him, by the same rule by which he was wont to judge of others. In his esteem of other men, he constantly prefer'd the good temper of their minds, and honesty of their Actions, above all the excellencies of their Eloquence or Knowledge. The same course I will take in his praise, which chiefly ought to be fixed on his life. For that he deserves more applause from the most virtuous men, than for his other abilities he ever obtained from the Learned.

He had indeed a perfect natural goodness, which neither the uncertainties of his condition, nor the largeness of his wit could pervert. He had a firmness and strength of mind, that was of proof against the Art of Poetry it self. Nothing vain or fantastical, nothing flattering or insolent appeared in his humour. He had a great integrity, and plainness of Manners; which he preserv'd to the last, though much of his time was spent in a Nation, and way of life, that is not very famous for sincerity. But the truth of his heart was above the corruption of ill examples: And therefore the sight of them rather confirm'd him in the contrary Virtues.

There was nothing affected or singular in his habit, or person, or gesture. He understood the forms of good breeding enough to practise them without burdening himself, or others. He never opprest any mans parts, nor ever put any man out of countenance. He never had any emulation for Fame, or contention for Profit with any man. When he was in business he suffer'd others importunities with much easiness: When he was out of it he was never importunate himself. His modesty and humility were so great, that if he had not had many other equal Virtues, they might have been thought dissimulation.

His Conversation was certainly of the most excellent kind; for it was such as was rather admired by his familiar Friends, than by Strangers at first sight. He surpriz'd no man at first with any extraordinary appearance: he never thrust himself violently into the good opinion of his company. He was content to be known by leisure and by degrees: and so the esteem that was conceiv'd of him, was better grounded and more lasting.

In his Speech, neither the pleasantness excluded gravity, nor was the sobriety of it inconsistent with delight. No man parted willingly from his Discourse: for he so ordered it, that every man was satisfied that he had his share. He govern'd his Passions with great moderation. His Virtues were never troublesome or uneasy to any. Whatever he disliked in others, he only corrected it, by the silent reproof of a better practise.

His Wit was so temper'd, that no man had ever reason to wish it had been less: he prevented other mens severity upon it by his own: he never willingly recited any of his Writings. None but his intimate friends ever discovered he was a great Poet, by his discourse. His Learning was large and profound, well compos'd of all Antient and Modern Knowledge. But it sat exceeding close and handsomly upon him: it was not imbossed on his mind, but enamelled.

He never guided his life by the whispers, or opinions of the World. Yet he had a great reverence for a good reputation. He hearkened to Fame when it was a just Censurer: But not when an extravagant Babler. He was a passionate lover of Liberty and Freedom from restraint both in Actions and Words. But what honesty others receive from the direction of Laws, he had by native Inclination: And he was not beholding to other mens wills, but to his own for his Innocence.

62.

CHARLES II.

_Born 1630. Died 1685._

By HALIFAX.

_His_ DISSIMULATION.

One great Objection made to him was the concealing himself, and disguising his Thoughts. In this there ought a Latitude to be given; it is a Defect not to have it at all, and a Fault to have it too much. Human Nature will not allow the Mean: like all other things, as soon as ever Men get to do them well, they cannot easily hold from doing them too much. 'Tis the case even in the least things, as singing, &c.

In _France_, he was to dissemble Injuries and Neglects, from one reason; in _England_, he was to dissemble too, though for other Causes; A King upon the _Throne_ hath as great Temptations (though of another kind) to dissemble, as a King in _Exile_. The King of _France_ might have his Times of Dissembling as much with him, as he could have to do it with the King of _France_: So he was in a _School_.

No King can be so little inclined to dissemble but he must needs learn it from his _Subjects_, who every Day give him such Lessons of it. Dissimulation is like most other Qualities, it hath two Sides; it is necessary, and yet it is dangerous too. To have none at all layeth a Man open to Contempt, to have too much exposeth him to Suspicion, which is only the less dishonourable Inconvenience. If a Man doth not take very great Precautions, he is never so much shewed as when he endeavoureth to hide himself. One Man cannot take more pains to hide himself, than another will do to see into him, especially in the Case of Kings.

It is none of the exalted Faculties of the Mind, since there are Chamber-Maids will do it better than any Prince in Christendom. Men given to dissembling are like Rooks at play, they will cheat for Shillings, they are so used to it. The vulgar Definition of Dissembling is downright Lying; that kind of it which is less ill-bred cometh pretty near it. Only Princes and Persons of Honour must have gentler Words given to their Faults, than the nature of them may in themselves deserve.

Princes dissemble with too many, not to have it discovered; no wonder then that He carried it so far that it was discovered. Men compared Notes, and got Evidence; so that those whose Morality would give them leave, took it for an Excuse for serving him ill. Those who knew his Face, fixed their Eyes there; and thought it of more Importance to see, than to hear what he said. His Face was as little a Blab as most Mens, yet though it could not be called a prattling Face, it would sometimes tell Tales to a good Observer. When he thought fit to be angry, he had a very peevish Memory; there was hardly a Blot that escaped him. At the same time that this shewed the Strength of his Dissimulation, it gave warning too; it fitted his present Purpose, but it made a Discovery that put Men more upon their Guard against him. Only Self-flattery furnisheth perpetual Arguments to trust again: The comfortable Opinion Men have of themselves keepeth up Human Society, which would be more than half destroyed without it.

_Of his WIT and CONVERSATION._

His Wit consisted chiefly in the _Quickness_ of his _Apprehension_. His Apprehension made him _find Faults_, and that led him to short Sayings upon them, not always equal, but often very good.

By his being abroad, he contracted a Habit of conversing familiarly, which added to his natural Genius, made him very _apt to talk_; perhaps more than a very nice judgment would approve.

He was apter to make _broad Allusions_ upon any thing that gave the least occasion, than was altogether suitable with the very Good-breeding he shewed in most other things. The Company he kept whilst abroad, had so used him to that sort of Dialect, that he was so far from thinking it a Fault or an Indecency, that he made it a matter of Rallery upon those who could not prevail upon themselves to join in it. As a Man who hath a good Stomach loveth generally to talk of Meat, so in the vigour of his Age, he began that style, which, by degrees grew so natural to him, that after he ceased to do it out of Pleasure, he continued to do it out of Custom. The Hypocrisy of the former Times inclined Men to think they could not shew too great an Aversion to it, and that helped to encourage this unbounded liberty of Talking, without the Restraints of Decency which were before observed. In his more familiar Conversations with the Ladies, even they must be passive, if they would not enter into it. How far Sounds as well as Objects may have their Effects to raise Inclination, might be an Argument to him to use that Style; or whether using Liberty at its full stretch, was not the general Inducement without any particular Motives to it.

The manner of that time of _telling Stories_, had drawn him into it; being commended at first for the Faculty of telling a Tale well, he might insensibly be betrayed to exercise it too often. Stories are dangerous in this, that the best expose a Man most, by being oftenest repeated. It might pass for an Evidence for the Moderns against the Ancients, that it is now wholly left off by all that have any pretence to be distinguished by their good Sense.

He had the Improvements of _Wine, &c_. which made him _pleasant_ and _easy in Company_; where he bore his part, and was acceptable even to those who had no other Design than to be merry with him.

The Thing called _Wit_, a Prince may taste, but it is dangerous for him to take too much of it; it hath Allurements which by refining his Thoughts, take off from their _dignity_, in applying them less to the governing part. There is a Charm in Wit, which a Prince must resist: and that to him was no easy matter; it was contesting with Nature upon Terms of Disadvantage.

His Wit was not so ill-natured as to put Men out of countenance. In the case of a King especially, it is more allowable to speak sharply _of_ them, than _to_ them.

His Wit was not acquired by _Reading_; that which he had above his original Stock by Nature, was from Company, in which he was very capable to observe. He could not so properly be said to have a Wit very much raised, as a plain, gaining, well-bred, recommending kind of Wit.

But of all Men that ever _liked_ those who _had Wit_, he could the best _endure_ those who had _none_. This leaneth more towards a Satire than a Compliment, in this respect, that he could not only suffer Impertinence, but at some times seemed to be pleased with it.

He encouraged some to talk a good deal more with him, than one would have expected from a Man of so good a Taste: He should rather have order'd his Attorney-General to prosecute them for a Misdemeanour, in using Common-sense so scurvily in his Presence. However, if this was a Fault, it is arrogant for any of his Subjects to object to it, since it would look like defying such a piece of Indulgence. He must in some degree loosen the Strength of his Wit, by his Condescension to talk with Men so very unequal to him. Wit must be used to some _Equality_, which may give it Exercise, or else it is apt either to languish, or to grow a little vulgar, by reigning amongst Men of a lower Size, where there is no Awe to keep a Man upon his _guard_.

It fell out rather by Accident than Choice, that his Mistresses were such as did not care that Wit of the best kind should have the Precedence in their Apartments. Sharp and strong Wit will not always be so held in by Good-manners, as not to be a little troublesome in a _Ruelle_. But wherever Impertinence hath Wit enough left to be thankful for being well used, it will not only be admitted, but kindly received; such Charms every thing hath that setteth us off by Comparison.

His _Affability_ was a Part, and perhaps not the least, of his Wit.

It is a Quality that must not always spring from the Heart, Mens Pride, as well as their Weakness, maketh them ready to be deceived by it: They are more ready to believe it a Homage paid to their Merit, than a Bait thrown out to deceive them. _Princes_ have a particular Advantage.

There was at first as much of Art as Nature in his Affability, but by Habit it became Natural. It is an Error of the better hand, but the _Universality_ taketh away a good deal of the Force of it. A Man that hath had a kind Look seconded with engaging Words, whilst he is chewing the Pleasure, if another in his Sight should be just received as kindly, that Equality would presently alter the Relish: The Pride of Mankind will have Distinction; till at last it cometh to Smile for Smile, meaning nothing of either Side; without any kind of Effect; mere Drawing-room Compliments; the _Bow_ alone would be better without them. He was under some Disadvantages of this kind, that grew still in proportion as it came by Time to be more known, that there was less Signification in those Things than at first was thought.

The Familiarity of his Wit must needs have the Effect of _lessening_ the _Distance_ fit to be kept to him. The Freedom used to him whilst abroad, was retained by those who used it longer than either they ought to have kept it, or he have suffered it, and others by their Example learned to use the same. A King of _Spain_ that will say nothing but _Tiendro cuydado_, will, to the generality, preserve more Respect; an Engine that will speak but sometimes, at the same time that it will draw the Raillery of the Few who judge well, it will create Respect in the ill-judging Generality. Formality is sufficiently revenged upon the World for being so unreasonably laughed at; it is destroyed it is true, but it hath the spiteful Satisfaction of seeing every thing destroyed with it.

His fine Gentlemanship did him no Good, encouraged in it by being too much applauded.

His Wit was better suited to his Condition _before_ he was restored than _afterwards_. The Wit of a Gentleman, and that of a crowned Head, ought to be different things. As there is a _Crown Law_, there is a _Crown Wit_ too. To use it with Reserve is very good, and very rare. There is a Dignity in doing things _seldom_, even without any other Circumstance. Where Wit will run continually, the Spring is apt to fail; so that it groweth vulgar, and the more it is practised, the more it is debased.

He was so good at finding out other Mens weak Sides, that it made him less intent to cure his own: That generally happeneth. It may be called a treacherous Talent, for it betrayeth a Man to forget to judge himself, by being so eager to censure others: This doth so misguide Men the first Part of their Lives, that the Habit of it is not easily recovered, when the greater Ripeness of their Judgment inclineth them to look more into themselves than into other Men.