Chapter IX: Front Matter (9)

Men love to see themselves in the false Looking-glass of other Mens Failings. It maketh a Man think well of himself at the time, and by sending his Thoughts abroad to get Food for Laughing, they are less at leisure to see Faults at home. Men choose rather to make the War in another Country, than to keep all well at home.

_His_ TALENTS, TEMPER, HABITS, &c.

He had a _Mechanical Head_, which appeared in his inclination to Shipping and Fortification, &c. This would make one conclude, that his Thoughts would naturally have been more fixed to Business, if his Pleasures had not drawn them away from it.

He had a very good _Memory_, though he would not always make equal good Use of it. So that if he had accustomed himself to direct his Faculties to his Business, I see no Reason why he might not have been a good deal Master of it. His Chain of _Memory_ was longer than his Chain of _Thought_; the first could bear any Burden, the other was tired by being carried on too long; it was fit to ride a Heat, but it had not Wind enough for a long Course.

A very great Memory often forgetteth how much Time is lost by repeating things of no Use. It was one Reason of his talking so much; since a great Memory will always have something to say, and will be discharging itself, whether in or out of Season, if a good Judgment doth not go along with it, to make it stop and turn. One might say of his Memory, that it was a _Beauté Journaliere_; Sometimes he would make shrewd Applications, &c. at others he would bring things out of it, that never deserved to be laid in it. He grew by Age into a pretty exact _Distribution_ of his _Hours_, both for his Business, Pleasures, and the Exercise for his Health, of which he took as much care as could possibly consist with some Liberties he was resolved to indulge in himself. He walked by his Watch, and when he pulled it out to look upon it, skilful Men would make haste with what they had to say to him.

He was often retained in his _personal_ against his _politick_ Capacity. He would speak upon those Occasions most dexterously against himself; _Charles Stuart_ would be bribed against the _King_; and in the Distinction, he leaned more to his natural Self, than his Character would allow. He would not suffer himself to be so much fettered by his Character as was convenient; he was still starting out of it, the Power of Nature was too strong for the Dignity of his Calling, which generally yielded as often as there was a contest.

It was not the best use he made of his _Back-stairs_ to admit Men to bribe him against himself, to procure a Defalcation, help a lame Accountant to get off, or side with the Farmers against the Improvement of the Revenue. The King was made the Instrument to defraud the Crown, which is somewhat extraordinary.

That which might tempt him to it probably was, his finding that those about him so often took Money upon those Occasions; so that he thought he might do well at least to be a Partner. He did not take the Money to _hoard_ it; there were those at Court who watched those Times, as the _Spaniards_ do for the coming in of the _Plate Fleet_. The Beggars of both Sexes helped to empty his Cabinet, and to leave room in them for a new lading upon the next Occasion. These Negotiators played double with him too, when it was for their purpose so to do. He _knew it_, and _went on_ still; so he gained his present end, at the time, he was less solicitous to enquire into the Consequences.

He could not properly be said to be either _covetous_ or _liberal_; his desire to get was not with an Intention to be rich; and his spending was rather an Easiness in letting Money go, than any premeditated Thought for the Distribution of it. He would do as much to throw off the burden of a present Importunity, as he would to relieve a want.

When once the Aversion to bear Uneasiness taketh place in a Man's Mind, it doth so check all the Passions, that they are dampt into a kind of Indifference; they grow faint and languishing, and come to be subordinate to that fundamental Maxim, of not purchasing any thing at the price of a Difficulty. This made that he had as little Eagerness to oblige, as he had to hurt Men; the Motive of his giving Bounties was rather to make Men less uneasy to him, than more easy to themselves; and yet no ill-nature all this while. He would slide from an asking Face, and could guess very well. It was throwing a Man off from his Shoulders, that leaned upon them with his whole weight; so that the Party was not glader to receive, than he was to give. It was a kind of implied bargain; though Men seldom kept it, being so apt to forget the advantage they had received, that they would presume the King would as little remember the good he had done them, so as to make it an Argument against their next Request.

This Principle of making the _love_ of _Ease_ exercise an entire Sovereignty in his Thoughts, would have been less censured in a private Man, than might be in a Prince. The Consequence of it to the Publick changeth the Nature of that Quality, or else a Philosopher in his private Capacity might say a great deal to justify it. The truth is, a King is to be such a distinct Creature from a Man, that their Thoughts are to be put in quite a differing Shape, and it is such a disquieting task to reconcile them, that Princes might rather expect to be lamented than to be envied, for being in a Station that exposeth them, if they do not do more to answer Mens Expectations than human Nature will allow.

That Men have the less Ease for their loving it so much, is so far from a wonder, that it is a natural Consequence, especially in the case of a Prince. Ease is seldom got without some pains, but it is yet seldomer kept without them. He thought giving would make Men more easy to him, whereas he might have known it would certainly make them more troublesome.

When Men receive Benefits from Princes, they attribute less to his Generosity than to their own Deserts; so that in their own Opinion, their Merit cannot be bounded; by that mistaken Rule, it can as little be satisfied. They would take it for a diminution to have it circumscribed. Merit hath a Thirst upon it that can never be quenched by golden Showers. It is not only still ready, but greedy to receive more. This King _Charles_ found in as many Instances as any Prince that ever reigned, because the Easiness of Access introducing the good Success of their first Request, they were the more encouraged to repeat those Importunities, which had been more effectually stopt in the Beginning by a short and resolute Denial. But his Nature did not dispose him to that Method, it directed him rather to put off the troublesome Minute for the time, and that being his Inclination, he did not care to struggle with it.

I am of an Opinion, in which I am every Day more confirmed by Observation, that Gratitude is one of those things that cannot be bought. It must be born with Men, or else all the Obligations in the World will not create it. An outward Shew may be made to satisfy Decency, and to prevent Reproach; but a real Sense of a kind thing is a Gift of Nature, and never was, nor can be acquired.

The Love of Ease is an Opiate, it is pleasing for the time, quieteth the Spirits, but it hath its Effects that seldom fail to be most fatal. The immoderate Love of Ease maketh a Man's Mind pay a passive Obedience to any thing that happeneth: It reduceth the Thoughts from having _Desire_ to be _content_.

It must be allowed he had a little Over-balance on the well-natured Side, not Vigour enough to be earnest to do a kind Thing, much less to do a harsh one; but if a hard thing was done to another Man, he did not eat his Supper the worse for it. It was rather a Deadness than Severity of Nature, whether it proceeded from a Dissipation of Spirits, or by the Habit of Living in which he was engaged.

If a King should be born with more Tenderness than might suit with his Office, he would in time be hardned. The Faults of his Subjects make Severity so necessary, that by the frequent Occasions given to use it, it comes to be habitual, and by degrees the Resistance that Nature made at first groweth fainter, till at last it is in a manner quite extinguished.

In short, this Prince might more properly be said to have _Gifts_ than _Virtues_, as Affability, Easiness of Living, Inclinations to give, and to forgive: Qualities that flowed from his Nature rather than from his Virtue.

He had not more Application to any thing than the Preservation of his _Health_; it had an intire Preference to any thing else in his Thoughts, and he might be said without Aggravation to study that, with as little Intermission as any Man in the World. He understood it very well, only in this he failed, that he thought it was more reconcilable with his _Pleasures_, than it really was. It is natural to have such a Mind to reconcile these, that 'tis the easier for any Man that goeth about it, to be guilty of that Mistake.

This made him overdo in point of Nourishment, the better to furnish to those Entertainments; and then he thought by great _Exercise_ to make Amends, and to prevent the ill Effects of his Blood being too much raised. The Success he had in this Method, whilst he had Youth and Vigour to support him in it, encouraged him to continue it longer than Nature allowed. Age stealeth so insensibly upon us, that we do not think of suiting our way of Reasoning to the several Stages of Life; so insensibly that not being able to pitch upon any _precise Time_, when we cease to be young, we either flatter ourselves that we always continue to be so, or at least forget how much we are mistaken in it.

63.

By BURNET.

The King was then thirty years of age, and, as might have been supposed, past the levities of youth and the extravagance of pleasure. He had a very good understanding. He knew well the state of affairs both at home and abroad. He had a softness of temper that charmed all who came near him, till they found how little they could depend on good looks, kind words, and fair promises; in which he was liberal to excess, because he intended nothing by them, but to get rid of importunities, and to silence all farther pressing upon him. He seemed to have no sense of religion: Both at prayers and sacrament he, as it were, took care to satisfy people, that he was in no sort concerned in that about which he was employed. So that he was very far from being an hypocrite, unless his assisting at those performances was a sort of hypocrisy, (as no doubt it was:) But he was sure not to encrease that by any the least appearance of religion. He said once to my self, he was no atheist, but he could not think God would make a man miserable only for taking a little pleasure out of the way. He disguised his Popery to the last. But when he talked freely, he could not help letting himself out against the liberty that under the Reformation all men took of enquiring into matters of religion: For from their enquiring into matters of religion they carried the humour farther, to enquire into matters of state. He said often, he thought government was a much safer and easier thing where the authority was believed infallible, and the faith and submission of the people was implicite: About which I had once much discourse with him. He was affable and easy, and loved to be made so by all about him. The great art of keeping him long was, the being easy, and the making every thing easy to him. He had made such observations on the _French_ government, that he thought a King who might be checkt, or have his Ministers called to an account by a Parliament, was but a King in name. He had a great compass of knowledge, tho' he was never capable of much application or study. He understood the Mechanicks and Physick; and was a good Chymist, and much set on several preparations of Mercury, chiefly the fixing it. He understood navigation well: But above all he knew the architecture of ships so perfectly, that in that respect he was exact rather more than became a Prince. His apprehension was quick, and his memory good. He was an everlasting talker. He told his stories with a good grace: But they came in his way too often. He had a very ill opinion both of men and women; and did not think that there was either sincerity or chastity in the world out of principle, but that some had either the one or the other out of humour or vanity. He thought that no body did serve him out of love: And so he was quits with all the world, and loved others as little as he thought they loved him. He hated business, and could not be easily brought to mind any: But when it was necessary, and he was set to it, he would stay as long as his Ministers had work for him. The ruine of his reign, and of all his affairs, was occasioned chiefly by his delivering himself up at his first coming over to a mad range of pleasure.

64.

By BURNET.

Thus lived and died King _Charles_ the second. He was the greatest instance in history of the various revolutions of which any one man seemed capable. He was bred up, the first twelve years of his life, with the splendor that became the heir of so great a Crown. After that he past thro' eighteen years in great inequalities, unhappy in the war, in the loss of his Father, and of the Crown of _England_. _Scotland_ did not only receive him, tho' upon terms hard of digestion, but made an attempt upon _England_ for him, tho' a feeble one. He lost the battle of _Worcester_ with too much indifference: And then he shewed more care of his person, than became one who had so much at stake. He wandered about _England_ for ten weeks after that, hiding from place to place. But, under all the apprehensions he had then upon him, he shewed a temper so careless, and so much turned to levity, that he was then diverting himself with little houshold sports, in as unconcerned a manner, as if he had made no loss, and had been in no danger at all. He got at last out of _England_. But he had been obliged to so many, who had been faithful to him, and careful of him, that he seemed afterwards to resolve to make an equal return to them all: And finding it not easy to reward them all as they deserved, he forgot them all alike. Most Princes seem to have this pretty deep in them; and to think that they ought never to remember past services, but that their acceptance of them is a full reward. He, of all in our age, exerted this piece of prerogative in the amplest manner: For he never seemed to charge his memory, or to trouble his thoughts, with the sense of any of the services that had been done him. While he was abroad at _Paris_, _Colen_, or _Brussells_, he never seemed to lay any thing to heart. He pursued all his diversions, and irregular pleasures, in a free carrier; and seemed to be as serene under the loss of a Crown, as the greatest Philosopher could have been. Nor did he willingly hearken to any of those projects, with which he often complained that his Chancellor persecuted him. That in which he seemed most concerned was, to find money for supporting his expence. And it was often said, that, if _Cromwell_ would have compounded the matter, and have given him a good round pension, that he might have been induced to resign his title to him. During his exile he delivered himself so entirely to his pleasures, that he became incapable of application. He spent little of his time in reading or study, and yet less in thinking. And, in the state his affairs were then in, he accustomed himself to say to every person, and upon all occasions, that which he thought would please most: So that words or promises went very easily from him. And he had so ill an opinion of mankind, that he thought the great art of living and governing was, to manage all things and all persons with a depth of craft and dissimulation. And in that few men in the world could put on the appearances of sincerity better than he could: Under which so much artifice was usually hid, that in conclusion he could deceive none, for all were become mistrustful of him. He had great vices, but scarce any vertues to correct them: He had in him some vices that were less hurtful, which corrected his more hurtful ones. He was during the active part of life given up to sloth and lewdness to such a degree, that he hated business, and could not bear the engaging in any thing that gave him much trouble, or put him under any constraint. And, tho' he desired to become absolute, and to overturn both our religion and our laws, yet he would neither run the risque, nor give himself the trouble, which so great a design required. He had an appearance of gentleness in his outward deportment: But he seemed to have no bowels nor tenderness in his nature: And in the end of his life he became cruel. He was apt to forgive all crimes, even blood it self: Yet he never forgave any thing that was done against himself, after his first and general act of indemnity, which was to be reckoned as done rather upon maxims of state than inclinations of mercy. He delivered himself up to a most enormous course of vice, without any sort of restraint, even from the consideration of the nearest relations: The most studied extravagancies that way seemed, to the very last, to be much delighted in, and pursued by him. He had the art of making all people grow fond of him at first, by a softness in his whole way of conversation, as he was certainly the best bred man of the age. But when it appeared how little could be built on his promise, they were cured of the fondness that he was apt to raise in them. When he saw young men of quality, who had something more than ordinary in them, he drew them about him, and set himself to corrupt them both in religion and morality; in which he proved so unhappily successful, that he left _England_ much changed at his death from what he had found it at his Restoration. He loved to talk over all the stories of his life to every new man that came about him. His stay in _Scotland_, and the share he had in the war of _Paris_, in carrying messages from the one side to the other, were his common topicks. He went over these in a very graceful manner; but so often, and so copiously, that all those who had been long accustomed to them grew weary of them: And when he entred on those stories they usually withdrew: So that he often began them in a full audience, and before he had done there were not above four or five left about him: Which drew a severe jest from _Wilmot_, Earl of _Rochester_. He said, he wondred to see a man have so good a memory as to repeat the same story without losing the least circumstance, and yet not remember that he had told it to the same persons the very day before. This made him fond of strangers; for they hearkned to all his often repeated stories, and went away as in a rapture at such an uncommon condescension in a King.

His person and temper, his vices as well as his fortunes, resemble the character that we have given us of _Tiberius_ so much, that it were easy to draw the parallel between them. _Tiberius_'s banishment, and his coming afterwards to reign, makes the comparison in that respect come pretty near. His hating of business, and his love of pleasures; his raising of favourites, and trusting them entirely; and his pulling them down, and hating them excessively; his art of covering deep designs, particularly of revenge, with an appearance of softness, brings them so near a likeness, that I did not wonder much to observe the resemblance of their face and person. At _Rome_ I saw one of the last statues made for _Tiberius_, after he had lost his teeth. But, bating the alteration which that made, it was so like King _Charles_, that Prince _Borghese_, and _Signior Dominica_ to whom it belonged, did agree with me in thinking that it looked like a statue made for him.

65.

THE EARL OF CLARENDON.

_Edward Hyde, knighted 1643, created Baron Hyde 1660, Earl of Clarendon 1661. Lord Chancellor 1658-1667._

_Born 1609. Died 1674._

By BURNET.

The Earl of _Clarendon_ was bred to the Law, and was like to grow eminent in his profession when the wars began. He distinguished himself so in the House of Commons, that he became considerable, and was much trusted all the while the King was at _Oxford_. He stayed beyond sea following the King's fortune till the Restoration; and was now an absolute favourite, and the chief or the only Minister, but with too magisterial a way. He was always pressing the King to mind his affairs, but in vain. He was a good Chancellour, only a little too rough, but very impartial in the administration of justice. He never seemed to understand foreign affairs well: And yet he meddled too much in them. He had too much levity in his wit, and did not always observe the decorum of his post. He was high, and was apt to reject those who addressed themselves to him with too much contempt. He had such a regard to the King, that when places were disposed of, even otherwise than as he advised, yet he would justify what the King did, and disparage the pretensions of others, not without much scorn; which created him many enemies. He was indefatigable in business, tho' the gout did often disable him from waiting on the King: Yet, during his credit, the King came constantly to him when he was laid up by it.

66.

THE EARL OF LAUDERDALE.

_John Maitland, second Earl, created Duke 1672, Secretary of State for Scotland 1660-1680._

_Born 1616. Died 1682._

By CLARENDON.

The Earle of Latherdale, who had bene very eminent in contrivinge and carryinge on the kings service, when his Majesty was crowned in Scotlande, and therby had wrought himselfe into a very particular esteme with the kinge, had marched with him into Englande, and behaved himselfe well at Worcester, wher he was taken prissoner, had besydes that meritt, the sufferinge an imprysonment from that very tyme, with some circumstances of extreme rigour, beinge a man against whome Crumwell had alwayes professed a more then ordinary animosity, and though the sceane of his imprysonment had bene altred, accordinge to the alterations of the goverments which succeeded, yett he never founde himselfe in compleate liberty, till the kinge was proclaymed by the Parliament, and then he thought it not necessary to repayre into Scotlande for authority or recommendation, but sendinge his advise thither to his frends, he made hast to transporte himselfe with the Parliament Commissyoners to the Hague, where he was very well receaved by the kinge, and left nothinge undone on his parte, that might cultivate these old inclinations, beinge a man of as much addresse, and insinuation, in which that nation excells, as was then amongst them. He applyed himselfe to those who were most trusted by the kinge with a marvellous importunity, and especially to the Chancellour, with whome as often as they had ever bene togither, he had a perpetuall warr. He now magnifyed his constancy with lowde elogiums as well to his face, as behinde his backe, remembred many sharpe exspressions formerly used by the Chancellour which he confessed had then made him mad, though upon recollection afterwards he had founde to be very reasonable. He was very polite in all his discources, called himselfe and his nation a thousand Traytors, and Rebells, and in his discourses frequently sayd, when I was a Traytour, or when I was in rebellion, and seemed not æqually delighted with any argument, as when he skornefully spake of the Covenante, upon which he brake a hundred jests: in summ all his discourses were such, as pleased all the company, who commonly believed all he sayd, and concurred with him. He [renew]ed his old acquaintance and familiarity with Middleton, by all the protestations of frendshipp, assured him of the unanimous desyre of Scotlande, to be [un]der his commaunde, and declared to the kinge, that he could not send any man into Scotlande who would be able to do him so much service in the place of Commissyoner as Middleton, and that it was in his Majestys power to unite that whole kingdome to his service as one m[an:] all which pleased the kinge well, so that by the tyme that the Commissioners appeared at London, upon some old promise in Scotlande, or new inclination upon his longe sufferings, which he magnifyed enough, the kinge gave him the Signett, and declared him to be Secretary of State of that kingdome, and at the same tyme declared that Middleton should be his Commissyoner, the Earle of Glengarne his Chancellour, the Earle of Rothesse, who was likewise one of the Commissyoners, and his person very agreable to the kinge, President of the Councell, and conferred all other inferiour offices, upon men most notable for ther affection to the old goverment of Church and State.

67.

By BURNET.

The Earl of _Lauderdale_, afterwards made Duke, had been for many years a zealous Covenanter: But in the year forty seven he turned to the King's interests; and had continued a prisoner all the while after _Worcester_ fight, where he was taken. He was kept for some years in the tower of _London_, in _Portland_ castle, and in other prisons, till he was set at liberty by those who called home the King. So he went over to _Holland_. And since he continued so long, and contrary to all mens opinions in so high a degree of favour and confidence, it may be expected that I should be a little copious in setting out his character; for I knew him very particularly. He made a very ill appearance: He was very big: His hair red, hanging odly about him: His tongue was too big for his mouth, which made him bedew all that he talked to: And his whole manner was rough and boisterous, and very unfit for a Court. He was very learned, not only in _Latin_, in which he was a master, but in _Greek_ and _Hebrew_. He had read a great deal of divinity, and almost all the historians ancient and modern: So that he had great materials. He had with these an extraordinary memory, and a copious but unpolished expression. He was a man, as the Duke of _Buckingham_ called him to me, of a blundering understanding. He was haughty beyond expression, abject to those he saw he must stoop to, but imperious to all others. He had a violence of passion that carried him often to fits like madness, in which he had no temper. If he took a thing wrong, it was a vain thing to study to convince him: That would rather provoke him to swear, he would never be of another mind: He was to be let alone: And perhaps he would have forgot what he had said, and come about of his own accord. He was the coldest friend and the violentest enemy I ever knew: I felt it too much not to know it. He at first seemed to despise wealth: But he delivered himself up afterwards to luxury and sensuality: And by that means he ran into a vast expence, and stuck at nothing that was necessary to support it. In his long imprisonment he had great impressions of religion on his mind: But he wore these out so entirely, that scarce any trace of them was left. His great experience in affairs, his ready compliance with every thing that he thought would please the King, and his bold offering at the most desperate counsels, gained him such an interest in the King, that no attempt against him nor complaint of him could ever shake it, till a decay of strength and understanding forced him to let go his hold. He was in his principles much against Popery and arbitrary government: And yet by a fatal train of passions and interests he made way for the former, and had almost established the latter. And, whereas some by a smooth deportment made the first beginnings of tyranny less discernible and unacceptable, he by the fury of his behaviour heightned the severity of his ministry, which was liker the cruelty of an inquisition than the legality of justice. With all this he was a Presbyterian, and retained his aversion to King _Charles_ I. and his party to his death.

68.

THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.

_Anthony Ashley Cooper, created Earl of Shaftesbury 1662._

_Born 1621. Died 1683._

By BURNET.

The man that was in the greatest credit with the Earl of _Southampton_ was Sir _Anthony Ashly Cooper_, who had married his niece, and became afterwards so considerable that he was raised to be Earl of _Shaftsbury_. And since he came to have so great a name, and that I knew him for many years in a very particular manner, I will dwell a little longer on his character; for it was of a very extraordinary composition. He began to make a considerable figure very early. Before he was twenty he came into the House of Commons, and was on the King's side; and undertook to get _Wiltshire_ and _Dorsetshire_ to declare for him: But he was not able to effect it. Yet Prince _Maurice_ breaking articles to a town, that he had got to receive him, furnished him with an excuse to forsake that side, and to turn to the Parliament. He had a wonderful faculty in speaking to a popular assembly, and could mix both the facetious and the serious way of arguing very agreeably. He had a particular talent to make others trust to his judgment, and depend on it: And he brought over so many to a submission to his opinion, that I never knew any man equal to him in the art of governing parties, and of making himself the head of them. He was as to religion a Deist at best: He had the dotage of Astrology in him to a high degree: He told me, that a _Dutch_ doctor had from the stars foretold him the whole series of his life. But that which was before him, when he told me this, proved false, if he told me true: For he said, he was yet to be a greater man than he had been. He fancied, that after death our souls lived in stars. He had a general knowledge of the slighter parts of learning, but understood little to the bottom: So he triumphed in a rambling way of talking, but argued slightly when he was held close to any point. He had a wonderful faculty at opposing, and running things down; but had not the like force in building up. He had such an extravagant vanity in setting himself out, that it was very disagreeable. He pretended that _Cromwell_ offered to make him King. He was indeed of great use to him in withstanding the enthusiasts of that time. He was one of those who press'd him most to accept of the Kingship, because, as he said afterwards, he was sure it would ruin him. His strength lay in the knowledge of _England_, and of all the considerable men in it. He understood well the size of their understandings, and their tempers: And he knew how to apply himself to them so dextrously, that, tho' by his changing sides so often it was very visible how little he was to be depended on, yet he was to the last much trusted by all the discontented party. He was not ashamed to reckon up the many turns he had made: And he valued himself on the doing it at the properest season, and in the best manner. This he did with so much vanity, and so little discretion, that he lost many by it. And his reputation was at last run so low, that he could not have held much longer, had he not died in good time, either for his family or for his party: The former would have been ruined, if he had not saved it by betraying the latter.

69.

By DRYDEN.

Some by their Friends, more by themselves thought wise,
Oppos'd the Pow'r, to which they could not rise.
Some had in Courts been Great, and thrown from thence,
Like Fiends, were harden'd in Impenitence.
Some, by their Monarch's fatal mercy grown,
From Pardon'd Rebels, Kinsmen to the Throne,
Were raised in Pow'r and publick Office high:
Strong Bands, if Bands ungrateful men coud tie.
Of these the false _Achitophel_ was first:
A Name to all succeeding Ages curst.
For close Designs, and crooked Counsels fit;
Sagacious, Bold, and Turbulent of wit:
Restless, unfixt in Principles and Place;
In Pow'r unpleas'd, impatient of Disgrace.
A fiery Soul, which working out its way,
Fretted the Pigmy-Body to decay:
And o'r inform'd the Tenement of Clay,
A daring Pilot in extremity;
Pleas'd with the Danger, when the Waves went high
He sought the Storms; but for a Calm unfit,
Would Steer too nigh the Sands, to boast his Wit.
Great Wits are sure to Madness near alli'd;
And thin Partitions do their Bounds divide:
Else, why should he, with Wealth and Honour blest,
Refuse his Age the needful hours of Rest?
Punish a Body which he coud not please;
Bankrupt of Life, yet Prodigal of Ease?
And all to leave, what with his Toil he won,
To that unfeather'd, two-legg'd thing, a Son:
Got, while his Soul did huddled Notions trie;
And born a shapeless Lump, like Anarchy.
In Friendship false, implacable in Hate:
Resolv'd to Ruine or to Rule the State.
To Compass this, the Triple Bond he broke;
The Pillars of the Publick Safety shook:
And fitted _Israel_ for a Foreign Yoke.
Then, seiz'd with Fear, yet still affecting Fame,
Usurp'd a Patriot's All-attoning Name.
So easie still it proves in Factious Times,
With publick Zeal to cancel private Crimes:
How safe is Treason, and how sacred ill,
here none can sin against the Peoples Will:
Where Crouds can wink; and no offence be known,
Since in anothers guilt they find their own.
Yet, Fame deserv'd, no Enemy can grudge;
The Statesman we abhor, but praise the Judge.
In _Israels_ Courts ne'r sat an _Abbetbdin_
With more discerning Eyes, or Hands more clean:
Unbrib'd, unsought, the Wretched to redress;
Swift of Dispatch, and easie of Access.
Oh, had he been content to serve the Crown,
With Vertues onely proper to the Gown;
Or, had the rankness of the Soil been freed
From Cockle, that opprest the Noble Seed:
_David_, for him his tuneful Harp had strung,
And Heav'n had wanted one Immortal Song.
But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand;
And Fortunes Ice prefers to Vertues Land:
_Achitophel_, grown weary to possess
A lawful Fame, and lazie Happiness,
Disdain'd the Golden Fruit to gather free,
And lent the Croud his Arm to shake the Tree.
Now, manifest of Crimes, contriv'd long since,
He stood at bold Defiance with his Prince:
Held up the Buckler of the Peoples Cause,
Against the Crown; and sculk'd behind the Laws,
The wish'd occasion of the Plot he takes;
Some Circumstances finds, but more he makes.
By buzzing Emissaries, fills the ears
Of listning Crouds, with Jealousies and Fears
Of Arbitrary Counsels brought to light,
And proves the King himself a _Jebusite_.
Weak Arguments! which yet he knew full well,
Were strong with People easie to Rebel.
For, govern'd by the _Moon_, the giddy _Jews_
Tread the same Track when she the Prime renews:
And once in twenty Years, their Scribes Record,
By natural Instinct they change their Lord.
_Achitophel_ still wants a Chief, and none
Was found so fit as Warlike _Absalon_:
Not, that he wish'd his Greatness to create,
(For Polititians neither love nor hate:)
But, for he knew, his Title not allow'd,
Would keep him still depending on the Croud:
That Kingly pow'r, thus ebbing out, might be
Drawn to the Dregs of a Democracie.

70.

THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

_George Villiers, second Duke 1628._

_Born 1628. Died 1687._

By BURNET.

The first of these was a man of noble presence. He had a great liveliness of wit, and a peculiar faculty of turning all things into ridicule with bold figures and natural descriptions. He had no sort of literature: Only he was drawn into chymistry: And for some years he thought he was very near the finding the philosopher's stone; which had the effect that attends on all such men as he was, when they are drawn in, to lay out for it. He had no principles of religion, vertue, or friendship. Pleasure, frolick, or extravagant diversion was all that he laid to heart. He was true to nothing, for he was not true to himself. He had no steadiness nor conduct: He could keep no secret, nor execute any design without spoiling it. He could never fix his thoughts, nor govern his estate, tho' then the greatest in _England_. He was bred about the King: And for many years he had a great ascendent over him: But he spake of him to all persons with that contempt, that at last he drew a lasting disgrace upon himself. And he at length ruined both body and mind, fortune and reputation equally. The madness of vice appeared in his person in very eminent instances; since at last he became contemptible and poor, sickly, and sunk in his parts, as well as in all other respects, so that his conversation was as much avoided as ever it had been courted. He found the King, when he came from his travels in the year 45, newly come to _Paris_, sent over by his father when his affairs declined: And finding the King enough inclined to receive ill impressions, he, who was then got into all the impieties and vices of the age, set himself to corrupt the King, in which he was too successful, being seconded in that wicked design by the Lord _Percy_. And to compleat the matter, _Hobbs_ was brought to him, under the pretence of instructing him in mathematicks: And he laid before him his schemes, both with relation to religion and politicks, which made deep and lasting impressions on the King's mind. So that the main blame of the King's ill principles, and bad morals, was owing to the Duke of _Buckingham_.

71.

By DRYDEN.

Some of their Chiefs were Princes of the Land:
In the first Rank of these did _Zimri_ stand:
A man so various, that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all Mankind's Epitome.
Stiff in Opinions, always in the wrong;
Was Every thing by starts, and Nothing long:
But, in the course of one revolving Moon,
Was Chymist, Fidler, States-Man, and Buffoon:
Then all for Women, Painting, Rhiming, Drinking;
Besides ten thousand Freaks that dy'd in thinking.
Blest Madman, who coud every hour employ,
With something New to wish, or to enjoy!
Railing and praising were his usual Theams;
And both (to shew his Judgment) in Extreams:
So over Violent, or over Civil,
That every Man, with him, was God or Devil.
In squandring Wealth was his peculiar Art:
Nothing went unrewarded, but Desert.
Begger'd by Fools, whom still he found too late:
He had his Jest, and they had his Estate.
He laugh'd himself from Court; then sought Relief
By forming Parties, but could ne'r be Chief:
For, spight of him, the weight of Business fell
On _Absalom_ and wise _Achitophel_:
Thus, wicked but in Will, of Means bereft,
He left not Faction, but of that was left.

72.

THE MARQUIS OF HALIFAX.

_George Savile, created Baron Savile and Viscount Halifax 1668, Earl of Halifax 1679, Marquis of Halifax 1682._

_Born 1633. Died 1695._

By BURNET.

I name Sir _George Saville_ last, because he deserves a more copious character. He rose afterwards to be Viscount, Earl, and Marquis of _Halifax_. He was a man of a great and ready wit; full of life, and very pleasant; much turned to satyr. He let his wit run much on matters of religion: So that he passed for a bold and determined Atheist; tho' he often protested to me, he was not one; and said, he believed there was not one in the world: He confessed, he could not swallow down every thing that divines imposed on the world: He was a Christian in submission: He believed as much as he could, and he hoped that God would not lay it to his charge, if he could not disgest iron, as an ostrich did, nor take into his belief things that must burst him: If he had any scruples, they 20 were not sought for, nor cherished by him; for he never read an atheistical book. In a fit of sickness, I knew him very much touched with a sense of religion. I was then often with him. He seemed full of good purposes: But they went off with his sickness. He was always talking of morality and friendship. He was punctual in all payments, and just in all his private dealings. But, with relation to the publick, he went backwards and forwards, and changed sides so often, that in conclusion no side trusted him. He seemed full of Common-wealth notions: Yet he went into the worst part of King _Charles's_ reign. The liveliness of his imagination was always too hard for his judgment. A severe jest was preferred by him to all arguments whatsoever. And he was endless in consultations: For when after much discourse a point was settled, if he could find a new jest, to make even that which was suggested by himself seem ridiculous, he could not hold, but would study to raise the credit of his wit, tho' it made others call his judgment in question. When he talked to me as a philosopher of his contempt of the world, I asked him, what he meant by getting so many new titles, which I call'd the hanging himself about with bells and tinsel. He had no other excuse for it, but this, that, since the world were such fools as to value those matters, a man must be a fool for company: He considered them but as rattles: Yet rattles please children: So these might be of use to his family. His heart was much set on raising his family. But, tho' he made a vast estate for them, he buried two of his sons himself, and almost all his grandchildren. The son that survived was an honest man, but far inferior to him.

73.

SIR EDMUND SAUNDERS.

_Lord Chief Justice 1682. Died 1683._

By ROGER NORTH.

The Lord Chief Justice _Saunders_ succeeded in the Room of _Pemberton_. His Character, and his Beginning, were equally strange. He was at first no better than a poor Beggar Boy, if not a Parish Foundling, without known Parents, or Relations. He had found a way to live by Obsequiousness (in _Clement's-Inn_, as I remember) and courting the Attornies Clerks for Scraps. The extraordinary Observance and Diligence of the Boy, made the Society willing to do him Good. He appeared very ambitious to learn to write; and one of the Attornies got a Board knocked up at a Window on the Top of a Staircase; and that was his Desk, where he sat and wrote after Copies of Court and other Hands the Clerks gave him. He made himself so expert a Writer that he took in Business, and earned some Pence by Hackney-writing. And thus, by degrees, he pushed his Faculties, and fell to Forms, and, by Books that were lent him, became an exquisite entering Clerk; and, by the same course of Improvement of himself, an able Counsel, first in special Pleading, then, at large. And, after he was called to the Bar, had Practice, in the _King's Bench_ Court, equal with any there. As to his Person, he was very corpulent and beastly; a mere Lump of morbid Flesh. He used to say, _by his Troggs_, (such an humourous Way of talking he affected) _none could say be wanted Issue of his Body, for he had nine in his Back_. He was a fetid Mass, that offended his Neighbours at the Bar in the sharpest Degree. Those, whose ill Fortune it was to stard near him, were Confessors, and, in Summer-time, almost Martyrs. This hateful Decay of his Carcase came upon him by continual Sottishness; for, to say nothing of Brandy, he was seldom without a Pot of Ale at his Nose, or near him. That Exercise was all he used; the rest of his Life was sitting at his Desk, or piping at home; and that _Home_ was a Taylor's House in _Butcher-Row_, called his Lodging, and the Man's Wife was his Nurse, or worse; but, by virtue of his Money, of which he made little Account, though he got a great deal, he soon became Master of the Family; and, being no Changling, he never removed, but was true to his Friends, and they to him, to the last Hour of his Life.

So much for his Person and Education. As for his Parts, none had them more lively than he. Wit and Repartee, in an affected Rusticity, were natural to him. He was ever ready, and never at a Loss; and none came so near as he to be a Match for Serjeant _Mainard_. His great Dexterity was in the Art of special Pleading, and he would lay Snares that often caught his Superiors who were not aware of his Traps. And he was so fond of Success for his Clients that, rather than fail, he would set the Court hard with a Trick; for which he met sometimes with a Reprimand, which he would wittily ward off, so that no one was much offended with him. But _Hales_ could not bear his Irregularity of Life; and for that, and Suspicion of his Tricks, used to bear hard upon him in the Court. But no ill Usage from the Bench was too hard for his Hold of Business, being such as scarce any could do but himself. With all this, he had a Goodness of Nature and Disposition in so great a Degree that he may be deservedly styled a _Philanthrope_. He was a very _Silenus_ to the Boys, as, in this Place, I may term the Students of the Law, to make them merry whenever they had a Mind to it. He had nothing of rigid or austere in him. If any, near him at the Bar, grumbled at his Stench, he ever converted the Complaint into Content and Laughing with the Abundance of his Wit. As to his ordinary Dealing, he was as honest as the driven Snow was white; and why not, having no Regard for Money, or Desire to be rich? And, for good Nature and Condescension, there was not his Fellow. I have seen him, for Hours and half Hours together, before the Court sat, stand at the Bar, with an Audience of Students over against him, putting of Cases, and debating so as suited their Capacities, and encouraged their Industry. And so in the _Temple_, he seldom moved without a Parcel of Youths hanging about him, and he merry and jesting with them.

It will be readily conceived that this Man was never cut out to be a Presbyter, or any Thing that is severe and crabbed. In no Time did he lean to Faction, but did his Business without Offence to any. He put off officious Talk of Government or Politicks, with Jests, and so made his Wit a Catholicon, or Shield, to cover all his weak Places and Infirmities. When the Court fell into a steddy Course of using the Law against all Kinds of Offenders, this Man was taken into the King's Business; and had the Part of drawing, and Perusal of almost all Indictments and Informations that were then to be prosecuted, with the Pleadings thereon if any were special; and he had the settling of the large Pleadings in the _Quo Warranto_ against _London_. His Lordship had no sort of Conversation with him, but in the Way of Business, and at the Bar; but once, after he was in the King's Business, he dined with his Lordship, and no more. And then he shewed another Qualification he had acquired, and that was to play Jigs upon an Harpsichord; having taught himself with the Opportunity of an old Virginal of his Landlady's; but in such a Manner, not for Defect but Figure, as to see him were a Jest. The King, observing him to be of a free Disposition, Loyal, Friendly, and without Greediness or Guile, thought of him to be the Chief Justice of the _King's Bench_ at that nice Time. And the Ministry could not but approve of it. So great a Weight was then at stake, as could not be trusted to Men of doubtful Principles, or such as any Thing might tempt to desert them. While he sat in the Court of _King's Bench_, he gave the Rule to the general Satisfaction of the Lawyers. But his Course of Life was so different from what it had been, his Business incessant, and, withal, crabbed; and his Diet and Exercise changed, that the Constitution of his Body, or Head rather, could not sustain it, and he fell into an Apoplexy and Palsy, which numbed his Parts; and he never recovered the Strength of them. He out-lived the Judgment on the _Quo Warranto_; but was not present otherwise than by sending his Opinion, by one of the Judges, to be for the King, who, at the pronouncing of the Judgment, declared it to the Court accordingly, which is frequently done in like Cases.

74.

TWO GROUPS OF DIVINES.

BENJAMIN WHITCHCOT or WHICHCOTE (1609-83), Provost of King's College, Cambridge, 1645. RALPH CUDWORTH (1617-88), Master of Clare College, Cambridge, 1645, and Christ's College, 1654. JOHN WILKINS (1614-72), Warden of Wadham College, Oxford, 1648; Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, 1659; Bishop of Chester, 1668. HENRY MORE (1614-87), Fellow of Christ's College, Cambridge, 1639. JOHN WORTHINGTON (1618-71), Master of Jesus College, Cambridge, 1650.

JOHN TILLOTSON (1630-94), Archbishop of Canterbury, 1691. EDWARD STILLINGFLEET (1635-99), Bishop of Worcester, 1689. SIMON PATRICK (1626-1707), Bishop of Chichester, 1689; Ely, 1691. WILLIAM LLOYD (1627-1717), Bishop of St. Asaph, 1680; Lichfield, 1692; Worcester, 1700. THOMAS TENISON (1636-1715), Archbishop of Canterbury, 1694.

By BURNET.

With this great accession of wealth there broke in upon the Church a great deal of luxury and high living, on the pretence of hospitality; while others made purchases, and left great estates, most of which we have seen melt away. And with this overset of wealth and pomp, that came on men in the decline of their parts and age, they, who were now growing into old age, became lazy and negligent in all the true concerns of the Church: They left preaching and writing to others, while they gave themselves up to ease and sloth. In all which sad representation some few exceptions are to be made; but so few, that, if a new set of men had not appeared of another stamp, the Church had quite lost her esteem over the Nation.