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Title: Characters from 17th Century Histories and Chronicles
Author: Various
Language: English
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With an Essay on THE CHARACTER

and Historical Notes






   I. The Beginnings
  II. The Literary Models
 III. Clarendon
  IV. Other Character Writers


  1. JAMES I. By Arthur Wilson
  2.   "      By Sir Anthony Weldon
  3. THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (George Villiers, first Duke). By Clarendon
  4. SIR THOMAS COVENTRY. By Clarendon
  5. SIR RICHARD WESTON. By Clarendon
  6. THE EARL OF ARUNDEL (Thomas Howard, fourteenth Earl). By Clarendon
  7. THE EARL OF PEMBROKE (William Herbert, third Earl). By Clarendon
  8. SIR FRANCIS BACON. By Ben Jonson
  9.  "     "      "    By Arthur Wilson
 10.  "     "      "    By Thomas Fuller
 11.  "     "      "    By William Rawley
 12. BEN JONSON. By Clarendon
 13.  "     "    By James Howell
 14. HENRY HASTINGS. By Shaftesbury
 15. CHARLES I. By Clarendon
 16.    "       By Sir Philip Warwick
 17. THE EARL OF STRAFFORD (Thomas Wentworth, first Earl). By Clarendon
 18. THE EARL OF STRAFFORD (Thomas Wentworth, first Earl). By Sir Philip
 19. THE EARL OF NORTHAMPTON (Spencer Compton, second Earl). By Clarendon
 20. THE EARL OF CARNARVON (Robert Dormer, first Earl). By Clarendon
 21. LORD FALKLAND (Lucius Cary, second Viscount). By Clarendon
 22. LORD FALKLAND (Lucius Cary, second Viscount). By Clarendon
 23. SIDNEY GODOLPHIN. By Clarendon
 24. WILLIAM LAUD. By Clarendon
 25.    "      "   By Thomas Fuller
 26.    "      "   By Sir Philip Warwick
 27. WILLIAM JUXON. By Sir Philip Warwick
 28. THE MARQUIS OF HERTFORD (William Seymour, first Marquis). By Clarendon
 29. THE MARQUIS OF NEWCASTLE (William Cavendish, first Marquis, and Duke).
     By Clarendon
 30. THE LORD DIGBY (George Digby, second Earl of Bristol). By Clarendon
 31. THE LORD CAPEL (Arthur Capel, first Baron). By Clarendon
 33. JOHN HAMPDEN. By Clarendon
 34. JOHN PYM. By Clarendon
 35. OLIVER CROMWELL. By Clarendon
 36. OLIVER CROMWELL. By Clarendon
 37.   "        "     By Sir Philip Warwick
 38.   "        "     By John Maidston
 39.   "        "     By Richard Baxter
 40. SIR THOMAS FAIRFAX. By Richard Baxter
 41. SIR HENRY VANE, the younger. By Clarendon
 42.  "    "     "    "    "      By Clarendon
 43. COLONEL JOHN HUTCHINSON. By Lucy Hutchinson
 44. THE EARL OF ESSEX (Robert Devereux, third Earl). By Clarendon
 45. THE EARL OF SALISBURY (William Cecil, second Earl). By Clarendon
 46. THE EARL OF WARWICK (Robert Rich, second Earl). By Clarendon
 47. THE EARL OF MANCHESTER (Edward Montagu, second Earl). By Clarendon
 48. THE LORD SAY (William Fiennes, first Viscount Say and Sele). By
 49. JOHN SELDEN. By Clarendon
 50. JOHN EARLE. By Clarendon
 51. JOHN HALES. By Clarendon
 53. EDMUND WALLER. By Clarendon
 54. THOMAS HOBBES. By Clarendon
 55.    "      "    Notes by John Aubrey
 56. THOMAS FULLER. Anonymous
 57. JOHN MILTON. Notes by John Aubrey
 58.   "     "    Note by Edward Phillips
 59.   "     "    Notes by Jonathan Richardson
 60. ABRAHAM COWLEY. By himself
 61.    "       "    By Thomas Sprat
 62. CHARLES II. By Halifax
 63. CHARLES II. By Burnet
 64. CHARLES II. By Burnet
 65. THE EARL OF CLARENDON (Edward Hyde, first Earl), By Burnet
 66. THE EARL OF LAUDERDALE (John Maitland, second Earl, created
       Duke 1672). By Clarendon.
 67. THE EARL OF LAUDERDALE (John Maitland, second Earl, created
       Duke 1672). By Burnet
 68. THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY (Anthony Ashley Cooper, first Earl).
       By Burnet
 69. THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY (Anthony Ashley Cooper, first Earl).
       By Dryden
 70. THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (George Villiers, second Duke). By Burnet
 71. THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (George Villiers, second Duke). By Dryden
 72. THE MARQUIS OF HALIFAX (George Savile, first Marquis). By Burnet
 73. SIR EDMUND SAUNDERS. By Roger North
 74. TWO GROUPS OF DIVINES: (1. Benjamin Whitchcot, Ralph Cudworth, John
     Wilkins, Henry More, John Worthington; 2. John Tillotson, Edward
     Stillingfleet, Simon Patrick, William Lloyd, Thomas Tenison). By
 75. JAMES II. By Burnet
 76. JAMES II. By Burnet


The seventeenth century is rich in short studies or characters of its
great men. Its rulers and statesmen, its soldiers and politicians,
its lawyers and divines, all who played a prominent part in the public
life, have with few notable exceptions been described for us by their
contemporaries. There are earlier characters in English literature;
but as a definite and established form of literary composition
the character dates from the seventeenth century. Even Sir Robert
Naunton's _Fragmenta Regalia, or Observations on the late Queen
Elizabeth her Times and Favourites_, a series of studies of the great
men of Elizabeth's court, and the first book of its kind, is an old
man's recollection of his early life, and belongs to the Stuart period
in everything but its theme. Nor at any later period is there the same
wealth of material for such a collection as is given in this volume.
The eighteenth century devoted itself rather to biography. When the
facts of a man's life, his works, and his opinions claimed detailed
treatment, the fashion of the short character had passed.

Yet the seventeenth century did not know its richness. None of its
best characters were then printed. The writers themselves could not
have suspected how many others were similarly engaged, so far were
they from belonging to a school. The characters in Clarendon's
_History of the Rebellion_ were too intimate and searching to be
published at once, and they remained in manuscript till about
thirty years after his death. In the interval Burnet was drawing the
characters in his _History of His Own Time_. He, like Clarendon,
was not aware of being indebted to any English model. Throughout the
period which they cover there are the characters by Fuller, Sir Philip
Warwick, Baxter, Halifax, Shaftesbury, and many others, the Latin
characters by Milton, and the verse characters by Dryden. There is no
sign that any of these writers copied another or tried to emulate
him. Together, but with no sense of their community, they made the
seventeenth century the great age of the character in England.

I. The Beginnings.

The art of literary portraiture in the seventeenth century developed
with the effort to improve the writing of history. Its first and at
all times its chief purpose in England was to show to later ages what
kind of men had directed the affairs and shaped the fortunes of
the nation. In France it was to be practised as a mere pastime; to
sketch well-known figures in society, or to sketch oneself, was for
some years the fashionable occupation of the salons. In England the
character never wholly lost the qualities of its origin. It might be
used on occasion as a record of affection, or as a weapon of political
satire; but our chief character writers are our historians. At the
beginning of the seventeenth century England was recognized to be
deficient in historical writings. Poetry looked back to Chaucer as its
father, was proud of its long tradition, and had proved its right to
sing the glories of Elizabeth's reign. The drama, in the full vigour
of its youth, challenged comparison with the drama of Greece and Rome.
Prose was conscious of its power in exposition and controversy. But in
every review of our literature's great achievement and greater promise
there was one cause of serious misgivings. England could not yet rank
with other countries in its histories. Many large volumes had been
printed, some of them containing matter that is invaluable to the
modern student, but there was no single work that was thought to
be worthy of England's greatness. The prevailing type was still the
chronicle. Even Camden, 'the glory and light of the kingdom', as Ben
Jonson called him, was an antiquary, a collector, and an annalist.
History had yet to be practised as one of the great literary arts.

Bacon pointed out the 'unworthiness' and 'deficiences' of English
history in his _Advancement of Learning_.[1] 'Some few very worthy,
but the greater part beneath mediocrity' was his verdict on modern
histories in general. He was not the first to express these views.
Sir Henry Savile had been more emphatic in his dedication to Queen
Elizabeth of his collection of early chronicles, _Rerum Anglicarum
Scriptores post Bedam_, published in 1596.[2] And after Bacon,
somewhere about 1618, these views were again expressed by Edmund
Bolton in his _Hypercritica, or a Rule of Judgement for writing or
reading our Histories_.[3] 'The vast vulgar Tomes', he said, 'procured
for the most part by the husbandry of Printers, and not by appointment
of the Prince or Authority of the Common-weal, in their tumultuary and
centonical Writings do seem to resemble some huge disproportionable
Temple, whose Architect was not his Arts Master'. He repeated what he
calls the common wish 'that the majesty of handling our history might
once equal the majesty of the argument'. England had had all other
honours, but only wanted a history.

But the most valuable statement on the conditions of English history
at this time and the obstacles that hindered its progress was made by
Sir John Hayward at the beginning of his _Lives of the III Normans,
Kings of England_, published in 1613. Leaving aside the methods of the
chroniclers, he had taken the classical historians as his model in
his _First Part of the Life and raigne of King Henrie the IIII_. The
interest of this work to the modern reader lies in its structure, its
attempt at artistic unity, its recognition that English history must
be written on a different plan, rather than in its historical matter.
But it was no sooner published than Hayward was committed to the
Tower because the account of the deposition of Richard II was held
to be treasonable, the offence being aggravated by the dedication,
in perfectly innocent terms, to the Earl of Essex. His work was thus
checked till he met with encouragement from Henry, Prince of Wales,
a patron of literature, of whom, though a mere youth, such men as
Jonson, Chapman, and Raleigh, spoke with an enthusiasm that cannot be
mistaken for flattery. Prince Henry saw the need of a worthy history
of England. He therefore sent for Hayward to discuss the reasons with

    Prince Henry ... sent for mee, a few monethes before his
    death. And at my second comming to his presence, among some
    other speeches, hee complained much of our Histories of
    England; and that the English Nation, which is inferiour to
    none in Honourable actions, should be surpassed by all, in
    leauing the memorie of them to posteritie....

    I answered, that I conceiued these causes hereof; One,
    that men of sufficiencie were otherwise employed; either
    in publicke affaires, or in wrestling with the world, for
    maintenance or encrease of their private estates. Another is,
    for that men might safely write of others in maner of a tale,
    but in maner of a History, safely they could not: because,
    albeit they should write of men long since dead, and whose
    posteritie is cleane worne out; yet some aliue, finding
    themselues foule in those vices, which they see obserued,
    reproued, condemned in others; their guiltinesse maketh them
    apt to conceiue, that whatsoeuer the words are, the finger
    pointeth onely at them. The last is, for that the Argument of
    our _English_ historie hath been so foiled heretofore by some
    unworthie writers, that men of qualitie may esteeme themselues
    discredited by dealing in it....

    Then he questioned, whether I had wrote any part of our
    _English_ Historie, other then that which had been published;
    which at that time he had in his hands. I answered, that I
    had wrote of certaine of our _English_ Kings, by way of a
    briefe description of their liues: but for historie, I did
    principally bend, and binde my selfe to the times wherein
    I should liue; in which my owne obseruations might somewhat
    direct me: but as well in the one as in the other I had at
    that time perfected nothing.

The result of the interview was that Hayward proceeded to 'perfect
somewhat of both sorts'. The brief description of the lives of the
three Norman kings was in due course ordered to be published, and
would have been dedicated to its real patron but for his untimely
death; in dedicating it instead to Prince Charles, Hayward fortunately
took the opportunity to relate his conversation with Prince Henry.
How far he carried the other work is not certain; it survives in the
fragment called _The Beginning of the Raigne of Queene Elizabeth_,[4]
published after his death with _The Life and Raigne of King Edward
the Sixt_. He might have brought it down to the reign of James. Had he
been at liberty to follow his own wishes, he would have been the first
Englishman to write a 'History of his own time'. But when an author
incurred imprisonment for writing about the deposition of a sovereign,
and when modern applications were read into accounts of what had
happened long ago, the complexity of his own time was a dangerous if
not a forbidden subject.

There is a passage to the same effect in the preface to _The Historie
of the World_ by Sir Walter Raleigh, who, unlike Hayward, willingly
chose to be silent on what he knew best:

    I know that it will bee said by many, That I might have beene
    more pleasing to the Reader, if I had written the Story of
    mine owne times; having been permitted to draw water as neare
    the Well-head as another. To this I answer, that who-so-ever
    in writing a moderne Historie, shall follow truth too neare
    the heeles, it may happily strike out his teeth. There is no
    Mistresse or Guide, that hath led her followers and servants
    into greater miseries.... It is enough for me (being in that
    state I am) to write of the eldest times: wherein also why may
    it not be said, that in speaking of the past, I point at the
    present, and taxe the vices of those that are yet lyving, in
    their persons that are long since dead; and have it laid to my
    charge? But this I cannot helpe, though innocent.

He wrote of remote ages, and contributed nothing to historical
knowledge. But he enriched English literature with a 'just history',
as distinct from annals and chronicles.[5] 'I am not altogether
ignorant', he said, 'in the Lawes of Historie, and of the Kindes.'
When we read his lives and commendations of the great men of antiquity
as he pictured them, we cannot but regret that the same talents, the
same overmastering interest in the eternal human problems, had not
been employed in depicting men whom he had actually known. The other
Elizabethan work that ranks with Raleigh's in its conception of the
historian's office and in its literary excellence, deals with another
country. It is the _History of the Turks_ by Richard Knolles.

The character was definitely introduced into English literature when
the historians took as their subjects contemporary or recent events
at home, and, abandoning the methods of the chronicle, fashioned their
work on classical models. Its introduction had been further prepared
to some extent by the growing interest in lives, which, unlike
chronicles that recorded events, recognized the part played by men
in the control of events. In his _Advancement of Learning_ Bacon
regretted that Englishmen gave so little thought to describing the
deeds and characters of their great countrymen. 'I do find strange',
he said, 'that these times have so little esteemed the virtues of the
times, as that the writing of lives should be no more frequent.' He
and Hayward both wrote lives with the consciousness that their methods
were new in English, though largely borrowed from the classics.[6]
Hayward tried to produce a picture of the period he dealt with,
and his means for procuring harmoniousness of design was to centre
attention on the person of the sovereign. It is a conception of
history not as a register of facts but as a representation of the
national drama. His _Henry IV_ gives the impression, especially by its
speeches, that he looked upon history as resolving itself ultimately
into a study of men; and it thus explains how he wished to be free
to describe the times wherein he lived. He is on the whole earlier
than Bacon, who wrote his _Historie of the Reigne of King Henry the
Seventh_ late in life, during the leisure that was forced on him
by his removal from all public offices. Written to display the
controlling policy in days that were 'rough, and full of mutations,
and rare accidents', it is a study of the statecraft and character of
a king who had few personal gifts and small capacity for a brilliant
part, yet won by his ready wisdom the best of all praises that 'what
he minded he compassed'. How he compassed it, is what interested
Bacon. 'I have not flattered him,' he says, 'but took him to the life
as well as I could, sitting so far off, and having no better light.'
Would that Bacon had felt at liberty to choose those who sat near at
hand. Who better than the writer of the _Essays_ could have painted a
series of miniatures of the courts of Elizabeth and James?

When at last the political upheaval of this century compelled men to
leave, whether in histories, or memoirs, or biographies, a record of
what they had themselves experienced, the character attained to its
full importance and excellence. 'That posterity may not be deceaved
by the prosperous wickednesse of these tymes, into an opinyon, that
lesse then a generall combination and universall apostacy in the whole
Nacion from their religion and allegiaunce could in so shorte a tyme
have produced such a totall and prodigious alteration and confusion
over the whole kingdome, and so the memory of those few who out of
duty and conscience have opposed and resisted that Torrent which hath
overwhelmed them, may loose the recompence dew to ther virtue, and
havinge undergone the injuryes and reproches of this, may not finde
a vindication in a better Age'--in these words Clarendon began his
_History of the Rebellion_. But he could not vindicate the memory
of his political friends without describing the men who had overcome
them. The history of these confused and difficult years would not be
properly understood if the characters of all the chief actors in the
tragic drama were not known. For to Clarendon history was the record
of the struggle of personalities. When we are in the midst of a
crisis, or view it from too near a distance, it is natural for us
to think of it as a fight between the opposing leaders, and the
historians of their own time are always liable to attribute to the
personal force of a statesman what is due to general causes of which
he is only the instrument. Of these general causes Clarendon took
little account. 'Motives which influenced masses of men', it has been
said, 'escape his appreciation, and the _History of the Rebellion_
is accordingly an account of the Puritan Revolution which is
unintelligible because the part played by Puritanism is misunderstood
or omitted altogether'.[7] But the _History of the Rebellion_ is a
Stuart portrait gallery, and the greatest portrait gallery in the
English language.

[Footnote 1: Book II, ed. Aldis Wright, pp. 92-5.]

[Footnote 2: 'Historæ nostræ particulam quidam non male: sed qui totum
corpus ea fide, eaque dignitate scriptis complexus sit, quam suscepti
operis magnitudo postularet, hactenus plane neminem extitisse
constat.... Nostri ex fæce plebis historici, dum maiestatem tanti
operis ornare studuerunt, putidissimis ineptiis contaminarunt. Ita
factum est nescio qua huiusce insulæ infoelicitate, ut maiores tui,
(serenissima Regina) viri maximi, qui magnam huius orbis nostri partem
imperio complexi, omnes sui temporis reges rerum gestarum gloria
facile superarunt, magnorum ingeniorum quasi lumine destituti, iaceant
ignoti, & delitescant.']

[Footnote 3: _Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century_, ed.
Spingarn, vol. i, pp. 82-115.]

[Footnote 4: See also Camden Society Publications, No. 7, 1840.]

[Footnote 5: Roger Ascham in his _Scholemaster_ divides History into
'Diaria', 'Annales', 'Commentaries', and 'Iustam Historiam'.]

[Footnote 6: Bacon told Queen Elizabeth that there was no treason in
Hayward's _Henry IV_, but 'very much felony', because Hayward 'had
stolen many of his sentences and conceits out of Cornelius Tacitus'
(_Apophthegms_, 58). Hayward and Bacon had a precursor in the author
of _The History of King Richard the Thirde_, generally attributed to
Sir Thomas More, and printed in the collection of his works published
in 1557. It was known to the chroniclers, but it did not affect the
writing of history. Nor did George Cavendish's _Life and Death of
Thomas Wolsey_, which they likewise used for its facts.]

[Footnote 7: C.H. Firth, 'Burnet as a Historian', in Clarke and
Foxcroft's _Life of Gilbert Burnet_, 1907, pp. xliv, xlv.]

II. The Literary Models.

The authentic models for historical composition were in Greek and
Latin. Much as our literature in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries owed to the classics, the debt was nowhere more obvious,
and more fully acknowledged, than in our histories. The number of
translations is in itself remarkable. Many of them, and notably
the greatest of all, North's Plutarch, belong to the early part of
Elizabeth's reign, but they became more frequent at the very time when
the inferiority of our native works was engaging attention.[1] By the
middle of the seventeenth century the great classical historians could
all be read in English. It was not through translation, however, that
their influence was chiefly exercised.

The classical historians who were best known were Thucydides,
Polybius, and Plutarch among the Greeks, and Sallust, Livy, Tacitus,
and Suetonius among the Latins; and the former group were not so well
known as the latter. It was recognized that in Thucydides, to use
Hobbes's words, 'the faculty of writing history is at the highest.'[2]
But Thucydides was a difficult author, and neither he nor Polybius
exerted the same direct influence as the Latin historians who had
imitated them, or learned from them. Most of what can be traced
ultimately to the Greeks came to England in the seventeenth century
through Latin channels. Every educated man had been trained in Latin,
and was as familiar with it for literary purposes as with his native
tongue. Further, the main types of history--the history of a long
period of years, the history of recent events, and the biographical
history--were all so admirably represented in Latin that it was not
necessary to go to Greek for a model. In one respect Latin could claim
pre-eminence. It might possess no single passage greater than the
character study of Pericles or of the Athenians by Thucydides, but it
developed the character study into a recognized and clearly defined
element in historical narrative. Livy provided a pattern of narrative
on a grand scale. For 'exquisite eloquence' he was held not to
have his equal.[3] But of all the Latin historians, Tacitus had the
greatest influence. 'There is no learning so proper for the direction
of the life of man as Historie; there is no historie so well worth the
reading as Tacitus. Hee hath written the most matter with best conceit
in fewest words of any Historiographer ancient or moderne.'[4] This
had been said at the beginning of the first English translation of
Tacitus, and it was the view generally held when he came to be better
known. He appealed to Englishmen of the seventeenth century like no
other historian. They felt the human interest of a narrative based
on what the writer had experienced for himself; and they found
that its political wisdom could be applied, or even applied itself
spontaneously, to their own circumstances. They were widely read in
the classics. They knew how Plutarch depicted character in his Lives,
and Cicero in his Speeches. They knew all the Latin historians. But
when they wrote their own characters their chief master was Tacitus.

       *       *       *       *       *

Continental historians provided the incentive of rivalry. They too
were the pupils of the Ancients, and taught nothing that might not be
learned equally well or better from their masters, but they invited
the question why England should be behind Italy, France, or the Low
Countries in worthy records of its achievements. In their own century,
Thuanus, Davila, Bentivoglio, Strada, and Grotius set the standard for
modern historical composition. Jacques Auguste de Thou, or Thuanus,
wrote in Latin a history of his own time in 138 books. He intended to
complete it in 143 books with the assassination of Henri IV in 1610,
but his labours were interrupted by his death in 1617. The collected
edition of his monumental work was issued in 1620 under the title
_Iacobi Augusti Thuani Historiarum sui temporis ab anno 1543 usque
ad annum 1607 Libri CXXXVIII_. Enrico Caterino Davila dealt with the
affairs of France from Francis II to Henri IV in his _Historia
delle guerre civili di Francia_, published in 1630. Cardinal Guido
Bentivoglio described the troubles in the Low Countries in his _Della
Guerra di Fiandra_, published from 1632 to 1639. Famianus Strada
wrote on the same subject in Latin; the first part of his _De Bella
Belgico_, which was meant to cover the period from 1555 to 1590 but
was not completed, appeared in 1632, and the second in 1647. Hugo
Grotius, the great Dutch scholar, had long been engaged on his
_Annales et Historiæ de Rebus Belgicis_ when he died in 1640; it was
brought out by his sons in 1657, and contained five books of Annals
from 1566 to 1588, and eighteen books of Histories to 1609. These
five historians were well known in England, and were studied for their
method as well as their matter. Burnet took Thuanus as his model. 'I
have made him ', he says, 'my pattern in writing.'[5] The others are
discussed by Clarendon in a long passage of his essay 'On an Active
and on a Contemplative Life'.[6] He there develops the view, not
without reference to his own history, that 'there was never yet a good
History written but by men conversant in business, and of the best
and most liberal education'; and he illustrates it by comparing the
histories of his four contemporaries:

    Two of these are by so much preferable before the other Two,
    that the first may worthily stand by the Sides of the best
    of the Ancients, whilst both the others must be placed under
    them; and a Man, without knowing more of them, may by reading
    their Books find the Difference between their Extractions,
    their Educations, their Conversations, and their Judgment. The
    first Two are _Henry D'Avila_ and Cardinal _Bentivoglio_, both
    _Italians_ of illustrious Birth; ... they often set forth and
    describe the same Actions with very pleasant and delightful
    Variety; and commonly the greatest Persons they have occasion
    to mention were very well known to them both, which makes
    their Characters always very lively. Both their Histories are
    excellent, and will instruct the ablest and wisest Men how to
    write, and terrify them from writing. The other Two were _Hugo
    Grotius_ and _Famianus Strada_, who both wrote in _Latin_
    upon the same Argument, and of the same Time, of the Wars of
    _Flanders_, and of the _Low-Countries_.

He proceeds to show that Grotius, with all his learning and abilities,
and with all his careful revisions, had not been able to give his
narrative enough life and spirit; it was deficient in 'a lively
Representation of Persons and Actions, which makes the Reader present
at all they say or do'. The whole passage, which is too long to
be quoted in full, is not more valuable as a criticism than as an
indication of his own aims, and of his equipment to realize them. Some
years earlier, when he was still thinking 'with much agony' about the
method he was to employ in his own history, he had cited the methods
of Davila, 'who', he added, 'I think hath written as ours should be

One of Clarendon's tests of a good history, it will be noted, is
the 'lively representation of persons'; the better writers are
distinguished by making 'their characters always very lively'. In
his own hands, and in Burnet's, the character assumes even greater
importance than the continental historians had given it. At every
opportunity Clarendon leaves off his narrative of events to describe
the actors in the great drama, and Burnet introduces his main subject
with what is in effect an account of his _dramatis personæ_. They
excel in the range and variety of their characters. But they had
studied the continental historians, and the encouragement of example
must not be forgotten.

       *       *       *       *       *

The debt to French literature can easily be overstated. No French
influence is discoverable in the origin and rise of the English
character, nor in its form or manner; but its later development may
have been hastened by French example, especially during the third
quarter of the seventeenth century.

France was the home of the _mémoire_, the personal record in which
the individual portrays himself as the centre of his world, and
describes events and persons in the light of his own experience. It
was established as a characteristic form of French literature in the
sixteenth century,[8] and it reached its full vigour and variety
in the century of Sully, Rohan, Richelieu, Tallemant des Réaux,
Bassompierre, Madame de Motteville, Mlle de Montpensier, La
Rochefoucauld, Villars, Cardinal de Retz, Bussy-Rabutin--to name but
a few. This was the age of the _mémoire_, always interesting, often
admirably written; and, as might be expected, sometimes exhibiting the
art of portraiture at perfection. The English memoir is comparatively
late. The word, in the sense of a narrative of personal recollections,
was borrowed at the Restoration. The thing itself, under other names,
is older. It is a branch of history that flourishes in stirring
and difficult times when men believe themselves to have special
information about hidden forces that directed the main current of
events, and we date it in this country from the period of the Civil
Wars. It is significant that when Shaftesbury in his old age composed
his short and fragmentary autobiography he began by saying, 'I in this
follow the French fashion, and write my own memoirs.' Even Swift, when
publishing Temple's _Memoirs_, said that ''tis to the French (if I
mistake not) we chiefly owe that manner of writing; and Sir William
Temple is not only the first, but I think the only Englishman (at
least of any consequence) who ever attempted it.' Few English memoirs
were then in print, whereas French memoirs were to be numbered by
dozens. But the French fashion is not to be regarded as an importation
into English literature, supplying what had hitherto been lacking. At
most it stimulated what already existed.

The _mémoire_ was not the only setting for French portraits at this
time. There were the French romances, and notably the _Artamène ou
le Grand Cyrus_ and the _Clélie_ of Madeleine de Scudéry. The full
significance of the _Grand Cyrus_ has been recovered for modern
readers by Victor Cousin, with great skill and charm, in his _Société
française au XVIIe siècle_, where he has shown it to be, 'properly
speaking, a history in portraits'. The characters were drawn from
familiar figures in French society. 'Ainsi s'explique', says Cousin,
'l'immense succès du _Cyrus_ dans le temps où il parut. C'était une
galerie des portraits vrais et frappants, mais un peu embellis,
où tout ce qu'il y avait de plus illustre en tout genre--princes,
courtisans, militaires, beaux-esprits, et surtout jolies
femmes--allaient se chercher et se reconnaissaient avec un plaisir
inexprimable.'[9] It was easy to attack these romances. Boileau made
fun of them because the classical names borne by the characters
were so absurdly at variance with the matter of the stories.[10] But
instead of giving, as he said, a French air and spirit to Greece and
Rome, Madeleine de Scudéry only gave Greek and Roman names to France
as she knew it. The names were a transparent disguise that was not
meant to conceal the picture of fashionable society.

The next stage was the portrait by itself, without any setting. At the
height of the popularity of the romances, Mlle de Montpensier hit upon
a new kind of entertainment for the talented circle of which she was
the brilliant centre. It was nothing more nor less than a paper game.
They drew each other, or persons whom they knew, or themselves, and
under their real names. And they played the game so well that what was
written for amusement was worth printing. _Divers Portraits, Imprimés
en l'année M DC LIX_ was the simple title of the first collection,
which was intended only for the contributors.[11] When it reached its
final form in 1663, it contained over a hundred and fifty portraits,
and was offered to the public as _La Galerie des Peintures, ou Recueil
des portraits et éloges en vers et en prose, contenant les portraits
du Roy, de la Reyne, des princes, princesses, duchesses, marquises,
comtesses, et autres seigneurs et dames les plus illustres de France;
la plupart composés par eux-mêmes_.[12] The introductory defence of
the portrait cites Suetonius and Plutarch, and Horace and Montaigne,
but also states frankly the true original of the new fashion--'il faut
avouer que nous sommes très redevables au _Cyrus_ et à la _Clélie_
qui nous en ont fourni les modèles.' About the same time Antoine
Baudeau, sieur de Somaize, brought out his _Grand Dictionnaire des
Précieuses_,[13] in which there are many portraits in the accepted
manner. The portrait was more than a fashion at this time in France;
it was the rage. It therefore invited the satirists. Molière has a
passing jest at them in his _Précieuses Ridicules_;[14] Charles Sorel
published his _Description de I'isle de la Portraiture et de la ville
des Portraits_; and Boileau wrote his _Héros de Roman_.

The effects of all this in England are certainly not obvious. It is
quite a tenable view that the English characters would have been
no less numerous, nor in any way different in quality, had every
Englishman been ignorant of French. But the _mémoires_ and romances
were well known, and it was after 1660 that the art of the character
attained its fullest excellence. The literary career of Clarendon
poses the question in a simple form. Most of his characters, and the
best as a whole, were written at Montpelier towards the close of
his life. Did he find in French literature an incentive to indulge
and perfect his natural bent? Yet there can be no conclusive answer
to those who find a sufficient explanation in the leisure of these
unhappy years, and in the solace that comes to chiefs out of war
and statesmen out of place in ruminating on their experiences and

       *       *       *       *       *

Something may have been learned also from the other kind of character
that is found at its best in modern literature in the seventeenth
century, the character derived from Theophrastus, and depicting not
the individual but the type. In France, the one kind led on to the
other. The romances of Scudéry prepared the way for the _Caractères ou
les Moeurs de ce Siècle_ of La Bruyère. When the fashionable portrait
of particular persons fell out of favour, there arose in its place the
description of dispositions and temperaments; and in the hands of La
Bruyère 'the manners of the century' were the habits and varieties
of human nature. In England the two kinds existed side by side. They
correspond to the two methods of the drama. Begin with the individual,
but draw him in such a way that we recognize in him our own or others'
qualities; or begin with the qualities shared by classes of people,
embody these in a person who stands for the greatest common measure of
the class, and finally--and only then--let him take on his distinctive
traits: these are methods which are not confined to the drama, and
at all stages of our literature have lived in helpful rivalry. Long
before France had her La Bruyère, England had her Hall, Overbury, and
Earle.[15] The Theophrastan character was at its best in this country
at the beginning of the seventeenth century when the historical
character was still in its early stages; and it was declining when
the historical character had attained its full excellence. They cannot
always be clearly distinguished, and they are sometimes purposely
blended, as in Butler's character of 'A Duke of Bucks,' where
the satire on a man of pronounced individuality is heightened by
describing his eccentricities as if they belonged to a recognized

The great lesson that the Theophrastan type of character could teach
was the value of balance and unity. A haphazard statement of
features and habits and peculiarities might suffice for a sketch,
but perspective and harmony were necessary to a finished portrait.
It taught that the surest method in depicting character was first
to conceive the character as a whole, and then to introduce detail
incidentally and in proper subordination. But the same lesson could
have been learned elsewhere. It might have been learned from the
English drama.

[Footnote 1: North's Plutarch went into five editions between 1579
and 1631; Thucydides was translated by Hobbes in 1629, and Polybius
by Edward Grimeston in 1633; Xenophon's _Anabasis_ was translated
by John Bingham in 1623, and the _Cyropædia_ by Philemon Holland in
1632; Arthur Golding's version of Cæsar's _Gallic War_ was several
times reprinted between 1565 and 1609; Philemon Holland, the
translator-general of the age, as Fuller called him, brought out
his Livy in 1600, and his Suetonius in 1606; Sallust was translated
by Thomas Heywood in 1608, and by William Crosse in 1629; Velleius
Paterculus was 'rendred English by Sir Robert Le Grys' in 1632; and by
1640 there had been six editions of Sir Henry Savile's _Histories_ and
_Agricola_ of Tacitus, first published in 1591, and five editions of
Richard Grenewey's _Annals_ and _Germany_, first published in 1598.
See H.R. Palmer's _English Editions and Translations of Greek and
Latin Classics printed before 1641_, Bibliographical Society, 1911.]

[Footnote 2: 'Thucydides ... in whom (I beleeve with many others) the
Faculty of writing History is at the Highest.' Thucydides, 1629, 'To
the Readers.']

[Footnote 3: Philemon Holland's Livy, 1600, 'Dedication to

[Footnote 4: Sir Henry Savile's Tacitus, 1591, 'A.B. To the Reader.']

[Footnote 5: _Supplement to Burnet's History_, ed. H.C. Foxcroft, p.

[Footnote 6: In 'Reflections upon Several Christian Duties, Divine and
Moral, by Way of Essays', printed in _A Collection of several Tracts
of Edward Earl of Clarendon_, 1727, pp. 80-1.]

[Footnote 7: Letter to the Earl of Bristol, February 1, 1646
(_State Papers_, vol. ii, p. 334). Davila was very well known in
England--better, it would appear, than the other three--and was
credited with being more than a mere literary model. Clarendon says
that from his account of the civil wars of France 'no question our
Gamesters learned much of their play'. Sir Philip Warwick, after
remarking that Hampden was well read in history, tells us that the
first time he ever saw Davila's book it was lent to him 'under the
title of Mr. Hambden's _Vade Mecum_' (_Mémoires_, 1701, p. 240).
A translation was published by the authority of the Parliament in
1647-8. Translations of Strada, Bentivoglio, and Grotius followed in
1650, 1654, and 1665. Only parts of Thuanus were translated. The size
of his history was against a complete version.]

[Footnote 8: See the _Mémoires_ of Monluc, Brantôme, La Noue, &c. The
fifty-two volumes in Petitot's incomplete series entitled _Collection
des Mémoires relatifs à l'histoire de France jusqu'au commencement
du dix-septième siècle_ show at a glance the remarkable richness of
French literature in the _mémoire_ at an early date.]

[Footnote 9: _La Socíété française au XVIIe siècle_, 1858 vol. i, p.
7. The 'key' drawn up in 1657 is printed as an appendix.]

[Footnote 10: _Art poétique_, iii. 115-18.]

[Footnote 11: Cousin, _Madame de Sablé_, 1854, pp. 42-8.]

[Footnote 12: Edited by Edouard de Barthélemy in 1860 under the title
_La Galerie des Portraits de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_.]

[Footnote 13: Edited by Ch. Livet, 1856 (Bibliothèque Elzevirienne. 2

[Footnote 14: Sc. x, where Madelon says 'Je vous avoue que je suis
furieusement pour les portraits: je ne vois rien de si galant que
cela', and Mascarille replies, 'Les portraits sont difficiles, et
demandent un esprit profond: vous en verrez de ma manière qui ne vous
déplairont pas.']

[Footnote 15: Joseph Hall's _Characters of Vertues and Vices_ appeared
in 1608 Overbury's _Characters_ 1614-22. For Earle, see pp. 168-70.]

III. Clarendon.

Clarendon's _History of the Rebellion and Civil Wars in England_
is made up of two works composed with different purposes and at
a distance of twenty years. The first, which may be called the
'Manuscript History', belongs to 1646-8; the second, the 'Manuscript
Life', to 1668-70. They were combined to form the _History_ as we
now read it in 1671, when new sections were added to give continuity
and to complete the narrative. On Clarendon's death in 1674 the
manuscripts passed to his two sons, Henry Hyde, second Earl of
Clarendon, and Laurence Hyde, Earl of Rochester; and under the
supervision of the latter a transcript of the _History_ was made for
the printers. The work was published at Oxford in three handsome
folio volumes in 1702, 1703, and 1704, and became the property of the
University. The portions of the 'Manuscript Life' which Clarendon
had not incorporated in the _History_ as being too personal, were
published by the University in 1759, under the title _The Life
of Edward Earl of Clarendon_, and were likewise printed from a

The original manuscripts, now also in the possession of the University
of which Clarendon's family were such generous benefactors, enable
us to fix the dates of composition. We know whether a part belongs
originally to the 'Manuscript History' or the 'Manuscript Life', or
whether it was pieced in later. More than this, Clarendon every now
and again inserts the month and the day on which he began or ended
a section. We can thus trace the stages by which his great work was
built up, and learn how his art developed. We can also judge how
closely the printed texts represent what Clarendon had written. The
old controversy on the authenticity of the first edition has long been
settled.[2] The original editors did their work faithfully according
to the editorial standards of their day; and they were well within the
latitude allowed them by the terms of Clarendon's instructions when
they occasionally omitted a passage, or when they exercised their
somewhat prim and cautious taste in altering and polishing phrases
that Clarendon had dashed down as quickly as his pen could move.[3]
Later editors have restored the omitted passages and scrupulously
reproduced Clarendon's own words. But no edition has yet reproduced
his spelling. In the characters printed in this volume the attempt
is made, for the first time it is believed, to represent the original
manuscripts accurately to the letter.[4]

On the defeat of the last Royalist army in Cornwall in February 1646
it was necessary to provide for the safety of Prince Charles, and
Clarendon, in these days Sir Edward Hyde, accompanied him when on the
night of March 2 he set sail for Scilly. They arrived in Scilly on
March 4, and there they remained till April 16, when the danger of
capture by the Parliamentary fleet compelled them to make good their
escape to Jersey. It is a remarkable testimony to the vigour of
Clarendon's mind that even in the midst of this crisis he should
have been able to begin his _History_. He began it in Scilly on March
18, 1646--the date is at the head of his manuscript; and once he
was settled in Jersey he immediately resumed it. But in writing his
_History_ he did not, in these days, think of himself only as an
historian. He was a trusted adviser of the defeated party, and he
planned his faithful narrative of what he knew so well not solely to
vindicate the character and conduct of the King, but also with the
immediate purpose of showing how the disasters had been brought out,
and, by implication, how further disaster might be avoided. The proof
of this is to be found not in the _History_ itself, where he seems
to have his eye only on 'posterity' and 'a better age', but in his
correspondence. In a letter written to Sir Edward Nicholas, the King's
secretary, on November 15, 1646, Clarendon spoke of his _History_ at
some length:

    As soon as I found myself alone, I thought the best way to
    provide myself for new business against the time I should be
    called to it (for, Mr. Secretary, you and I must once again
    to business) was to look over the faults of the old; and so
    I resolved (which you know I threatned you with long ago) to
    write the history of these evil times, and of this most lovely
    Rebellion. Well; without any other help than a few diurnals
    I have wrote of longer paper than this, and in the same fine
    small hand, above threescore sheets of paper.... I write with
    all fidelity and freedom of all I know, of persons and things,
    and the oversights and omissions on both sides, in order to
    what they desired; so that you will believe it will make mad
    work among friends and foes, if it were published; but out
    of it enough may be chosen to make a perfect story, and the
    original kept for their perusal, who may be the wiser for
    knowing the most secret truths; and you know it will be an
    easier matter to blot out two sheets, than to write half an
    one. If I live to finish it (as on my conscience I shall, for
    I write apace), I intend to seal it up, and have it always
    with me. If I die, I appoint it to be delivered to you, to
    whose care (with a couple of good fellows more) I shall leave
    it; that either of you dying, you may so preserve it, that
    in due time somewhat by your care may be published, and the
    original be delivered to the King, who will not find himself
    flattered in it, nor irreverently handled: though, the truth
    will better suit a dead than a living man. Three hours a
    day I assign to this writing task; the rest to other study
    and books; so I doubt not after seven years time in this
    retirement, you will find me a pretty fellow.[5]

From this, as from other passages in his letters, Clarendon's
first intentions are clear. The _History_ was to be a repository of
authentic information on 'this most lovely Rebellion', constructed
with the specifically didactic purpose of showing the King and his
advisers what lessons were to be learned from their errors; they would
be 'the wiser for knowing the most secret truths'. At first he looked
on his work as containing the materials of a 'perfect story', but as
he proceeded his ambitions grew. He had begun to introduce characters;
and when in the spring of 1647 he was about to write his first
character of Lord Falkland, he had come to the view that 'the
preservation of the fame and merit of persons, and deriving the same
to posterity, is no less the business of history than the truth of
things'.[6] He gave much thought to the character of Falkland, 'whom
the next age shall be taught', he was determined, 'to value more than
the present did.'[7] Concurrently with the introduction of characters
he paid more attention to the literary, as distinct from the
didactic, merits of his work. We find him comparing himself with other
historians, and considering what Livy and Tacitus would have done
in like circumstances. By the spring of 1648 he had brought down his
narrative to the opening of the campaign of 1644. Earlier in the
year he had been commanded by the King to be ready to rejoin Prince
Charles, and shortly afterwards he received definite instructions from
the Queen to attend on her and the Prince at Paris. He left Jersey
in June, and with his re-entry into active politics his _History_ was
abruptly ended. The seven years of retirement which he had anticipated
were cut down by the outbreak of the Second Civil War to two; and
within a year the King for whose benefit he had begun this _History_
was led to the scaffold. Not for twenty years was Clarendon again to
have the leisure to be an historian. When in 1668 he once more took
up his pen, it was not a continuation of the first work, but an
entirely new work, that came in steady flow from the abundance of his

Clarendon returned to England as Lord Chancellor in 1660, and for
seven years enjoyed the power which he had earned by ceaseless
devotion to his two royal masters. The ill success of the war with the
Dutch, jealousy of his place and influence, the spiteful opposition
of the King's chief mistress, and the King's own resentment at an
attitude that showed too little deference and imprudently suggested
the old relations of tutor and pupil, all combined to bring about his
fall. He fled from England on November 30, 1667, and was never to set
foot in England again. Broken in health and spirit, he sought in vain
for many months a resting-place in France, and not till July 1668 did
he find a new home at Montpelier. Here his health improved, and here
he remained till June 1671. These were busy years of writing, and
by far the greater portion of his published work, if his letters
and state papers be excluded, belongs to this time. First of all he
answered the charge of high treason brought against him by the House
of Commons in _A Discourse, by Way of Vindication of my self_, begun
on July 24, 1668; he wrote most of his _Reflections upon Several
Christian Duties, Divine and Moral_, a collection of twenty-five
essays, some of considerable length, on subjects largely suggested
by his own circumstances; and he completed between December 1668 and
February 1671 his _Contemplations and Reflections upon the Psalms of
David_, an elaborate exposition extending to well over four hundred
folio pages of print, which he had begun at Jersey in 1647. But his
great work at this time was his _Life_, begun on July 23, 1668,
and brought down to 1660 by August 1, 1670. It is by far the most
elaborate autobiography that had yet been attempted in English. The
manuscript consists of over six hundred pages, and each page contains
on an average about a thousand words. He wrote with perfect freedom,
for this work, unlike the earlier _History_, was not intended for the
eyes of the King, and the didactic days were over. He wrote too with
remarkable ease. The very appearance of the manuscript, where page
follows page with hardly an erasure, and the 'fine hand' becomes finer
and finer, conveys even a sense of relief and pleasure. His pen seems
to move of itself and the long and elaborate sentences to evolve of
their own free will. The story of his life became a loose framework
into which he could fit all that he wished to tell of his own times;
and the more he told, his vindication would be the more complete.
'Even unawares', he admitted, 'many things are inserted not so
immediately applicable to his own person, which possibly may
hereafter, in some other method, be communicated to the world.'[8] He
welcomed the opportunity to tell all that he knew. There was no reason
for reticence. He wrote of men as of things frankly as he knew them.
More than a history of the Rebellion, his _Life_ is also a picture of
the society in which he had moved. It is the work which contains most
of his characters.[9]

His early _History_ had been left behind in England on his sudden
flight. For about four years he was debarred from all intercourse with
his family, but in 1671 the royal displeasure so far relaxed that his
second son, Laurence, was granted a pass to visit him, and he brought
the manuscript that had been left untouched for twenty years. They met
in June at Moulins, which was to be Clarendon's home till April 1674.
Once the old and the new work were both in his hands, he cast his
great _History of the Rebellion_ in its final form, and thus 'finished
the work which his heart was most set upon'. In June 1672 he turned
to the 'Continuation of his Life', which deals with his Chancellorship
and his fall, and was not intended 'ever for a public view, or for
more than the information of his children'. As its conclusion shows,
it was his last work to be completed, but while engaged on it he found
time to write much else, including his reply to Hobbes's _Leviathan_.
'In all this retirement', he could well say, in a passage which reads
like his obituary, 'he was very seldom vacant, and then only when he
was under some sharp visitation of the gout, from reading excellent
books, or writing some animadversions and exercitations of his own,
as appears by the papers and notes which he left.' The activity of
these years of banishment is remarkable in a man who had turned sixty
and had passed through about thirty years of continuous storm. His
intellectual vitality was unimpaired. The old English jollity that
Evelyn had remarked in him in happier if more difficult days had gone,
but the even temper from which it had sprung still remained. He was at
his best as a writer then; writing was never an effort to him, but in
his exile it was an exercise and recreation. He could have said with
Dryden that 'what judgment I had increases rather than diminishes; and
thoughts, such as they are, come crowding in so fast upon me, that my
only difficulty is to choose or to reject'.

He was still in hopes that he would be allowed to return to England,
to die in his own country and among his children. 'Seven years',
he said, 'was a time prescribed and limited by God himself for the
expiration of some of his greatest judgements.'[10] In the seventh
year of his banishment he left Moulins for Rouen, so as to be nearer
home. His hopes were vain. He died at Rouen on December 9, 1674.[11]
His body was brought to England for burial in Westminster.

       *       *       *       *       *

Clarendon had been interested in the study of character all his
life. His earliest work was 'The Difference and Disparity between the
Estates and Conditions of George Duke of Buckingham and Robert Earl of
Essex'. Sir Henry Wotton had written observations on these statesmen
'by way of parallel', and Clarendon pointed out as a sequel wherein
they differed. It is a somewhat laboured composition in comparison
with his later work, a young man's careful essay that lacks the
confidence that comes with experience, but it shows at an early stage
the talents which knowledge and practice were to develop into mastery.
The school in which he learned most was the circle of his friends. Few
men can have owed more to their friends than he did, or have been more
generous in acknowledging the debt. He tells us he was often heard to
say that 'next the immediate blessing and providence of God Almighty,
which had preserved him throughout the whole course of his life
(less strict than it ought to have been) from many dangers and
disadvantages, in which many other young men were lost, he owed
all the little he knew, and the little good that was in him, to the
friendships and conversation he had still been used to, of the most
excellent men in their several kinds that lived in that age; by whose
learning, and information, and instruction, he formed his studies,
and mended his understanding, and by whose gentleness and sweetness
of behaviour, and justice, and virtue, and example, he formed his
manners, subdued that pride and suppressed that heat and passion he
was naturally inclined to be transported with.' He used often to say,
he continues, that 'he never was so proud, or thought himself so good
a man, as when he was the worst man in the company'. He cultivated
his friendships, it is true, with an eye to his advancement; but it
is equally true that he had a nature which invited friendships. He
enjoyed to the full the pleasure of living and seeing others live,
and a great part of his pleasure consisted in observing how men
differed in their habits and foibles. He tells how Ben Jonson did
not understand why young Mr. Hyde should neglect the delights of his
company at the call of business; how Selden, with all his stupendous
learning, was never more studious of anything than his ease; how
Earle gave a wrong impression by the negligence of his dress and
mien, whereas no man was more wary and cultivated in his behaviour and
discourse; how Chillingworth argued for the pleasure of arguing and
thereby irritated his friends and at last grew confident of nothing;
how Hales, great in scholarship but diminutive in stature, liked to be
by himself but had a very open and pleasant conversation in congenial
company; how Waller nursed his reputation for ready wit by seeming
to speak on the sudden what he had thoroughly considered. In all his
accounts of the friends of his youth Clarendon is in the background,
but we picture him moving among them at ease, conscious of his
inferiority in learning and brilliance and the gentler virtues,
yet trusting to his own judgement, and convinced that every man
worth knowing has a pronounced individuality. In these happy and
irresponsible days, when he numbered poets among his friends, he
himself wrote poetry. Little of it is preserved. He contributed
introductory verses to Davenant's _Albovine_, and composed verses on
the death of Donne. His poetry was well enough known for Dryden to
allude to it during his Lord Chancellorship, in the address presented
to him at the height of his power in 1662:

  The _Muses_, who your early Courtship boast,
  Though now your Flames are with their Beauty lost,
  Yet watch their Time, that if you have forgot
  They were your Mistresses, the world may not.

But first the law claimed him, and then politics, and then came the
Civil War. As Privy Councillor and Chancellor of the Exchequer he was
in the thick of the conflict. The men whom he had now to study were
men of affairs. He had the clear and unimpassioned vision which often
goes with a warm temperament, and could scrutinize his friends without
endangering his affection for them. However deeply his feelings might
be engaged, he had taken a pleasure in trying to see them exactly as
they were. When he came to judge his political enemies he continued
the same attitude of detachment, and studiously cultivated it. 'I am
careful', he said in a private letter,[12] 'to do justice to every
man who hath fallen in the quarrel, on which side soever.' 'I know
myself', he said in the _History_,[13] 'to be very free from any of
those passions which naturally transport men with prejudice towards
the persons whom they are obliged to mention, and whose actions they
are at liberty to censure.' It was beyond human nature for a man who
had lived through what he did to be completely unprejudiced. He did
not always scrupulously weigh what he knew would be to the discredit
of the Parliamentary leaders, nor did he ignore mere Royalist rumour,
as in the character of Pym. But his characters of them are often more
favourable than might have been expected. He may show his personal
dislike, or even his sense of their crime, but behind this he permits
us to see the qualities which contributed to their success. There can
be no reasonable objection to his characters of Hampden and Cromwell.
Political partisans find them disappointing, and they are certainly
not the final verdict. The worst that can be said of them is that
they are drawn from a wrong point of view; but from that point of view
their honesty is unquestionable. He does not distinguish men by their
party. The folly of his own side is exhibited as relentlessly as the
knavery of his opponents. Of no one did he write a more unfavourable
character than the Earl of Arundel. He explains the failure of Laud,
and he does not conceal the weakness of Charles.

There is a broad distinction between his earlier and later characters.
While he was still in the midst of the conflict and hoped to influence
it by stating what he knew, he depicted the individual in relation
to events. When the conflict was over and he was at leisure to draw
on his recollections, he made the individual to a greater degree the
representative of the type. But the distinction is not clearly marked,
and Clarendon may not have suspected it. His habitual detachment was
assisted by his exile. The displeasure of his ungrateful master, from
whom he had never been separated during seventeen difficult years, had
proved the vanity of the little things of life. He looked at men from
a distance that obscures what is insignificant, and shows only the

All his characters are clearly defined. We never confound them; we
never have any doubt of how he understood them. He sees men as a whole
before he begins to describe them, and then his only difficulty, as
his manuscripts show, is to make his pen move fast enough. He does not
build up his characters. He does not, as many others do, start with
the external features in the hope of arriving at the central facts. He
starts from the centre and works outwards. This is the reason of the
convincingness of his characters, their dramatic truth. The dramatic
sense in him is stronger than the pictorial.

He troubles little about personal appearance, or any of the traits
which would enable us to visualize his men. We understand them rather
than see them. Hampden, he tells us, was 'of a most civil and affable
deportment' and had 'a flowing courtesy to all men', a 'rare temper
and modesty'; it is Sir Philip Warwick who speaks of the 'scurf
commonly on his face'.[14] He says that the younger Vane 'had an
unusual aspect', and leaves us wondering what was unusual. His
Falkland is an exception, but he adopted a different scale when
describing his greatest friend and only hero. Each of his two accounts
of Falkland is in fact a brief biography rather than a character;
the earliest of them, written shortly after Falkland's death, he once
thought of making into a volume by itself. In his characters proper
he confines himself more strictly than any other writer to matters of
character. They are characters rather than portraits.

But portraiture was one of his passions, though he left its practice
to the painters. He adorned his houses with the likenesses of his
friends. It was fitting that our greatest character writer should
have formed one of the great collections of pictures of 'wits, poets,
philosophers, famous and learned Englishmen'.[15] To describe them
on paper, and to contrive that they should look down on him from his
walls, were different ways of indulging the same keen and tireless
interest in the life amid which he moved.

[Footnote 1: For a detailed examination of the composition and value
of Clarendon's _History_ see the three articles by Professor C.H.
Firth in _The English Historical Review_ for 1904. No student of
Clarendon can ever afford to neglect them.]

[Footnote 2: See No. 33, introductory note.]

[Footnote 3: See No. 6, introductory note, and No. 36, p. 140, II.
17-22 note.]

[Footnote 4: Contractions have been expanded. The punctuation of the
original is slight, and it has been found desirable occasionally to
insert commas, where seventeenth century printers would have inserted
them; but the run of the sentences has not been disturbed. In
modernized versions Clarendon's long sentences are sometimes
needlessly subdivided.]

[Footnote 5: _State Papers_, 1773, vol. ii, pp. 288-9.]

[Footnote 6: Letter of March 16, 1647; _infra_ p. 275.]

[Footnote 7: Letter of January 8, 1647; T.H. Lister, _Life of
Clarendon_, 1837, vol. iii, p. 43.]

[Footnote 8: Ed. 1857, part 1, § 85; omitted in the edition of 1759.]

[Footnote 9: Of the thirty-seven characters by Clarendon in this
volume, twenty-seven are from the 'Manuscript Life'.]

[Footnote 10: _State Papers_, 1786, vol. iii, supp., p. xlv.]

[Footnote 11: Clarendon's lifetime coincided almost exactly with
Milton's. He was two months younger than Milton, and died one month

[Footnote 12: December 14, 1647; _infra_ p. 275.]

[Footnote 13: Book ix, _ad init._; ed. Macray, vol. iv, p. 3.]

[Footnote 14: See note, p. 129, ll. 22 ff.]

[Footnote 15: Evelyn's _Diary_, December 20, 1668. See the account of
'The Clarendon Gallery' in Lady Theresa Lewis's _Lives of the friends
of Clarendon_, 1852, vol. i, pp. 15* ff., and vol. iii, pp. 241 ff.]

IV. Other Character Writers.

When Clarendon's _History_ was at last made public, no part of it
was more frequently discussed, or more highly praised, than its
characters--'so just', said Evelyn, 'and tempered without the least
ingredient of passion or tincture of revenge, yet with such natural
and lively touches as show his lordship well knew not only the
persons' outsides, but their very interiors.'[1] About the same time,
and probably as a consequence of the publication of Clarendon's work,
Bishop Burnet proceeded to put into its final form the _History_ on
which he had been engaged since 1683. He gave special attention to his
characters, some of which he entirely rewrote. They at once invited
comparison with Clarendon's, and first impressions, then as now, were
not in their favour. 'His characters are miserably wrought,' said

Burnet was in close touch with the political movements of his time.
'For above thirty years,' he wrote, 'I have lived in such intimacy
with all who have had the chief conduct of affairs, and have been so
much trusted, and on so many important occasions employed by them,
that I have been able to penetrate far into the true secrets of
counsels and designs.'[3] He had a retentive memory, and a full share
of worldly wisdom. But he was not an artist like Clarendon. His style
has none of the sustained dignity, the leisurely evolution, which in
Clarendon is so strangely at variance with the speed of composition.
All is stated, nothing suggested. There is a succession of short
sentences, each perfectly clear in itself, often unlinked to what
precedes or follows, and always without any of the finer shades of
meaning. It is rough work, and on the face of it hasty, and so it
would have remained, no matter how often it had been revised. Again,
Burnet does not always have perfect control of the impression he
wishes to convey. It is as if he did not have the whole character in
his mind before he began to write, but collected his thoughts from
the stores of his memory in the process of composition. We are often
uncertain how to understand a character before we have read it all. In
some cases he seems to be content to present us with the material from
which, once we have pieced it together ourselves, we can form our own
judgement. But what he tells us has been vividly felt by him, and is
vividly presented. The great merit of his characters lies in their
realism. Of the Earl of Lauderdale he says that 'He made a very ill
appearance: He was very big: His hair red, hanging oddly about him:
His tongue was too big for his mouth, which made him bedew all that
he talked to.' There is no hint of this in Clarendon's character of
Lauderdale, nor could Clarendon have spoken with the same directness.
Burnet has no circumlocutions, just as in private life he was
not known to indulge in them. When he reports what was said in
conversation he gives the very words. Lauderdale 'was a man, as the
Duke of Buckingham called him to me, of a blundering understanding'.
Halifax 'hoped that God would not lay it to his charge, if he could
not digest iron, as an ostrich did, nor take into his belief things
that must burst him'. It is the directness and actuality of such
things as these, and above all his habit of describing men in relation
to himself, that make his best characters so vivid. Burnet is seldom
in the background. He allows us to suspect that it is not the man
himself whom he presents to us but the man as he knew him, though
he would not have admitted the distinction. He could not imitate the
detachment of Clarendon, who is always deliberately impersonal, and
writes as if he were pronouncing the impartial judgement of history
from which there can be no appeal. Burnet views his men from a much
nearer distance. His perspective may sometimes be at fault, but he
gets the detail.

With all his shrewd observation, it must be admitted that his range of
comprehension was limited. There were no types of character too subtle
for Clarendon to understand. There were some which eluded Burnet's
grasp. He is at his best in describing such a man as Lauderdale, where
the roughness of the style is in perfect keeping with the subject.
His character of Shaftesbury, whom he says he knew for many years in a
very particular manner, is a valuable study and a remarkable companion
piece to Dryden's _Achitophel_. But he did not understand Halifax. The
surface levity misled him. He tells us unsuspectingly as much about
himself as about Halifax. He tells us that the Trimmer could never be
quite serious in the good bishop's company.

We learn more about Halifax from his own elaborate study of Charles
II. It is a prolonged analysis by a man of clear vision, and perfect
balance of judgement, and no prepossessions; who was, moreover, master
of the easy pellucid style that tends to maxim and epigram. A more
impartial and convincing estimate of any king need never be expected.
In method and purpose, it stands by itself. It is indeed not so
much a character in the accepted sense of the word as a scientific
investigation of a personality. Others try to make us see and
understand their men; Halifax anatomizes. Yet he occasionally permits
us to discover his own feelings. Nothing disappointed him more in the
merry monarch than the company he kept, and his comprehensive taste in
wit. 'Of all men that ever _liked_ those who _had wit_, he could the
best _endure_ those who had _none_': there is more here than is on the
surface; we see at once Charles, and his court, and Halifax himself.

As a class, the statesmen and politicians more than hold their
own with the other character writers of the seventeenth century.
Shaftesbury's picture of Henry Hastings, a country gentleman of the
old school, who carried well into the Stuart period the habits and
life of Tudor times, shows a side of his varied accomplishments which
has not won the general recognition that it deserves. It is a sketch
exactly in the style of the eighteenth century essayists. It makes us
regret that the fragmentary autobiography in which it is found did not
come down to a time when it could have included sketches of his famous
contemporaries. The literary skill of his grandson, the author of the
_Characteristicks_, was evidently inherited.

Sir Philip Warwick has the misfortune to be overshadowed by Clarendon.
As secretary to Charles I in the year before his execution, and as
a minor government official under Charles II, he was well acquainted
with men and affairs. Burnet describes him as 'an honest but a weak
man', and adds that 'though he pretended to wit and politics, he was
not cut out for that, and least of all for writing of history'. He
could at least write characters. They do not bear the impress of a
strong personality, but they have the fairmindedness and the calm
outlook that spring from a gentle and unassertive nature. His Cromwell
and his Laud are alike greatly to his credit; and the private view
that he gives us of Charles has unmistakable value. His _Mémoires_
remained in manuscript till 1701, the year before the publication of
Clarendon's _History_. It was the first book to appear with notable
characters of the men of the Civil Wars and the Protectorate.

The Histories and Memoirs of the seventeenth century contain by far
the greatest number of its characters; but they are to be found also
in scattered Lives, and in the collections of material that mark the
rise of modern English biography. There are disappointingly few by
Fuller. In his _Worthies of England_ he is mainly concerned with the
facts of a man's life, and though, in his own word, he fleshes the
bare skeleton of time, place, and person with pleasant passages,
and interlaces many delightful stories by way of illustrations, and
everywhere holds us by the quaint turns of his fertile fancy, yet the
scheme of the book did not involve the depicting of character, nor did
it allow him to deal with many contemporaries whom he had known. In
the present volume it has therefore been found best to represent him
by the studies of Bacon and Laud in his _Church-History_. Bacon he
must have described largely from hearsay, but what he says of Laud is
an admirable specimen of his manner, and leaves us wishing that he had
devoted himself in larger measure to the worthies of his own time.

There are no characters in Aubrey's _Brief Lives_, which are only a
series of rough jottings by a prince of gossips, who collected what
he could and put it all on paper 'tumultuarily'. But the extracts from
what he says of Hobbes and Milton may be considered as notes for a
character, details that awaited a greater artist than Aubrey was to
work them into a picture; and if Hobbes and Milton are to be given a
place, as somehow or other they must be, in a collection of the kind
that this volume offers, there is no option but to be content with
such notes, for there is no set character of either of them. The value
of the facts which Aubrey has preserved is shown by the use made of
them by all subsequent biographers, and notably by Anthony à Wood,
whose _Athenæ Oxonienses_ is our first great biographical dictionary.

Lives of English men of letters begin in the seventeenth century,
and from Rawley's _Life of Bacon_, Sprat's _Life of Cowley_, and the
anonymous _Life of Fuller_ it is possible to extract passages which
are in effect characters. But Walton's _Lives_, the best of all
seventeenth century Lives, refuse to yield any section, for each of
them is all of a piece; they are from beginning to end continuous
character studies, revealing qualities of head and heart in their
affectionate record of fact and circumstance. There is therefore
nothing in this volume from his _Life of Donne_ or his _Life of
Herbert_. As a rule the characters that can be extracted from Lives
are much inferior to the clearly defined characters that are inserted
in Histories. The focus is not the same. When an author after dealing
with a man's career sums up his mental and moral qualities in a
section by itself, he does not trust to it alone to convey the total
impression. He is too liable also to panegyric, like Rawley, who could
see no fault in his master Bacon, or Sprat who, in Johnson's words,
produced a funeral oration on Cowley. There are no characters
of scholars or poets so good as Clarendon's Hales, or Earle, or
Chillingworth, or Waller; and for this reason, that Clarendon
envisages them, not as scholars or poets but as men, and gains a
definite and complete effect within small compass.

Roger North made his life of his brother Lord Keeper Guilford an
account of the bench and bar under Charles II and James II. Of its
many sketches of lawyers whom he or his brother had known, none is
so perfect in every way as the character of Chief Justice Saunders, a
remarkable man in real life who still lives in North's pages with
all his eccentricities. North writes at length about his brother,
yet nowhere do we see and understand him so clearly as we see and
understand Saunders. The truth is that a life and a character have
different objects and methods and do not readily combine. It is only
a small admixture of biography that a character will endure. And with
the steady development of biography the character declined.

A character must be short; and it must be entire, the complete
expression of a clear judgement. The perfect model is provided
by Clarendon. He has more than formal excellence. 'Motives', said
Johnson, 'are generally unknown. We cannot trust to the characters
we find in history, unless when they are drawn by those who knew the
persons; as those, for instance, by Sallust and by Lord Clarendon.'[4]

[Footnote 1: Letter to Pepys, January 20, 1703; Pepys's _Diary_, ed.
Braybrooke, 1825, vol. ii, p. 290.]

[Footnote 2: 'Short Remarks on Bishop Burnet's _History_,' _ad init._]

[Footnote 3: _History_, preface]

[Footnote 4: Boswell, 1769, ed. G.B. Hill, vol. ii, p. 79.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Sooner or later every one who deals with the history or literature
of the seventeenth century has to own his obligations to Professor
C.H. Firth. My debt is not confined to his writings, references to
which will be found continually in the notes. At every stage of
the preparation of this volume I have had the advantage of his most
generous interest. And with his name it is a pleasure to associate in
one compendious acknowledgement the names of Dr. Henry Bradley and Mr.
Percy Simpson.

September 16, 1918.



_James VI of Scotland 1567. James I 1603._

_Born 1566. Died 1625._


He was born a King, and from that height, the less fitted to look
into inferiour things; yet few escaped his knowledge, being, as it
were, a _Magazine_ to retain them. His _Stature_ was of the _Middle
Size_; rather tall than low, well set and somewhat plump, of a ruddy
Complexion, his hair of a light brown, in his full perfection, had
at last a Tincture of white. If he had any predominant _Humor_ to
Ballance his _Choler_, it was Sanguine, which made his _Mirth Witty_.
His Beard was scattering on the Chin, and very thin; and though his
Clothes were seldome fashioned to the _Vulgar_ garb, yet in the whole
man he was not uncomely. He was a King in understanding, and was
content to have his Subjects ignorant in many things; As in curing the
_Kings Evil_, which he knew a _Device_, to ingrandize the _Vertue_ of
Kings, when _Miracles_ were in fashion; but he let the World believe
it, though he smiled at it, in his own _Reason_, finding the strength
of the _Imagination_ a more powerfull _Agent_ in the _Cure_, than
the _Plaisters his Chirurgions_ prescribed for the _Sore_. It was a
hard _Question_, whether his Wisedome, and knowledge, exceeded his
_Choler_, and _Fear_; certainly the last couple drew him with most
violence, because they were not acquisititious, but _Naturall_; If he
had not had that _Allay_, his high touring, and mastering _Reason_,
had been of a _Rare_, and sublimed _Excellency_; but these earthy
_Dregs_ kept it down, making his _Passions_ extend him as farre
as _Prophaness_, that I may not say _Blasphemy_, and _Policy_
superintendent of all his _Actions_; which will not last long (like
the _Violence_ of that _Humor_) for it often makes those that know
well, to do ill, and not be able to prevent it.

He had pure _Notions_ in _Conception_, but could bring few of them
into _Action_, though they tended to his own _Preservation_: For this
was one of his _Apothegms_, which he made no timely use of. _Let that
Prince, that would beware of Conspiracies, be rather jealous of such,
whom his extraordinary favours have advanced, than of those whom
his displeasure hath discontented. These want means to execute their
Pleasures, but they have means at pleasure to execute their desires_.
Ambition to rule is more vehement than Malice to revenge. Though the
last part of this _Aphorism_, he was thought to practice too soon,
where there was no cause for prevention, and neglect too late, when
time was full ripe to produce the effect.

Some _Parallel'd_ him to _Tiberius_ for _Dissimulation_, yet _Peace_
was maintained by him as in the Time of _Augustus_; And _Peace_ begot
_Plenty_, and _Plenty_ begot _Ease_ and _Wantonness_, and _Ease_ and
_Wantonnesse_ begot _Poetry_, and _Poetry_ swelled to that _bulk_
in his time, that it begot strange _Monstrous Satyrs_, against the
King[s] own person, that haunted both _Court_, and _Country_, which
exprest would be too bitter to leave a sweet perfume behind him.
And though bitter ingredients are good to imbalm and preserve dead
_bodies_, yet these were such as might indanger to kill a living name,
if _Malice_ be not brought in with an _Antidote_. And the tongues
of those times, more fluent than my _Pen_, made every little
_miscarriage_ (being not able to discover their true operations, like
smal _seeds_ hid in earthy _Darknesse_) grow up, and spread into such
exuberant _branches_, that evil _Report_ did often pearch upon them.
So dangerous it is for _Princes_, by a _Remisse Comportment_, to give
growth to the least _Error_; for it often proves as _fruitful_ as
_Malice_ can make it.



This Kings Character is much easier to take then his Picture, for he
could never be brought to sit for the taking of that, which is the
reason of so few good peeces of him; but his Character was obvious to
every eye.

He was of a middle stature, more corpulent through his cloathes then
in his body, yet fat enough, his cloathes ever being made large and
easie, the Doublets quilted for steletto proofe, his Breeches in great
pleites and full stuffed: Hee was naturally of a timorous disposition,
which was the reason of his quilted Doublets: His eyes large, ever
rowling after any stranger came in his presence, insomuch, as many
for shame have left the roome, as being out of countenance: His Beard
was very thin: His Tongue too large for his mouth, which ever made
him speak full in the mouth, and made him drink very uncomely, as if
eating his drink, which came out into the cup of each side of his
mouth: His skin was as soft as Taffeta Sarsnet, which felt so, because
hee never washt his hands, onely rubb'd his fingers ends slightly with
the wet end of a Naptkin: His Legs were very weake, having had (as was
thought) some foul play in his youth, or rather before he was born,
that he was not able to stand at seven years of age, that weaknesse
made him ever leaning on other mens shoulders, his walke was ever
circular ... He was very temperate in his exercises, and in his dyet,
and not intemperate in his drinking; however in his old age, and
_Buckinghams_ joviall Suppers, when he had any turne to doe with
him, made him sometimes overtaken, which he would the very next day
remember, and repent with teares; it is true, he dranke very often,
which was rather out of a custom then any delight, and his drinks were
of that kind for strength, as Frontiniack, Canary, High Country wine,
Tent Wine, and Scottish Ale, that had he not had a very strong brain,
might have daily been overtaken, although he seldom drank at any
one time above four spoonfulls, many times not above one or two; He
was very constant in all things, his Favourites excepted, in which
he loved change, yet never cast down any (he once raised) from
the height of greatnesse, though from their wonted nearnesse, and
privacy; unlesse by their own default, by opposing his change, as in
_Somersets_ case: yet had he not been in that foul poysoning busines,
and so cast down himself, I do verily beleeve not him neither; for al
his other Favorites he left great in Honour, great in Fortune; and did
much love _Mountgomery_, and trusted him more at the very last gaspe,
then at the first minute of his Favoriteship: In his Dyet, Apparrell,
and Journeys, he was very constant; in his Apparrell so constant, as
by his good wil he would never change his cloathes untill worn out to
very ragges: His Fashion never: Insomuch as one bringing to him a Hat
of a _Spanish_ Block, he cast it from him, swearing he neither loved
them nor their fashions. Another time, bringing him Roses on his
Shooes, he asked, if they would make him a ruffe-footed-Dove? one yard
of six penny Ribbond served that turne: His Dyet and Journies were
so constant, that the best observing Courtier of our time was wont
to say, were he asleep seven yeares, and then awakened, he would tell
where the King every day had been, and every dish he had had at his

Hee was not very uxorious, (though he had a very brave Queen that
never crossed his designes, nor intermedled with State affaires,
but ever complyed with him (even against the nature of any, but of
a milde spirit) in the change of Favourites;) for he was ever best,
when furthest from the Queene, and that was thought to be the first
grounds of his often removes, which afterwards proved habituall.
He was unfortunate in the marriage of his Daughter, and so was all
Christendome besides; but sure the Daughter was more unfortunate in
a Father, then he in a Daughter: He naturally loved not the sight of
a Souldier, nor of any Valiant man; and it was an observation that
Sir _Robert Mansell_ was the only valiant man he ever loved, and him
he loved so intirely, that for all _Buckinghams_ greatnesse with
the King, and his hatred of Sir _Robert Mansell_, yet could not
that alienate the Kings affections from him; insomuch as when by
the instigation of _Cottington_ (then Embassadour in _Spaine_) by
_Buckinghams_ procurement, the _Spanish_ Embassadour came with a
great complaint against _Sir Robert Mansell_, then at _Argiers_, to
suppresse the Pirats, That he did support them; having never a friend
there, (though many) that durst speake in his defence, the King
himselfe defended him in these words: _My Lord Embassadour, I cannot
beleeve this, for I made choyce my selfe of him, out of these reasons;
I know him to be valiant, honest, and Nobly descended as most in my
Kingdome, and will never beleeve a man thus qualified will doe so base
an act_. He naturally loved honest men, that were not over active,
yet never loved any man heartily untill he had bound him unto him by
giving him some suite, which he thought bound the others love to him
againe; but that argued a poore disposition in him, to beleeve that
any thing but a Noble minde, seasoned with vertue, could make any
firme love or union, for mercinary mindes are carried away with a
greater prize, but Noble mindes, alienated with nothing but publick

He was very witty, and had as many ready witty jests as any man
living, at which he would not smile himselfe, but deliver them in a
grave and serious manner: He was very liberall, of what he had not in
his owne gripe, and would rather part with 100._li._ hee never had in
his keeping, then one twenty shillings peece within his owne custody:
He spent much, and had much use of his Subjects purses, which bred
some clashings with them in Parliament, yet would alwayes come off,
and end with a sweet and plausible close; and truly his bounty was not
discommendable, for his raising Favourites was the worst: Rewarding
old servants, and releiving his Native Country-men, was infinitely
more to be commended in him, then condemned. His sending Embassadours,
were no lesse chargeable then dishonourable and unprofitable to him
and his whole Kingdome; for he was ever abused in all Negotiations,
yet hee had rather spend 100000._li._ on Embassies, to keep or procure
peace with dishonour, then 10000._li._ on an Army that would have
forced peace with honour: He loved good Lawes, and had many made in
his time, and in his last Parliament, for the good of his Subjects,
and suppressing Promoters, and progging fellowes, gave way to that
_Nullum tempus, &c._ to be confined to 60. yeares, which was more
beneficiall to the Subjects in respect of their quiets, then all the
Parliaments had given him during his whole Reign. By his frequenting
Sermons he appeared Religious; yet his Tuesday Sermons (if you will
beleeve his owne Country men, that lived in those times when they
were erected, and well understood the cause of erecting them) were
dedicated for a strange peece of devotion.

He would make a great deale too bold with God in his passion, both in
cursing and swearing, and one straine higher vergeing on blasphemie;
But would in his better temper say, he hoped God would not impute
them as sins, and lay them to his charge, seeing they proceeded from
passion: He had need of great assurance, rather then hopes, that would
make daily so bold with God.

He was so crafty and cunning in petty things, as the circumventing any
great man, the change of a Favourite, &c. insomuch as a very wise man
was wont to say, he beleeved him the wisest foole in Christendome,
meaning him wise in small things, but a foole in weighty affaires.

He ever desired to prefer meane men in great places, that when he
turned them out again, they should have no friend to bandy with them:
And besides, they were so hated by being raised from a meane estate,
to over-top all men, that every one held it a pretty recreation to
have them often turned out: There were living in this Kings time, at
one instant, two Treasurers, three Secretaries, two Lord Keepers, two
Admiralls, three Lord chief Justices, yet but one in play, therefore
this King had a pretty faculty in putting out and in: By this you
may perceive in what his wisdome consisted, but in great and weighty
affaires even at his wits end.

He had a trick to cousen himselfe with bargains under hand, by taking
1000._li._ or 10000._li._ as a bribe, when his Counsell was treating
with his Customers to raise them to so much more yearly, this went
into his Privy purse, wherein hee thought hee had over-reached the
Lords, but cousened himselfe; but would as easily breake the bargaine
upon the next offer, saying, he was mistaken and deceived, and
therefore no reason he should keep the bargaine; this was often the
case with the Farmers of the Customes; He was infinitely inclined
to peace, but more out of feare then conscience, and this was the
greatest blemish this King had through all his Reign, otherwise might
have been ranked with the very best of our Kings, yet sometimes would
hee shew pretty flashes of valour which might easily be discerned to
be forced, not naturall; and being forced, could have wished, rather,
it would have recoiled backe into himselfe, then carryed to that
King it had concerned, least he might have been put to the tryall, to
maintaine his seeming valour.

In a word, he was (take him altogether and not in peeces) such a King,
I wish this Kingdom have never any worse, on the condition, not
any better; for he lived in peace, dyed in peace, and left all his
Kingdomes in a peaceable condition, with his owne Motto:

_Beati Pacifici_.



_George Villiers, created Viscount Villiers 1616, Earl of Buckingham
1617, Marquis 1618, and Duke 1623. Born 1592. Assassinated 1628_.


The Duke was indeede a very extraordinary person, and never any man in
any age, nor I believe in any country or nation, rose in so shorte a
tyme to so much greatenesse of honour fame and fortune upon no other
advantage or recommendation, then of the beauty and gracefulnesse
and becommingnesse of his person; and I have not the least purpose of
undervale[w]inge his good partes and qualityes (of which ther will be
occasion shortly to give some testimony) when I say, that his first
introduction into favour was purely from the handsomnesse of his
person: He was the younger Sunn of S'r George Villyers of Brookesby in
the County of Leicester, a family of an auncient extraction, even from
the tyme of the conquest, and transported then with the conqueror out
of Normandy, wher the family hath still remayned and still continues
with lustre: After S'r Georges first marriage, in which he had 2 or
3 Sunnes and some daughters, who shared an ample inheritance from
him, by a secounde marriage with a younge lady of the family of the
Beaumonts, he had this gentleman, and two other Sunns, and a daughter,
who all came afterwards to be raysed to greate titles and dignityes.
George, the eldest Sunn of this secounde bedd, was after the death
of his father, by the singular affection and care of his Mother, who
injoyed a good joynture in the accounte of that age, well brought up,
and for the improvment of his education, and givinge an ornament to
his hopefull person, he was by her sent into France, wher he spent
2. or 3. yeeres in attayninge the language, and in learninge the
exercises of rydinge and dauncinge, in the last of which he excelled
most men; and returned into Englande by the tyme he was 21. yeeres

Kinge James raingned at that tyme, and though he was a Prince of
more learninge and knowledge then any other of that age, and really
delighted more in bookes, and in the conversation of learned men,
yett of all wise men livinge, he was the most delighted and taken with
handsome persons, and with fyne clothes; He begann to be weary of his
Favorite the Earle of Somersett, who was the only Favorite who kept
that post so longe without any publique reproch from the people, and
by the instigation and wickednesse of his wife, he became at least
privy to a horrible murther, that exposed him to the utmost severity
of the law (the poysoninge of S'r Thomas Overbury) upon which both he
and his wife were condemned to dy, after a tryall by ther Peeres, and
many persons of quality were executed for the same: Whilst this was
in agitation, and before the utmost discovery was made, Mr. Villiers
appeared in Courte, and drew the Kings eyes upon him: Ther were enough
in the Courte enough angry and incensed against Somersett, for beinge
what themselves desyred to be, and especially for beinge a Scotchman,
and ascendinge in so shorte a tyme from beinge a page, to the height
he was then at, to contribute all they coulde, to promote the one,
that they might throw out the other; which beinge easily brought to
passe, by the proceedinge of the law upon his cryme aforesayd, the
other founde very little difficulty in rendringe himselfe gracious to
the Kinge, whose nature and disposition was very flowinge in affection
towards persons so adorned, insomuch that in few dayes after his first
appearance in Courte he was made Cup-bearer to the Kinge, by which
he was naturally to be much in his presence, and so admitted to that
conversation and discource, with which that Prince alwayes abounded
at his meales; and his inclination to his new Cuppbearer disposed him
to administer frequent occasions of discourcinge of the Courte of
France, and the transactions ther, with which he had bene so lately
acquainted, that he could pertinently inlarge upon that subjecte,
to the Kings greate delight, and to the reconcilinge the esteeme and
valew of all the Standers by likewise to him, which was a thinge
the Kinge was well pleased with: He acted very few weekes upon this
Stage, when he mounted higher, and beinge knighted, without any other
qualification he was at the same tyme made Gentleman of the Bedd
chamber, and Knight of the Order of the Gartar; and in a shorte tyme
(very shorte for such a prodigious ascent,) he was made a Barron,
a Viscount, an Earle, a Marquisse, and became L'd High Admirall of
Englande, L'd Warden of the Cinque Ports, Master of the Horse, and
intirely disposed of all the graces of the Kinge, in conferringe
all the Honours and all the Offices of the three kingdomes without
a ryvall; in dispencinge wherof, he was guyded more by the rules of
appetite then of judgement, and so exalted almost all of his owne
numerous family and dependants, who had no other virtue or meritt then
ther allyance to him, which æqually offended the auncient nobility and
the people of all conditions, who saw the Flowres of the Crowne every
day fadinge and withered, whilst the Demeasnes and revennue therof
was sacrificed to the inrichinge a private family (how well soever
originally extracted) not heard of before ever to the nation, and
the exspences of the Courte so vast, unlimited by the old good rules
of Oeconomy, that they had a sadd prospecte of that poverty and
necessity, which afterwards befell the Crowne, almost to the ruine of

Many were of opinion, that Kinge James before his death, grew weary of
his Favorite, and that if he had lyved, he would have deprived him at
least of his large and unlimited power; and this imagination prævayled
with some men, as the L'd Keeper Lincolne, the Earle of Middlesex, L'd
High Treasurer of England, and other gentlemen of name, though not
in so high stations, that they had the courage, to withdraw from ther
absolute dependance upon the Duke, and to make some other assayes,
which prooved to the ruine of every on of them, ther appearinge no
markes or evidence, that the Kinge did really lessen his affection
to him, to the houre of his death; on the contrary, as he created him
Duke of Buckingham, in his absence, whilst he was with the Prince
in Spayne, so after his returne, he exequted the same authority in
conferringe all favours and graces, and revenginge himselfe upon
those who had manifested any unkindnesse towards him: And yett
notwithstandinge all this, if that Kings nature had æqually disposed
him, to pull downe, as to builde and erecte, and if his courage and
severity in punishinge and reforminge had bene as greate, as his
generosity and inclination was to obliege, it is not to be doubted,
but that he would have withdrawne his affection from the Duke intirely
before his death, which those persons who were admitted to any privacy
with [him], and were not in the confidence of the other (for before
those he knew well how to dissemble) had reason enough to exspecte....

       *       *       *       *       *

This greate man was a person of a noble nature and generous
disposition, and of such other indowments, as made him very capable
of beinge a greate favorite to a greate Kinge; he understoode the Arts
and artifices of a Courte, and all the learninge that is professed
ther, exactly well; by longe practice in businesse, under a Master
that discourced excellently, and surely knew all things wounderfully,
and tooke much delight in indoctrinatinge his younge unexsperienced
Favorite, who he knew would be alwayes looked upon as the
workemanshipp of his owne handes, he had obtayned a quicke conception
and apprehension of businesse, and had the habitt of speakinge very
gracefully, and pertinently. He was of a most flowinge courtesy and
affability to all men, who made any addresse to him, and so desyrous
to obliege them, that he did not enough consider the valew of the
obligation, or the meritt of the person he chose to obliege, from
which much of his misfortune resulted. He was of a courage not to be
daunted, which was manifested in all his actions, and his contests
with particular persons of the greatest reputation, and especially
in his whole demeanour at the Isle of Rees, both at the landinge and
upon the retriete, in both which no man was more fearelesse, or more
ready to expose himselfe to the brightest daungers. His kindnesse
and affection to his frends was so vehement, that it was so many
marriages, for better and worse, and so many leagues offensive and
defensive, as if he thought himselfe oblieged to love all his frends,
and to make warr upon all they were angry with, let the cause be what
it would. And it cannot be denyed, that he was an enimy in the same
excesse, and prosequted those he looked upon as his enimyes, with
the utmost rigour and animosity, and was not easily induced to a
reconciliation; and yett ther were some examples of his receadinge in
that particular; and in highest passyon, he was so farr from stoopinge
to any dissimulation, wherby his displeasure might be concealed and
covered, till he had attayned his revenge, the low methode of Courts,
that he never indeavoured to do any man an ill office, before he first
told him what he was to exspecte from him, and reproched him with the
injures he had done, with so much generosity, that the person found
it in his pouer, to receave farther satisfaction in the way he would
chuse for himselfe....

His single misfortune was (which indeede was productive of many
greater) that he never made a noble and a worthy frendshipp with a man
so neere his æquall, that he would frankely advize him, for his honour
and true interest, against the current, or rather the torrent of his
impetuous passyons: which was partly the vice of the tyme, when the
Courte was not replenished with greate choyce of excellent men, and
partly the vice of the persons, who were most worthy to be applyed
to, and looked upon his youth, and his obscurity, as obligations upon
him, to gayne ther frendshipps by extraordinary application; then his
ascent was so quicke, that it seemed rather a flight, then a growth,
and he was such a darlinge of fortune, that he was at the topp, before
he was seene at the bottome, for the gradation of his titles, was the
effecte, not cause of his first promotion, and as if he had bene borne
a favorite, he was supreme the first moneth he came to courte, and
it was wante of confidence, not of creditt, that he had not all at
first, which he obtayned afterwards, never meetinge with the least
obstruction, from his settinge out, till he was as greate as he could
be, so that he wanted dependants, before he thought he could wante
coadjutors; nor was he very fortunate in the election of those
dependants, very few of his servants havinge bene ever qualifyed
enough to assiste or advize him, and were intente only upon growinge
rich under [him], not upon ther masters growinge good as well as
greate, insomuch as he was throughout his fortune, a much wiser man,
then any servant or frende he had: Lett the faulte or misfortune be
what and whence it will, it may very reasonably be believed that if
he had bene blessed with one faythfull frende, who had bene qualifyed
with wisdome and integrity, that greate person would have committed
as few faults, and done as transcendant worthy actions, as any man
who shyned in such a sphere in that age, in Europe, for he was of
an excellent nature, and of a capacity very capable of advice and
councell; he was in his nature just and candid, liberall, generous,
and bountifull, nor was it ever knowne that the temptation of money
swayed him to do an unjust, or unkinde thinge, and though he left a
very greate inheritance to his heyres, consideringe the vast fortune
he inherited by his wife (the sole daughter and Heyre of Francis
Earle of Rutlande,) he owed no parte of it to his owne industry or
sollicitation, but to the impatient humour of two kings his masters,
who would make his fortune æquall to his titles, and the one above
other men, as the other was, and he considered it no otherwise then
as thers, and left it at his death ingaged for the crowne, almost to
the valew of it, as is touched upon before. If he had an immoderate
ambition, with which he was charged, and is a weede (if it be a weede)
apt to grow in the best soyles, it does not appeare that it was in
his nature, or that he brought it with him to the Courte, but rather
founde it ther, and was a garment necessary for that ayre; nor was
it more in his power to be without promotion, and titles, and wealth,
then for a healthy man to sitt in the sunn, in the brightest dogge
dayes, and remayne without any warmth: he needed no ambition who was
so seated in the hartes of two such masters.



_Solicitor-General 1617. Attorney-General 1621. Lord Keeper 1625.
Created Baron Coventry 1628. Born 1578. Died 1640_.


S'r Thomas Coventry was then L'd Keeper of the Greate Seale of
England, and newly made a Barron. He was a Sunn of the Robe, his
father havinge bene a Judge in the courte of the Common pleas, who
tooke greate care to breede his Sunn, though his first borne, in
the Study of the common law, by which himselfe had bene promoted to
that degree, and in which, in the society of the Inner Temple, his
Sunn made a notable progresse, by an early eminence in practice and
learninge, insomuch as he was Recorder of London, Sollicitor generall,
and Kings Atturny before he was forty yeeres of age, a rare ascent,
all which offices he discharged, with greate abilityes, and singular
reputation of integrity: In the first yeere after the death of Kinge
James, he was advanced to be Keeper of the Greate Scale of Englande,
the naturall advancement from, the office of Atturny Generall, upon
the remoovall of the Bishopp of Lincolne, who though a man of greate
witt, and good scholastique learninge, was generally thought so very
unæquall to the place that his remoove was the only recompence and
satisfaction that could be made for his promotion, and yett it was
enough knowne, that the disgrace proceeded only from the pri[v]ate
displeasure of the Duke of Buckingham[1]: The L'd Coventry injoyed
this place with a universall reputation (and sure justice was never
better administred) for the space of aboute sixteen yeeres, even to
his death, some months before he was sixty yeeres of age, which was
another importante circumstance of his felicity: that greate office
beinge so slippery, that no man had dyed in it before, for neere the
space of forty yeeres, nor had his successors for some tyme after him
much better fortune: and he himselfe had use of all his strenght and
skill (as he was an excellent wrastler) to præserve himselfe from
fallinge, in two shockes, the one given him by the Earle of Portlande,
L'd High Treasurer of Englande, the other by the Marq's of Hambleton,
who had the greatest power over the affections of the Kinge, of any
man of that tyme.

He was a man of wounderfull gravity and wisdome, and understood not
only the whole science and mistery of the Law, at least æqually with
any man who had ever sate in that place, but had a cleere conception
of the whole policy of the government both of Church and State, which
by the unskilfulnesse of some well meaninge men, justled each the
other to much. He knew the temper, and disposition and genius of the
kingdome most exactly, saw ther spiritts grow every day more sturdy,
and inquisitive, and impatient, and therfore naturally abhorred all
innovations, which he foresaw would produce ruinous effects: yett many
who stoode at a distance thought that he was not active and stoute
enough in the opposinge those innovations, for though by his place he
præsided in all publique councells, and was most sharpe sighted in the
consequence of things, yett he was seldome knowne to speake in matters
of state, which he well knew were for the most parte concluded, before
they were brought to that publique agitation, never in forrainge
affayres, which the vigour of his judgement could well comprehende,
nor indeede freely in any thinge, but what immediately and playnely
concerned the justice of the kingdome, and in that as much as he
could, he procured references to the Judges. Though in his nature he
had not only a firme gravity, but a severity, and even some morosity
(which his children and domestiques had evidence enough of) [yet][2]
it was so happily tempred, that his courtesy and affability towards
all men was so transcended, so much without affectation, that it
marvellously reconciled [him] to all men of all degrees, and he was
looked upon as an excellent courtyer, without receadinge from the
native simplicity of his owne manner. He had in the playne way of
speakinge and delivery (without much ornament of eloqution) a strange
power of makinge himselfe believed (the only justifiable designe of
eloquence) so that though he used very frankely to deny, and would
never suffer any man to departe from him, with an opinion that he
was inclined to gratify when in truth he was not, (holdinge that
dissimulation to be the worst of lyinge) yett the manner of it was
so gentle and oblieginge, and his condescension such, to informe the
persons, who[m] he could not satisfy, that few departed from him,
with ill will and ill wishes; but then this happy temper, and these
good facultyes, rather præserved him from havinge many enimyes, and
supplyed him with some well-wishers, then furnished him with any
fast and unshaken frends, who are alwayes procured in courtes by more
ardour, and more vehement professions and applications, then he would
suffer himselfe to be entangled with; so that he was a man rather
exceedingly liked, then passionately loved, insomuch that it never
appeared, that he had any one frende in the Courte, of quality enough
to prævent or diverte any disadvantage he mighte be exposed to, and
therfore it is no wonder, nor to be imputed to him, that he retyred
within himselfe as much as he could, and stood upon his defence,
without makinge desperate sallyes against growinge mischieves, which
he knew well he had no power to hinder, and which might probably begin
in his owne ruine: to conclude, his security consisted very much, in
the little creditt he had with the Kinge, and he dyed in a season most
opportune, and in which a wise man would have prayed to have finished
his cource, and which in truth crowned his other signall prosperity in
this worlde.

[Footnote 1: 'Buckinghman', MS.]

[Footnote 2: 'but', MS.]



_Chancellor of the Exchequer 1621. Lord Treasurer 1628. Baron Weston
1628, and Earl of Portland 1633._

_Born 1577. Died 1635._


S'r Richard Weston had bene advanced to the white staffe, to the
office of L'd High Treasurer of England, some moneths before the
death of the Duke of Buckingham, and had in that shorte tyme so much
disoblieged him, at least disappointed his exspectation, that many who
were privy to the Dukes most secrett purposes, did believe that if
he had outlived that voyage, in which he was ingaged, he would have
remooved him, and made another Treasurer: and it is very true that
greate office to had bene very slippery, and not fast to those who
had trusted themselves in it, insomuch as there were at that tyme
five noble persons alive, who had all succeded on another immediately
in that unsteady charge, without any other person interveninge, the
Earle of Suffolke, the L'd Viscount Mandevill, afterwards Earle of
Manchester, the Earle of Middlesex, and the Earle of Marleborough, who
was remooved under prætence of his age, and disability for the work
(which had bene a better reason against his promotion, so few yeeres
before, that his infirmityes were very little increased) to make roome
for the present Officer, who though advanced by the Duke, may properly
be sayd to be establish'd by his death.

He was a gentleman of a very good and auncient extraction, by father
and mother; his education had bene very good, amongst bookes and
men. After some yeeres study of the law in the Middle temple, and at
an age fitt to make observations and reflexions, out of which that
which is commonly called exsperience is constituted, he travelled
into forrainge partes, and was acquainted in forrainge partes;[1] he
betooke himselfe to the courte, and lyved ther some yeeres at that
distance, and with that awe, as[2] was agreable to the modesty of that
age, when men were seene some tyme, before they were knowne, and well
knowne before they were præferred, or durst prætende to be præferred.
He spent the best parte of his fortune, a fayre on, that he inherited
from his father, in his attendance at courte, and involved his
frends in securityes with him, who were willinge to runn his hopefull
fortune, before he receaved the least fruite from it, but the
countenance of greate men, and those in authority, the most naturall,
and most certayne stayres to ascende by: He was then sent Ambassadour
to the Arch-Dukes Alberte and Isabella into Flanders, and to the Diett
in Germany, to treate aboute the restitution of the Palatinat, in
which negotiation he behaved himselfe with greate prudence, and with
the concurrent testimony of a wise man, from all those with whome he
treated, Princes and Ambassadours: and upon his returne was made a
Privy Councellour, and Chauncelour of the Exchequer, in the place of
the L'd Brooke, who was ether perswaded, or putt out of the place,
which beinge an office of honour and trust, is likewise an excellent
stage for men of parts to tread, and expose themselfes upon, and
wher they have occasion of all natures to lay out and spredd all
ther facultyes and qualifications most for ther advantage; He behaved
himselfe very well in this function, and appeared æquall to it, and
carryed himselfe so luckily in Parliament, that he did his master much
service, and præserved himselfe in the good opinion and acceptation
of the house, which is a blessinge not indulged to many by those high
powers: He did swimme in those troubled and boysterous waters, in
which the Duke of Buckingham rode as Admirall, with a good grace, when
very many who were aboute him, were drowned or forced on shore, with
shrewde hurtes and bruises, which shewed he knew well how and when to
use his limbes and strenght to the best advantage, sometimes only to
avoyde sinkinge, and sometymes to advance and gett grounde; and by
this dexterity he kept his creditt with those who could do him good,
and lost it not with others, who desyred the destruction of those upon
whome he most depended.

He was made L'd Treasurer in the manner, and at the tyme mentioned
before, upon the remoovall of the Earle of Marleborough, and few
moneths before the death of the Duke; the former circumstance, which
is often attended by compassion towards the degraded, and præjudice
toward the promoted, brought him no disadvantage, for besydes the
delight that season had in changes, there was little reverence towards
the person remooved, and the extreme, visible poverty of the Exchequer
sheltered that Provence from the envy it had frequently created,
and opened a doore for much applause to be the portion of a wise and
provident Minister: For the other of the Dukes death, though some who
knew the Dukes passyons and præjudice (which often produced rather
suddayne indisposition, then obstinate resolution) believed he would
have bene shortly cashiered, as so many had lately bene, and so that
the death of his founder, was a greater confirmation of him in the
office, then the delivery of the white staffe had bene, many other
wise men, who knew the Treasurers talent, in remoovinge præjudice and
reconcilinge himselfe to waveringe and doubtfull affections, believed
that the losse of the Duke was very unseasonable, and that the awe or
apprehension of his power and displeasure, was a very necessary allay
for the impetuosity of the new officers nature, which needed some
restrainte and checque for some tyme to his immoderate prætences and
appetite of power. He did indeede appeare on the suddayne wounderfully
elated, and so farr threw off his olde affectation to please some very
much, and to displease none, in which arte he had excelled, that in
few moneths after the Dukes death, he founde himselfe to succeede him
in the publique displeasure, and in the malice of his enimyes, without
succeedinge him in his creditt at courte, or in the affection of any
considerable dependants; and yett, though he was not superiour to all
other men, in the affection, or rather resignation of the Kinge, so
that he might dispence favours and disfavours accordinge to his owne
election, he had a full share in his masters esteeme, who looked upon
him as a wise and able servant and worthy of the trust he reposed
in him, and receaved no other advice in the large businesse of his
revennue, nor was any man so much his superiour, as to be able to
lessen him in the Kings affection, by his power; so that he was in a
post in which he might have founde much ease and delight, if he could
have contayned himselfe within the verge of his owne Provence, which
was large enough, and of such an extente, that he might at the same
tyme have drawne a greate dependance upon him of very considerable
men, and appeared a very usefull and profitable Minister to the Kinge,
whose revennue had bene very loosely managed duringe the late yeeres,
and might by industry and order have bene easily improoved, and no
man better understoode what methode was necessary towards that good
husbandry then he. But I know not by what frowardnesse in his starres,
he tooke more paynes in examininge and enquiringe into other mens
offices, then in the discharge of his owne, and not so much joy in
what he had, as trouble and agony for what he had not. The truth is,
he had so vehement a desyre to be the sole favorite, that he had
no relish of the power he had, and in that contention he had many
ryvalls, who had creditt enough to do him ill offices, though not
enough to satisfy ther owne ambition, the Kinge himselfe beinge
resolved to hold the raynes in his owne handes, and to putt no further
trust in others, then was necessary for the capacity they served
in: which resolution in his Majesty was no sooner believed, and the
Treasurers prsetence taken notice,[3] then he founde the number of
his enimyes exceedingly increased, and others to be lesse eager in the
pursuite of his frendshipp; and every day discovered some infirmityes
in him, which beinge before knowne to few, and not taken notice,[3]
did now expose him both to publique reproch, and to private
animosityes, and even his vices admitted those contradictions in them,
that he could hardly injoy the pleasante fruite of any of them. That
which first exposed him to the publique jealosy, which is alwayes
attended with publique reproch, was the concurrent suspicion of
his religion. His wife and all his daughters were declared of the
Roman religion, and though himselfe and his Sunns sometimes went to
church, he was never thought to have zeale for it, and his domestique
conversation and dependants, with whome only he used intire freedome,
were all knowne Catholiques, and were believed to be agents for the
rest; and yett with all this disadvantage to himselfe, he never had
reputation and creditt with that party, who were the only people of
the kingdome, who did not believe him to be of ther profession, for
the penall lawes (those only excepted, which were sanguinary, and even
those sometimes lett loose) were never more rigidly executed, nor had
the Crovme ever so greate a revennue from them, as in his tyme, nor
did they ever pay so deere for the favours and indulgencyes of his
office towards them.

No man had greater ambition to make his family greate, or stronger
designes to leave a greate fortune to it, yett his exspences were so
prodigiously greate, especially in his house, that all the wayes he
used for supply, which were all that occurred, could not serve his
turne, insomuch that he contracted so greate debts, (the anxiety
wherof he prætended broke his minde, and restrayned that intentnesse
and industry which was necessary for the dew execution of his office)
that the Kinge was pleased twice to pay his debts, at least towards
it, to disburse forty thousande pounde in ready mony out of his
Exchequer; besydes his Majesty gave him a whole forrest, Chute forrest
in Hampshyre, and much other lande belonginge to the Crowne, which
was the more taken notice of, and murmured against, because beinge the
chiefe Minister of the revennue, he was particularly oblieged as
much as in him lay to prævent and even oppose such disinherison; and
because under that obligation, he had avowedly and sowrely crossed the
prætences of other men, and restrayned the Kings bounty from beinge
exercised almost to any; and he had that advantage (if he had made the
right use of it) that his creditt was ample enough (secounded by the
Kings owne exsperience, and observation, and inclination) to retrench
very much of the late unlimited exspences, and especially those of
bountyes, which from the death of the Duke, rann in narrow channells,
which never so much overflowed as towards himselfe; who stopped the
current to other men.

He was of an imperious nature, and nothinge wary in disoblieginge
and provokinge other men, and had to much courage in offendinge and
incensinge them, but after havinge offended and incensed them, he
was of so unhappy a feminine temper that he was always in a terrible
fright and apprehension of them. He had not that application, and
submissyon and reverence for the Queene as might have bene exspected
from his wisdome and breedinge, and often crossed her prætences and
desyres, with more rudenesse then was naturall to him; yett he was
impertinently sollicitous to know what her Majesty sayd of him in
private, and what resentments shee had towards him; and when by some
confidents (who had ther ends upon him from those offices) he was
informed of some bitter exspressions fallen from her Majesty, he was
so exceedingly afflicted and tormented with the sense of it, that
sometimes by passionate complaints and representations to the Kinge,
sometimes by more dutifull addresses and expostulations with the
Queene in bewaylinge his misfortunes, he frequently exposed himselfe,
and left his condition worse then it was before: and the eclarcicement
commonly ended in the discovery of the persons from whome he had
received his most secrett intelligence. He quickly lost the character
of a bold, stoute, and magnanimous man, which he had bene longe
reputed to be, in worse tymes, and in his most prosperous season, fell
under the reproch of beinge a man of bigg lookes, and of a meane and
abjecte spiritt....

To conclude, all the honours the Kinge conferred upon him, as he made
him a Barren, then an Earle, and Knight of the Gartar, and above
this, gave a younge, beautifull Lady, neerely allyed to him and to the
Crowne of Scotlande, in marriage to his eldest Sunn, could not make
him thinke himselfe greate enough; nor could all the Kings bountyes
nor his owne large accessions, rayse a fortune to his Heyre, but after
six or eight yeeres spent in outward opulency, and inward murmur and
trouble, that it was no greater, after vast summes of mony and greate
wealth gotten and rather consumed then injoyed, without any sense
or delight in so greate prosperity, with the agony that it was no
greater, He dyed unlamented by any, bitterly mentioned by most, who
never pretended to love him, and sevearely censured and complayned of,
by those who exspected most from him, and deserved best of him, and
left a numerous family, which was in a shorte tyme worne out, and yett
outlyved the fortune he left behinde him.

[Footnote 1: In the MS. the words 'he travelled into forrainge parts'
occur after 'Middle temple', as well as after 'constituted'. The whole
sentence is faulty. 'After this' is inserted in the edition of 1702
before 'he betooke'.]

[Footnote 2: 'as' inserted in late hand in MS. in place of 'and'.]

[Footnote 3: 'off' added in later hand in MS.; 'notice of', ll. 2, 6,
ed. 1704.]



_Thomas Howard, fourteenth Earl of Arundel._

_Born 1586. Died 1646._


The Earle of Arrundell was the next to the officers of State, who in
his owne right and quality, præceded the rest of the councell. He was
a man supercilious and prowde, who lyved alwayes within himselfe,
and to himselfe, conversinge little with any, who were in common
conversation, so that he seemed to lyve as it were in another nation,
his house beinge a place, to which all men resorted, who resorted
to no other place, strangers, or such who affected to looke like
strangers, and dressed themselves accordingly. He resorted sometimes
to the Courte, because ther only was a greater man then himselfe,
and went thither the seldomer, because ther was a greater man then
himselfe. He lived toward all Favorites and greate officers without
any kinde of condescention, and rather suffred himselfe to be ill
treated by ther power and authority (for he was alwayes in disgrace,
and once or twice prysoner in the tower) then to descende in makinge
any application to them; and upon these occasyons, he spent a greate
intervall of his tyme, in severall journyes into forrainge partes, and
with his wife and family had lyved some yeeres in Italy, the humour
and manners of which nation he seemed most to like and approve, and
affected to imitate. He had a good fortune by descent, and a much
greater from his wife, who was the sole daughter upon the matter
(for nether of the two Sisters left any issue) of the greate house of
Shrewsbury, but his exspences were without any measure, and alwayes
exceeded very much his revennue. He was willinge to be thought a
scholar, and to understande the most misterious partes of Antiquity,
because he made a wounderfull and costly purchase of excellent statues
whilst he was in Italy and in Rome (some wherof he could never obtayne
permission to remoove from Rome, though he had payd for them) and had
a rare collection of the most curious Medalls; wheras in truth he was
only able to buy them, never to understande ihem, and as to all partes
of learninge he was almost illiterate, and thought no other parte of
history considerable, but what related to his owne family, in which no
doubt ther had bene some very memorable persons.

It cannot be denyed, that he had in his person, in his aspecte and
countenance, the appearance of a greate man, which he preserved in
his gate and motion. He wore and affected a habitt very different
from that of the tyme, such as men had only beheld in the pictures of
the most considerable men, all which drew the eyes of most and the
reverence of many towards him, as the image and representative of the
primitive nobility, and natife gravity of the nobles, when they had
bene most venerable. But this was only his outsyde, his nature and
true humour beinge so much disposed to levity, and vulgar delights,
which indeede were very despicable and childish: He was never
suspected to love anybody, nor to have the least propensity to
justice, charity, or compassion, so that, though he gott all he
could, and by all the wayes he could, and spent much more then he
gott or had, he was never knowne to give any thinge, nor in all his
imployments (for he had imployments of greate profitt as well as
honour, beinge sent Ambassadour extraordinary into Germany, for the
treaty of that Generall peace, for which he had greate appointments,
and in which he did nothinge of the least importance, and which is
more wounderfull, he was afterwards made Generall of the Army raysed
for Scotlande, and receaved full pay as such, and in his owne office
of Earle Marshall, more money was drawne from the people by his
authority and prætence of jurisdiction, then had ever bene extorted
by all the officers præcedent) yett I say in all his offices and
imployments, never man used, or imployed by him, ever gott any fortune
under him, nor did ever any man acknowledge any obligation to him. He
was rather thought to be without religion, then to inclyne to this
or that party of any. He would have bene a proper instrument for any
tyranny, if he could have a man tyrant enough to have bene advized by
him, and had no other affection for the nation or the kingdome, then
as he had a greate share in it, in which like the greate Leviathan he
might sporte himselfe, from which he withdrew himselfe, as soone as
he decerned the repose therof was like to be disturbed, and dyed in
Italy, under the same doubtfull character of religion, in which he



_William Herbert, third Earl of Pembroke._

_Born 1580. Died 1630._


Willyam Earle of Pembroke was next, a man of another molde and
makinge, and of another fame and reputation with all men, beinge
the most universally loved and esteemed, of any man of that age, and
havinge a greate office in the courte, made the courte itselfe better
esteemed and more reverenced in the country; and as he had a greate
number of frends of the best men, so no man had ever wickednesse to
avow himselfe to be his enimy. He was a man very well bredd, and of
excellent partes, and a gracefull speaker upon any subjecte, havinge
a good proportion of learninge, and a ready witt to apply it, and
inlarge upon it, of a pleasant and facetious humour and a disposition
affable, generous, and magnificent; he was master of a greate fortune
from his auncestors, and had a greate addition by his wife (another
daughter and heyre of the Earle of Shrewsbury) which he injoyed
duringe his life, shee outlivinge him, but all served not his
exspence, which was only limited by his greate minde, and occasions
to use it nobly; he lyved many yeeres aboute the courte, before in it,
and never by it, beinge rather regarded and esteemed by Kinge James
then loved and favored, and after the fowle fall of the Earle of
Somersett, he was made L'd Chamberlyne of the Kings house more for
the Courtes sake, then his owne, and the Courte appeared with the more
lustre, because he had the goverment of that Province. As he spente
and lived upon his owne fortune, so he stoode upon his owne feete,
without any other supporte then of his proper virtue and meritt, and
lyved towards the favorites with that decency, as would not suffer
them to censure or reproch his Masters judgement and election, but as
with men of his owne ranke. He was exceedingly beloved in the Courte,
because he never desyred to gett that for himselfe, which others
labored for, but was still ready to promote the prætences of worthy
men, and he was equally celebrated in the country, for havinge
receaved no obligations from the courte, which might corrupt or sway
his affections and judgement; so that all who were displeased and
unsatisfyed in the courte or with the Courte, were alwayes inclined
to putt themselves under his banner, if he would have admitted them,
and yett he did not so rejecte them, as to make them choose another
shelter, but so farr to depende on him, that he could restrayn them
from breakinge out beyounde private resentments, and murmurs. He was a
greate lover of his country, and of the religion and justice which he
believed could only supporte it, and his frendshipps were only with
men of those principles; and as his conversation was most with men of
the most pregnant parts and understandinge, so towards any who needed
supporte or encouragement, though unknowne, if fayrely recommended to
him, he was very liberall; and sure never man was planted in a courte,
that was fitter for that soyle, or brought better qualityes with him
to purify that heyre.

Yett his memory must not be so flattered, that his virtues and good
inclinations may be believed without some allay of vice, and without
beinge clowded with greate infirmityes, which he had in to exorbitant
a proportion: He indulged to himselfe the pleasures of all kindes,
almost in all excesses; whether out of his naturall constitution,
or for wante of his domestique content and delight (in which he was
most unhappy, for he payed much to deere for his wife's fortune,
by takinge her person into the bargayne) he was immoderately given
up to women,[1] but therin he likewise retayned such a pouer and
jurisdiction over his very appetite, that he was not so much
transported with beauty and outwarde allurements, as with those
advantages of the minde, as manifested an extraordinary witt,
and spirit, and knowledge, and administred greate pleasure in the
conversation; to these he sacrificed himselfe, his pretious tyme,
and much of his fortune, and some who were neerest his trust and
frendshipp, were not without apprehension that his naturall vivacity,
and vigour of minde, begann to lessen and decline, by those excessive
indulgences. Aboute the tyme of the death of Kinge James or presently
after, he was made L'd Steward of his Majestys house, that the Staffe
of Chamberlyne might be putt into the hands of his brother, the Earle
of Mountgomery, upon a new contracte of frendshipp with the Duke of
Buckingham, after whose death he had likewise such offices of his, as
he most affected, of honour and commaunde, none of profitt, which he
cared not for; and within two yeeres after he dyed himselfe, of an
Apoplexy, after a full and cheerefull supper.

[Footnote 1: The words 'to women' occur twice in the MS., before
'whether out' and after 'given up'.]



_Lord Keeper 1617. Lord Chancellor 1618. Baron Verulam 1618, and
Viscount St. Albans 1621._

_Born 1561. Died 1626._


[Sidenote: _Dominis Verulanus._]

_One_, though hee be excellent, and the chiefe, is not to bee imitated
alone. For never no Imitator, ever grew up to his _Author_; likenesse
is alwayes on this side Truth: Yet there hapn'd, in my time, one noble
_Speaker_, who was full of gravity in his speaking. His language,
(where hee could spare, or passe by a jest) was nobly _censorious_. No
man ever spake more neatly, more presly, more weightily, or suffer'd
lesse emptinesse, lesse idlenesse, in what hee utter'd. No member of
his speech, but consisted of the owne graces: His hearers could not
cough, or looke aside from him, without losse. Hee commanded where hee
spoke; and had his Judges angry, and pleased at his devotion. No man
had their affections more in his power. The feare of every man that
heard him, was, lest hee should make an end.



Not long after comes the great _Lord Chancellor Bacon_ to a _Censure_,
for the most _simple_, and _ridiculous follies_, that ever entred
into the _heart_ of a _Wise man_. He was the true _Emblem_ of _humane
frailty_, being _more_ than _a man_ in some things, and less than a
_woman_ in others. His _crime_ was _Briberie_, and _Extortion_ (which
the King hinted at in his Speech, when he _facetiously_ sayd, _He
thought the Lords had bribed the Prince to speak well of them_) and
these he had often condemned others for as a _Judge_, which now
he comes to suffer for as a _Delinquent_: And they were proved, &
aggravated against him with so many _circumstances_, that they fell
very _fouly_ on him, both in _relation_ to his _Reception_ of them,
and his expending of them: For that which he raked in, and scrued
for one way, he scattered and threw abroad another; for his Servants,
being young, prodigall and expensive Youths, which he kept about him,
his Treasure was their common Store, which they took without stint,
having free accesse to his most retired Privacies; and his indulgence
to them, and familiarity with them, opened a _gap_ to infamous
_Reports_, which left an unsavoury _Tincture_ on him; for where such
_Leeches_ are, there must be _putrid bloud_ to fill their _craving
Appetites_. His _gettings_ were like a _Prince_, with a strong hand;
his _expences_ like a _Prodigall_, with a weak head; and 'tis a wonder
a man of his Noble, and Gallant Parts, that could fly so high above
_Reason_, should fall so far below it; unlesse that _Spirit_ that
_acted_ the first, were too proud to stoop, to see the _deformities_
of the last. And as he affected his men, so his Wife affected hers:
Seldome doth the Husband deviate one way, but the Wife goeth another.
These things came into the _publique mouth_, and the _Genius_ of the
_Times_ (where _malice_ is not _corrivall_) is the great _Dictator_
of all _Actions_: For _innocency_ it self is a _crime_, when _calumny_
sets her mark upon it. How prudent therefore ought men to be, that not
so much as their _garments_ be defiled with the _sour breath_ of the

This poor _Gentleman_, mounted above _pity_, fell down below it: His
_Tongue_, that was the glory of his time for _Eloquence_, (that tuned
so many sweet _Harrangues_) was like a forsaken _Harp_, hung upon the
_Willows_, whilst the _waters_ of _affliction_ overflowed the _banks_.
And now his high-flying _Orations_ are humbled to _Supplications_,...

       *       *       *       *       *

He was of a _middling stature_, his countenance had in-dented with
_Age_ before he was old; his _Presence_ grave and comely; of a
high-flying and lively _Wit_, striving in some things to be rather
admired than understood, yet so quick and easie where he would express
himself, and his _Memory_ so strong and active, that he appeared the
_Master_ of a large and plenteous _store-house_ of _Knowledge_, being
(as it were) _Natures Midwife_, stripping her _Callou-brood_, and
clothing them in new _Attire_. His _Wit_ was quick to the last; for
_Gondemar_ meeting him the _Lent_ before his _Censure_, and hearing
of his _Miscarriages_, thought to pay him with his _Spanish Sarcasms_
and _Scoffs_, saying, _My Lord, I wish you a good Easter_; _And you
my Lord_, replyed the _Chancellor_, _a good Passeover_: For he could
neither close with his _English Buffonerie_, nor his _Spanish Treaty_
(which _Gondemar_ knew) though he was so wise as publiquely to oppose
neither. _In fine, he was a fit Jewel to have beautified, and adorned
a flourishing Kingdom, if his flaws had not disgraced the lustre that
should have set him off._



[Sidenote: An essay at his character.]

None can character him to the life, save himself. He was _in parts_,
more than a Man, who in any Liberal profession, might be, whatsoever
he would himself. A great Honourer of _antient Authors_, yet a great
Deviser and Practiser of new waies in Learning. Privy Counsellor,
as to King JAMES, so to _Nature_ it self, diving into many of her
abstruse Mysteries. New conclusions he would _dig out_ with _mattocks_
of _gold & silver_, not caring what his experience cost him, expending
on the _Trials of Nature_, all and more than he got by the _Trials at
the Barre_, Posterity being the better for his, though he the worse
for his own, dear experiments. He and his Servants had _all in
common_, the _Men_ never wanting what their _Master_ had, and thus
what came _flowing_ in unto him, was sent _flying_ away from him, who,
in giving of rewards knew no _bounds_, but the _bottome_ of his own
purse. Wherefore when King James heard that he had given _Ten pounds_
to an _under-keeper_, by whom He had sent him a _Buck_, the King said
merrily, _I and He shall both die Beggars_, which was condemnable
Prodigality in a _Subject_. He lived many years after, and in his
Books will ever survive, in the reading whereof, modest Men commend
him, in what they doe, condemn themselves, in what they doe not
understand, as believing the fault in their own eyes, and not in the



He was no _Plodder_ upon _Books_; Though he read much; And that, with
great Judgement, and Rejection of Impertinences, incident to many
_Authours_: For he would ever interlace a _Moderate Relaxation_ of
His _Minde_, with his _Studies_; As _Walking_; Or _Taking_ the _Aire
abroad_ in his _Coach_; or some other befitting _Recreation_: And
yet he would _loose_ no _Time_, In as much as upon his _First_ and
_Immediate Return_, he would fall to _Reading_ again: And so suffer
no _Moment_ of _Time_ to Slip from him, without some present

His _Meales_ were _Refections_, of the _Eare_, as well as of the
_Stomack_: Like the _Noctes Atticæ_; or _Convivia Deipno-Sophistarum_;
Wherein a Man might be refreshed, in his _Minde_, and _understanding_,
no lesse then in his _Body_. And I have known some, of no mean Parts,
that have professed to make use of their _Note-Books_, when they have
risen from his _Table_. In which _Conversations_, and otherwise, he
was no Dashing Man; As some Men are; But ever, a _Countenancer_, and
_Fosterer_, of another Mans _Parts_. Neither was he one, that would
_appropriate_ the _Speech_, wholy to Himself; or delight to out-vie
others; But leave a Liberty, to the _Co-Assessours_, to take their
_Turns_, to Wherein he would draw a _Man_ on, and allure him, to
speak upon such a Subject, as wherein he was peculiarly _Skilfull_,
and would delight to speak. And, for Himself, he condemned no Mans
_Observations_; But would light his _Torch_ at every Mans _Candle_.

His _Opinions_, and _Assertions_, were, for the most part, _Binding_;
And not contradicted, by any; Rather like _Oracles_, then _Discourses_.
Which may be imputed, either to the well weighing of his _Sentence_, by
the Skales of _Truth_, and _Reason_; Or else, to the _Reverence_, and
_Estimation_, wherein he was, commonly, had, that no _Man_ would
_contest_ with him. So that, there was no _Argumentation_, or _Pro_ and
_Con_, (as they term it,) at his _Table_: Or if there chanced to be
any, it was Carried with much _Submission_, and _Moderation_.

I have often observed; And so have other Men, of great Account; That
if he had occasion to repeat another Mans _Words_, after him; he
had an use, and Faculty, to dresse them in better _Vestments_, and
_Apparell_, then they had before: So that, the _Authour_ should finde
his own _Speech_ much amended; And yet the _Substance_ of it still
_retained_. As if it had been _Naturall_ to him, to use good _Forms_;
As _Ovid_ spake, of his _Faculty_ of _Versifying_;

  _Et quod tentabam Scribere, Versus erat._

When his _Office_ called him, as he was of the _Kings Counsell
Learned_, to charge any _Offenders_, either in _Criminals_, or
_Capitals_; He was never of an _Insulting_, or _Domineering Nature_,
over them; But alwayes tender Hearted, and carrying himself decently
towards the _Parties_; (Though it was his Duty, to charge them home:)
But yet, as one, that looked upon the _Example_, with the Eye of
_Severity_; But upon the _Person_, with the Eye of _Pitty_, and
Compassion. And in _Civill Businesse_, as he was _Counseller_
of _Estate_, he had the best way of _Advising_; Not engaging his
_Master_, in any _Precipitate_, or _grievous_, Courses; But in
_Moderate_, and _Fair_, Proceedings: The _King_, whom he served,
giving him this _Testimony_; That he ever dealt, in Businesse,
Suavibus Modis; _Which was the way, that was most according to his own

Neither was He, in his time, lesse Gracious with the _Subject_,
then with his _Soveraign_: He was ever Acceptable to the _House of
Commons_, when He was a _Member_ thereof. Being the _Kings Atturney_,
& chosen to a place, in _Parliament_, He was allowed, and dispensed
with, to sit in the _House_; which was not permitted to other

And as he was a good _Servant_, to his _Master_; Being never, in 19.
years Service, (as himself averred,) rebuked by the _King_, for any
Thing, relating to his _Majesty_; So he was a good _Master_, to his
_Servants_; And rewarded their long _Attendance_, with good _Places_,
freely, when they fell into his Power. Which was the Cause, that so
many young _Gentlemen_, of _Bloud_, and _Quality_, sought to list
themselves, in his _Retinew_. And if he were abused, by any of them,
in their _Places_; It was onely the _Errour_ of the _Goodnesse_ of
his _Nature_; But the Badges of their _Indiscretions_, and



_Born 1573. Died 1637._


Ben Johnsons name can never be forgotten, havinge by his very good
learninge, and the severity of his nature, and manners, very much
reformed the Stage and indeede the English poetry it selfe; his
naturall advantages were judgement to order and governe fancy,
rather then excesse of fancy, his productions beinge slow and upon
deliberation, yett then aboundinge with greate witt and fancy, and
will lyve accordingly, and surely as he did exceedingly exalte the
English language, in eloquence, propriety, and masculyne exspressions,
so he was the best judge of, and fittest to prescribe rules to poetry
and poetts, of any man who had lyved with or before him, or since, if
M'r Cowly had not made a flight beyounde all men, with that modesty
yett to own much of his to the example and learninge of Ben. Johnson:
His conversation was very good and with the men of most note, and he
had for many yeares an extraordinary kindnesse for M'r Hyde, till he
founde he betooke himselfe to businesse, which he believed ought never
to be preferred before his company: He lyved to be very old, and till
the Palsy made a deepe impression upon his body and his minde.



_To Sir THO. HAWK. Knight_.


I was invited yesternight to a solemne supper by _B.I._ wher you
were deeply remembred, ther was good company, excellent chear, choice
wines, and joviall welcom; one thing interven'd which almost spoyld
the relish of the rest, that _B._ began to engross all the discourse,
to vapour extremely of himself, and by villifying others to magnifie
his owne _muse_; _T. Ca._ buz'd me in the eare, that though _Ben_
had barreld up a great deal of knowledg, yet it seems he had not
read the _Ethiques_, which among other precepts of morality forbid
self-commendation, declaring it to be an ill favourd solecism in good
manners; It made me think upon the Lady (not very young) who having a
good while given her guests neat entertainment, a capon being brought
upon the table, instead of a spoon she took a mouthfull of claret and
spouted it into the poope of the hollow bird; such an accident happend
in this entertainment you know--_Proprio laus sordet in ore; be a mans
breath never so sweet, yet it makes ones prayses stink, if he makes
his owne mouth the conduit pipe of it_; But for my part I am content
to dispense with this _Roman_ infirmity of _B._ now that time hath
snowed upon his pericranium. You know _Ovid_, and (your) _Horace_ were
subject to this humour, the first bursting out into,

  _Tamq; opus exegi quod nec Iovis ira, nec ignis_, &c.

The other into,

  _Exegi monumentum ære perennius_, &c.

As also _Cicero_ while he forc'd himself into this Exameter; _O
fortunatam natam me consule Romam_. Ther is another reason that
excuseth _B._ which is, that if one be allowed to love the naturall
issue of his body, why not that of the brain, which is of a spirituall
and more noble extraction; I preserve your manuscripts safe for you
till your return to _London_, what newes the times afford this bearer
will impart unto you. So I am,

    _Your very humble and most faithfull Servitor_, J.H.
_Westmin. 5 Apr. 1636._



_Born 1551. Died 1650._


Mr. Hastings, by his quality, being the son, brother, and uncle to
the Earls of Huntingdon, and his way of living, had the first place
amongst us. He was peradventure an original in our age, or rather the
copy of our nobility in ancient days in hunting and not warlike times;
he was low, very strong and very active, of a reddish flaxen hair, his
clothes always green cloth, and never all worth when new five pounds.
His house was perfectly of the old fashion, in the midst of a large
park well stocked with deer, and near the house rabbits to serve
his kitchen, many fish-ponds, and great store of wood and timber; a
bowling-green in it, long but narrow, full of high ridges, it being
never levelled since it was ploughed; they used round sand bowls, and
it had a banqueting-house like a stand, a large one built in a tree.
He kept all manner of sport-hounds that ran buck, fox, hare, otter,
and badger, and hawks long and short winged; he had all sorts of nets
for fishing: he had a walk in the New Forest and the manor of Christ
Church. This last supplied him with red deer, sea and river fish; and
indeed all his neighbours' grounds and royalties were free to him, who
bestowed all his time in such sports, but what he borrowed to caress
his neighbours' wives and daughters, there being not a woman in all
his walks of the degree of a yeoman's wife or under, and under the
age of forty, but it was extremely her fault if he were not intimately
acquainted with her. This made him very popular, always speaking
kindly to the husband, brother, or father, who was to boot very
welcome to his house whenever he came. There he found beef pudding and
small beer in great plenty, a house not so neatly kept as to shame him
or his dirty shoes, the great hall strewed with marrow bones, full of
hawks' perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers, the upper sides of
the hall hung with the fox-skins of this and the last year's skinning,
here and there a polecat intermixed, guns and keepers' and huntsmen's
poles in abundance. The parlour was a large long room, as properly
furnished; on a great hearth paved with brick lay some terriers and
the choicest hounds and spaniels; seldom but two of the great chairs
had litters of young cats in them, which were not to be disturbed,
he having always three or four attending him at dinner, and a little
white round stick of fourteen inches long lying by his trencher, that
he might defend such meat as he had no mind to part with to them. The
windows, which were very large, served for places to lay his arrows,
crossbows, stonebows, and other such like accoutrements; the corners
of the room full of the best chose hunting and hawking poles; an
oyster-table at the lower end, which was of constant use twice a day
all the year round, for he never failed to eat oysters before dinner
and supper through all seasons: the neighbouring town of Poole
supplied him with them. The upper part of this room had two small
tables and a desk, on the one side of which was a church Bible, on the
other the Book of Martyrs; on the tables were hawks' hoods, bells,
and such like, two or three old green hats with their crowns thrust
in so as to hold ten or a dozen eggs, which were of a pheasant kind
of poultry he took much care of and fed himself; tables, dice, cards,
and boxes were not wanting. In the hole of the desk were store of
tobacco-pipes that had been used. On one side of this end of the room
was the door of a closet, wherein stood the strong beer and the wine,
which never came thence but in single glasses, that being the rule
of the house exactly observed, for he never exceeded in drink or
permitted it. On the other side was a door into an old chapel not
used for devotion; the pulpit, as the safest place, was never wanting
of a cold chine of beef, pasty of venison, gammon of bacon, or great
apple-pie, with thick crust extremely baked. His table cost him not
much, though it was very good to eat at, his sports supplying all but
beef and mutton, except Friday, when he had the best sea-fish as well
as other fish he could get, and was the day that his neighbours of
best quality most visited him. He never wanted a London pudding, and
always sung it in with 'my part lies therein-a.' He drank a glass of
wine or two at meals, very often syrrup of gilliflower in his sack,
and had always a tun glass without feet stood by him holding a pint
of small beer, which he often stirred with a great sprig of rosemary.
He was well natured, but soon angry, calling his servants bastard
and cuckoldy knaves, in one of which he often spoke truth to his own
knowledge, and sometimes in both, though of the same man. He lived to
a hundred, never lost his eyesight, but always writ and read without
spectacles, and got to horse without help. Until past fourscore he
rode to the death of a stag as well as any.



_Born 1600. Succeeded James I 1625. Beheaded 1649._


The severall unhearde of insolencyes which this excellent Prince was
forced to submitt to, at the other tymes he was brought before that
odious judicatory, his Majesticke behaviour under so much insolence,
and resolute insistinge upon his owne dignity, and defendinge it
by manifest authorityes in the lawe, as well as by the cleerest
deductions from reason, the pronouncinge that horrible sentence upon
the most innocent person in the worlde, the execution of that sentence
by the most execrable murther that ever was committed, since that of
our blessed Savyour, and the circumstances therof, the application
and interposition that was used by some noble persons to prævent that
wofull murther, and the hypocrisy with which that interposition was
deluded, the Saintlike behaviour of that blessed Martir, and his
Christian courage and patience at his death, are all particulars
so well knowne, and have bene so much inlarged upon in treatises
peculiarly applyed to that purpose, that the farther mentioninge it
in this place, would but afflicte and grieve the reader, and make the
relation itselfe odious; and therfore no more shall be sayd heare of
that lamentable Tragedy, so much to the dishonour of the Nation, and
the religion professed by it; but it will not be unnecessary to
add the shorte character of his person, that posterity may know the
inestimable losse which the nation then underwent in beinge deprived
of a Prince whose example would have had a greater influence upon the
manners and piety of the nation, then the most stricte lawes can have.

To speake first of his private qualifications as a man, before the
mention of his princely and royall virtues, He was, if ever any,
the most worthy of the title of an honest man; so greate a lover of
justice, that no temptation could dispose him to a wrongfull action,
except it were so disguysed to him, that he believed it to be just; he
had a tendernesse and compassion of nature, which restrayned him from
ever doinge a hard hearted thinge, and therfore he was so apt to grant
pardon to Malefactors, that his Judges represented to him the damage
and insecurity to the publique that flowed from such his indulgence,
and then he restrayned himselfe from pardoninge ether murthers or
highway robberyes, and quickly decerned the fruits of his severity, by
a wounderfull reformation of those enormityes. He was very punctuall
and regular in his devotions, so that he was never knowne to enter
upon his recreations or sportes, though never so early in the
morninge, before he had bene at publique prayers, so that on huntinge
dayes, his Chaplynes were bounde to a very early attendance, and he
was likewise very stricte in observinge the howres of his private
cabbinett devotions, and was so seveare an exactor of gravity and
reverence in all mention of religion, that he could never indure any
light or prophane worde in religion, with what sharpnesse of witt so
ever it was cover'd; and though he was well pleased and delighted with
readinge verses made upon any occasyon, no man durst bringe before
him any thinge that was prophane or uncleane, that kinde of witt had
never any countenance then. He was so greate an example of conjugall
affection, that they who did not imitate him in that particular,
did not bragge of ther liberty, and he did not only permitt but
directe his Bishopps to prosequte those skandalous vices, in the
Ecclesiasticall Courtes, against persons of eminence, and neere
relation to his service.

His kingly virtues had some mixture and allay that hindred them from
shyninge in full lustre, and from producinge those fruites they should
have bene attended with; he was not in his nature bountifull, though
he gave very much, which appeared more after the Duke of Buckinghams
death, after which those showers fell very rarely, and he paused to
longe in givinge, which made those to whome he gave lesse sensible of
the benefitt. He kept state to the full, which made his Courte very
orderly, no man prsesuminge to be seene in a place wher he had no
pretence to be; he saw and observed men longe, before he receaved any
about his person, and did not love strangers, nor very confident men.
He was a patient hearer of causes, which he frequently accustomed
himselfe to, at the Councell Board, and judged very well, and was
dextrous in the mediatinge parte, so that he often putt an end to
causes by perswasion, which the stubbornesse of mens humours made
delatory in courts of justice. He was very fearelesse in his person,
but not enterpryzinge, and had an excellent understandinge, but was
not confident enough of it: which made him often tymes chaunge his
owne opinion for a worse, and follow the advice of a man, that did not
judge so well as himselfe: and this made him more irresolute, then the
conjuncture of his affayres would admitt: If he had bene of a rougher
and more imperious nature, he would have founde more respecte and
duty, and his not applyinge some seveare cures, to approchinge evills,
proceeded from the lenity of his nature, and the tendernesse of his
conscience, which in all cases of bloode, made him choose the softer
way, and not hearken to seveare councells how reasonably soever urged.
This only restrayned him from pursuinge his advantage in the first
Scotts expedition, when humanely speakinge, he might have reduced that
Nation to the most slavish obedyence that could have bene wished,
but no man can say, he had then many who advized him to it, but the
contrary, by a wounderfull indisposition all his Councell had to
fightinge, or any other fatigue. He was alwayes an immoderate lover of
the Scottish nation, havinge not only bene borne ther, but educated by
that people and besiedged by them alwayes, havinge few English aboute
him till he was kinge, and the major number of his servants beinge
still of those, who he thought could never fayle him, and then no
man had such an ascendent over him, by the lowest and humblest
insinuations, as Duke Hambleton had.

As he excelled in all other virtues, so in temperance he was so
stricte that he abhorred all deboshry to that degree, that at a greate
festivall solemnity wher he once was, when very many of the nobility
of the English and Scotts were entertayned, he was[1] told by one who
withdrew from thence, what vast draughts of wine they dranke, and
that ther was one Earle who had dranke most of the rest downe and was
not himselfe mooved or altred, the kinge sayd that he deserved to
be hanged, and that Earle comminge shortly into the roome wher his
Majesty was, in some gayty to shew how unhurte he was from that
battle, the kinge sent one to bidd him withdraw from his Majestys
presence, nor did he in some dayes after appeare before the kinge.

Ther were so many miraculous circumstances contributed to his ruine,
that men might well thinke that heaven and earth conspired it, and
that the starres designed it, though he was from the first declension
of his power, so much betrayed by his owne servants, that there were
very few who remayned faythfull to him; yett that trechery proceeded
not from any treasonable purpose to do him any harme, but from
particular and personall animosityes against other men; and afterwards
the terrour all men were under of the Parliament and the guilte they
were conscious of themselves, made them watch all opportunityes to
make themselves gratious to those who could do them good, and so they
became spyes upon ther master, and from one piece of knavery, were
hardned and confirmed to undertake another, till at last they had no
hope of præservation but by the destruction of ther master; And after
all this, when a man might reasonably believe, that lesse then a
universall defection of three nations, could not have reduced a greate
kinge to so ugly a fate, it is most certayne that in that very howre
when he was thus wickedly murthered in the sight of the sunn, he had
as greate a share in the heartes and affections of his subjects in
generall, was as much beloved, esteemed and longed for by the people
in generall of the three nations, as any of his predecessors had ever
bene. To conclude, he was the worthyest gentleman, the best master,
the best frende, the best husbande, the best father, and the best
Christian, that the Age in which he lyved had produced, and if he was
not the best kinge, if he was without some parts and qualityes which
have made some kings greate and happy, no other Prince was ever
unhappy, who was possessed of half his virtues and indowments, and so
much without any kinde of vice.

[Footnote 1: 'he was' altered to 'being' in ed. 1792.]



He was a person, tho' born sickly, yet who came thro' temperance and
exercise, to have as firm and strong a body, as most persons I ever
knew, and throughout all the fatigues of the warr, or during his
imprisonment, never sick. His appetite was to plain meats, and tho'
he took a good quantity thereof, yet it was suitable to an easy
digestion. He seldom eat of above three dishes at most, nor drank
above thrice: a glasse of small beer, another of claret wine, and
the last of water; he eat suppers as well as dinners heartily; but
betwixt meales, he never medled with any thing. Fruit he would eat
plentifully, and with this regularity, he moved as steddily, as a star
follows its course. His deportment was very majestick; for he would
not let fall his dignity, no not to the greatest Forraigners, that
came to visit him and his Court; for tho' he was farr from pride,
yet he was carefull of majestie, and would be approacht with respect
and reverence. His conversation was free, and the subject matter of
it (on his own side of the Court) was most commonly rational; or if
facetious, not light. With any Artist or good Mechanick, Traveller, or
Scholar he would discourse freely; and as he was commonly improved by
them, so he often gave light to them in their own art or knowledge.
For there were few Gentlemen in the world, that knew more of useful
or necessary learning, than this Prince did: and yet his proportion of
books was but small, having like Francis the first of France, learnt
more by the ear, than by study. His way of arguing was very civil and
patient; for he seldom contradicted another by his authority, but
by his reason: nor did he by any petulant dislike quash another's
arguments; and he offered his exception by this civill introduction,
_By your favour, Sir, I think otherwise on this or that ground_: yet
he would discountenance any bold or forward addresse unto him. And
in suits or discourse of busines he would give way to none abruptly
to enter into them, but lookt, that the greatest Persons should in
affairs of this nature addresse to him by his proper Ministers, or
by some solemn desire of speaking to him in their own persons. His
exercises were manly; for he rid the great horse very well; and on
the little saddle he was not only adroit, but a laborious hunter or
field-man: and they were wont to say of him, that he fail'd not to do
any of his exercises artificially, but not very gracefully; like some
well-proportion'd faces, which yet want a pleasant air of countenance.
He had a great plainnes in his own nature, and yet he was thought even
by his Friends to love too much a versatile man; but his experience
had thorowly weaned him from this at last.

He kept up the dignity of his Court, limiting persons to places
suitable to their qualities, unless he particularly call'd for them.
Besides the women, who attended on his beloved Queen and Consort, he
scarce admitted any great Officer to have his wife in the family. Sir
Henry Vane was the first, that I knew in that kind, who having a good
dyet as Comptroller of the Houshold, and a tenuity of fortune, was
winkt at; so as the Court was fill'd, not cramm'd. His exercises of
Religion were most exemplary; for every morning early, and evening not
very late, singly and alone, in his own bed-chamber or closet he spent
some time in private meditation: (for he durst reflect and be alone)
and thro' the whole week, even when he went a hunting, he never
failed, before he sat down to dinner, to have part of the Liturgy read
unto him and his menial servants, came he never so hungry, or so late
in: and on Sundays and Tuesdays he came (commonly at the beginning of
Service) to the Chappell, well attended by his Court-Lords, and chief
Attendants, and most usually waited on by many of the Nobility in
town, who found those observances acceptably entertain'd by him. His
greatest enemies can deny none of this; and a man of this moderation
of mind could have no hungry appetite to prey upon his subjects, tho'
he had a greatnes of mind not to live precariously by them. But when
he fell into the sharpnes of his afflictions, (than which few men
underwent sharper) I dare say, I know it, (I am sure conscientiously
I say it) tho' God dealt with him, as he did with St. Paul, not remove
the thorn, yet he made his grace sufficient to take away the pungency
of it: for he made as sanctified an use of his afflictions, as most
men ever did.

No Gentleman in his three nations, tho' there were many more learned,
(for I have supposed him but competently learned, tho' eminently
rational) better understood the foundations of his own Church, and the
grounds of the Reformation, than he did: which made the Pope's Nuncio
to the Queen, Signior Con, to say (both of him and Arch-Bishop Laud,
when the King had forced the Archbishop to admit a visit from, and
a conference with the Nuncio) _That when he came first to Court, he
hoped to have made great impressions there; but after he had conferr'd
with Prince and Prelate, (who never denyed him any thing frowardly or
ignorantly, but admitted all, which primitive and uncorrupted Rome for
the first 500 years had exercised_,) he declared he found, _That they
resolved to deal with his Master, the Pope, as wrestlers do with one
another, take him up to fling him down_. And therefore tho' I cannot
say, I know, that he wrote his _Icon Basilike_, or _Image_, which
goes under his own name; yet I can say, I have heard him, even unto my
unworthy selfe, say many of those things it contains: and I have bin
assur'd by Mr. Levett, (one of the Pages of his Bedchamber, and who
was with him thro' all his imprisonments) that he hath not only seen
the Manuscript of that book among his Majestie's papers at the Isle
of Wight, but read many of the chapters himselfe: and Mr. Herbert,
who by the appointment of Parliament attended him, says, he saw the
Manuscript in the King's hand, as he believed; but it was in a running
character, and not that which the King usually wrote. And whoever
reads his private and cursory letters, which he wrote unto the
Queen, and to some great men (especially in his Scotch affairs, set
down by Mr. Burnet, when he stood single, as he did thro' all his
imprisonments) the gravity and significancy of that style may assure
a misbeliever, that he had head and hand enough to express the
ejaculations of a good, pious, and afflicted heart; and Solomon says,
that _affliction gives understanding_, or elevates thoughts: and we
cannot wonder, that so royal a heart, sensible of such afflictions,
should make such a description of them, as he hath done in that book.

And tho' he was of as slow a pen, as of speech; yet both were very
significant: and he had that modest esteem of his own parts, that he
would usually say, _He would willingly make his own dispatches, but
that he found it better to be a Cobler, than a Shoomaker_. I have
bin in company with very learned men, when I have brought them their
own papers back from him, with his alterations, who ever contest his
amendments to have bin very material. And I once by his commandment
brought him a paper of my own to read, to see, whether it was suitable
unto his directions, and he disallow'd it slightingly: I desir'd him,
I might call Doctor Sanderson to aid me, and that the Doctor might
understand his own meaning from himselfe; and with his Majestie's
leave, I brought him, whilst he was walking, and taking the aire;
whereupon wee two went back; but pleas'd him as little, when wee
return'd it: for smilingly he said, _A man might have as good ware out
of a Chandler's shop_: but afterwards he set it down with his own pen
very plainly, and suitable unto his own intentions. The thing was
of that nature, (being too great an owning of the Scots, when Duke
Hamilton was in the heart of England so meanely defeated, and like
the crafty fox lay out of countenance in the hands of his enemies,)
that it chilled the Doctors ink; and when the matter came to be
communicated, those honourable Persons, that then attended him,
prevayl'd on him to decline the whole. And I remember, when his
displeasure was a little off, telling him, how severely he had dealt
in his charactering the best pen in England, Dr. Sanderson's; he told
me, he had had two Secretaries, one a dull man in comparison of the
other, and yet the first best pleas'd him: _For_, said he, _my Lord
Carleton ever brought me my own sense in my own words; but my Lord
Faulkland most commonly brought me my instructions in so fine a dress,
that I did not alwaies own them._ Which put me in mind to tell him
a story of my Lord Burleigh and his son Cecil: for Burleigh being at
Councill, and Lord Treasurer, reading an order penn'd by a new Clerk
of the Councill, who was a Wit and Scholar, he flung it downward to
the lower end of the Table to his son, the Secretary, saying, _Mr.
Secretary, you bring in Clerks of the Councill, who will corrupt the
gravity and dignity of the style of the Board_: to which the Secretary
replied, _I pray, my Lord, pardon this, for this Gentleman is not warm
in his place, and hath had so little to do, that he is wanton with his
pen: but I will put so much busines upon him, that he shall be willing
to observe your Lordship's directions._ These are so little stories,
that it may be justly thought, I am either vain, or at leasure to sett
them down; but I derive my authority from an Author, the world hath
ever reverenced, _viz_, Plutarch; who writing the lives of Alexander
the great and Julius Cesar, runs into the actions, flowing from their
particular natures, and into their private conversation, saying,
_These smaller things would discover the men, whilst their great
actions only discover the power of their States._

One or two things more then I may warrantably observe: First, as
an evidence of his natural probity, whenever any young Nobleman or
Gentleman of quality, who was going to travell, came to kiss his hand,
he cheerfully would give them some good counsel, leading to morall
virtue, especially to good conversation; telling them, that _If he
heard they kept good company abroad, he should reasonably expect, they
would return qualified to serve him and their Country well at home_;
and he was very carefull to keep the youth in his times uncorrupted.
This I find in the Mémoires upon James Duke Hamilton, was his advice
unto that noble and loyal Lord, William, afterwards, Duke Hamilton,
who so well serv'd his Son, and never perfidiously disserv'd him, when
in armes against him. Secondly, his forementioned intercepted letters
to the Queen at Naisby had this passage in them, where mentioning
religion, he said, _This is the only thing, wherein we two differ_;
which even unto a miscreant Jew would have bin proofe enough of this
King's sincerity in his religion; and had it not bin providence or
inadvertence, surely those, who had in this kind defam'd him, would
never themselves have publish'd in print this passage, which thus
justified him.

This may be truly said, That he valued the Reformation of his own
Church, before any in the world; and was as sensible and as knowing
of, and severe against, the deviations of Rome from the primitive
Church, as any Gentleman in Christendom; and beyond those errors, no
way quarrelsom towards it: for he was willing to give it its due, that
it might be brought to be willing to accept, at least to grant, such
an union in the Church, as might have brought a free and friendly
communion between Dissenters, without the one's totall quitting his
errors, or the other's being necessitated to partake therein: and I
truly believe this was the utmost both of his and his Archbishop's
inclinations; and if I may not, yet both these Martyrs confessions on
the scaffold (God avert the prophecy of the last, _Venient Romani_)
surely may convince the world, that they both dyed true Assertors of
the Reformation. And the great and learned light of this last age,
Grotius, soon discern'd this inclination in him: for in his dedication
of his immortal and scarce ever to be parallel'd book, _De Jure Belli
& Pacis_, he recommends it to Lewis XIII, King of France, as the most
Royall and Christian design imaginable for his Majestic to become a
means to make an union amongst Christians in profession of religion;
and therein he tells him, how well-knowing and well-disposed the King
of England was thereunto. In a word, had he had as daring and active
a courage to obviate danger; as he had a steddy and undaunted in all
hazardous rencounters; or had his active courage equall'd his passive,
the rebellious and tumultuous humor of those, who were disloyall to
him, probably had been quash'd in their first rise: for thro'-out the
English story it may be observed, that the souldier-like spirit in the
Prince hath bin ever much more fortunate and esteem'd, than the pious:
a Prince's awfull reputation being of much more defence to him, than
his Regall (nay Legall) edicts.



_Thomas Wentworth, knighted 1611, second baronet 1614, created
Viscount Wentworth 1628, Earl of Strafford 1640._

_Born 1593. Beheaded 1641._


All thinges beinge thus transacted, to conclude the fate of this
greate person, he was on the 12. day of May brought from the Tower of
London, wher he had bene a prysoner neere six moneths, to the Skaffold
on Tower Hill, wher with a composed, undaunted courage, he told the
people, he was come thither to satisfy them with his heade, but that
he much feared, the reformation which was begunn in bloode, would not
proove so fortunate to the kingdom as they exspected, and he wished,
and after greate expressyons of his devotion to the Church of
Englande, and the Protestant Religion established by Law and professed
in that Church, of his loyalty to the Kinge, and affection to the
peace and welfare of the Kingdome, with marvellous tranquillity of
minde, he deliver'd his Heade to the blocke, wher it was sever'd from
his body at a blow; many of the standers by, who had not bene over
charitable to him in his life, beinge much affected with the courage
and Christianity of his death. Thus fell the greatest subjecte in
power (and little inferiour to any in fortune) that was at that tyme
in ether of the three Kingdomes; who could well remember the tyme when
he ledd those people, who then pursued him to his grave. He was a man
of greate partes and extraordinary indowments of nature, not unadorned
with some addicion of Arte and learninge, though that agayne was more
improoved and illustrated by the other, for he had a readynesse of
conception, and sharpnesse of expressyon, which made his learninge
thought more, then in truth it was. His first inclinations and
addresses to the Courte, were only to establish his Greatnesse in
the Country, wher he apprehended some Actes of power from the[1]
L'd Savill, who had bene his ryvall alwayes ther, and of late had
strenghtened himselfe by beinge made a Privy Counsellour, and Officer
at Courte, but his first attempts were so prosperous that he contented
not himselfe with beinge secure from his power in the Country, but
rested not till he had bereaved him of all power and place in Courte,
and so sent him downe a most abject disconsolate old man to his
Country, wher he was to have the superintendency over him too, by
getting himselfe at that tyme made L'd President of the North. These
successes, applyed to a nature too elate and arrogant of it selfe, and
a quicker progresse into the greatest imployments and trust, made him
more transported with disdayne of other men, and more contemninge the
formes of businesse, then happily he would have bene, if he had mett
with some interruptions in the beginning, and had passed in a more
leasurely gradation to the office of a Statesman. He was no doubte of
greate observation, and a piercinge judgement both into thinges and
persons, but his too good skill in persons made him judge the worse
of thinges, for it was his misfortune to be of a tyme, wherin very few
wise men were æqually imployed with him, and scarce any (but the L'd
Coventry, whose trust was more confined) whose facultyes and abilityes
were æquall to his, so that upon the matter he wholy relyed upon
himselfe, and decerninge many defects in most men, he too much
neglected what they sayd or did. Of all his passyons his pryde was
most prædominant, which a moderate exercise of ill fortune might have
corrected and reformed, and which was by the hande of heaven strangely
punished, by bringinge his destruction upon him, by two thinges, that
he most despised, the people, and S'r Harry Vane; In a worde, the
Epitaph which Plutarch recordes, that Silla wrote for himselfe, may
not be unfitly applyed to him; That no man did ever passe him, ether
in doinge good to his frends, or in doinge mischieve to his enimyes,
for his Actes of both kindes were most exemplar and notorious.

[Footnote 1: 'old' inserted in another hand before 'L'd'.]



The Lord Viscount Wentworth, Lord President of the North, whom the
Lord Treasurer Portland had brought into his Majestie's affairs, from
his ability and activity had wrought himselfe much into his Majestie's
confidence; and about the year 1632 was appointed by the King to be
Lord Deputy of Ireland, where the state of affairs was in no very
good posture, the revenue of the crown not defraying the standing army
there, nor the ordinary expences; and the deportment of the Romanists
being there also very insolent, and the Scots plantations in the
northern parts of that Realm looking upon themselves, as if they had
been a distinct body. So as here was subject matter enough for this
great man to work on; and considering his hardines, it may well be
supposed, that the difficulties of his employment, being means to shew
his abilities, were gratefull to him; for he was every way qualified
for busines; his naturall faculties being very strong and pregnant,
his understanding, aided by a good phansy, made him quick in
discerning the nature of any busines; and thro' a cold brain he became
deliberate and of a sound judgement. His memory was great, and he made
it greater by confiding in it. His elocution was very fluent, and it
was a great part of his talent readily to reply, or freely to harangue
upon any subject. And all this was lodged in a sowre and haughty
temper; so as it may probably be believed, he expected to have more
observance paid to him, than he was willing to pay to others, tho'
they were of his own quality; and then he was not like to conciliate
the good will of men of the lesser station.

His acquired parts, both in University and Inns-of-Court Learning, as
likewise his forreign-travells, made him an eminent man, before he was
a conspicuous; so as when he came to shew himselfe first in publick
affairs, which was in the House of Commons, he was soon a bell-weather
in that flock. As he had these parts, he knew how to set a price on
them, if not overvalue them: and he too soon discovered a roughnes in
his nature, which a man no more obliged by him, than I was, would have
called an injustice; tho' many of his Confidents, (who were my good
friends, when I like a little worm, being trod on, would turn and
laugh, and under that disguise say as piquant words, as my little wit
would help me with) were wont to swear to me, that he endeavoured to
be just to all, but was resolv'd to be gracious to none, but to those,
whom he thought inwardly affected him: which never bowed me, till his
broken fortune, and as I thought, very unjustifiable prosecution,
made me one of the fifty six, who gave a negative to that fatall Bill,
which cut the thread of his life.

He gave an early specimen of the roughnes of his nature, when in the
eager pursuit of the House of Commons after the Duke of Buckingham,
he advised or gave a counsel against another, which was afterwards
taken up and pursued against himselfe. Thus pressing upon another
man's case, he awakened his own fate. For when that House was in
consultation, how to frame the particular charge against that great
Duke, he advised to make a generall one, and to accuse him of treason,
and to let him afterwards get off, as he could; which befell himselfe
at last. I beleive he should make no irrational conjecture, who
determined, that his very eminent parts to support a Crown, and
his very rugged nature to contest disloyalty, or withstand change
of government, made his enemies implacable to him. It was a great
infirmity in him, that he seem'd to overlooke so many, as he did;
since every where, much more in Court, the numerous or lesser sort of
attendants can obstruct, create jealousies, spread ill reports, and
do harme: for as 'tis impossible, that any power or deportment should
satisfy all persons: so there a little friendlines and opennes of
carriage begets hope, and lessens envy.

In his person he was of a tall stature, but stooped much in the neck.
His countenance was cloudy, whilst he moved, or sat thinking; but when
he spake, either seriously or facetiously, he had a lightsom and a
very pleasant ayre: and indeed whatever he then did, he performed very
gracefully. The greatnes of the envy, that attended him, made many in
their prognosticks to bode him an ill end; and there went current a
story of the dream of his Father, who being both by his wife, nighest
friends, and Physicians, thought to be at the point of his death,
fell suddenly into so profound a sleep, and lay quietly so long, that
his Wife, uncertain of his condition, drew nigh his bed, to observe,
whether she could hear him breath, and gently touching him, he
awaked with great disturbance, and told her the reason was, she had
interrupted him in a dream, which most passionately he desired to have
known the end of. For, said he, I dream'd one appear'd to me, assuring
me, that _I should have a son_, (for 'till then he had none) _who
should be a very great and eminent man: but--and in this instant thou
didst awake me, whereby I am bereaved of the knowledge of the further
fortune of the child_. This I heard, when this Lord was but in the
ascent of his greatnes, and long before his fall: and afterwards
conferring with some of his nighest Relations, I found the tradition
was not disown'd. Sure I am, that his station was like those turfs
of earth or sea-banks, which by the storm swept away, left all the
in-land to be drown'd by popular tumult.



_Spencer Compton, second Earl of Northampton._

_Born 1601. Fell at Hopton Heath 1643._


In this fight, which was sharpe and shorte, there were killed and
taken prysoners of the Parliament party above 200. and more then that
number wounded, for the horse charginge amonge ther foote, more
were hurte then killed; Eight pieces of ther Cannon and most of ther
Ammunition was likewise taken. Of the Earles party were slayne but
25. wherof ther were two Captaynes, some inferiour officers, and the
rest common men, but ther were as many hurte, and those of the chiefe
officers. They who had all the Ensignes of victory (but ther Generall)
thought themselves undone, whilst the other syde who had escaped in
the night and made a hard shifte to carry his deade body with them,
hardly believed they were loosers,

  Et velut æquali bellatum sorte fuisset
  componit cum classe virum:

The truth is, a greater victory had bene an unæquall recompence for a
lesse losse. He was a person of greate courage, honour, and fidelity,
and not well knowne till his Eveninge, havinge in the ease, and
plenty, and luxury of that too happy tyme indulged to himselfe with
that licence, which was then thought necessary to greate fortunes, but
from the beginninge of these distractions, as if he had bene awakened
out of a lethargy, he never proceeded with a lukewarme temper. Before
the Standard was sett up, he appeared in Warwickshyre against the L'd
Brooke, and as much upon his owne reputation as the justice of the
cause (which was not so well then understoode) discountenanced and
drove him out of that County, Afterwardes tooke the Ordinance from
Banbury Castle, and brought them to the Kinge; assoone as an Army was
to be raysed he leavyed with the first upon his owne charge a troope
of Horse and a Regiment of foote, and (not like other men, who warily
distributed ther Family to both sydes, one Sunn to serve the Kinge,
whilst the father, or another sunn engaged as farr for the Parliament)
intirely dedicated all his Children to the quarrell, havinge fowre
Sunns officers under him, wherof three charged that day in the
Fielde; and from the tyme he submitted himselfe to the professyon of
a souldyer, no man more punctuall upon commaunde, no man more diligent
and vigilant in duty, all distresses he bore like a common man, and
all wants and hardnesses as if he had never knowne plenty, or ease,
most prodigall of his person to daunger, and would often say, that
if he outlived these warres, he was certayne never to have so noble
a death, so that it is not to be woundred, if upon such a stroke, the
body that felte it, thought it had lost more then a Limbe.



_Robert Dormer, created Earl of Carnarvon 1628._

_Born 1610. Fell at Newbury 1643._


This day fell the Earle of Carnarvon, who after he had charged and
rowted a body of the enimyes horse, cominge carelesly backe by some of
the scattered troopers, was by one of them who knew him runn through
the body with a sworde, of which he dyed within an howre. He was a
person with whose greate partes and virtue the world was not enough
acquainted. Before the warr, though his education was adorned by
travell, and an exacte observation of the manners of more nations
then our common travellers use to visitt, for he had after the view
of Spayne, France, and most partes of Italy, spent some tyme in Turkey
and those Easterne Countryes, he seemed to be wholly delighted with
those looser exercises of pleasure, huntinge, hawkinge, and the like,
in which the nobility of that tyme too much delighted to excell; After
the troubles begann, havinge the commaunde of the first or secounde
Regiment of Horse that was raysed for the Kinges service, he wholy
gave himselfe up to the office and duty of a Souldyer, noe man more
diligently obeyinge, or more dextrously commaundinge, for he was
not only of a very keene courage in the exposinge his person, but an
excellent discerner and pursuer of advantage upon his enimy, and had a
minde and understandinge very present in the article of daunger, which
is a rare benefitt in that profession. Those infirmityes and that
licence which he had formerly indulged to himselfe, he putt off with
severity, when others thought them excusable under the notion of a
souldyer. He was a greate lover of justice, and practiced it then most
deliberately, when he had power to do wronge, and so stricte in the
observation of his worde and promise, as a Commander, that he could
not be perswaded to stay in the west, when he founde it not in his
power to performe the agreement he had made with Dorchester and
Waymoth. If he had lived he would have proved a greate Ornament to
that profession, and an excellent Souldyer, and by his death the Kinge
founde a sensible weakenesse in his Army.



_Lucius Gary, second Viscount Falkland 1633._

_Born 1610. Fell at Newbury 1643._


But I must heare take leave a little longer to discontinue this
narration, and if the celebratinge the memory of eminent and
extraordinary persons, and transmittinge ther greate virtues for the
imitation of posterity, be one of the principle endes and dutyes of
History, it will not be thought impertinent in this place to remember
a losse, which noe tyme will suffer to be forgotten, and no successe
or good fortune could repayre; In this unhappy battell was slayne
the L'd Viscounte Falkelande, a person of such prodigious partes of
learninge and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetenesse and delight in
conversation, of so flowinge and obliginge a humanity and goodnesse
to mankinde, and of that primitive simplicity, and integrity of life,
that if ther were no other brande upon this odious and accursed Civill
war, then that single losse, it must be most infamous and execrable to
all posterity:

Turpe mori post te, solo non posse dolore.

Before this parliament his condition of life was so happy, that it
was hardly capable of improovement; before he came to twenty yeeres of
Age, he was master of a noble fortune, which descended to him by the
gifte of a grandfather, without passinge through his father or mother,
who were then both alive, and not well enough contented to finde
themselves passed by in the descent: His education for some yeeres
had bene in Ireland, wher his father was Lord Deputy, so that when
he returned into Englande, to the possessyon of his fortune, he was
unintangled with any acquaintance or frends, which usually grow up by
the custome of conversation, and therfore was to make a pure election
of his company; which he chose by other rules then were prescribed
to the younge nobility of that tyme; And it cannot be denyed, though
he admitted some few to his frendshipp for the agreablenesse of ther
natures, and ther undoubted affection to him, that his familiarity
and frendshipp for the most parte was with men of the most eminent and
sublime partes, and of untouched reputations in pointe of integrity:
and such men had a title to his bosome.

He was a greate cherisher of witt, and fancy, and good partes in
any man, and if he founde them clowded with poverty or wante, a most
liberall and bountifull Patron towards them, even above his fortune,
of which in those administrations he was such a dispenser, as if he
had bene trusted with it to such uses, and if ther had bene the least
of vice in his expence, he might have bene thought too prodigall: He
was constant and pertinatious in whatsoever he resolved to doe, and
not to be wearyed by any paynes that were necessary to that end, and
therfore havinge once resolved not to see London (which he loved above
all places) till he had perfectly learned the greeke tonge, he went to
his owne house in the Country, and pursued it with that indefatigable
industry, that it will not be believed, in how shorte a tyme he was
master of it, and accurately reade all the Greeke Historyans. In this
tyme, his house beinge within tenn myles of Oxford, he contracted
familiarity and frendshipp with the most polite and accurate men of
that University; who founde such an immensenesse of witt, and such
a soliddity of judgement in him, so infinite a fancy bounde in by a
most logicall ratiocination, such a vast knowledge, that he was not
ignorant in any thinge, yet such an excessive humillity as if he had
knowne nothinge, that they frequently resorted and dwelt with him,
as in a Colledge scituated in a purer ayre, so that his house was
a University bounde in a lesser volume, whither they came not so
much for repose, as study: and to examyne and refyne those grosser
propositions, which lazinesse and consent made currant in vulgar

Many attempts were made upon him, by the instigation of his mother
(who was a Lady of another perswasion in religion, and of a most
maskulyne understandinge, allayed with the passyon and infirmityes of
her owne sex) to perverte him in his piety to the Church of Englande,
and to reconcile him to that of Rome, which they prosequted with the
more confidence, because he declined no opportunity or occasyon of
conference with those of that religion, whether Priests or Laiques,
havinge diligently studyed the controversyes, and exactly reade all or
the choycest of the Greeke and Latine fathers, and havinge a memory so
stupendious, that he remembred on all occasyons whatsoever he reade:
And he was so greate an enimy to that passyon and uncharitablenesse
which he saw produced by difference of opinion in matters of religion,
that in all those disputations with Priests and others of the Roman
Church, he affected to manifest all possible civillity to ther
persons, and estimation of ther partes, which made them retayne still
some hope of his reduction, even when they had given over offeringe
farther reasons to him to that purpose: But this charity towards them
was much lesned, and any correspondence with them quyte declined, when
by sinister Artes they had corrupted his two younger brothers, beinge
both children, and stolen them from his house, and transported them
beyonde seas, and perverted his sisters, upon which occasyon he writt
two large discources against the principle positions of that Religion,
with that sharpnesse of Style, and full waight of reason, that the
Church is deprived of greate jewells, in the concealment of them, and
that they are not published to the world.

He was superiour to all those passyons and affections which attende
vulgar mindes, and was guilty of no other ambition, then of knowledge,
and to be reputed a lover of all good men, and that made him to much a
contemner of those Artes which must be indulged to in the transaction
of humane affayrs. In the last shorte Parliament he was a Burgesse
in the house of Commons, and from the debates which were then managed
with all imaginable gravity and sobriety, he contracted such a
reverence to Parliaments that he thought it really impossible, that
they could ever produce mischieve or inconvenience to the kingdome,
or that the kingdome could be tolerably happy in the intermissyon
of them; and from the unhappy, and unseasonable dissolution of that
convention, he harboured it may be some jealousy and præjudice of
the Courte, towards which he was not before immoderately inclined,
his father havinge wasted a full fortune ther, in those offices and
imployments, by which other men use to obtayne a greater. He was
chosen agayne this Parliament to serve in the same place, and in the
beginninge of it, declared himselfe very sharply and sevearely against
those exorbitances which had bene most grievous to the State; for
he was so rigidd an observer of established Lawes and rules, that he
could not indure the least breach or deviation from them, and thought
no mischieve so intollerable, as the præsumption of ministers of
State, to breake positive rules for reason of State, or judges to
transgresse knowne Lawes, upon the title of conveniency or necessity,
which made him so seveare against the Earle of Straforde, and the L'd
Finch, contrary to his naturall gentlenesse and temper; insomuch as
they who did not know his composition to be as free from revenge as
it was from pryde, thought that the sharpnesse to the former might
proceede from the memory of some unkindnesses, not without a mixture
of injustice from him towards his father; but without doubte he was
free from those temptations, and was only misledd by the authority
of those, who he believed understoode the Lawes perfectly, of which
himselfe was utterly ignorant, and if the assumption, which was
scarce controverted, had bene true, that an endeavour to overthrow
the fundamentall Lawes of the kingdome had beene treason, a stricte
understandinge might make reasonable conclusions to satisfy his owne
judgement, from the exorbitant partes of ther severall charges.

The greate opinion he had of the uprightnesse and integrity of those
persons, who appeared most active, especially of Mr. Hambden, kept him
longer from suspectinge any designe against the peace of the kingdome,
and though he differed commonly from them in conclusyons, he believed
longe ther purposes were honest; When he grew better informed what was
Law, and discerned a desyre to controle that Law, by a vote of one, or
both houses, no man more opposed those attempts, and gave the adverse
party more trouble, by reason and argumentation, insomuch as he was
by degrees looked upon as an Advocate for the Courte, to which he
contributed so little, that he declined those addresses, and even
those invitations, which he was oblieged almost by civillity to
entertayne: And he was so jealous of the least imagination that he
should inclyne to præferment, that he affected even a morosity to the
Courte, and to the Courtyers, and left nothinge undone which might
prevent and deverte the Kings or Queenes favour towards him, but
the deservinge it: for when the Kinge sent for him once or twice, to
speake with him, and to give him thankes for his excellent comportment
in those Councells, which his Majesty gratiously tearmed doinge him
service, his answers were more negligent and lesse satisfactory than
might be exspected, as if he cared only that his Actions should be
just, not that they should be acceptable, and that his Majesty should
thinke that they proceeded only from the impulsyon of conscience,
without any sympathy in his affections, which from a Stoicall and
sullen nature might not have bene misinterpreted, yet from a person
of so perfecte a habitt of generous and obsequious complyance with
all good men, might very well have bene interpreted by the Kinge as
more then an ordinary aversenesse to his service, so that he tooke
more paynes, and more forced his nature to actions unagreable and
unpleasant to it, that he might not be thought to inclyne to the
Courte, then any man hath done to procure an office ther; and if any
thinge but not doinge his duty could have kept him from receavinge a
testimony of the Kings grace and trust at that tyme, he had not bene
called to his Councell: not that he was in truth averse to the Courte,
or from receavinge publique imployment: for he had a greate devotion
to the Kings person, and had before used some small endeavour to be
recommended to him for a forrainge negotiation, and had once a desyre
to be sent Ambassadour into France, but he abhorred an imagination
or doubte should sinke into the thoughts of any man, that in the
discharge of his trust and duty in Parliament he had any byas to the
Court, or that the Kinge himselfe should apprehende that he looked for
a rewarde for beinge honest.

For this reason when he heard it first whispered that the Kinge had
a purpose to make him a Counsellour, for which in the beginninge
ther was no other grounde, but because he was knowne sufficient, haud
semper errat fama, aliquando et elegit, he resolved to declyne it,
and at last suffred himselfe only to be overruled by the advice, and
persuasions of his frends to submitt to it; afterwards when he founde
that the Kinge intended to make him his Secretary of State, he was
positive to refuse it, declaringe to his frends that he was most
unfitt for it, and that he must ether doe that which would be greate
disquyet to his owne nature, or leave that undone which was most
necessary to be done by one that was honored with that place, for that
the most just and honest men did every day that, which he could not
give himselfe leave to doe. And indeede he was so exacte and stricte
an observer of justice and truth _ad amussim_, that he believed
those necessary condescensions and applications to the weaknesse of
other men, and those artes and insinuations which are necessary for
discoveryes and prevention of ill, would be in him a declension from
the rule which he acknowledged fitt and absolutely necessary to be
practiced in those imploiments, and was so precise in the practique
principles he prescribed to himselfe (to all others he was as
indulgent) as if he had lived in republica Platonis non in fæce

Two reasons prævayled with him to receave the seales, and but for
those he had resolutely avoyded them, the first, the consideration
that it might bringe some blemish upon the Kings affayres, and that
men would have believed that he had refused so greate an honour and
trust, because he must have beene with it oblieged to doe somewhat
elce, not justifiable; and this he made matter of conscience, since he
knew the Kinge made choyce of him before other men, especially because
he thought him more honest then other men; the other was, least he
might be thought to avoyde it, out of feare to doe an ungratious
thinge to the house of Commons, who were sorely troubled at the
displacinge S'r Harry Vane, whome they looked upon as remooved for
havinge done them those offices they stoode in neede of, and the
disdayne of so popular an incumbrance wrought upon him next to the
other, for as he had a full appetite of fame by just and generous
Actions, so he had an æquall contempt of it by any servile expedients,
and he so much the more consented to and approved the justice upon S'r
H. Vane, in his owne private judgement, by how much he surpassed most
men in the religious observation of a trust, the violation wherof he
would not admitt of any excuse for.

For these reasons he submitted to the Kings commaunde, and became
his Secretary, with as humble and devoute an acknowledgement of the
greatenesse of the obligation, as could be expressed, and as true
a sense of it in his hearte; yet two thinges he could never bringe
himselfe to whilst he continued in that office, (that was to his
death) for which he was contented to be reproched, as for omissyons
in a most necessary parte of his place; the one imployinge of Spyes,
or givinge any countenance or entertaynement to them, I doe not meane
such emissaryes as with daunger will venture to view the enimyes
Campe, and bringe intelligence of ther number or quartringe, or
such generalls as such an observation can comprehende, but those
who by communication of guilte, or dissimulation of manners, wounde
themselves into such trust and secretts, as inabled them to make
discoveryes for the benefitt of the State; the other, the liberty of
openinge letters, upon a suspicion that they might contayne matter of
daungerous consequence; for the first, he would say, such instruments
must be voyd of all ingenuity and common honesty, before they could
be of use, and afterwards they could never be fitt to be credited, and
that no single preservation could be worth so generall a wounde and
corruption of humane society, as the cherishinge such persons would
carry with it: The last he thought such a violation of the Law of
nature, that no qualification by office, could justify a single person
in the trespasse, and though he was convinced by the necessity and
iniquity of the tyme, that those advantages of information were not to
be declined, and were necessarily to be practiced, he founde meanes to
shifte it from himselfe, when he confessed he needed excuse and pardon
for the omissyon, so unwillinge he was to resigne any thinge in his
nature, to an obligation in his office. In all other particulars, he
filled his place plentifully, beinge sufficiently versed in languages,
to understande any that is used in businesse, and to make himselfe
agayne understoode: To speake of his integrity, and his high disdayne
of any bayte that might seeme to looke towards corruption, in tanto
viro, injuria virtutum fuerit.

Some sharpe expressions he used against the Arch-Bishopp of
Canterbury, and his concurringe in the first Bill to take away the
Votes of Bishopps in the house of Peeres, gave occasyon to some to
believe, and opportunity to others to conclude and publish that he
was no frende to the Church, and the established goverment of it,
and troubled his very frends much, who were more confident of the
contrary, then præpared to answer the allegations. The truth is,
he had unhappily contracted some præjudice to the Arch-Bishopp, and
havinge only knowne him enough, to observe his passyon, when it may
be multiplicity of businesse or other indisposition had possessed
him, did wish him lesse intangled and ingaged in the businesse
of the Courte or State, though, I speake it knowingly, he had a
singular estimation and reverence of his greate learninge and
confessed integrity, and really thought his lettinge himselfe to
those expressyons which implyed a disesteeme of him, or at least an
acknowledgement of his infirmityes, would inable him to shelter him
from parte of the storme he saw raysed for his destruction, which he
abominated with his soule. The givinge his consent to the first Bill
for the displacinge the Bishopps, did proceede from two groundes, the
first, his not understandinge the originall of ther right and suffrage
ther, the other, an opinion that the combination against the whole
goverment of the Church by Bishopps, was so violent and furious, that
a lesse composition then the dispencinge with ther intermedlinge in
sæcular affayres would not præserve the Order, and he was perswaded to
this, by the profession of many persons of Honour, who declared they
did desyre the one, and would then not presse the other, which in that
particular misledd many men; but when his observation and experience
made him discerne more of ther intencions then he before suspected,
with greate frankenesse he opposed the secound Bill that was præferred
for that purpose; and had without scruple the order it selfe in
perfecte reverence, and thought too greate encouragement could not
possibly be given to learninge, nor too greate rewardes to learned
men, and was never in the least degree swayed or moved by the
objections which were made against that goverment, holdinge them
most ridiculous, or affected to the other which those men fancyed to

He had a courage of the most cleere and keene temper, and soe farr
from feare, that he was not without appetite of daunger, and therfore
upon any occasyon of action he alwayes engaged his person in those
troopes which he thought by the forwardnesse of the Commanders to be
most like to be farthest engaged, and in all such encounters he had
aboute him a strange cheerefulnesse and companiablenesse, without at
all affectinge the execution that was then principally to be attended,
in which he tooke no delight, but tooke paynes to prevent it, wher
it was not by resistance necessary, insomuch that at Edgehill, when
the Enimy was rowted, he was like to have incurred greate perill
by interposinge to save those who had throwne away ther armes, and
against whome it may be others were more fierce for ther havinge
throwne them away, insomuch as a man might thinke, he came into the
Feild only out of curiosity to see the face of daunger, and charity
to prævent the sheddinge of bloode; yet in his naturall inclination
he acknowledged he was addicted to the professyon of a Souldyer, and
shortly after he came to his fortune, and before he came to Age, he
went into the Low Countryes with a resolution of procuringe commaunde,
and to give himselfe up to it, from which he was converted by the
compleate inactivity of that Summer; and so he returned into Englande,
and shortly after entred upon that vehement course of study we
mencioned before, till the first Alarum from the North, and then
agayne he made ready for the feild, and though he receaved some
repulse in the commande of a troope of Horse, of which he had a
promise, he went a volunteere with the Earle of Essex.

From the entrance into this unnaturall warr, his naturall
cheerefulnesse and vivacity grew clowded, and a kinde of sadnesse and
dejection of spiritt stole upon him, which he had never bene used to,
yet, beinge one of those who believed that one battell would end all
differences, and that ther would be so greate a victory on one syde,
that the other would be compelled to submitt to any conditions from
the victor (which supposition and conclusion generally sunke into the
mindes of most men, prævented the lookinge after many advantages which
might then have bene layd hold of) he resisted those indispositions,
et in luctu bellum inter remedia erat: but after the Kings returne
from Brayneforde, and the furious resolution of the two houses, not
to admitt any treaty for peace, those indispositions which had before
touched him, grew into a perfecte habitt of uncheerefulnesse, and he
who had bene so exactly unreserved and affable to all men, that his
face and countenance was alwayes present and vacant to his company,
and held any clowdinesse, and lesse pleasantnesse of the visage,
a kinde of rudenesse or incivillity, became on a suddayne lesse
communicable, and thence very sadd, pale, and exceedingly affected
with the spleene. In his clothes and habitt, which he had intended
before alwayes with more neatenesse, and industry, and exspence, then
is usuall to so greate a minde, he was not now only incurious, but
too negligent, and in his reception of suitors and the necessary or
casuall addresses to his place so quicke, and sharpe, and seveare,
that ther wanted not some men (who were strangers to his nature and
disposition) who believed him prowde and imperious, from which no
mortall man was ever more free. The truth is, as he was of a most
incomparable gentlenesse, application, and even a demisnesse and
submissyon to good, and worthy, and intire men, so he was naturally
(which could not but be more evident in his place which objected him
to another conversation, and intermixture, then his owne election had
done) adversus males injucundus, and was so ill a dissembler of his
dislike, and disinclination to ill men, that it was not possible for
such not to discerne it; ther was once in the house of Commons such a
declared acceptation of the good service an eminent member had done to
them, and as they sayd, to the whole kingdome, that it was mooved, he
beinge present, that the Speaker might in the name of the whole house
give him thankes, and then that every member might as a testimony
of his particular acknowledgement stirr or moove his Hatt towards
him, the which (though not ordred) when very many did, the L'd of
Falkelande (who believed the service itselfe not to be of that moment,
and that an Honourable and generous person could not have stooped to
it, for any recompence) insteede of moovinge his Hatt, stretched both
his Armes out, and clasped his hands togither upon the Crowne of his
Hatt, and held it close downe to his heade, that all men might see
how odious that flattery was to him, and the very approbation of the
person, though at that tyme most popular.

When ther was any overture or hope of peace, he would be more erecte,
and vigorous, and exceedingly sollicitous to presse any thinge which
he thought might promote it, and sittinge amongst his frends often
after a deepe silence, and frequent sighes, would with a shrill and
sadd Accent ingeminate the word, Peace, Peace, and would passyonately
professe that the very Agony of the Warr, and the view of the
calamityes, and desolation the kingdome did and must indure, tooke his
sleepe from him, and would shortly breake his hearte; This made some
thinke, or prætende to thinke, that he was so much enamour'd on peace,
that he would have bene gladd the Kinge should have bought it at any
pryce, which was a most unreasonable calumny, as if a man, that was
himselfe the most punctuall and præcise, in every circumstance that
might reflecte upon conscience or Honour, could have wished the Kinge
to have committed a trespasse against ether; and yet this senselesse
skandall made some impression upon him, or at least he used it for an
excuse of the daringnesse of his spiritt; for at the leaguer before
Gloster, when his frends passionately reprehended him for exposinge
his person, unnecessarily to daunger, (as he delighted to visitt the
trenches, and neerest approches, and to discover what the enimy did)
as beinge so much besyde the duty of his place, that it might be
understoode against it, he would say, merrily, that his office could
not take away the priviledges of his Age, and that a Secretary in
warr might be present at the greatest secrett of daunger, but withall
alleadged seriously that it concerned him to be more active in
enterpryzes of hazarde, then other men, that all might see that his
impatiency for peace, proceeded not from pusillanimity, or feare to
adventure his owne person. In the morninge before the battell, as
alwayes upon Action, he was very cheerefull, and putt himselfe into
the first ranke of the L'd Byrons Regiment, who was then advancinge
upon the enimy, who had lyned the Hedges on both sydes with
Musqueteers, from whence he was shott with a Musquett on the lower
parte of the belly, and in the instant fallinge from his horse, his
body was not founde till the next morninge: till when ther was some
hope he might have bene a prysoner, though his neerest frends who knew
his temper, receaved small comforte from that imagination; thus fell,
that incomparable younge man, in the fowre and thirteeth yeere of his
Age, havinge so much dispatched the businesse of life, that the oldest
rarely attayne to that immense knowledge, and the youngest enter not
into the world with more innocence, and whosoever leads such a life,
neede not care upon how shorte warninge it be taken from him.



With S'r Lucius Cary he had a most intire frendshipp without reserve
from his age of twenty yeeres to the howre of his death, neere 20.
yeeres after, upon which ther will be occasion to inlarge, when wee
come to speake of that tyme, and often before, and therfore wee shall
say no more of him in this place, then to shew his condition and
qualifications, which were the first ingredients into that frendshipp,
which was afterwards cultivated and improoved by a constant
conversation and familiarity, and by many accidents which contributed
therunto. He had the advantage of a noble extraction, and of beinge
borne his fathers eldest Sunn, when ther was a greater fortune in
prospecte to be inherited (besydes what he might reasonably exspecte
by his Mother) then came afterwards to his possessyon: His education
was æquall to his birth, at least in the care, if not in the Climate,
for his father beinge Deputy of Irelande, before he was of Age fitt
to be sent abroade, his breedinge was in the Courte and in the
University of Dublin, but under the care, vigilance and derection of
such governours and Tutors, that he learned all those exercizes and
languages better then most men do in more celebrated places, insomuch
as when he came into Englande, which was when he was aboute the age of
18 yeeres, he was not only master of the Latine tounge, and had reade
all the Poetts and other of the best Authors with notable judgement
for that age, but he understoode, and spake, and writt French, as if
he had spente many yeeres in France. He had another advantage, which
was a greate ornament to the rest, that was a good a plentifull
estate, of which he had the early possession: His Mother was the sole
daughter an[d] Heyre of the L'd Chief Barron Tanfeilde, who havinge
given a fayre portion with his daughter in marriage, had kept himselfe
free to dispose of his lande and his other estate, in such manner
as he should thinke fitt: and he setled it in such manner upon his
grandsunn S'r Lucius Cary, without takinge notice of his father or
mother, that upon his Grandmothers death, which fell out aboute the
tyme that he was 19. yeeres of age, all the lande with his very good
houses, very well furnished (worth above 2000_l._ per annum) in a most
pleasant country, and the two most pleasant places in that country,
with a very plentifull personall estate, fell into his hands and
possession, and to his intire disposall.

With these advantages, he had one greate disadvantage, which in the
first entrance into the worlde, is attended with to much præjudice:
in his person and presence which was in no degree attractive, or
promisinge; his stature was low and smaller then most mens, his motion
not gracefull, and his aspecte, so farr from invitinge, that it had
somewhat in it of simplicity, and his voyce the worst of the three,
and so untuned, that insteede of reconcilinge, it offended the eare,
that no body would have exspected musique from that tounge, and sure
no man was lesse behol[den] to nature, for its recommendation into the
world. But then no man sooner or more disappointed this generall and
customary præjudice; that little person and small stature was quickly
founde to contayne a greate hearte, a courage so keene, and a nature
so fearelesse, that no composition of the strongest limbes and most
harmonious and proportioned presence and strenght, ever more disposed
any man to the greatest enterpryze, it beinge his greatest weakenesse
to be to solicitous for such adventures: and that untuned tounge and
voyce easily discover'd itselfe to be supplyed and governed by a minde
and understandinge so excellent, that the witt and waight of all he
sayde, carryed another kinde of lustre and admiration in it, and
even another kinde of acceptation from the persons present, then any
ornament of delivery could reasonably promise itselfe, or is usually
attended with: And his disposition and nature was so gentle and
oblieginge, so much delighted in courtesy, kindnesse, and generosity,
that all mankinde could not but admire and love him. In a shorte tyme
after he had possession of the estate his grandfather had left him,
and before he was of age, he committed a faulte against his father,
in marryinge a younge Lady whome he passionately loved, without any
considerable portion, which exceedingly offended him, and disappointed
all his reasonable hopes and exspectation, of redeeminge and
repayringe his owne broken fortune and desperate hopes in courte, by
some advantagious marriage of his Sunn, aboute which he had then some
probable treaty: S'r Lucius Cary was very conscious to himselfe of his
offence and transgression, and the consequence of it, which though he
could not repent, havinge marryed a lady of a most extraordinary witt
and judgement, and of the most signall virtue and exemplary life, that
the age produced, and who brought him many hopefull children, in which
he tooke greate delight, yett he confessed it with the most sinceare
and dutifull applications to his Father for his pardon, that could be
made, and in order to the præjudice he had brought upon his fortune by
bringinge no portion to him, he offred to repayre it by resigninge his
whole estate to his disposall, and to rely wholy upon his kindnesse
for his owne maintenance and supporte, and to that purpose he had
caused convayances to be drawne by councell, which he brought ready
ingrossed to his father, and was willinge to seale and execute them,
that they might be valid: But his fathers passyon and indignation so
farr transported him (though he was a gentleman of excellent parts)
that he refused any reconciliation and rejected all the offers which
were made of the estate, so that his Sunn remayned still in the
possession of his estate against his will, of which he founde greate
reason afterwards to rejoyce, but he was for the present so much
afflicted with his fathers displeasure, that he transported himselfe
and his wife into Hollande, resolvinge to buy some military commaunde,
and to spende the remainder of his life in that profession, but beinge
disappointed in the treaty he exspected, and findinge no opportunity
to accommodate himselfe with such a commaunde, he returned agayne into
Englande, resolvinge to retyre to a country life, and to his bookes,
that since he was not like to improove himselfe in armes, he might
advance in letters.

In this resolution he was so seveare (as he was alwayes naturally very
intent upon what he was inclined to) that he declared he would not see
London in many yeeres (which was the place he loved of all the world)
and that in his studyes, he would first apply himselfe to the Greeke,
and pursue it without intermission, till he should attayne to the full
understandinge of that tounge, and it is hardly to be credited, what
industry he used, and what successe attended that industry, for though
his fathers death, by an unhappy accident, made his repayre to London
absolutely necessary, in fewer yeeres then he had proposed for his
absence, yett he had first made himselfe master of the Greeke tounge
(in the Latine he was very well versed before) and had reade not only
all the Greeke Historians, but Homer likewise and such of the Poetts,
as were worthy to be perused: Though his fathers death brought no
other convenience to him, but a title to redeeme an estate, morgaged
for as much as it was worth, and for which he was compelled to sell
a fyner seate of his owne, yett it imposed a burthen upon him of the
title of a Viscount, and an increase of exspence, in which he was not
in his nature to provident or restrayn'd, havinge naturally such a
generosity and bounty in him, that he seemed to have his estate in
trust, for all worthy persons who stoode in wante of supplyes and
encouragement, as Ben. Johnson and[1] many others of that tyme, whose
fortunes requyred, and whose spiritts made them superiour to ordinary
obligations; which yett they were contented to receave from him,
because his bountyes were so generously distributed, and so much
without vanity and ostentation, that except from those few persons
from whome he sometimes receaved the characters of fitt objectes for
his benefitts, or whome he intrusted for the more secrett derivinge it
to them, he did all he could that the persons themselves who receaved
them, should not know from what fountayne they flow'd; and when that
could not be concealed, he sustayned any acknowledgement from the
persons oblieged, with so much trouble and bashfulnesse, that they
might well perceave that he was even ashamed of the little he had
given, and to receave so large a recompence for it.

As soone as he had finished all those transactions, which the death
of his father had made necessary to be done, he retyred agayne to
his country life, and to his seveare cource of study, which was very
delightfull to him, as soone as he was ingaged in it, but he was wont
to say, that he never founde reluctancy in any thinge he resolved to
do, but in his quittinge London, and departinge from the conversation
of those he injoyed ther, which was in some degree præserved and
continued by frequent letters, and often visitts, which were made by
his frends from thence, whilst he continued wedded to the country, and
which were so gratefull to him, that duringe ther stay with him, he
looked upon no booke, except ther very conversation made an appeale
to some booke, and truly his whole conversation was one continued
convivium philosophicum or convivium theologicum, inlivened and
refreshed with all the facetiousnesse of witt and good humour, and
pleasantnesse of discource, which made the gravity of the argument
itselfe (whatever it was) very delectable. His house wher he usually
resyded (Tew or Burforde in Oxfordshyre) beinge within tenn or 12
myles of the University, looked like the University itselfe, by the
company that was alwayes founde there. Ther were D'r Sheldon, D'r Morly,
D'r Hammon, D'r Earles, M'r Chillingworth, and indeede all men of eminent
partes and facultyes in Oxforde, besydes those who resorted thither
from London, who all founde ther lodgings ther as ready as in ther
Colledges, nor did the L'd of the house know of ther comminge or
goinge, nor who were in his house, till he came to dinner or supper,
wher all still mett, otherwise ther was no troublesome ceremony or
constrainte to forbidd men to come to the house, or to make them weary
of stayinge ther; so that many came thither to study in a better ayre,
findinge all the bookes they could desyre in his library, and all the
persons togither, whose company they could wish, and not finde in any
other society. Heare M'r Chillingworth wrote and formed and modelled
his excellent booke against the learned Jesuitt, M'r Nott, after
frequent debates, upon the most important particulars, in many of
which he suffred himselfe to be overruled by the judgement of his
frends, though in others he still adhered, to his owne fancy, which
was scepticall enough even in the highest pointes. In this happy and
delightfull conversation and restrainte he remayned in the country
many yeeres, and untill he had made so prodigious a progresse in
learninge, that ther were very few classique authors in the greeke
or Latine tounge, that he had not reade with great exactnesse; He
had reade all the greeke and Latine fathers, all the most allowed
and authentique Ecclesiasticall writers, and all the Councells,
with wounderfull care and observation, for in religion he thought to
carefull and to curious an enquiry could not be made, amongst those
whose purity was not questioned, and whose authority was constantly
and confidently urged, by men who were furthest from beinge of
on minde amongst themselves, and for the mutuall supporte of ther
severall opinions, in which they most contradicted each other; and in
all those contraversyes, he had so dispassioned a consideration, such
a candor in his nature, and so profounde a charity in his conscience,
that in those pointes in which he was in his owne judgement most
cleere, he never thought the worse, or in any degree declined the
familiarity of those who were of another minde, which without
question is an excellent temper for the propagation and advancement
of Christianity: With these greate advantages of industry, he had a
memory retentive of all that he had ever reade, and an understandinge
and judgement to apply it, seasonably and appositely, with the most
dexterity and addresse, and the least pedantry and affectation, that
ever man who knew so much, was possessed with, of what quality soever;
it is not a triviall evidence, of his learninge, his witt, and his
candour, that may be found in that discource of his, against the
Infallabi[li]ty of the Church of Rome, published since his death, and
from a copy under his owne hande, though not præpared and digested
by him for the presse, and to which he would have given some

But all his parts, abilityes, and facultyes, by arte an[d] industry,
were not to be valewed or mentioned in comparison of his most
accomplished minde and manners; his gentlenesse and affability was so
transcendant and oblieginge, that it drew reverence and some kinde
of complyance from the roughest, and most unpolish'd and stubborne
constitutions, and made them of another temper in debate in his
presence, then they were in other places. He was in his nature so
seueare a lover of justice, and so præcise a lover of truth, that he
was superiour to all possible temptations for the violation of ether,
indeede so rigid an exacter of perfection in all those things which
seemed but to border upon ether of them, and by the common practice
of men, were not thought to border upon ether, that many who knew him
very well, and loved and admired his virtue (as all who did know
him must love and admire it) did believe that he was of a temper and
composition fitter to lyve in Republica Platonis then in fæce Romuli:
but this rigidnesse was only exercised towards himselfe, towards his
frends infirmityes no man was more indulgent: In his conversation,
which was the most cheerefull and pleasant, that can be imagined,
though he was younge (for all I have yett spoken of him, doth
not exceede his age of 25. or 26. yeeres, what progresse he made
afterwards will be mentioned in its proper season in this discource)
and of greate gayty in his humour, with a flowinge delightfulnesse
of language, he had so chast a tounge and eare, that ther was never
knowne a prophane and loose worde to fall from him, nor in truth in
his company, the integrity and cleanelinesse of the witt of that tyme,
not exercisinge itselfe in that licence, before persons for whome they
had any esteeme.

[Footnote 1: 'as,' MS.]



_Born 1610. Fell at Chagford 1643._


Sydney Godolphin, was a younger brother of Godolphin, but by the
provision left by his father, and by the death of a younger brother,
liberally supplyed for a very good education, and for a cheerefull
subsistance in any cource of life he proposed to himselfe; Ther was
never so great a minde and spirit contayned in so little roome, so
large an understandinge and so unrestrayned a fancy in so very small a
body, so that the L'd Falkelande used to say merrily, that he thought
it was a greate ingredient into his frendshipp for M'r Godolphin, that
he was pleased to be founde in his company, wher he was the properer
man: and it may be the very remarkablenesse of his little person
made the sharpnesse of his witt and the composed quicknesse of his
judgement and understandinge, the more notable.[1] He had spent some
yeeres in France, and the low countryes, and accompanyed the Earle of
Leicester, in his Ambassage into Denmarke, before he resolved to be
quyett, and attende some promotion in the Courte, wher his excellent
disposition and manners, and extraordinary qualifications, made him
very aceptable: Though every body loved his company very well, yett
he loved very much to be alone, beinge in his constitution inclined
somewhat to melancholique, and to retyrement amongst his bookes, and
was so farr from beinge active, that he was contented to be reproched
by his frendes with lazynesse, and was of so nice and tender a
composition, that a little rayne or winde would disorder him, and
deverte him from any shorte journy he had most willingly proposed to
himselfe: insomuch as when he ridd abroade with those in whose company
he most delighted, if the winde chanced to be in his face, he would
(after a little pleasant murmuringe) suddaynely turne his horse, and
goe home: yett the civill warr no sooner begann, (the first approches
towards which he discovered as soone as any man, by the proceedings in
Parliament, wher he was a member, and opposed with greate indignation)
then he putt himselfe into the first troopes which were raysed in the
West, for the Kinge, and bore the uneasinesse and fatigue of winter
marches, with an exemplar courage and alacrity, untill by to brave a
pursuite of the enimy, into an obscure village in Devonshyre, he was
shutt with a musquett, with which (without sayinge any worde more,
the[n] oh god I am hurte) he fell deade from his horse, to the
excessive griefe of his frends, who were all that knew him, and the
irreparable damage of the publique.

[Footnote 1: 'notorious and' struck out in MS. before 'notable'.]



_Born 1573. President of St. John's College Oxford 1611. Bishop of St.
David's 1621, of Bath and Wells 1626, and of London 1628. Chancellor
of the University of Oxford 1629. Archbishop of Canterbury 1633.
Beheaded 1645._


It was within one weeke after the Kings returne from Scotlande that
Abbott dyed at his house at Lambeth, and the Kinge tooke very little
tyme to consider who should be his successour, but the very next tyme
the Bishopp of London (who was longer upon his way home, then
the Kinge had bene) came to him, his Majesty entertayned him very
cheerefully, with this compellation, My L'ds Grace of Canterbury you
are very wellcome, and gave order the same day for the dispatch of all
the necessary formes for the translation, so that within a moneth,
or therabouts, after the death of the other Arch-Bishopp, he was
compleately invested in that high dignity, and setled in his Pallace
at Lambeth: This Greate Prelate had bene before in greate favour with
the Duke of Buckingham, whose greate confident he was, and by him
recommended to the Kinge, as fittest to be trusted in the conferringe
all Ecclesiasticall præferments, when he was but Bishopp of S't Davids,
or newly præferred to Bath and Wells, and from that tyme he intirely
governed that Province without a ryvall, so that his promotion to
Canterbury was longe foreseene and exspected, nor was it attended with
any encrease of envy, or dislike.

He was a man of greate parts and very exemplar virtues, allayed and
discredited by some unpopular[1] naturall infirmityes, the greatest of
which was (besydes a hasty sharpe way of exspressinge himselfe) that
he believed innocence of hearte, and integrity of manners, was a
guarde stronge enough to secure any man, in his voyage through this
worlde, in what company soever he travelled, and through what wayes
soever he was to passe, and sure never any man was better supplyed
with that provisyon. He was borne of honest parents, who were well
able to provyde for his education, in the schooles of learninge,
from whence they sent him to St. Johns Colledge in Oxforde, the worst
indowed at that tyme, of any in that famous university; from a scholar
he became a fellow, and then the President of that Colledge, after
he had receaved all the graces and degrees, the Proctorshipp and
the Doctorshipp, could be obtained ther: He was alwayes maligned and
persequted by those who were of the Calvinian faction, which was
then very pouerfull, and who accordinge to ther usefull maxime and
practice, call every man they do not love, Papist, and under this
senselesse appellation they created him many troubles and vexations,
and so farr suppressed him, that though he was the Kings Chaplyne, and
taken notice of for an excellent preacher, and a scholer of the most
sublime parts, he had not any præferment to invite him to leave his
poore Colledge, which only gave him breade, till the vigour of his age
was passed; and when he was promoted by Kinge James, it was but to
a poore Bishopricke in Wales, which was not so good a supporte for a
Bishopp as his Colledge was for a pri[v]ate scholler, though a Doctor.
Parliaments in that tyme were frequent, and grew very busy, and the
party under which he had suffer'd a continuall perseqution appeared
very powerfull and full of designe, and they who had the courage
to oppose them, begann to be taken notice of with approbation and
countenance, and under this style he came to be first cherished by the
Duke of Buckingham, after he had made some exsperiments of the temper
and spiritt of the other people, nothinge to his satisfaction: from
this tyme he prospered at the rate of his owne wishes, and beinge
transplanted out of his cold barren Diocesse of S't Davids, into a
warmer climate, he was left, as was sayd before, by that omnipotent
Favorite, in that greate trust with the Kinge, who was sufficiently
indisposed towards the persons or the principles of M'r Calvins

When he came into greate authority, it may be he retayned to keene a
memory of those who had so unjustly and uncharitably persequted him
before, and I doubte was so farr transported with the same passyons he
had reason to complayne of in his ad[v]ersaryes, that, as they accused
him of Popery, because he had some doctrinall opinions, which
they liked not, though they were nothinge allyed to Popery, so he
intertayned to much præjudice to some persons, as if they were enimyes
to the disciplyne of the Church, because they concurred with Calvin
in some doctrinall points, when they abhorred his disciplyne, and
reverenced the goverment of the Church, and prayed for the peace of
it, with as much zeale and fervency, as any in the kingdome, as they
made manifest in ther lives, and in ther sufferings with it and
for it. He had, from his first entrance into the worlde without any
disguise or dissimulation declared his owne opinion of that Classis
of men, and as soone as it was in his power, he did all he could to
hinder the growth and encrease of that faction, and to restrayne those
who were inclined to it, from doinge the mischieue they desyred to do:
But his power at Courte could not enough qualify him, to goe through
with that difficulte reformation, whilst he had a superiour in the
Church, who havinge the raynes in his hande, could slacken them
accordinge to his owne humour and indiscretion, and was thought to be
the more remisse to irritate his cholirique disposition, but when he
had now the Primacy in his owne hande, the Kinge beinge inspired with
the same zeale, he thought he should be to blame, and have much to
answer, if he did not make hast to apply remedyes, to those diseases,
which he saw would grow apace....

The Arch-Bishopp had all his life eminently opposed Calvins doctryne
in those contraversyes, before the name of Arminius was taken notice
of or his opinions hearde of; and therupon for wante of another name
they had called him a Papiste, which nobody believed him to be, and
he had more manifested the contrary in his disputations and writings,
then most men had done: and it may be the other founde the more
seveare and rigourous usage from him, for ther propagatinge that
calumny against him. He was a man of greate courage and resolution,
and beinge most assured within himselfe that he proposed no end in all
his actions or designes, then what was pyous and just (as sure no
man had ever a hearte more intire, to the Kinge, the Church, or his
country) he never studyed the best wayes to those ends; he thought it
may be, that any arte or industry that way, would discreditt, at least
make the integrity of the end suspected: let the cause be what it
will, he did courte persons to little, nor cared to make his designes
and purposes appeare as candid as they were, by shewinge them in any
other dresse, then ther owne naturall beauty and roughnesse: and did
not consider enough what men sayd, or were like to say of him. If the
faultes and vices were fitt to be looked into and discover'd, let the
persons be who they would that were guilty of them, they were sure to
finde no connivence of favour from him. He intended the disciplyne of
the Church should be felte, as well as spoken of, and that it should
be applyed to the greatest and most splendid transgressors, as well
as to the punishment of smaller offences, and meaner offenders; and
therupon called for, or cherished the discovery of those who were not
carefull to cover ther owne iniquitycs, thinkinge they were above the
reach of other mens, or ther power, or will to chastice: Persons of
honour and great quality, of the Courte, and of the Country, were
every day cited into the High Commissyon Courte, upon the fame of
ther incontinence, or other skandall in ther lyves; and were ther
prosequted to ther shame and punishment, and as the shame, (which
they called an insolent tryumph upon ther degree and quality,
and levellinge them with the common people) was never forgotten,
but watched for revenge, so the Fynes imposed ther were the more
questioned and repyned against, because they wer assigned to the
rebuildinge and repayringe St. Pauls Church, and thought therfore to
be the more sevearely imposed, and the lesse compassionately reduced
and excused, which likewise made the jurisdiction and rigour of the
Starrchamber more felte and murmured against, which sharpened many
mens humours against the Bishopps, before they had any ill intention
toward the Church.

[Footnote 1: 'unpopular' substituted for 'ungracious' in MS.]



[Sidenote: Over-severe in his censures.]

Amongst his humane frailties, _choler_ and _passion_ most discovered
it self. In the _Star-Chamber_ (where if the crime not extraordinary,
it was fine enough for one to be sued in so chargable a Court) He was
observed always to concur with the severest side, and to infuse more
_vinegar_ then _oyle_ into all his _censures_, and also was much
blamed for his severity to his Predecessor easing him against his
will, and before his time, of his jurisdiction.

[Sidenote: Over-medling in State matters.]

But he is most accused for over-medling in State-matters, more
then was fitting, say many, then needful, say most, for one
of his profession. But he never more overshot himself, then
when he did impose the _Scotch Liturgie_, and was [Greek:
allotrio-archiepis[ko]pos] over a free and forrain Church and Nation.
At home, many grumbled at him for oft making the _shallowest_ pretence
of the _Crown deep_ enough (by his powerfull digging therein) to drown
the undoubted right of any private Patron to a Church-living. But
Courtiers most complained, that he persecuted them, not in their
proper places, but what in an ordinary way he should have taken from
the _hands_ of inferior officers, that He with a _long_ and _strong
Arm_ reached to himself over all their heads. Yet others plead for
him, that he abridg'd their _bribes_ not _fees_, and it vexed them
that He struck their _fingers_ with the _dead-palsie_, so that they
could not (as formerly) have a _feeling_ for Church Preferments....

[Sidenote: An enemy to gallantry in Clergiemens cloaths.]

He was very plain in apparrel, and sharply checkt such Clergymen
whom he saw goe in rich or gaudy cloaths, commonly calling them of
the _Church-Triumphant_. Thus as _Cardinal Woolsy_ is reported the
first Prelate, who made _Silks_, and _Sattens_ fashionable amongst
clergy-men; so this Arch-Bishop first retrenched the usual wearing
thereof. Once at a Visitation in _Essex_, one in _Orders_ (of good
estate and extraction) appeared before him very gallant in habit, whom
D'r _Laud_ (then Bishop of _London_) publickly reproved, shewing to
him the plainness of his own apparrel. My _Lord_ (said the Minister)
_you have better cloaths at home and I have worse_, whereat the Bishop
rested very well contented....

[Sidenote: No whit addicted to covetousness.]

Covetousness He perfectly hated, being a single man and having no
project to raise a name or Family, he was the better enabled for
publick performances, having both a _price in his hand_, and an
_heart_ also to dispose thereof for the general good. S't _Johns_
in _Oxford_, wherein he was bred, was so beautified, enlarged, and
enriched by him, that strangers at the first sight knew it not,
yea, it scarce knoweth it self, so altered to the better from its
former condition. Insomuch that almost it deserveth the name of
_Canterbury-Colledge_, as well as that which _Simon Islip_ founded,
and since hath lost its name, united to _Christ-Church_. More
buildings he intended, (had not the stroke of one _Axe_ hindred the
working of many _hammers_) chiefly on Churches, whereof the following
passage may not impertinently be inserted.

[Sidenote: The grand causer of the repairing of Churches.]

It happened that a _Visitation_ was kept at S't _Peters_ in
_Corn-hill_, for the Clergy of _London_. The Preacher discoursing of
the painfulness of the Ministerial Function, proved it from the Greek
deduction of [Greek: Diakonos] or Deacon, so called from [Greek:
konis] _dust_, because he must _laborare in arena in pulvere_, _work
in the dust_, doe hard service in hot weather. Sermon ended, Bishop
_Laud_ proceeded to his charge to the Clergy, and observing the Church
ill repaired without, and slovenly kept within, _I am sorry_ (said He)
_to meet here with so true an Etymologie of Diaconus, for here is both
dust and dirt too, for a Deacon (or Priest either) to work in. Yea it
is dust of the worst kind, caused from the mines of this ancient house
of God, so that it pittieth his[1] servants to see her in the dust_.
Hence he took occasion to press the repairing of that, and other
decaied places of divine worship, so that from this day we may date
the general mending, beautifying and adorning of all English Churches,
some to decency, some to magnificence, and some (if all complaints
were true) to superstition.

[Sidenote: Principally of S. Pauls]

But the Church of S't Pauls, (the only Cathedral in Christendom
dedicated to that _Apostle_) was the master: piece of his
performances. We know what[2] one Satyrically said of him, that
_he pluckt down Puritans, and Property, to build up Pauls and
Prerogative_. But let unpartial Judges behold how he left, and
remember how he found that ruinous fabrick, and they must conclude
that (though intending more) he effected much in that great designe.
He communicated his project to some private persons, of taking down
the _great Tower_ in the middle, to the _Spurrs_, and rebuild it in
the same fashion, (but some yards higher) as before. He meant to hang
as great and tuneable a ring of Bels, as any in the world, whose sound
advantaged with their height and vicinity of the _Thames_, must needs
be loud and melodious. But now he is turned to his dust, and all _his
thoughts have perished_, yea that Church, formerly approached with due
reverence, is now entred with just fear, of falling on those under it,
and is so far from having its old decays repaired, that it is daily
decayed in its new reparations.

He was low of Stature, little in bulk, chearful in countenance,
(wherein gravity and quickness were well compounded) of a sharp and
piercing eye, clear judgement, and (abating the influence of age)
firme memory. He wore his hair very close, and though in the beginning
of his greatness, many measured the length of mens stricktness by
the shortness of their hair, yet some will say, that since out of
Antipathy to conform to his example, his opposites have therein
indulged more liberty to themselves. And thus we take our leave of

[Footnote 1: Psal. 102. 14]

[Footnote 2: Lord F.]



Archbishop Laud was a man of an upright heart and a pious soul, but
of too warm blood and too positive a nature towards asserting what he
beleived a truth, to be a good Courtier; and his education fitted
him as little for it, as his nature: which having bin most in the
University, and among books and scholars, where oft canvassing
affairs, that are agitated in that province, and prevailing in it,
rather gave him wrong than right measures of a Court. He was generally
acknowledg'd a good scholar, and throughly verst in Ecclesiastical
learning. He was a zealot in his heart both against Popery and
Presbytery; but a great assertor of Church-authority, instituted
by Christ and his Apostles, and as primitively practised; which
notwithstanding, he really and freely acknowledged subject unto the
secular authority. And therefore he carefully endeavored to preserve
the jurisdiction, which the Church anciently exercised, before the
secular authority own'd her; at least so much thereof, as the law
of this our Realm had apply'd to our circumstances; which our common
Lawyers dayly struck at; and thro' prohibitions and other appeals
every day lessened; and this bred an unkindnes to him in many of
the long robe, however some of them were very carefull of the
Ecclesiasticall jurisdiction.

He was a man of great modesty in his own person and habit, and of
regularity and devotion in his family: and as he was very kind to his
Clergy, so he was very carefull to make them modest in their attire,
and very diligent in their studies, in faithfully dispensing God's
Word, reverently reading the Prayers, and administring the Sacraments,
and in preserving their Churches in cleanlines and with plain and
fitting ornament, that so voyd of superstition, GOD's House in this
age, where every man bettered his own, might not lye alone neglected;
and accordingly he sett upon that great work of St. Paul's Church,
which his diligence perfected in a great measure: and his Master's
piety made magnificent that most noble structure by a Portico: but
not long after the carved work thereof was broken down with axes and
hammers, and the whole sacred edifice made not only a den of thieves,
but a stable of unclean beasts, as I can testifie, having once gone
into it purposely to observe: from which contamination Providence some
few years since cleansed it by fire.

He prevented likewise a very private and clandestine designe of
introducing Nonconformists into too too many Churches; for that
society of men (that they might have Teachers to please their itching
ears) had a designe to buy in all the Lay-Impropriations, which the
Parish-Churches in Henry the VIII's time were robb'd of, and lodging
the Advowsons and Presentations in their own Feoffees, to have
introduced men, who would have introduced doctrines suitable to their
dependences, which the Court already felt too much the smart of, by
being forced to admitt the Presentations of the Lay-Patrons, who too
often dispose their benefices to men, rather suitable to their own
opinions, than the Articles and Canons of the Church.

All this bred him more and more envy; but if it had pleas'd God to
have given him an uninterrupted course, and if few of his Successors
had walked in his stepps, wee might, without any tendency to Popery,
or danger of superstition, have serv'd God reverently and uniformely,
and according unto Primitive practice and purity, and not have bin, as
we are now, like a shivered glass, scarse ever to be made whole again.
Thus finding Providence had led him into authority, he very really and
strongly opposed both Popery and Presbytery. He was sensible, how the
first by additions had perverted the purity of Religion, and turned
it into a policy; but resolving not to contest Rome's truths, tho'
he spared not her errors, both Papist and Presbyter, with all their
Lay-Party, were well contented, that it might be believed, he was
Popishly affected. And being conscious likewise, how Presbytery or
the Calvinisticall Reformation, which many here, and more in Scotland,
affected, by substraction and novel interpretation, had forsaken the
good old ways of the primitive Church, and was become dangerous to
Monarchy, he sett himself against this, as well as that: but both
their weights crusht him....

As this good Arch-Bishop I write of, had these great eminences, so he
may be acknowledged to have failed in those prudences, which belong
unto a great Minister of State, who like a wise Physician is to
consider times and seasons, as well as persons and diseases, and to
regard those complications, which usually are mixed in ill habits of
body, and to use more alterative than purgative Physick. For popular
bents and inclinations are cured more by a steddy than precipitate
hand or counsel; multitudes being to be drawn over from their errors,
rather by wayes they discerne not, than by those, which they are
likely to contest; whilst upon single persons and great men courses
of violence and authority may be exercised. But Ministers of State
unwillingly run this course, because they would have the honour of
perfecting the work they affect in their own time; and the multitude
of this good man's busines, and the promptnes of his nature, made
those ceremonies, which are necessary by great Persons to be paid unto
men in his station, to be unwelcome unto him, and so he discharged
himselfe of them, and thereby disobliged those persons, who thought
their quality, tho' not their busines, required a patient and
respectfull entertainment. This I reflect upon, because I heard from a
good hand, that the Marquiss of Argile making him an insidious visit,
and he, knowing he neither loved him nor the Church, entertaining him
not with that franknes he should have done, but plainly telling him,
he was at that time a little busy about the King's affairs, this great
Lord took it so much in indignation, and esteem'd it such a Lordly
Prelacy, that he declaimed against it, and became (if possible) more
enemy both to him and the Church, than he was before. The rectitude of
his nature therefore made him not a fitt instrument to struggle with
the obliquity of those times; and he had this infirmity likewise, that
he beleived those forward instruments, which he employed, followed the
zeal of their own natures, when they did but observe that of his: for
as soon as difficulty or danger appeared, his petty instruments shrunk
to nothing, and shewed, from whom they borrowed their heat.

He weighed not well his Master's condition; for he saw him circled
in by too many powerfull Scots, who mis-affected the Church, and had
joyned with them too many English Counsellors and Courtiers, who were
of the same leaven. If he had perceived an universall concurrence in
his own Clergy, who were esteemed Canonicall men, his attempts might
have seem'd more probable, than otherwise it could: but for him
to think by a purgative Physick to evacuate all those cold slimy
humors, which thus overflowed the body, was ill judged; for the good
affections of the Prince, back'd only by a naked or paper-authority,
sooner begets contumacy, than complyance in dissaffected Subjects....

And this shall suffice to be said of that well intentioned, but
not truly considerative, great man, unles wee add this single thing
further, that he who looks upon him thro' those Canons, which in
Synod passed in his time, will find him a true Assertor of Religion,
Royalty, and Property; and that his grand designe was no other, than
that of our first Reformation; which was, that our Church might stand
upon such a foot of Primitive and Ecclesiastick authority, as suited
with God's word, and the best Interpreters of it, sound reason and
Primitive practice. And untill this Nation is blest with such a
spirit, it will lye in that darknes and confusion the Sects at this
time have flung it into.



_Born 1582. President of St. John's College Oxford, 1621. Bishop of
London 1633-49. Lord Treasurer 1635-41. Archbishop of Canterbury 1660.
Died 1663_.


Having thus described one great Church-man, wee may the more fitly
make mention of another, because they were so intimate and bosome
Friends, and because this first is supposed to have introduced the
last into that eminent employment of Lord Treasurer. Had nature
mingled their tempers, and allayed the one by the prudence and
foresight of the other, or inspirited the other by the zeal and
activity of his Friend, nature had framed a better paist, than usually
she doth, when she is most exact in her work about mankind: sincerity
and integrity being eminent in them both. This reverend Prelate, Dr.
Juxon, then Bishop of London, was of a meek spirit, and of a solid and
steddy judgment; and having addicted his first studies to the Civil
Law, (from which he took his title of Doctor, tho' he afterwards took
on him the Ministry) this fitted him the more for Secular and State
affairs. His temper and prudence wrought so upon all men, that tho'
he had the two most invidious characters both in the Ecclesiasticall
and Civil State; one of a Bishop, the other of a Lord Treasurer: yet
neither drew envy on him; tho' the humor of the times tended to brand
all great men in employment. About the year 1634 the Lord Portland
dyed, and the Treasury was put into Commission; by which means the
true state thereof became distinctly to be known: and in the year
1635, this good and judicious man had the white staff put into his
hand: and tho' he found the revenue low and much anticipated, yet
withall meeting with times peaceable and regular, and his Master
enclined to be frugall, he held up the dignity and honor of his
Majestie's Houshold, and the splendor of the Court, and all publick
expences, and justice in all contracts; so as there were as few
dissatisfactions in his time, as perchance in any, and yet he cleared
off the anticipations on the revenue, and sett his Master beforehand.
The choice of this good man shewed, how remote it was from this King's
intentions, to be either tyrannicall or arbitrary; for so well he
demeaned himselfe thro' his whole seaven years employment, that
neither as Bishop or Treasurer, came there any one accusation against
him in that last Parliament 1640, whose eares were opened, nay itching
after such complaints. Nay even after the King's being driven from
London, he remained at his house, belonging to his Bishoprick, in
Fulham, and sometimes was visited by some of the Grandees, and found
respect from all, and yet walked steddily in his old paths. And
he retained so much of his Master's favour, that when the King was
admitted to any Treaty with the two Houses Commissioners, he alwayes
commanded his attendance on him: for he ever valued his advice. I
remember, that the King, being busy in dispatching some letters with
his own pen, commanded me to wait on the Bishop, and to bring him back
his opinion in a certaine affaire: I humbly pray'd his Majestie, that
I might rather bring him with me, least I should not expresse his
Majestie's sense fully, nor bring back his so significantly, as he
meant it; and because there might be need for him further to explain
himselfe, and least he should not speake freely to me: to which the
King replyed, _Go, as I bid you, if he will speak freely to any body,
he will speak freely to you: This_ (the King said) _I will say of him,
I never gott his opinion freely in my life, but when I had it, I was
ever the better for it_. This character of so judicious a Prince
I could not omitt, because it carried in it the reason of that
confidence, that called him to be his Majestie's Confessor before his
death, and to be his Attendant on the scaffold at his death; so as all
Persons concurring thus about this good Prelate, wee may modestly say,
he was an eminent man.



_William Seymour, second Earl of Hertford 1621, created Marquis of
Hertford 1641, and Duke of Somerset 1660._

_Born 1588. Died 1660_.


The Marquis of Hartforde was a man of greate honour, greate interest
in fortune and estate, and of a universall esteeme over the kingdome;
and though he had receaved many and continued disobligations from the
Courte, from the tyme of this Kings comminge to the Crowne as well
as duringe the rainge of Kinge James, in both which seasons more
then ordinary care had bene taken to discountenance and lessen his
interest, yett he had carryed himselfe with notable steddinesse from
the beginninge of the Parliament in the supporte and defence of the
Kings power and dignity, notwithstandinge all his Allyes, and those
with whome he had the greatest familiarity and frendshipp were of
the opposite party, and never concurred with them against the Earle
of Straforde (whome he was knowne not to love) nor in any other
extravagancy: and then he was not to be shaken in his affection to
the goverment of the church, though it was enough knowne that he was
in no degree byassed by any greate inclination to the person of any
Church-man: and with all this, that party carryed themselves towards
him with profounde respecte, not præsuminge to venture ther owne
creditt in endeavoringe to lessen his.

It is very true, in many respects he wanted those qualityes, which
might have bene wished to be in a person to be trusted in the
education of a greate and a hopefull Prince, and in the forminge his
minde and manners in so tender an age: he was of an age not fitt for
much activity and fatigue, and loved and was even wedded so much to
his ease, that he loved his booke above all exercizes, and had even
contracted such a lazinesse of minde, that he had no delight in an
open and liberall conversation, and cared not to discource and argue
in those points which he understoode very well, only for the trouble
of contendinge, and could never impose upon himselfe the payne that
was necessary to be undergone in such a perpetuall attendance. But
then those lesser dutyes might be otherwise provided for, and he could
well supporte the dignity of a Governour, and exacte that diligence
from others, which he could not exercize himselfe, and his honour
was so unblemished, that none durst murmure against the designation,
and therfore his Majesty thought him very worthy of the high trust,
against which ther was no other exception, but that he was not
ambitious of it, nor in truth willinge to receave and undergo the
charge, so contrary to his naturall constitution; but [in] his pure
zeale and affection for the Crowne, and the conscience that in this
conjuncture his submission might ad[v]ance the Kings service, and that
the refusinge it might proove disadvantagious to his Majesty, he very
cheerefully undertooke the Province, to the generall satisfaction and
publique joy of the whole kingdome, and to the no little honour and
creditt of the Courte, that so important and beloved a person would
attacque himselfe to it, under such a relation, when so many who had
scarce ever eaten any breade, but the Kings, detached themselves
from ther dependance, that they might without him, and against him,
præserve and improove those fortunes which they had procured and
gotten under him, and by his bounty.



_William Cavendish, created Viscount Mansfield 1620, Earl of Newcastle
1628, Marquis 1643, and Duke 1665._

_Born 1592. Died 1676._


All that can be said for the Marquiss is, that he was so utterly tired
with a condition and employment so contrary to his Humour, Nature, and
Education, that he did not at all consider the means, or the way that
would let him out of it, and free him for ever from having more to do
with it. And it was a greater wonder, that he sustained the vexation
and fatigue of it so long, than that he broke from it with so little
circumspection. He was a very fine Gentleman, active, and full of
Courage, and most accomplish'd in those Qualities of Horsemanship,
Dancing, and Fencing, which accompany a good breeding; in which his
delight was. Besides that he was amorous in Poetry, and Musick, to
which he indulged the greatest part of his time; and nothing could
have tempted him out of those paths of pleasure, which he enjoyed in a
full and ample fortune, but honour and ambition to serve the King when
he saw him in distress, and abandoned by most of those who were in the
highest degree obliged to him, and by him. He loved Monarchy, as it
was the foundation and support of his own greatness, and the Church,
as it was well constituted for the splendour and security of the
Crown, and Religion, as it cherished, and maintained that Order and
Obedience that was necessary to both; without any other passion for
the particular Opinions which were grown up in it, and distinguished
it into Parties, than as he detested whatsoever was like to disturb
the publick peace.

He had a particular Reverence for the Person of the King, and the
more extraordinary Devotion for that of the Prince, as he had had the
honour to be trusted with is Education as his Governour; for which
office, as he excelled in some, so he wanted other Qualifications.
Though he had retired from his great Trust, and from the Court,
to decline the insupportable Envie which the powerfull Faction had
contracted against him, yet the King was no sooner necessitated to
possess himself of some place of strength, and to raise some force
for his defence, but the Earl of Newcastle (he was made Marquiss
afterwards) obeyed his first call, and, with great expedition and
dexterity, seised upon that Town; when till then there was not one
port town in England, that avowed their obedience to the King: and
he then presently raised such Regiments of Horse and Foot, as were
necessary for the present state of Affairs; all which was done purely
by his own Interest, and the concurrence of his numerous Allies in
those Northern parts; who with all alacrity obeyed his Commands,
without any charge to the King, which he was not able to supply.

And after the Battle of Edge Hill, when the Rebells grew so strong in
Yorkshire, by the influence their Garrison of Hull had upon both the
East and West riding there, that it behoved the King presently to make
a General, who might unite all those Northern Counties in his Service,
he could not choose any Man so fit for it as the Earl of Newcastle,
who was not only possessed of a present force, and of that important
Town, but had a greater Reputation and Interest in Yorkshire itself,
than at that present any other Man had: the Earl of Cumberland being
at that time, though of entire affection to the King, much decayed
in the vigour of his Body, and his mind, and unfit for that Activity
which the Season required. And it cannot be denied, that the Earl
of Newcastle, by his quick march with his Troops, as soon as he had
received his Commission to be General, and in the depth of Winter,
redeemed, or rescued the City of York from the Rebells, when they
looked upon it as their own, and had it even within their grasp: and
as soon as he was Master of it, he raised Men apace, and drew an Army
together, with which he fought many Battles, in which he had always
(this last only excepted) Success and Victory.

He liked the Pomp, and absolute Authority of a General well, and
preserved the dignity of it to the full; and for the discharge of
the outward State, and Circumstances of it, in acts of Courtesy,
Affability, Bounty, and Generosity, he abounded; which in the infancie
of a war became him, and made him, for some time, very acceptable
to Men of all conditions. But the substantial part, and fatigue
of a General, he did not in any degree understand (being utterly
unacquainted with War) nor could submit to; but referred all matters
of that Nature to the discretion of his Lieutenant General King, who,
no doubt, was an officer of great experience and ability, yet being
a Scotch Man was, in that conjuncture, upon more disadvantage than he
would have been, if the General himself had been more intent upon his
Command. In all Actions of the feild he was still present, and never
absent in any Battle; in all which he gave Instances of an invincible
courage and fearlessness in danger; in which the exposing himself
notoriously did sometimes change the fortune of the day, when his
Troops begun to give ground. Such Articles of action were no sooner
over, than he retired to his delightfull Company, Musick, or his
softer pleasures, to all which he was so indulgent, and to his ease,
that he would not be interrupted upon what occasion soever; insomuch
as he sometimes denied Admission to the Chiefest Officers of the Army,
even to General King himself, for two days together; from whence many
Inconveniencies fell out.



_George Digby, second Earl of Bristol 1653._

_Born 1612. Died 1677._


By what hath bene sayde before, it appeares that the L'd Digby was
much trusted by the Kinge, and he was of greate familiarity and
frendshipp with the other three, at least with two of them, for he was
not a man of that exactnesse, as to be in the intire confidence of
the L'd Falkeland, who looked upon his infirmityes with more severity,
then the other two did, and he lived with more franknesse towards
those two, then he did towards the other, yett betweene them two ther
was a free conversation and kindnesse to each other. He was a man
of very extraordinary parts, by nature and arte, and had surely
as good and excellent an education as any man of that age in any
country, a gracefull and beautifull person, of greate eloquence
and becommingnesse in his discource (save that sometimes he seemed
a little affected) and of so universall a knowledge, that he never
wanted subjecte for a discource; he was æquall to a very good parte
in the greatest affayre, but the unfittest man alive to conducte it,
havinge an ambition and vanity superiour to all his other parts,
and a confidence peculiar to himselfe, which sometimes intoxicated,
and transported, and exposed him. He had from his youth, by the
disobligations his family had undergone from the Duke of Buckingham
and the greate men who succeeded him, and some sharpe reprehension
himselfe had mett with, which oblieged him to a country life,
contracted a præjudice and ill will to the Courte, and so had in the
beginninge of the Parliament ingaged himselfe with that party which
discover'd most aversion from it, with a passion and animosity æquall
to ther owne, and therfore very acceptable to them. But when he was
weary of ther violent councells, and withdrew himselfe from them,
with some circumstances which enough provoked them, and made a
reconciliation and mutuall confidence in each other for the future
manifestly impossible, he made private and secrett offerrs of his
service to the Kinge, to whome in so generall a defection of his
servants it could not but be very agreable, and so his Majesty beinge
satisfyed both in the discoveryes he made of what had passed, and
in his professions for the future, remooved him from the house of
Commons, wher he had rendred himselfe marvellously ungratious, and
called him by writt to the house of Peeres, wher he did visibly
advance the Kings service, and quickly rendred himselfe gratefull to
all those, who had not thought to well of him before, when he deserved
less, and men were not only pleased with the assistance he gave upon
all debates, by his judgement and vivacity, but looked upon him as
one who could deryve the Kings pleasure to them, and make a lively
representation of ther good demeanour to the Kinge, which he was very
luxuriant in promisinge to doe, and officious enough in doinge as much
as was just. He had bene instrumentall in promotinge the three persons
above mencioned to the Kings favour, and had himselfe in truth so
greate an esteeme of them, that he did very frequently upon conference
togither departe from his owne inclinations and opinions, and
concurred in thers; and very few men of so greate parts are upon all
occasyons more councellable then he, so that he would seldome be in
daunger of runninge into greate errors, if he would communicate and
expose all his owne thoughts and inclinations to such a disquicition,
nor is he uninclinable in his nature to such an intire communication
in all things which he conceaves to be difficulte; but his fatall
infirmity is, that he to often thinkes difficulte things very easy,
and doth not consider possible consequences, when the proposition
administers somewhat that is delighfull to his fancy, and by pursuinge
wherof he imagynes he shall reape some glory to himselfe, of which
he is immoderately ambitious, so that if the consultation be upon
any action to be done, no man more implicitely enters into that
debate, or more cheerefully resignes his owne conceptions to a joynt
determination, but when it is once affirmatively resolved, besydes
that he may possibly reserve some impertinent circumstance as he
thinkes, the impartinge wherof would change the nature of the thinge,
if his fancy suggests to him any particular which himselfe might
performe in that action, upon the imagination that every body would
approove it, if it were proposed to them, he chooses rather to do it,
then to communicate, that he may have some signall parte to himselfe
in the transaction, in which no other person can clayme a share;
and by this unhappy temper, he did often involve himselfe in very
unprosperous attempts. The Kinge himselfe was the unfittest person
alive to be served by such a Councellour, beinge to easily inclined to
suddayne enterprizes, and as easily amazed when they were entred upon;
and from this unhappy composition in the one and the other, a very
unhappy councell was entred upon, and resolution taken, without the
least communication with ether of the three, which had bene so lately
admitted to an intire truste.



_Arthur Capel, created Baron Capel 1641._

_Born 1610. Beheaded 1649._


He was a man, in whome the malice of his enimyes could discover very
few faultes, and whome his frends could not wish better accomplished,
whome Crumwells owne character well described, and who indeede could
never have bene contented to have lived under that government, whose
memory all men loved and reverenced, though few followed his example.
He had alwayes lyved in a state of greate plenty and generall
estimation, havinge a very noble fortune of his owne by descent, and
a fayre addition to it, by his marriage with an excellent wife, a Lady
of a very worthy extraction, of greate virtue and beauty, by whome he
had a numerous issue of both sexes, in which he tooke greate joy and
comfort, so that no man was more happy in all his domestique affayres,
and so much the more happy, in that he thought himselfe most blessed
in them, and yett the Kings honour was no sooner violated and his
just power invaded, then he threw all those blessings behinde him, and
havinge no other obligations to the Crowne, then those which his owne
honour and conscience suggested to him, he frankely engaged his person
and his fortune from the beginninge of the troubles, as many others
did, in all actions and enterpryzes of the greatest hazarde and
daunger, and continewed to the end, without ever makinge one false
stepp, as few others did, though he had once, by the iniquity of a
faction that then prævayled, an indignity putt upon him, that might
have excused him, for some remission of his former warmth, but it made
no other impressyon upon him, then to be quyett and contented whilst
they would lett him alone, and with the same cheerefulnesse to obey
the first summons, when he was called out, which was quickly after:
in a worde he was a man, that whoever shall after him deserve best in
that nation, shall never thinke himselfe undervalewed, when he shall
heare that his courage, virtue, and fidelity is layde in the balance
with, and compared to that of the Lord Capell.




PRINCE RUPERT (1619-82).




The Army was lesse united then ever; the old Generall was sett asyde
and Prince Rupert putt into the commaunde, which was no popular
chaunge, for the other was knowne to be an officer of greate
exsperience, and had committed no oversights in his conducte, was
willinge to heare every thinge debated, and alwayes concurred with the
most reasonable opinion, and though he was not of many wordes, and
was not quicke in hearinge, yett upon any action, he was sprightly and
commaunded well; The Prince was rough, and passionate and loved not
debate, liked what was proposed, as he liked the persons who proposed
it, and was so greate an enimy to Digby and Culpeper, who were only
present in debates of the Warr with the Officers, that he crossed all
they proposed. The truth is, all the Army had bene disposed from the
first raysinge it, to a neglecte and contempt of the Councell, and
the Kinge himselfe had not bene sollicitous enough to præserve the
respecte due to it, in which he lost of his owne dignity. Goringe who
was now Generall of the Horse, was no more gratious to Prince Rupert
then Wilmott had bene, and had all the others faults, and wanted his
regularity and preservinge his respects with the officers; Wilmott
loved deboshry, but shutt it out from his businesse, and never
neglected that, and rarely miscarryed in it; Goringe had much a better
understandinge, and a sharper witt, except in the very exercise of
deboshry, and then the other was inspired, a much keener courage, and
presentnesse of minde in daunger; Wilmott decerned it farther off, and
because he could not behave himselfe so well in it, commonly prevented
or warily declined it, and never dranke when he was within distance of
an enimy; Goringe was not able to resist the temptation when he was in
the middle of them, nor would declyne it to obtayne a victory, and in
one of those fitts had suffer'd the Horse to escape out of Cornwall,
and the most signall misfortunes of his life in warr, had ther ryse
from that uncontrolable licence; nether of them valewed ther promises,
professions or frendshipps, accordinge to any rules of honour or
integrity, but Wilmott violated them the lesse willingly, and never
but for some greate benefitt or convenience to himself, Goringe
without scruple out of humour or for witt sake, and loved no man so
well, but that he would cozen him, and then expose him to publicke
mirth, for havinge bene cozened, and therfore he had always fewer
frends then the other, but more company, for no man had a witt that
pleased the company better: The ambitions of both were unlimited, and
so æqually incapable of beinge contented, and both unrestrayned by
any respecte to good nature or justice from pursuinge the satisfaction
therof, yett Willmott had more scruples from religion to startle him,
and would not have attayned his end, by any grosse or fowle acte of
wickednesse; Goringe could have passed through those pleasantly, and
would without hesitation have broken any trust, or done any acte of
treachery, to have satisfyed an ordinary passion or appetite, and in
truth wanted nothinge but industry, for he had witt, and courage and
understandinge, and ambition uncontroled by any feare of god or man,
to have bene as eminent and succesfull in the highest attempt in
wickednesse of any man in the age he lyved in, or before, and of all
his qualifications, dissimulation was his masterpiece, in which he
so much excelled, that men were not ordinaryly ashamed or out of
countenance with beinge deceaved but twice by him.



_Born 1594. Mortally wounded at Chalgrove Field_ 1643


Many men observed (as upon signall turnes of greate affayres, as this
was, such observations are frequently made) that the Feild in which
the late skirmish was, and upon which Mr. Hambden receaved his
deaths-wounde, (Chalgrove Feilde) was the same place, in which he had
first executed the Ordinance of the Militia, and engaged that County,
in which his reputation was very greate, in this rebellion, and it was
confessed by the prysoners that were taken that day, and acknowledged
by all, that upon the Alarum that morninge, after ther quarters were
beaten up, he was exceedingly sollicitous to draw forces togither
to pursue the enimy, and beinge himselfe a Collonell of foote putt
himselfe amongst those horse as a volunteere who were first ready, and
that when the Prince made a stande, all the officers were of opinion
to stay till ther body came up, and he alone (beinge secounde to none
but the Generall himselfe in the observance and application of all
men) perswaded and prævayled with them to advance, so violently
did his fate carry him to pay the mulcte in the place, wher he had
committed the transgressyon, aboute a yeere before.

He was a gentleman of a good family in Buckinghamshyre, and borne to
a fayre fortune, and of a most civill and affable deportment. In his
entrance into the world, he indulged to himselfe all the licence in
sportes and exercises, and company, which was used by men of the
most jolly conversation; afterwards he retired to a more reserved
and melancholique society, yet prseservinge his owne naturall
cheerefulnesse and vivacity, and above all a flowinge courtesy to all
men; Though they who conversed neerely with him founde him growinge
into a dislike of the Ecclesiasticall goverment of the church, yet
most believed it rather a dislike of some Churchmen, and of some
introducements of thers which he apprehended might disquyett the
publique peace: He was rather of reputation in his owne Country, then
of publique discource or fame in the Kingdome, before the businesse
of Shippmony, but then he grew the argument of all tounges, every man
enquyringe who and what he was, that durst at his owne charge supporte
the liberty and property of the kingdome, and reskue his Country
from beinge made a prey to the Courte; his carriage throughout that
agitation was with that rare temper and modesty, that they who watched
him narrowly to finde some advantage against his person to make
him lesse resolute in his cause, were compelled to give him a just
testimony: and the judgement that was given against him infinitely
more advanced him, then the service for which it was given. When this
Parliament begann (beinge returned Knight of the Shyre for the County
wher he lived) the eyes of all men were fixed on him as their Patriæ
Pater, and the Pilott that must steere ther vessell through the
tempests and Rockes which threatned it: And I am perswaded his power
and interest at that tyme was greater, to doe good or hurte, then any
mans in the kingdome, or then any man of his ranke hath had in any
tyme: for his reputation of honesty was universall, and his affections
seemed so publiquely guyded, that no corrupte or pryvate ends could
byasse them.

He was of that rare affability and temper in debate, and of that
seeminge humillity and submissyon of judgement, as if he brought no
opinyons with him, but a desyre of information and instruction, yet he
had so subtle a way of interrogatinge, and under the notion of doubts,
insinuatinge his objections, that he left his opinions with those,
from whome he pretended to learne and receave them; and even with
them, who were able to præserve themselves from his infusions, and
decerned those opinions to be fixed in him, with which they could
not comply, he alwayes left the character of an ingenious and
conscientious person. He was indeede a very wise man, and of greate
partes, and possessed with the most absolute spiritt of popularity,
that is the most absolute facultyes to governe the people, of any man
I ever knew. For the first yeere of the parliament he seemed rather
to moderate and soften the violent and distempred humours, then
to inflame them, but wise and dispassioned men playnely decerned,
that that moderation proceeded from prudence, and observation that
the season was not rype, [rather] then that he approoved of the
moderation, and that he begatt many opinions and motions the education
wherof he committed to other men, so farr disguisinge his owne
designes that he seemed seldome to wish more then was concluded,
and in many grosse conclutions which would heareafter contribute
to designes not yet sett on foote, when he founde them sufficiently
backed by majority of voyces, he would withdraw himselfe before
the questyon, that he might seeme not to consent to so much visible
unreasonablenesse, which produced as greate a doubte in some, as it
did approbation in others of his integrity: What combination soever
had bene originaly with the Scotts for the invasion of England, and
what farther was enter'd into afterwards, in favour of them, and to
advance any alteration in Parliament, no man doubles was at least with
the privity of this gent[l]eman.

After he was amongst those members accused by the Kinge of High
treason, he was much altred, his nature and carriage seeminge much
feircer then it did before; and without question when he first drew
his sworde, he threw away the scabberd, for he passionately opposed
the overture made by the Kinge for a treaty from Nottingham, and as
eminently any expedients that might have produced an accommodation in
this that was at Oxforde, and was principally relyed on to prævent any
infusions which might be made into the Earle of Essex towards peace,
or to render them ineffectuall if they were made; and was indeede much
more relyed on by that party, then the Generall himselfe. In the first
entrance into the troubles he undertooke the commande of a Regiment
of foote, and performed the duty of a Collonell on all occasyons most
punctually: He was very temperate in dyett, and a supreme governour
over all his passyons and affections, and had therby a greate power
over other mens: He was of an industry and vigilance not to be tyred
out, or wearyed by the most laborious, and of partes not to be imposed
upon by the most subtle or sharpe, and of a personall courage æqual to
his best partes, so that he was an enimy not to be wished wherever he
might have bene made a frende, and as much to be apprehended wher he
was so, as any man could deserve to be, and therfore his death was
no lesse congratulated on the one party then it was condoled on the
other. In a worde, what was sayd of Cinna, might well be applyed
to him, Erat illi consilium ad facinus aptum, consilio autem neque
lingua neque manus deerat, he had a heade to contryve, and a tounge
to perswade, and a hande to exequte any mischieve; his death therfore
seemed to be a greate deliverance to the nation.



_Born 1584. Died 1643._


Aboute this tyme the Councells at Westminster lost a principle
supporter, by the death of John Pimm, who dyed with greate torment and
agony, of a disease unusuall, and therfore the more spoken of, morbus
pediculosus, which rendred him an objecte very lothsome, to those who
had bene most delighted with him. Noe man had more to answer for the
miseryes of the Kingdome, or had his hande or heade deeper in ther
contrivance, and yet I believe they grew much higher even in his life,
then he designed. He was a man of a private quality and condition of
life, his education in the office of the Exchequer, wher he had bene
a Clerke, and his partes rather acquired by industry, then supplyed
by nature, or adorned by Arte. He had bene well knowen in former
Parliaments and was one of those few who had sate in many, the longe
intermissyon of Parliaments havinge worne out most of those who
had bene acquainted with the rules and orders observed in those
conventions, and this gave him some reputation and reverence amongst
those, who were but now introduced. He had bene most taken notice of,
for beinge concerned and passyonate in the jealosyes of religion,
and much troubled with the Countenance which had bene given to those
opinions which had bene imputed to Arminius; and this gave him greate
authority and interest with those, who were not pleased with the
goverment of the Church, or the growinge power of the Clargy, yet
himselfe industriously tooke care to be believed, and he professed
to be, very intire to the doctryne and disciplyne of the Church of
Englande. In the shorte Parliament before this, he spake much, and
appeared to be the most leadinge man, for besydes the exacte knowledge
of the formes and orders of that Councell, which few men had, he had
a very comely and grave way of expressinge himselfe, with greate
volubility of wordes, naturall and proper, and understoode the temper
and affections of the kingdome as well as any man, and had observed
the errors and mistakes in goverment, and knew well how to make them
appeare greater then they were. After the unhappy dissolution of
that Parliament he continued for the most parte about London, in
conversation and greate repute amongst those Lords, who were most
strangers, and believed most averse from the Courte, in whome he
improoved all imaginable jealosyes and discontents towards the State,
and as soone as this Parliament was resolved to be summoned, he was as
diligent to procure such persons to be elected, as he knew to be most
inclined to the way he meant to take.

At the first openinge of this Parliament he appeared passyonate
and prepared against the Earle of Straforde, and though in private
designinge he was much governed by M'r Hambden and M'r S't John, yet
he seemed to all men to have the greatest influence upon the house
of Commons of any man, and in truth I thinke he was at that tyme and
for some moneths after the most popular man, and the most able to
do hurte, that hath lived in any tyme. Upon the first designe of
softninge and oblieginge the powerfull persons in both houses, when
it was resolved to make the Earle of Bedford Lord High Treasurer of
Englande, the Kinge likewise intended to make M'r Pimm Chancellour of
the Exchequer, for which he receaved his Majestys promise, and made
a returne of a suitable professyon of his service and devotion, and
therupon, the other beinge no secrett, somewhat declyned from that
sharpnesse in the house, which was more popular then any mans person,
and made some overtures to provyde for the glory and splendor of
the Crowne, in which he had so ill successe, that his interest and
reputation ther visibly abated, and he founde that he was much better
able to do hurte then good, which wrought very much upon him, to
melancholique, and complainte of the violence and discomposure of
the peoples affections and inclinations; in the end, whether upon
the death of the Earle of Bedford he despayred of that præferment, or
whether he was guilty of any thinge, which upon his conversyon to the
Courte he thought might be discovered to his damage, or for pure want
of courage, he suffred himselfe to be carryed by those who would not
follow him, and so continued in the heade of those who made the most
desperate propositions.

In the proseqution of the Earle of Straforde, his carriage and
language was such, that expressed much personall animosity, and he
was accused of havinge practiced some Artes in it, not worthy a
good man, as an Irishman of very meane and low condition afterwards
acknowledged, that beinge brought to him as an evidence of one parte
of the charge against the Lord Lieuetenant in a particular of which a
person of so vyle quality would not be reasonably thought a competent
informer, M'r Pimm gave him mony to buy him a Sattyn Sute and Cloke, in
which equipage he appeared at the tryall, and gave his evidence, which
if true, may make many other thinges which were confidently reported
afterwards of him, to be believed: As, that he receaved a greate Summ
of mony from the French Ambassadour, to hinder the transportation of
those Regiments of Irelande into Flanders, upon the disbandinge that
Army ther, which had bene præpared by the Earle of Straforde for
the businesse of Scotlande, in which if his Majestys derections and
commands had not bene deverted and contradicted by the houses, many
do believe the rebellyon in Irelande had not happend. Certayne it
is, that his power of doinge shrewd turnes was extraordinary, and no
lesse in doinge good offices for particular persons, and that he did
præserve many from censure, who were under the seveare displeasure of
the houses, and looked upon as eminent Delinquents, and the quality
of many of them made it believed, that he had sold that protection for
valewable consideration. From the tyme of his beinge accused of High
Treason by the Kinge, with the Lord Kimbolton and the other Members,
he never intertayned thoughts of moderation, but alwayes opposed all
overtures of peace and accommodation, and when the Earle of Essex was
disposed the last Summer by those Lords to an inclination towards
a treaty as is before remembred, M'r Pymms power and dexterity wholy
changed him, and wrought him to that temper which he afterwards
swarved not from. He was wounderfully sollicitous for the Scotts
comminge in to ther assistance, though his indisposition of body was
so greate, that it might well have made another impressyon upon his
minde. Duringe his sicknesse he was a very sadd spectacle, but none
beinge admitted to him, who had not concurred with him, it is not
knowne what his last thoughts and considerations were. He dyed towards
the end of December, before the Scotts entred, and was buryed with
wounderfull Pompe and Magnificence in that Place where the Bones of
our English Kings and Princes are committed to ther rest.



_Born 1599. Lord Protector 1653. Died 1658._


Crumwell (though the greatest Dissembler livinge) alwayes made his
hypocrisy of singular use and benefitt to him, and never did any
thinge, how ungratious or imprudent soever it seemed to be, but what
was necessary to the designe; even his roughnesse and unpolishednesse
which in the beginninge of the Parliament he affected, contrary to
the smoothnesse and complacency which his Cozen and bosome frende
M'r Hambden practiced towards all men, was necessary, and his first
publique declaration in the beginninge of the Warr, to his troope when
it was first mustered,--that he would not deceave or cozen them by
the perplexed and involved exspressions in his Commissyon to fight for
Kinge and Parliament, and therfore told them that if the Kinge chanced
to be in the body of the enimy that he was to charge, he woulde as
soone discharge his pistoll upon him, as at any other private person,
and if ther conscience would not permitt them to do the like, he
advized them not to list themselves in his troope or under his
commaunde,--which was generally looked upon, as imprudent and
malicious, and might by the professyons the Parliament then made,
have prooved daungerous to him, yett served his turne, and severed and
united all the furious and incensed men against the goverment, whether
Ecclesiasticall or Civill, to looke upon him as a man for ther turne,
and upon whome they might depende, as one who would go through his
worke that he undertooke; and his stricte and unsociable humour in not
keepinge company with the other officers of the Army in ther jollityes
and excesses, to which most of the superiour officers under the Earle
of Essex were inclined, and by which he often made himselfe ridiculous
or contemptible, drew all those of the like sowre or reserved natures
to his society and conversation, and gave him opportunity to forme
ther understandings, inclinations, and resolutions to his owne modell;
and by this he grew to have a wounderfull interest in the Common
souldyers, out of which, as his authority increased, he made all
his Officers, well instructed how to lyve in the same manner with
ther Souldyers, that they might be able to apply them to ther owne
purposes. Whilst he looked upon the Presbiterian humour as the best
incentive to rebellion, no man more a Presbiterian, he sunge all
Psalmes with them to ther tunes, and looved the longest sermons as
much as they: but when he discover'd, that they would prescribe some
limitts and bounds to ther rebellion, that it was not well breathed,
and would expyre as soone as some few particulars were granted to them
in religion which he cared not for, and then that the goverment must
runn still in the same channell, it concerned him to make it believed,
that the State had bene more Delinquent, then the Church, and that the
people suffer'd more by the civill, then by the Ecclesiasticall power,
and therfore that the change of one would give them little ease, if
ther were not as greate an alteration in the other, and if the whole
goverment in both were not reformed and altred; which though it made
him generally odious and irreconciled many of his old frends to him,
yett it made those who remayned more cordiall and firme to him, and
he could better compute his owne strengtht, and upon whome he might
depende; and this discovery made him contryve the Modell, which was
the most unpopular acte, and disoblieged all those who first contryved
the rebellyon, and who were the very soule of it; and yett if he had
not brought that to passe and chaunged a Generall, who though not very
sharpesighted would never be governed, nor applyed to any thinge he
did not like, for another who had no eyes, and so would be willinge to
be ledd, all his designes must have come to nothinge, and he remayned
a private Collonell of horse, not considerable enough to be in any
figure upon an advantagious composition.



He was one of those men, quos vituperare ne inimici quidem possunt,
nisi ut simul laudent, for he could never have done halfe that
mischieve, without greate partes of courage and industry and
judgement, and he must have had a wounderfull understandinge in the
natures and humours of men, and as greate a dexterity in the applyinge
them, who from a private and obscure birth, (though of a good family)
without interest of estate, allyance or frendshipps, could rayse
himselfe to such a height, and compounde and kneade such opposite and
contradictory tempers humour and interests, into a consistence, that
contributed to his designes and to ther owne destruction, whilst
himselfe grew insensibly powerfull enough, to cutt off those by whome
he had climed, in the instant, that they projected to demolish ther
owne buildinge. What Velleius Paterculus sayd of Cinna, may very
justly be sayd of him, Ausum eum quæ nemo auderet bonus, perfecisse
quæ a nullo nisi fortissimo perfici possunt. Without doubte, no man
with more wickednesse ever attempted any thinge, or brought to passe
what he desyred more wickedly, more in the face and contempt of
religion and morall honesty, yet wickednesse as greate as his could
never have accomplish'd those trophees without the assistance of a
greate spiritt, an admirable circumspection and sagacity, and a most
magnanimous resolution. When he appeared first in the Parliament
he seemed to have a person in no degree gratious, no ornament of
discource, none of those talents which use to reconcile the affections
of the standers by, yett as he grew into place and authority, his
partes seemed to be renew[d], as if he had concealed facultyes till
he had occasion to use them; and when he was to acte the parte of
a greate man, he did it without any indecensy through the wante of

He was not a man of bloode, and totally declined Machiavells methode,
which prescribes upon any alteration of a goverment, as a thinge
absolutely necessary, to cutt of all the heades of those and extirpate
ther familyes, who are frends to the old, and it was confidently
reported that in the Councell of Officers, it was more then once
proposed, that ther might be a generall massacre of all the royall
party, as the only exspedient to secure the goverment, but Crumwell
would never consent to it, it may be out of to much contempt of his
enimyes; In a worde, as he had all the wickednesses against which
damnation is denounced and for which Hell fyre is præpared, so he had
some virtues, which have caused the memory of some men in all ages to
be celebrated, and he will be looked upon by posterity, as a brave,
badd man.



I have no mind to give an ill character of Cromwell; for in his
conversation towards me he was ever friendly; tho' at the latter end
of the day finding me ever incorrigible, and having some inducements
to suspect me a tamperer, he was sufficiently rigid. The first time,
that ever I took notice of him, was in the very beginning of the
Parliament held in November 1640, when I vainly thought my selfe a
courtly young Gentleman: (for we Courtiers valued our selves much
upon our good cloaths.) I came one morning into the House well clad,
and perceived a Gentleman speaking (whom I knew not) very ordinarily
apparelled; for it was a plain cloth-sute, which seemed to have bin
made by an ill country-taylor; his linen was plain, and not very
clean; and I remember a speck or two of blood upon his little band,
which was not much larger than his collar; his hatt was without a
hatt-band: his stature was of a good size, his sword stuck close
to his side, his countenance swoln and reddish, his voice sharp and
untunable, and his eloquence full of fervor; for the subject matter
would not bear much of reason; it being in behalfe of a servant of Mr.
Prynn's, who had disperst libells against the Queen for her dancing
and such like innocent and courtly sports; and he aggravated the
imprisonment of this man by the Council-Table unto that height, that
one would have beleived, the very Goverment it selfe had been in great
danger by it. I sincerely professe it lessened much my reverence unto
that great councill; for he was very much hearkened unto. And yet I
liv'd to see this very Gentleman, whom out of no ill will to him I
thus describe, by multiplied good successes, and by reall (but usurpt)
power: (having had a better taylor, and more converse among good
company) in my owne eye, when for six weeks together I was a prisoner
in his serjeant's hands, and dayly waited at Whitehall, appeare of a
great and majestick deportment and comely presence. Of him therefore
I will say no more, but that verily I beleive, he was extraordinarily
designed for those extraordinary things, which one while most wickedly
and facinorously he acted, and at another as succesfully and greatly



His body was wel compact and strong, his stature under 6 foote (I
beleeve about two inches) his head so shaped, as you might see it
a storehouse and shop both of a vast treasury of natural parts. His
temper exceeding fyery, as I have known, but the flame of it kept
downe, for the most part, or soon allayed with thos moral endowments
he had. He was naturally compassionate towards objects in distresse,
even to an effeminate measure; though God had made him a heart,
wherein was left little roume for any fear, but what was due to
himselfe, of which there was a large proportion, yet did he exceed in
tendernesse towards sufferers. A larger soul, I thinke, hath seldome
dwelt in a house of clay than his was. I do believe, if his story were
impartialy transmitted, and the unprejudiced world wel possest with
it, she would adde him to her nine worthies, and make up that number
a decemviri. He lived and dyed in comfortable communion with God, as
judicious persons neer him wel observed. He was that Mordecai that
sought the welfare of his people, and spake peace to his seed, yet
were his temptations such, as it appeared frequently, that he, that
hath grace enough for many men, may have too little for himselfe;
the treasure he had being but in an earthen vessel, and that equally
defiled with original sin, as any other man's nature is.



Never man was highlier extolled, and never man was baselier reported
of, and vilified than this man. No (meer) man was _better_ and _worse_
spoken of than he; according as mens Interests led their Judgments.
The Soldiers and Sectaries most highly magnified him, till he began
to seek the Crown and the Establishment of his Family: And then there
were so many that would be Half-Kings themselves, that a King did seem
intollerable to them. The Royalists abhorred him as a most perfidious
Hypocrite; and the Presbyterians thought him little better, in his
management of publick matters.

If after so many others I may speak my Opinion of him, I think,
that, having been a Prodigal in his Youth, and afterward changed to
a zealous Religiousness, he meant honestly in the main, and was pious
and conscionable in the main course of his Life, till Prosperity and
Success corrupted him: that, at his first entrance into the Wars,
being but a Captain of Horse, he had a special care to get religious
men into his Troop: These men were of greater understanding than
common Soldiers, and therefore were more apprehensive of the
Importance and Consequence of the War; and making not Money, but that
which they took for the Publick Felicity, to be their End, they were
the more engaged to be valiant; for he that maketh Money his End, doth
esteem his Life above his Pay, and therefore is like enough to save
it by flight when danger comes, if possibly he can: But he that maketh
the Felicity of Church and State his End, esteemeth it above his Life,
and therefore will the sooner lay down his Life for it. And men of
Parts and Understanding know how to manage their business, and know
that flying is the surest way to death, and that standing to it is the
likeliest way to escape; there being many usually that fall in flight,
for one that falls in valiant fight. These things it's probable
_Cromwell_ understood; and that none would be such engaged valiant
men as the Religious: But yet I conjecture, that at his first choosing
such men into his Troop, it was the very Esteem and Love of Religious
men that principally moved him; and the avoiding of those Disorders,
Mutinies, Plunderings, and Grievances of the Country, which deboist
men in Armies are commonly guilty of: By this means he indeed sped
better than he expected. _Aires_, _Desborough_, _Berry_, _Evanson_,
and the rest of that Troop, did prove so valiant, that as far as I
could learn, they never once ran away before an Enemy. Hereupon he got
a Commission to take some care of the Associated Counties, where he
brought his Troop into a double Regiment, of fourteen full Troops; and
all these as full of religious men as he could get: These having more
than ordinary Wit and Resolution, had more than ordinary Success;
first in _Lincolnshire_, and afterward in the Earl of _Manchester's_
Army at _York_ Fight: With their Successes the Hearts both of Captain
and Soldiers secretly rise both in Pride and Expectation: And the
familiarity of many honest erroneous Men (Anabaptists, Antinomians,
&c.) withal began quickly to corrupt their Judgments. Hereupon
_Cromwell's_ general Religious Zeal, giveth away to the power of that
Ambition, which still increaseth as his Successes do increase: Both
Piety and Ambition concurred in his countenancing of all that he
thought Godly of what Sect soever: Piety pleadeth for them as _Godly_;
and _Charity_ as Men; and Ambition secretly telleth him what use he
might make of them. He meaneth well in all this at the beginning,
and thinketh he doth all for the Safety of the Godly, and the Publick
Good, but not without an Eye to himself.

When Successes had broken down all considerable opposition, he was
then in the face of his Strongest Temptations, which conquered him
when he had conquered others: He thought that he had hitherto done
well, both as to the _End_ and _Means_, and God by the wonderful
Blessing of his Providence had owned his endeavours, and it was
none but God that had made him great: He thought that if the War was
lawful, the Victory was lawful; and if it were lawful to fight against
the King and conquer him, it was lawful to use him as a conquered
Enemy, and a foolish thing to trust him when they had so provoked him,
(whereas indeed the Parliament professed neither to fight against him,
nor to conquer him). He thought that the Heart of the King was deep,
and that he resolved upon Revenge, and that if he were King, he would
easily at one time or other accomplish it; and that it was a dishonest
thing of the Parliament to set men to fight for them against the King,
and then to lay their Necks upon the block, and be at his Mercy; and
that if that must be their Case, it was better to flatter or please
him, than to fight against him. He saw that the _Scots_ and the
Presbyterians in the Parliament, did by the Covenant and the Oath
of Allegiance, find themselves bound to the Person and Family of the
King, and that there was no hope of changing their minds in this:
Hereupon he joyned with that Party in the Parliament who were for the
Cutting off the King, and trusting him no more. And consequently he
joyned with them in raising the Independants to make a Fraction in
the Synod at _Westminster_ and in the City; and in strengthening the
Sectaries in Army, City and Country, and in rendering the _Scots_ and
Ministers as odious as he could, to disable them from hindering the
Change of Government. In the doing of all this, (which _Distrust_ and
_Ambition_ had perswaded him was well done) he thought it lawful to
use his Wits, to choose each Instrument, and suit each means, unto its
end; and accordingly he daily imployed himself, and modelled the Army,
and disbanded all other Garrisons and Forces and Committees, which
were like to have hindered his design. And as he went on, though he
yet resolved not what form the New Commonwealth should be molded into,
yet he thought it but reasonable, that he should be the Chief Person
who had been chief in their Deliverance; (For the Lord _Fairfax_ he
knew had but the Name). At last, as he thought it lawful to cut off
the King, because he thought he was lawfully conquered, so he thought
it lawful to fight against the _Scots_ that would set him up, and to
pull down the Presbyterian Majority in the Parliament, which would
else by restoring him undo all which had cost them so much Blood and
Treasure. And accordingly he conquereth _Scotland_, and pulleth down
the Parliament: being the easilier perswaded that all this was lawful,
because he had a secret Byas and Eye towards his own Exaltation:
For he (and his Officers) thought, that when the King was gone a
Government there must be; and that no Man was so fit for it as he
himself; as best _deserving_ it, and as having by his _Wit_ and great
_Interest_ in the Army, the best sufficiency to manage it: Yea, they
thought that _God had called_ them by _Successes_ to _Govern and take
Care_ of the Commonwealth, and of the Interest of all his People in
the Land; and that if they stood by and suffered the Parliament to do
that which they thought was dangerous, it would be required at their
hands, whom they thought God had made the Guardians of the Land.

Having thus forced his Conscience to justifie all his Cause, (the
Cutting off the King, the setting up himself and his Adherents, the
pulling down the Parliament and the _Scots_,) he thinketh that the
End being good and necessary, the necessary means cannot be bad: And
accordingly he giveth his Interest and Cause leave to tell him, how
far Sects shall be tollerated and commended, and how far not; and how
far the Ministry shall be owned and supported, and how far not; yea,
and how far Professions, Promises, and Vows shall be kept, or broken;
and therefore the Covenant he could not away with; nor the Ministers,
further than they yielded to his Ends, or did not openly resist them.
He seemed exceeding open hearted, by a familiar Rustick affected
Carriage, (especially to his Soldiers in sporting with them): but he
thought Secrecy a Vertue, and Dissimulation no Vice, and Simulation,
that is, in plain English a Lie, or Perfidiousness to be a tollerable
Fault in a Case of Necessity: being of the same Opinion with the
Lord _Bacon_, (who was not so Precise as Learned) That [_the best
Composition and Temperature is, to have openness in Fame and Opinion,
Secrecy in habit, Dissimulation in seasonable use; and a power to
feign if there be no remedy,_] _Essay_ 6. _pag._ 31. Therefore he kept
fair with all, saving his open or unreconcileable Enemies. He carried
it with such Dissimulation, that Anabaptists, Independants, and
Antinomians did all think that he was one of them: But he never
endeavoured to perswade the Presbyterians that he was one of them;
but only that he would do them Justice, and Preserve them, and that
he honoured their Worth and Piety; for he knew that they were not so
easily deceived. In a word, he did as our Prelates have done, begin
low and rise higher in his Resolutions as his Condition rose, and the
Promises which he made in his lower Condition, he used as the interest
of his higher following Condition did require, and kept up as much
Honesty and Godliness in the main, as his Cause and Interest would



_Born 1612. Died 1671_.


And these things made the new modelling of the Army to be resolved
on. But all the Question was how to effect it, without stirring up
the Forces against them which they intended to disband: And all this
was notably dispatcht at once, by One Vote, which was called the
_Self-denying Vote_, viz. That because Commands in the Army had much
pay, and Parliament Men should keep to the Service of the House,
therefore no Parliament Men should be Members of the Army....

When this was done, the next Question was, Who should be Lord General,
and what new Officers should be put in, or old ones continued? And
here the Policy of _Vane_ and _Cromwell_ did its best: For General
they chose Sir _Thomas Fairfax_, Son of the Lord _Ferdinando Fairfax_,
who had been in the Wars beyond Sea, and had fought valiantly in
_Yorkshire_ for the Parliament, though he was over-powered by the Earl
of _Newcastle's_, Numbers. This Man was chosen because they supposed
to find him a Man of no quickness of Parts, of no Elocution, of no
suspicious plotting Wit, and therefore One that _Cromwell_ could make
use of at his pleasure. And he was acceptable to sober Men, because
he was Religious, Faithful, Valiant, and of a grave, sober, resolved
Disposition; very fit for Execution, and neither too Great nor too
Cunning to be Commanded by the Parliament.



_Born 1613. Beheaded 1662._


The other, S'r H. Vane, was a man of greate naturall parts, and of
very profounde dissimulation, of a quicke conception, and very ready
sharpe and weighty exspression. He had an unusuall aspecte, which
though it might naturally proceede both from his father and mother,
nether of which were beautifull persons, yett made men thinke ther was
somewhat in him of extraordinary, and his whole life made good that
imagination. Within a very shorte tyme after he returned from his
studyes in Magdalen Colledge in Oxforde, wher, though he was under the
care of a very worthy Tutour, he lyved not with greate exactnesse, he
spent some little tyme in France, and more in Geneva, and after his
returne into Englande, contracted a full præjudice and bitternesse
against the Church, both against the forme of the goverment and the
lyturgy, which was generally in greate reverence, even with many of
those, who were not frends to the other. In this giddinesse which then
much displeased, or seemed to displease his father, who still appeared
highly conformable, and exceedingly sharpe against those who were not,
he transported himselfe into New Englande, a Colony within few yeeres
before planted by a mixture of all religions, which disposed the
professors to dislike the goverment of the church, who were qualifyed
by the Kings Charter to chuse ther owne goverment and governors, under
the obligation that every man should take the othes of Allegiance and
Supremacy, which all the first planters did, when they receaved ther
charter, before they transported themselves from hence, nor was ther
in many yeeres after the least scruple amongst them of complyinge with
those obligations, so farr men were in the infancy of ther schisme,
from refusinge to take lawfull othes. He was no sooner landed ther,
but his partes made him quickly taken notice of, and very probably his
quality, beinge the eldest sunn of a Privy Councellour, might give
him some advantage, insomuch that when the next season came for the
election of ther Magistrates, he was chosen ther governour, in which
place he had so ill fortune, his workinge and unquyett fancy raysinge
and infusinge a thousande scruples of conscience which they had not
brought over with them, nor hearde of before, that he unsatisfyed
with them, and they with him, he retransported himselfe into
Englande, havinge sowed such seede of dissention ther, as grew up to
prosperously, and miserably devyded the poore Colony into severall
factions and devisions and persequtions of each other, which still
continue to the greate prejudice of that plantation, insomuch as
some of them, upon the grounde of ther first exspedition, liberty of
conscience, have withdrawne themselves from ther jurisdiction, and
obtayned other Charters from the Kinge, by which in other formes of
goverment they have inlarged ther plantations within new limitts,
adjacent to the other. He was no sooner returned into Englande, then
he seemed to be much reformed in those extravagancyes, and with his
fathers approbation and direction marryed a Lady of a good family,
and by his fathers creditt with the Earle of Northumberland, who was
high Admirall of Englande, was joyned presently and joyntly with S'r
William Russell in the office of Treasurer of the Navy, a place of
greate trust, and profitt, which he æqually shared with the other, and
seemed a man well satisfyed and composed to the goverment. When his
father receaved the disobligation from the L'd Straforde, by his
beinge created Baron of Raby, the house and lande of Vane, and which
title he had promised himselfe, which was unluckily cast upon him,
purely out of contempt, they sucked in all the thoughts of revenge
imaginable, and from thence he betooke himselfe to the frendshipp
of M'r Pimm and all other discontented or seditious persons, and
contributed all that intelligence, which will be hereafter mentioned,
as he himselfe will often be, that designed the ruine of the Earle,
and which grafted him in the intire confidence of those, who promoted
the same, so that nothinge was concealed from him, though it is
believed that he communicated his owne thoughts to very few.



Ther hath bene scarce any thinge more wounderfull throughout the
progresse of these distractions, then that this Covenant did with such
extraordinary exspedition passe the two houses, when all the leadinge
persons in those Councells were at the same tyme knowne to be as
greate enimyes to Presbitery (the establishment wherof was the sole
end of this Covenant) as they were to the Kinge or the Church, and
he who contributed most to it, and who in truth was the Principle
contriver of it, and the man by whome the Committee in Scotlande was
intirely and stupidly governed, S'r Harry Vane, the younger, was not
afterwards knowne to abhorr the Covenant and the Presbiterians [more]
then he was at that very tyme knowne to do, and laughed at them then,
as much as ever he did afterwards.

He[1] was indeede a man of extraordinary parts, a pleasant witt, a
greate understandinge, which pierced into and decerned the purposes
of other men with wounderfull sagacity, whilst he had himselfe vultum
clausum, that no man could make a guesse of what he intended; he was
of a temper not to be mooved, and of rare dissimulation, and could
comply when it was not seasonable to contradicte without loosinge
grounde by the condescention, and if he were not superiour to M'r
Hambden, he was inferiour to no other man in all misterious artifices.
Ther neede no more be sayd of his ability, then that he was chosen
to cozen and deceave a whole nation, which excelled in craft and
dissemblinge, which he did with notable pregnancy and dexterity, and
prævayled with a people, which could not be otherwise prævayled upon,
then by advancinge ther Idoll Presbitery, to sacrifice ther peace,
ther interest, and ther fayth, to the erectinge a power and authority,
that resolved to persequte presbitery to an extirpation, and very
neere brought ther purpose to passe.

[Footnote 1: Before 'He was indeede' Clarendon had written 'S'r Harry
Vane the yonger, was on of the Commissyoners, and therfore the other
neede not be named, since he was All in any businesse wher others
were joyned with him.' He cancelled this on adding the preceding



_Governor of Nottingham._

_Born 1615. Died 1664._

By LUCY HUTCHINSON, his widow.

He was of a middle stature, of a slender and exactly well-proportion'd
shape in all parts, his complexion fair, his hayre of a light browne,
very thick sett in his youth, softer then the finest silke, curling
into loose greate rings att the ends, his eies of a lively grey,
well-shaped and full of life and vigour, graced with many becoming
motions, his visage thinne, his mouth well made, and his lipps very
ruddy and gracefull, allthough the nether chap shut over the upper,
yett it was in such a manner as was not unbecoming, his teeth were
even and white as the purest ivory, his chin was something long, and
the mold of his face, his forehead was not very high, his nose was
rays'd and sharpe, but withall he had a most amiable countenance,
which carried in it something of magnanimity and majesty mixt with
sweetnesse, that at the same time bespoke love and awe in all that
saw him; his skin was smooth and white, his legs and feete excellently
well made, he was quick in his pace and turnes, nimble and active and
gracefull in all his motions, he was apt for any bodily exercise, and
any that he did became him, he could dance admirably well, but neither
in youth nor riper yeares made any practise of it, he had skill in
fencing such as became a gentleman, he had a greate love of musick,
and often diverted himselfe with a violl, on which he play'd
masterly, he had an exact eare and judgement in other musick, he shott
excellently in bowes and gunns, and much us'd them for his exercise,
he had greate judgment in paintings, graving, sculpture, and all
liberal arts, and had many curiosities of vallue in all kinds, he took
greate delight in perspective glasses, and for his other rarities was
not so much affected with the antiquity as the merit of the worke--he
took much pleasure in emproovement of grounds, in planting groves and
walkes, and fruite-trees, in opening springs and making fish-ponds;
of country recreations he lov'd none but hawking, and in that was very
eager and much delighted for the time he us'd it, but soone left it
off; he was wonderful neate, cleanly and gentile in his habitt, and
had a very good fancy in it, but he left off very early the wearing
of aniething that was costly, yett in his plainest negligent habitt
appear'd very much a gentleman; he had more addresse than force of
body, yet the courage of his soule so supplied his members that
he never wanted strength when he found occasion to employ it; his
conversation was very pleasant for he was naturally chearful, had
a ready witt and apprehension; he was eager in every thing he did,
earnest in dispute, but withall very rationall, so that he was seldome
overcome, every thing that it was necessary for him to doe he did with
delight, free and unconstrein'd, he hated cerimonious complement, but
yett had a naturall civillity and complaisance to all people, he was
of a tender constitution, but through the vivacity of his spiritt
could undergo labours, watchings and journeyes, as well as any of
stronger compositions; he was rheumatick, and had a long sicknesse
and distemper occasion'd thereby two or three yeares after the warre
ended, but elce for the latter halfe of his life was healthy tho'
tender, in his youth and childhood he was sickly, much troubled with
weaknesse and tooth akes, but then his spiritts carried him through
them; he was very patient under sicknesse or payne or any common
accidints, but yet upon occasions, though never without just ones, he
would be very angrie, and had even in that such a grace as made him
to be fear'd, yet he was never outragious in passion; he had a very
good facultie in perswading, and would speake very well pertinently
and effectually without premeditation upon the greatest occasions
that could be offer'd, for indeed his judgment was so nice, that he
could never frame any speech beforehand to please himselfe, but his
invention was so ready and wisdome so habituall in all his speeches,
that he never had reason to repent himselfe of speaking at any time
without ranking the words beforehand, he was not talkative yett free
of discourse, of a very spare diett, not much given to sleepe, an
early riser when in health, he never was at any time idle, and hated
to see any one elce soe, in all his naturall and ordinary inclinations
and composure, there was somthing extraordinary and tending to vertue,
beyond what I can describe, or can be gather'd from a bare dead
description; there was a life of spiritt and power in him that is not
to be found in any copie drawne from him: to summe up therefore all
that can be sayd of his outward frame and disposition wee must truly
conclude, that it was a very handsome and well furnisht lodging
prepar'd for the reception of that prince, who in the administration
of all excellent vertues reign'd there awhile, till he was called back
to the pallace of the universall emperor.



_Robert Devereux, third Earl of Essex._

_Born 1591. Died 1646._


The Earle of Essex hath bene enough mentioned before, his nature and
his understandinge have bene described, his former disobligations
from the Courte, and then his introduction into it, and afterwards his
beinge displaced from the office he held in it, have bene sett forth,
and ther will be occasion heareaffter to renew the discource of him,
and therfore it shall suffice in this place to say, that a weake
judgement, and a little vanity, and as much of pryde, will hurry a
man into as unwarrantable and as violent attempts, as the greatest and
most unlimited and insaciable ambition will doe. He had no ambition
of title, or office, or præferment, but only to be kindly looked
upon, and kindly spoken to, and quyetly to injoy his owne fortune, and
without doubte, no man in his nature more abhorred rebellion then he
did, nor could he have bene ledd into it by any open or transparent
temptation, but by a thousand disguises and cozinages. His pryde
supplyed his want of ambition, and he was angry to see any other man
more respected then himselfe, because he thought he deserved it more,
and did better requite it, for he was in his frendshipps just and
constante, and would not have practiced fouly against those he tooke
to be enimyes: no man had creditt enough with him to corrupt him in
pointe of loyalty to the Kinge, whilst he thought himselfe wise enough
to know what treason was. But the new doctrine and distinction of
Allegiance, and of the Kings power in and out of Parliament, and
the new notions of Ordinances, were to hard for him and did really
intoxicate his understandinge, and made him quitt his owne, to follow
thers, who he thought wish'd as well, and judged better then himselfe;
His vanity disposed him to be his Excellence, and his weaknesse to
believe that he should be the Generall in the Houses, as well as in
the Feild, and be able to governe ther councells, and restrayne ther
passyons, as well as to fight ther battles, and that by this meanes
he should become the præserver and not the destroyer of the Kinge and
Kingdome; and with this ill grounded confidence, he launched out into
that Sea, wher he mett with nothinge but rockes, and shelves, and from
whence he could never discover any safe Porte to harbour in.



_William Cecil, second Earl of Salisbury._

_Born 1591. Died 1668._


The Earle of Salisbury had bene borne and bredd in Courte and had
the Advantage of a descent from a Father and a Grandfather, who had
bene very wise men, and greate Ministers of State in the eyes of
Christendome, whose wisdome and virtues dyed with them, and ther
children only inherited ther titles. He had bene admitted of the
Councell to Kinge James, from which tyme he continued so obsequious
to the Courte, that he never fayled in overactinge all that he was
requyred to do; no acte of power was ever proposed, which he did not
advance, and execute his parte, with the utmost rigour, no man so
greate a tyrant in his country, or was lesse swayed by any motives of
justice or honour; he was a man of no words, except in huntinge and
hawkinge in which he only knew how to behave himselfe, in matters
of State and councell he alwayes concurred in what was proposed for
the Kinge, and cancelled and repayred all those transgressions by
concurringe in all that was proposed against him as soone as any
such propositions were made; yett when the Kinge went to Yorke, he
likewise attended upon his Majesty and at that distance seemed to
have recover'd some courage, and concurred in all councells which
were taken to undeceave the people, and to make the proceedings of the
Parliament odious to all the world; but on a suddayne he caused his
horses to attend him out of the towne, and havinge placed fresh ons
at a distance, he fledd backe to London, with the exspedition such
men use when they are most afrayde, and never after denyed to do any
thinge that was requyred of him, and when the warr was ended, and
Crumwell had putt downe the house of Peeres, he gott himselfe to be
chosen a member of the house of Commons, and sate with them as of
ther owne body, and was esteemed accordingly; in a worde he became
so despicable to all men, that he will hardly ever in joy the ease
which Seneca bequeathed to him: Hic egregiis majoribus ortus est,
qualiscunque est, sub umbra suorum lateat; Ut loca sordida repercussu
solis illustrantur, ita inertes majorum suorum luce resplendeant.



_Robert Rich, second Earl of Warwick._

_Born 1587. Died 1658._


The Earle of Warwicke was of the Kings counsell to, but was not
woundred at for leavinge the Kinge, whome he had never served, nor did
he looke upon himselfe as oblieged by that honour, which he knew was
conferred upon him in the crowde of those, whom his Majesty had no
esteeme of, or ever purposed to trust, so his businesse was to joyne
with those, to whome he owed his promotion; he was a man of a pleasant
and companionable witt and conversation, of an universall jollity, and
such a licence in his wordes and in his actions, that a man of lesse
virtue could not be founde out, so that a man might reasonably have
believed, that a man so qualifyed would not have bene able to have
contributed much to the overthrow of a nation, and kingdome; but with
all these faults, he had greate authority and creditt with that people
who in the beginninge of the troubles did all the mischieve; and by
openinge his doores, and makinge his house the Randevooze of all the
silenced Ministers, in the tyme when ther was authority to silence
them, and spendinge a good parte of his estate, of which he was
very prodigall, upon them, and by beinge present with them at ther
devotions, and makinge himselfe merry with them and at them, which
they dispenced with, he became the heade of that party, and gott
the style of a godly man. When the Kinge revoked the Earle of
Northumberlands Commission of Admirall, he presently accepted the
office from the Parliament and never quitted ther service; and
when Crumwell disbanded that Parliament, he betooke himselfe to the
Protection of the Protectour, marryed his Heyre to his daughter, and
lived in so intire a confidence and frendshipp with him, that when he
dyed he had the honour to be exceedingly lamented by him: and left
his estate, which before was subject to a vast debt, more improved and
repayred, then any man, who traffiqued in that desperate commodity of



_Edward Montagu, created Baron Montagu of Kimbolton 1626, second Earl
of Manchester 1642._

_Born 1602. Died 1671._


The Earle of Manchester, of the whole Caball, was in a thousand
respects most unfitt for the company he kept. He was of a gentle and
a generous nature, civilly bredd, had reverence and affection for the
person of the Kinge, upon whome he had attended in Spayne, loved his
Country with to unskilfull a tendernesse, and was of so excellent a
temper and disposition, that the barbarous tymes, and the rough partes
he was forced to acte in them, did not wype out or much deface those
markes, insomuch as he was never guilty of any rudenesse towards
those, he was oblieged to oppresse, but performed always as good
offices towards his old frendes, and all other persons, as the
iniquity of the tyme, and the nature of the imployment he was in,
would permitt him to doe, which kinde of humanity could be imputed to
very few; and he was at last dismissed, and remooved from any trust,
for no other reason, but because he was not wicked enough.

He marryed first into the family of the Duke of Buckingham, and by
his favour and interest was called to the house of Peeres in the life
of his father, and made Barron of Kymolton, though he was commonly
treated and knowne by the name of the L'd Mandevill: And was as much
addicted to the service of the Courte as he ought to be. But the death
of his Lady, and the murther of that greate Favorite, his secounde
marriage with the daughter of the Earle of Warwicke, and the very
narrow and restrayned maintenance which he receaved from his father
and which would in no degree defray the exspences of the Courte,
forced him to soone to retyre to a Country life, and totally to
abandon both the Courte and London, whither he came very seldome in
many yeeres; And in this retirement, the discountenance which his
father underwent at Courte, the conversation of that family into which
he was now marryed, the bewitchinge popularity which flowed upon him
with a wounderfull Torrent, with the want of those guardes which a
good education should have supplyed him with, by the cleere notion of
the foundation of the Ecclesiasticall as well as the Civill goverment,
made a greate impression upon his understandinge (for his nature was
never corrupted but remayned still in its integrity) and made him
believe, that the Courte was inclined to hurte and even to destroy the
country, and from particular instances to make generall and daungerous
conclusions. They who had bene alwayes enimyes to the Church,
prævayled with him to lessen his reverence for it, and havinge not
bene well instructed to defende it, [he] yeilded to easily to those
who confidently assaulted it, and thought it had greate errors which
were necessary to be reformed, and that all meanes are lawfull to
compasse that which is necessary, wheras the true Logique is, that
the thinge desyred is not necessary, if the wayes are unlawfull which
are proposed to bringe it to passe. No man was courted with more
application by persons of all conditions and qualityes, and his
person was not lesse acceptable to those of steddy and uncorrupted
principles, then to those of depraved inclinations; and in the
end, even his piety administred some excuse to him, for his fathers
infirmityes and transgressions had so farr exposed him to the
inquisition of justice, that he found it necessary to procure the
assistance and protection of those, who were stronge enough to violate
justice itselfe, and so he adhered to those, who were best able to
defende his fathers honour, and therby to secure his owne fortune, and
concurred with them in ther most violent designes, and gave reputation
to them; and the Courte as unskilfully, tooke an occasion to soone to
make him desperate, by accusinge him of high Treason, when (though he
might be guilty enough,) he was without doubte in his intentions at
least as innocent, as any of the leadinge men; and it is some evidence
that God Almighty saw his hearte was not so malicious as the rest,
that he præserved him to the end of the confusion, when he appeared
as gladd of the Kings restoration, and had heartily wished it
longe before, and very few who had a hand in the contrivance of the
rebellion gave so manifest tokens of repentance as he did; and havinge
for many yeeres undergone the jealosy and hatred of Crumwell, as
one who abominated the murther of the Kinge, and all the barbarous
proceedings against the life of men in cold bloode, the Kinge upon his
returne receaved him into grace and favour, which he never forfeited
by any undutifull behaviour.



_William Fiennes, created Viscount Say and Sele 1624._

_Born 1582. Died 1662._


The last of those Councillours, which were made after the
faction prævayled in Parliament, who were all made to advance an
accommodation, and who adhered to the Parliament, was the L'd Say, a
man who had the deepest hande in the originall contrivance of all the
calamityes which befell that unhappy kingdome, though he had not the
least thought of dissolvinge the Monarchy, and lesse of levellinge the
rankes and distinctions of men, for no man valewed himselfe more upon
his title, or had more ambition to make it greater, and to rayse his
fortune, which was but moderate for his title. He was of a prowde,
morose, and sullen nature, conversed much with bookes, havinge bene
bredd a scholar, and (though nobly borne) a fellow of New-Colledge in
Oxforde, to which he claymed a right, by the Allyance he prætended to
have from William of Wickam the Founder, which he made good by such
an unreasonable Pedigre through so many hundred yeeres, halfe the tyme
wherof extinguishes all relation of kinred, however upon that pretence
that Colledge hath bene seldome without one of that L'ds family. His
parts were not quicke, but so much above those of his owne ranke, that
he had alwayes greate creditt and authority in Parliament, and the
more for takinge all opportunityes to oppose the Courte, and had with
his milke sucked in an implacable malice against the goverment of the
Church. When the Duke of Buckingham proposed to himselfe after his
returne with the Prince from Spayne, to make himselfe popular, by
breakinge that match, and to be gratious with the Parliament, as for
a shorte tyme he was, he resolved to imbrace the frendshipp of the
L'd Say, who was as sollicitous to climbe by that ladder, but the Duke
quickly founde him of to imperious and pedanticall a spiritt, and to
affecte to daungerous mutations, and so cast him off; and from that
tyme, he gave over any pursuite in Courte, and lived narrowly and
sordidly in the country, havinge conversation with very few, but such
who had greate malignity against the church and State, and fomented
ther inclinations and gave them instructions how to behave themselfes
with caution and to do ther businesse with most security, and was in
truth the Pylott that steered all those vessells which were fraighted
with sedition to destroy the goverment. He founde alwayes some way to
make professions of duty to the Kinge and made severall undertakings
to do greate services, which he could not, or would not make good, and
made hast to possesse himselfe of any præferment he could compasse,
whilst his frends were content to attende a more proper conjuncture,
so he gott the Mastershipp of the Wards shortly after the beginninge
of the Parliament, and was as sollicitous to be Treasurer, after the
death of the Earle of Bedforde, and if he could have satisfyed his
rancour in any degree against the Church, he would have bene ready to
have carryed the Prærogative as high as ever it was. When he thought
ther was mischieve enough done, he would have stopped the current and
have deverted farther fury, but he then founde he had only authority
and creditt to do hurte, none to heale the wounds he had given; and
fell into as much contempt with those whome he had ledde, as he was
with those whome he had undone.



_Born 1584. Died 1654._


M'r Selden, was a person whome no character can flatter, or transmitt
in any exspressions æquall to his meritt and virtue. He was of so
stupendious learninge in all kindes, and in all languages, (as may
appeare in his excellent and transcendent writings) that a man would
have thought, he had bene intirely conversant amongst bookes, and had
never spent an howre, but in readinge and writinge, yett his humanity,
courtesy and affability was such, that he would have bene thought
to have bene bredd in the best courtes, but that his good nature,
charity, and delight in doinge good, and in communicatinge all he
knew, exceeded that breedinge. His style in all his writings seemes
harsh and sometymes obscure, which is not wholy to be imputed to the
abstruse subjects, of which he commonly treated, out of the pathes
trodd by other men, but to a little undervalewinge the beauty of a
style, and to much propensity to the language of antiquity, but in his
conversation the most cleere discourcer, and had the best faculty, in
makinge hard things, easy, and præsentinge them to the understandinge,
of any man, that hath bene knowne. M'r Hyde was wonte to say, that he
valewed himselfe upon nothinge more, then upon havinge had M'r Seldence
acquaintance, from the tyme he was very young, and held it with greate
delight, as longe as they were suffred to continue togither in London,
and he was very much troubled alwayes, when he hearde him blamed,
censured and reproched, for stayinge in London, and in the Parliament
after they were in rebellion, and in the worst tymes, which his age
oblieged him to doe; and how wicked soever the actions were which were
every day done, he was confident he had not given his consent to them,
but would have hindred them if he could, with his owne safety, to
which he was alwayes enough indulgent: if he had some infirmityes with
other men, they were waighed downe with wounderfull and prodigious
abilityes and excellencyes in the other skale.



_Author of 'Micro-cosmographie' 1628. Bishop of Worcester 1662, and of
Salisbury 1663._

_Born 1601. Died 1665._


D'r Earles was at that tyme Chaplyne in the house to the Earle of
Pembroke, L'd Chamberlyne of his Majestys household, and had a
lodginge in the courte under that relation. He was a person very
notable for his elegance in the Greeke and Latine tounges, and beinge
fellow of Merton Colledge in Oxforde, and havinge bene Proctour of the
University, and some very witty and sharpe discourses beinge published
in print without his consent, though knowne to be his, he grew
suddaynely into a very generall esteem with all men, being a man of
greate piety and devotion, a most eloquent and powerfull preacher, and
of a conversation so pleasant and delightfull, so very innocent, and
so very facetious, that no mans company was more desyred, and more
loved. No man was more negligent in his dresse, and habitt, and
meene, no man more wary and cultivated in his behaviour and discourse,
insomuch as he had the greater advantage when he was knowne, by
promisinge so little before he was knowen. He was an excellent Poett
both in Latine, Greeke, and English, as appeares by many pieces
yett abroade, though he suppressed many more himselfe, especially of
English, incomparably good, out of an austerity to those sallyes of
his youth. He was very deere to the L'd Falkelande, with whome he
spent as much tyme as he could make his owne, and as that Lord would
impute the speedy progresse he made in the Greeke tounge, to the
information and assistance he had from M'r Earles, so M'r Earles would
frequently professe that he had gott more usefull learninge by his
conversation at Tew (the L'd Falkelands house) then he had at Oxforde.
In the first setlinge of the Prince his family, he was made on of
his Chaplynes, and attended on him when he was forced to leave the
kingdome, and therfore we shall often have occasyon to mention him
heareafter. He was amongst the few excellent men, who never had,
nor ever could have an enimy, but such a one who was an enimy to all
learninge and virtue, and therfore would never make himselfe knowne.



'_The Ever Memorable Mr. John Hales, of Eaton-Colledge._'

_Born 1584. Died 1656._


M'r John Hales, had bene Greeke Professor in the University of
Oxforde, and had borne all[1] the labour of that excellent edition and
impressyon of S't Chrisostomes workes, sett out by S'r Harry Savill,
who was then Warden of Merton Colledge, when the other was fellow
of that house. He was Chaplyne in the house with S'r Dudly Carleton
Ambassador at the Hague in Hollande, at the tyme when the Synod of
Dorte was held, and so had liberty to be present at the consultations
in that assembly, and hath left the best memoriall behinde him, of the
ignorance and passyon and animosity and injustice of that Convention,
of which he often made very pleasant relations, though at that tyme
it receaved to much countenance from Englande. Beinge a person of the
greatest eminency for learninge and other abilityes, from which he
might have promised himselfe any preferment in the Church, he withdrew
himselfe from all pursuites of that kinde into a private fellowshipp
in the Colledge of Eton, wher his frende S'r Harry Savill was Provost,
wher he lyved amongst his bookes, and the most separated from the
worlde of any man then livinge, though he was not in the least degree
inclined to melancholique, but on the contrary of a very open and
pleasant conversation, and therfore was very well pleased with the
resorte of his frends to him, who were such as he had chosen, and in
whose company he delighted, and for whose sake he would sometymes,
once in a yeere, resorte to London, only to injoy ther cheerefull

He would never take any cure of soules, and was so great a contemner
of mony, that he was wonte to say that his fellowshipp, and the
Bursers place (which for the good of the Colledge he held many yeeres)
was worth him fifty poundes a yeere more then he could spende, and
yett besydes his beinge very charitable to all poore people, even to
liberality, he had made a greater and better collection of bookes,
then were to be founde in any other private library, that I have
seene, as he had sure reade more, and carryed more about him, in his
excellent memory, then any man I ever knew, my L'd Falkelande only
excepted, who I thinke syded him. He had, whether from his naturall
temper and constitution, or from his longe retyrement from all
Crowdes, or from his profounde judgement and decerninge spiritt,
contracted some opinions, which were not receaved, nor by him
published, except in private discources, and then rather upon occasion
of dispute, than of positive opinion; and he would often say, his
opinions he was sure did him no harme, but he was farr from beinge
confident, that they might not do others harme, who entertained
them, and might entertayne other resultes from them then he did,
and therfore he was very reserved in communicatinge what he thought
himselfe in those points, in which he differed from what was receaved.

Nothinge troubled him more, then the brawles which were growne from
religion, and he therfore exceedingly detested the tyranny of
the church of Rome, more for ther imposinge uncharitably upon the
consciences of other men, then for ther errors in ther owne opinions,
and would often say, that he would renounce the religion of the church
of Englande tomorrow if it oblieged him to believe that any other
Christians should be damned: and that no body would conclude another
man to be damned, who did not wish him so: No man more stricte and
seveare to himselfe, to other men so charitable as to ther opinions,
that he thought that other men were more in faulte, for ther carriage
towards them, then the men themselves were who erred: and he thought
that pryde and passyon more then conscience were the cause of all
separation from each others communion, and he frequently sayd, that
that only kept the world from agreeinge upon such a Lyturgy, as might
bringe them into one communion, all doctrinall points upon which men
differed in ther opinions, beinge to have no place in any Liturgye.
Upon an occasionall discource with a frende of the frequent and
uncharitable reproches of Heretique and Schismatique to lightly
throwne at each other amongst men who differr in ther judgement,
he writt a little discource of Schisme, contayned in lesse then two
sheetes of paper, which beinge transmitted from frende to frende in
writing, was at last without any malice brought to the view of the
Arch-Bishopp of Canterbury Dr. Lawde, who was a very rigid survayour
of all thinges which never so little bordred upon Schisme, and thought
the Church could not be to vigilant against, and jealous of such
incursyons. He sent for M'r Hales, whome when they had both lived in
the University of Oxforde he had knowne well, and told him that he
had in truth believed him to be longe since dead, and chidd him
very kindly, for havinge never come to him, havinge bene of his old
acquaintance, then asked him whether he had lately writt a shorte
discource of Schisme, and whether he was of that opinion which that
discource implyed; he told him, that he had for the satisfaction of a
private frende (who was not of his minde) a yeere or two before,
writt such a small tracte, without any imagination that it would be
communicated, and that he believed it did not contayne any thinge that
was not agreable to the judgement of the primitive fathers; upon which
the Arch-Bishopp debated with him upon some exspressions of Irenæus,
and the most auntient fathers, and concluded with sayinge that the
tyme was very apt to sett new doctrynes on foote, of which the witts
of the Age were to susceptable, and that ther could not be to much
care taken to præserve the peace and unity of the Church, and from
thence asked him of his condition, and whether he wanted any thinge,
and the other answeringe that he had enough, and wanted nor desyred no
addition: and so dismissed him with greate courtesy, and shortly after
sent for him agayne, when ther was a Præbendary of Windsor fallen,
and told him the Kinge had given him that præferment because it lay so
convenient to his fellowshipp of Eton, which (though indeede the
most convenient præferment that could be thought of for him) the
Arch-Bishopp could not without greate difficulty perswade him to
accept, and he did accepte it rather to please him, then himselfe,
because he really believed he had enough before. He was one of the
least men in the kingdome, and one of the greatest schollers in

[Footnote 1: 'the greatest part of' in place of 'all' in another hand
in MS.]



_Author of 'The Religion of Protestants,' 1638._

_Born 1602. Died 1644._


M'r Chillingworth, was of a stature little superiour to M'r Hales (and
it was an Age in which ther were many greate and wounderfull men of
that size) and a man of so grea[te] a subtlety of understandinge, and
so rare a temper in debate, that as it was impossible to provoke him
into any passyon, so it was very difficulte to keepe a mans selfe
from beinge a little discomposed by his sharpnesse and quicknesse of
argument and instances, in which he had a rare facility, and a greate
advantage over all the men I ever knew. He had spent all his younger
tyme in disputation, and had arryved to so greate a mastery, as he was
inferior to no man in those skirmishes: but he had with his notable
perfection in this exercise, contracted such an irresolution and habit
of doubtinge, that by degrees he grew confident of nothinge, and a
schepticke at least in the greatest misteryes of fayth; This made
him from first waveringe in religion and indulginge to scruples, to
reconcile himselfe to soone and to easily to the Church of Rome, and
carryinge still his owne inquisitivenesse aboute him, without any
resignation to ther authority (which is the only temper can make
that Church sure of its Proselites) havinge made a journy to S't Omers
purely to perfecte his conversion by the conversation of those who had
the greatest name, he founde as little satisfaction ther, and returned
with as much hast from them, with a beliefe that an intire exemption
from error was nether inherent in, nor necessary to, any Church; which
occasioned that warr which was carryed on by the Jesuitts with so
greate asperity and reproches against him, and in which he defended
himselfe by such an admirable eloquence of language, and the cleere
and incomparable power of reason, that he not only made them appeare
unæquall adversaryes, but carryed the warr into ther owne quarters,
and made the Popes infallibility to be as much shaken and declyned by
ther owne Doctors, and as greate an acrimony amon[g]st themselves upon
that subjecte, and to be at least as much doubted as in the schooles
of the Reformed or Protestant, and forced them since to defende and
maintayne those unhappy contraversyes in religion, with armes and
weopons of another nature, then were used or knowne in the Church of
Rome when Bellarmyne dyed: and which probably will in tyme undermyne
the very foundation that supportes it.

Such a levity and propensity to change, is commonly attended with
greate infirmityes in, and no lesse reproch and præjudice to the
person, but the sincerity of his hearte was so conspicuous, and
without the least temptation of any corrupt end, and the innocence and
candour of his nature so evident and without any perversenesse, that
all who knew him cleerely decerned, that all those restlesse motions
and fluctuation proceeded only from the warmth and jealosy of his owne
thoughts, in a to nice inquisition for truth: nether the bookes of
the Adversary, nor any of ther persons, though he was acquainted with
the best of both, had ever made greate impression upon him, all his
doubles grew out of himselfe, when he assisted his scruples with all
the strenght of his owne reason, and was then to hard for himselfe;
but findinge as little quyett and repose in those victoryes, he
quickly recover'd by a new appeale to his owne judgement, so that he
was in truth upon the matter in all his Sallyes and retreits his owne
converte, though he was not so totally devested of all thoughts of
this worlde, but that when he was ready for it he admitted some greate
and considerable Churchmen to be sharers with him, in his publique
conversion. Whilst he was in perplexity, or rather some passionate
disinclination to the religion he had bene educated in, he had the
misfortune to have much acquaintance with one M'r Lugar a minister of
that church, a man of a competency of learninge in those points most
contravened with the Romanists, but of no acute parts of witt or
judgement, and wrought so farr upon him, by weakeninge and enervating
those arguments by which he founde he was governed (as he had all the
logique and all the Rhetorique that was necessary to perswade very
powerfully men of the greatest talents) that the poore man, not able
to lyve longe in doubte, to hastily deserted his owne church, and
betooke himselfe to the Roman, nor could all the arguments and reasons
of M'r Chillingworth make him pawse in the exspedition he was usinge,
or reduce him from that Church after he had given himselfe to it, but
had alwayes a greate animosity against him, for havinge (as he sayd)
unkindly betrayed him, and carryed him into another religion, and
ther left him: So unfitt are some constitutions to be troubled with
doubtes, after they are once fixed.

He did really believe all warr to be unlawfull, and did not thinke
that the Parliament (whose proceedings he perfectly abhorred) did
intruth intende to involve the nation in a civill warr, till after the
battell of Edgehill, and then he thought any exspedient or stratagemm
that was like to putt a speedy ende to it, to be the most commendable;
and so havinge to mathematically conceaved an Engyne that should moove
so lightly, as to be a brest-worke in all incounters and assaultes in
the feilde, he carryed it to make the exsperiment into that parte of
his Majestys army, which was only in that winter season in the Feilde,
under the commaunde of the L'd Hopton in Hampshyre upon the borders
of Sussex, wher he was shutt up in the Castle of Arrundell, which was
forced after a shorte, sharpe seige, to yeild for want of victuall,
and poore M'r Chillingworth with it fallinge into the Rebells hands,
and beinge most barbarously treated by them, especially by that Clargy
which followed them, and beinge broken with sicknesse contracted by
the ill accommadation and wante of meate and fyre duringe the seige,
which was in a terrible season of frost and snow, he dyed shortly
after in pryson. He was a man of excellent parts, and of a cheerefull
disposition, voyde of all kinde of vice, and indewed with many notable
virtues, of a very publique hearte, and an indefatigable desyre to do
good; his only unhappinesse proceeded from his sleepinge to little,
and thinkinge to much, which sometymes threw him into violent feavers.



_Born 1606. Died 1687._


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

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

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



_Born 1588. Died 1679._


(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



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

[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

[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

       *       *       *       *       *

[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'.]



_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

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

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



_Born 1608. Died 1674._


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.



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.



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.



_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.


  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.


  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.


  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.]



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

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

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.



_Born 1630. Died 1685._



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.


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

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

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

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.

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.


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

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

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

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.



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.



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



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

_Born 1609. Died 1674._


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.



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

_Born 1616. Died 1682._


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.



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.



_Anthony Ashley Cooper, created Earl of Shaftesbury 1662._

_Born 1621. Died 1683._


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



  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.



_George Villiers, second Duke 1628._

_Born 1628. Died 1687._


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_.



  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.



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

_Born 1633. Died 1695._


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.



_Lord Chief Justice 1682. Died 1683._


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.



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.


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.

These were generally of _Cambridge_, formed under some divines, the
chief of whom were Drs. _Whitchcot_, _Cudworth_, _Wilkins_, _More_,
and _Worthington_. _Whitchcot_ was a man of a rare temper, very mild
and obliging. He had great credit with some that had been eminent in
the late times; but made all the use he could of it to protect good
men of all persuasions. He was much for liberty of conscience: And
being disgusted with the dry systematical way of those times, he
studied to raise those who conversed with him to a nobler set of
thoughts, and to consider religion as a seed of a deiform nature, (to
use one of his own phrases.) In order to this, he set young students
much on reading the ancient Philosophers, chiefly _Plato_, _Tully_,
and _Plotin_, and on considering the Christian religion as a doctrine
sent from God, both to elevate and sweeten humane nature, in which he
was a great example, as well as a wise and kind instructer. _Cudworth_
carried this on with a great strength of genius, and a vast compass
of learning. He was a man of great conduct and prudence: Upon which
his enemies did very falsly accuse him of craft and dissimulation.
_Wilkins_ was of _Oxford_, but removed to _Cambridge_. His first
rise was in the Elector Palatine's family, when he was in _England_.
Afterwards he married _Cromwell_'s sister; but made no other use of
that alliance, but to do good offices, and to cover the University
from the sourness of _Owen_ and _Goodwin_. At _Cambridge_ he joined
with those who studied to propagate better thoughts, to take men off
from being in parties, or from narrow notions, from superstitious
conceits, and a fierceness about opinions. He was also a great
observer and a promoter of experimental philosophy, which was then
a new thing, and much looked after. He was naturally ambitious, but
was the wisest Clergy-man I ever knew. He was a lover of mankind, and
had a delight in doing good. _More_ was an open hearted, and sincere
Christian philosopher, who studied to establish men in the great
principles of religion against atheism, that was then beginning to
gain ground, chiefly by reason of the hypocrisy of some, and the
fantastical conceits of the more sincere enthusiasts.

_Hobbs_, who had long followed the Court, and passed there for a
mathematical man, tho' he really knew little that way, being disgusted
by the Court, came into _England_ in _Cromwell_'s time, and published
a very wicked book, with a very strange title, _The Leviathan_. His
main principles were, that all men acted under an absolute necessity,
in which he seemed protected by the then received doctrine of absolute
decrees. He seemed to think that the universe was God, and that souls
were material, Thought being only subtil and unperceptible motion. He
thought interest and fear were the chief principles of society: And he
put all morality in the following that which was our own private will
or advantage. He thought religion had no other foundation than the
laws of the land. And he put all the law in the will of the Prince,
or of the people: For he writ his book at first in favour of absolute
monarchy, but turned it afterwards to gratify the republican party.
These were his true principles, tho' he had disguised them, for
deceiving unwary readers. And this set of notions came to spread much.
The novelty and boldness of them set many on reading them. The impiety
of them was acceptable to men of corrupt minds, which were but too
much prepared to receive them by the extravagancies of the late times.
So this set of men at _Cambridge_ studied to assert, and examine
the principles of religion and morality on clear grounds, and in
a philosophical method. In this _More_ led the way to many that
came after him. _Worihington_ was a man of eminent piety and great
humility, and practised a most sublime way of self-denial and
devotion. All these, and those who were formed under them, studied to
examine farther into the nature of things than had been done formerly.
They declared against superstition on the one hand, and enthusiasm on
the other. They loved the constitution of the Church, and the Liturgy,
and could well live under them: But they did not think it unlawful
to live under another form. They wished that things might have been
carried with more moderation. And they continued to keep a good
correspondence with those who had differed from them in opinion,
and allowed a great freedom both in philosophy and in divinity:
From whence they were called men of Latitude. And upon this men of
narrower thoughts and fiercer tempers fastened upon them the name of
Latitudinarians. They read _Episcopius_ much. And the making out the
reasons of things being a main part of their studies, their enemies
called them Socinians. They were all very zealous against popery. And
so, they becoming soon very considerable, the Papists set themselves
against them to decry them as Atheists, Deists, or at best Socinians.
And now that the main principle of religion was struck at by _Hobbs_
and his followers, the Papists acted upon this a very strange part.
They went in so far even into the argument for Atheism, as to publish
many books, in which they affirmed, that there was no certain proofs
of the Christian religion, unless we took it from the authority of the
Church as infallible. This was such a delivering up of the cause
to them, that it raised in all good men a very high indignation at
Popery; that party shewing, that they chose to make men, who would not
turn Papists, become Atheists, rather than believe Christianity upon
any other ground than infallibility.

The most eminent of those, who were formed under those great men I
have mention'd, were _Tillotson_, _Stillingfleet_, and _Patrick_. The
first of these was a man of a clear head, and a sweet temper. He had
the brightest thoughts, and the most correct style of all our divines;
and was esteemed the best preacher of the age. He was a very prudent
man; and had such a management with it, that I never knew any
Clergy-man so universally esteemed and beloved, as he was for above
twenty years. He was eminent for his opposition to Popery. He was no
friend to persecution, and stood up much against Atheism. Nor did
any man contribute more to bring the City to love our worship, than
he did. But there was so little superstition, and so much reason
and gentleness in his way of explaining things, that malice was
long levelled at him, and in conclusion broke out fiercely on him.
_Stillingfleet_ was a man of much more learning, but of a more
reserved, and a haughtier temper. He in his youth writ an _Irenicum_
for healing our divisions, with so much learning and moderation, that
it was esteemed a masterpiece. His notion was, that the Apostles had
settled the Church in a constitution of Bishops, Priests, and Deacons,
but had made no perpetual law about it, having only taken it in,
as they did many other things, from the customs and practice of the
synagogue; from which he inferred, that certainly the constitution
was lawful since authorised by them, but not necessary, since they had
made no settled law about it. This took with many; but was cried out
upon by others as an attempt against the Church. Yet the argument was
managed with so much learning and skill, that none of either side
ever undertook to answer it. After that, he wrote against infidelity,
beyond any that had gone before him. And then he engaged to write
against Popery, which he did with such an exactness and liveliness,
that no books of controversy were so much read and valued, as his
were. He was a great man in many respects. He knew the world well,
and was esteemed a very wise man. The writing of his _Irenicum_ was a
great snare to him: For, to avoid the imputations which that brought
upon him, he not only retracted the book, but he went into the humours
of that high sort of people beyond what became him, perhaps beyond
his own sense of things. He applied himself much to the study of the
law and records, and the original of our constitution, and was a very
extraordinary man. _Patrick_ was a great preacher. He wrote much, and
well, and chiefly on the Scriptures. He was a laborious man in his
function, of great strictness of life, but a little too severe against
those who differed from him. But that was, when he thought their
doctrines struck at the fundamentals of religion. He became afterwards
more moderate. To these I shall add another divine, who, tho' of
_Oxford_, yet as he was formed by Bishop _Wilkins_, so he went into
most of their principles; but went far beyond them in learning.
_Lloyd_ was a great critick in the _Greek_ and _Latin_ authors,
but chiefly in the Scriptures; of the words and phrases of which he
carried the most perfect concordance in his memory, and had it the
readiest about him, of all men that ever I knew. He was an exact
historian, and the most punctual in chronology of all our divines.
He had read the most books, and with the best judgment, and had made
the most copious abstracts out of them, of any in this age: So that
_Wilkins_ used to say, he had the most learning in ready cash of any
he ever knew. He was so exact in every thing he set about, that he
never gave over any part of study, till he had quite mastered it. But
when that was done, he went to another subject, and did not lay out
his learning with the diligence with which he laid it in. He had many
volumes of materials upon all subjects laid together in so distinct a
method, that he could with very little labour write on any of them. He
had more life in his imagination, and a truer judgment, than may seem
consistent with such a laborious course of study. Yet, as much as he
was set on learning, he had never neglected his pastoral care. For
several years he had the greatest cure in _England_, St. _Martins_,
which he took care of with an application and diligence beyond any
about him; to whom he was an example, or rather a reproach, so few
following his example. He was a holy, humble, and patient man, ever
ready to do good when he saw a proper opportunity: Even his love of
study did not divert him from that. He did upon his promotion find
a very worthy successor in his cure, _Tenison_, who carried on and
advanced all those good methods that he had begun in the management
of that great cure. He endowed schools, set up a publick library, and
kept many Curates to assist him in his indefatigable labours among
them. He was a very learned man, and took much pains to state the
notions and practices of heathenish idolatry, and so to fasten that
charge on the Church of _Rome_. And, _Whitehall_ lying within that
parish, he stood as in the front of the battel all King _James's_
reign; and maintained, as well as managed, that dangerous post with
great courage and much judgment, and was held in very high esteem for
his whole deportment, which was ever grave and moderate. These have
been the greatest divines we have had these forty years: And may we
ever have a succession of such men to fill the room of those who have
already gone off the stage, and of those who, being now very old,
cannot hold their posts long. Of these I have writ the more fully,
because I knew them well, and have lived long in great friendship with
them; but most particularly with _Tillotson_ and _Lloyd_. And, as I
am sensible I owe a great deal of the consideration that has been had
for me to my being known to be their friend, so I have really learned
the best part of what I know from them. But I owed them much more
on the account of those excellent principles and notions, of which
they were in a particular manner communicative to me. This set of
men contributed more than can be well imagined to reform the way
of preaching; which among the divines of _England_ before them was
over-run with pedantry, a great mixture of quotations from fathers
and ancient writers, a long opening of a text with the concordance
of every word in it, and a giving all the different expositions with
the grounds of them, and the entring into some parts of controversy,
and all concluding in some, but very short, practical applications,
according to the subject or the occasion. This was both long and
heavy, when all was pye-balled, full of many sayings of different
languages. The common style of sermons was either very flat and low,
or swelled up with rhetorick to a false pitch of a wrong sublime. The
King had little or no literature, but true and good sense; and had got
a right notion of style; for he was in _France_ at a time when they
were much set on reforming their language. It soon appear'd that he
had a true taste. So this help'd to raise the value of these men,
when the King approved of the style their discourses generally ran
in; which was clear, plain, and short. They gave a short paraphrase
of their text, unless where great difficulties required a more copious
enlargement: But even then they cut off unnecessary shews of learning,
and applied themselves to the matter, in which they opened the nature
and reasons of things so fully, and with that simplicity, that their
hearers felt an instruction of another sort than had commonly been
observed before. So they became very much followed: And a set of these
men brought off the City in a great measure from the prejudices they
had formerly to the Church.



_Born 1633. Created Duke of York. Succeeded Charles II 1685. Fled to
France 1688. Died 1701._


I will digress a little to give an account of the Duke's character,
whom I knew for some years so particularly, that I can say much
upon my own knowledge. He was very brave in his youth, and so much
magnified by Monsieur _Turenne_, that, till his marriage lessened him
he really clouded the King, and pass'd for the superior genius. He was
naturally candid and sincere, and a firm friend, till affairs and his
religion wore out all his first principles and inclinations. He had
a great desire to understand affairs: And in order to that he kept
a constant journal of all that pass'd, of which he shewed me a
great deal. The Duke of _Buckingham_ gave me once a short but severe
character of the two brothers. It was the more severe, because it
was-true: The King (he said) could see things if he would, and the
Duke would see things if he could. He had no true judgment, and
was soon determined by those whom he trusted: But he was obstinate
against all other advices. He was bred with high notions of the Kingly
authority, and laid it down for a maxim, that all who opposed the King
were rebels in their hearts. He was perpetually in one amour or other,
without being very nice in his choice: Upon which the King said once,
he believed his brother had his mistresses given him by his Priests
for penance. He gave me this account of his changing his religion:
When he escaped out of the hands of the Earl of _Northumberland_, who
had the charge of his education trusted to him by the Parliament, and
had used him with great respect, all due care was taken, as soon as
he got beyond sea, to form him to a strict adherence to the Church
of _England_: Among other things much was said of the authority of
the Church, and of the tradition from the Apostles in support of
Episcopacy: So that, when he came to observe that there was more
reason to submit to the Catholick Church than to one particular
Church, and that other traditions might be taken on her word, as
well as Episcopacy was received among us, he thought the step was not
great, but that it was very reasonable to go over to the Church of
_Rome_: And Doctor _Steward_ having taught him to believe a real but
unconceivable presence of _Christ_ in the Sacrament, he thought this
went more than half way to transubstantiation. He said, that a Nun's
advice to him to pray every day, that, if he was not in the right way,
God would set him right, did make a great impression on him. But he
never told me when or where he was reconciled. He suffered me to say a
great deal to him on all these heads. I shewed the difference between
submission and obedience in matters of order and indifferent things,
and an implicite submission from the belief of infallibility. I
also shewed him the difference between a speculation of a mode of
_Christ's_ presence, when it rested in an opinion, and an adoration
founded on it: Tho' the opinion of such a presence was wrong, there
was no great harm in that alone: But the adoration of an undue object
was idolatry. He suffered me to talk much and often to him on these
heads. But I plainly saw, it made no impression: And all that he
seemed to intend by it was, to make use of me as an instrument to
soften the aversion that people began to be possessed with to him. He
was naturally eager and revengeful: And was against the taking off any
that set up in an opposition to the measures of the Court, and who by
that means grew popular in the House of Commons. He was for rougher
methods. He continued for many years dissembling his religion, and
seemed zealous for the Church of _England_: But it was chiefly on
design to hinder all propositions that tended to unite us among our
selves. He was a frugal Prince, and brought his Court into method and
magnificence: For he had 100000_l_. a year allowed him. He was made
High Admiral: And he came to understand all the concerns of the
sea very particularly. He had a very able Secretary about him, Sir
_William Coventry_; a man of great notions and eminent vertues, the
best Speaker in the House of Commons, and capable of bearing the chief
ministry, as it was once thought he was very near it. The Duke found,
all the great seamen had a deep tincture from their education: They
both hated Popery, and loved liberty: They were men of severe tempers,
and kept good discipline. But in order to the putting the fleet into
more confident hands, the Duke began a method of sending pages of
honour, and other young persons of quality, to be bred to the sea. And
these were put in command, as soon as they were capable of it, if not
sooner. This discouraged many of the old seamen, when they saw in what
a channel advancement was like to go; who upon that left the service,
and went and commanded merchantmen. By this means the vertue and
discipline of the navy is much lost. It is true, we have a breed of
many gallant men, who do distinguish themselves in action. But it is
thought, the Nation has suffered much by the vices and disorders of
those Captains, who have risen by their quality, more than by merit or



He was a Prince that seemed made for greater things, than will be
found in the course of his Life, more particularly of his Reign: He
was esteemed in the former parts of his Life, a Man of great Courage,
as he was quite thro' it a man of great application to business: He
had no vivacity of thought, invention or expression: But he had a good
judgment, where his Religion or his Education gave him not a biass,
which it did very often: He was bred with strange Notions of the
Obedience due to Princes, and came to take up as strange ones, of the
Submission due to Priests: He was naturally a man of truth, fidelity,
and justice: But his Religion was so infused in him, and he was so
managed in it by his Priests, that the Principles which Nature had
laid in him, had little power over him, when the concerns of his
Church stood in the way: He was a gentle Master, and was very easy to
all who came near him: yet he was not so apt to pardon, as one ought
to be, that is the Vicegerent of that God, who is slow to anger, and
ready to forgive: He had no personal Vices but of one sort: He was
still wandring from one Amour to another, yet he had a real sense of
Sin, and was ashamed of it: But Priests know how to engage Princes
more entirely into their interests, by making them compound for their
Sins, by a great zeal for Holy Church, as they call it. In a word, if
it had not been for his Popery, he would have been, if not a great
yet a good Prince. By what I once knew of him, and by what I saw him
afterwards carried to, I grew more confirmed in the very bad opinion,
which I was always apt to have, of the Intrigues of the Popish Clergy,
and of the Confessors of Kings: He was undone by them, and was their
Martyr, so that they ought to bear the chief load of all the errors
of his inglorious Reign, and of its fatal Catastrophe. He had the
Funeral which he himself had desired, private, and without any sort of



The History of Great Britain, Being the Life and Reign of King James
The First, Relating To what passed from his first Accesse to the
Crown, till his Death. By Arthur Wilson, Esq. London, 1653. (pp.

Arthur Wilson (1595-1652) was a gentleman-in-waiting to Robert
Devereux, third Earl of Essex, during James's reign, and was
afterwards in the service of Robert Rich, second Earl of Essex. The
_History_ was written towards the end of his life, and published the
year after his death. He was the author also of an autobiography,
_Observations of God's Providence in the Tract of my Life_ (first
printed in Francis Peck's _Desiderata Curiosa_, 1735, Lib. XII, pp.
6-34), and of three plays, _The Swisser_ (performed at Blackfriars,
1633, first printed in 1904, ed. Albert Feuillerat, from the MS.
in the British Museum), _The Corporall_ (performed, 1633, but not
extant), and _The Inconstant Lady_ (first printed in 1814, ed. Philip
Bliss, from the MS. in the Bodleian Library). The three plays were
entered in the Registers of the Stationers' Company, September 4,
1646, and September 9, 1653. But nothing he wrote appears to have been
published during his life.

Page 2, l. 24. _Peace begot Plenty_. An adaptation of the wellknown
saying which Puttenham in his _Arte of English Poesie_ (ed. Arber, p.
217) attributes to Jean de Meung. Puttenham gives it thus:

  Peace makes plentie, plentie makes pride,
  Pride breeds quarrell, and quarrell brings warre:
  Warre brings spoile, and spoile pouertie,
  Pouertie pacience, and pacience peace:
  So peace brings warre, and warre brings peace.

It is found also in Italian and Latin. Allusions to it are frequent
in the seventeenth century. Compare the beginning of Swift's _Battle
of the Books_, and see the correspondence in _The Times Literary
Supplement_, February 17-March 30, 1916.


The Court and Character of King James. Written and taken by Sir
A.W. being an eye, and eare witnesse. Qui nescit dissimulare, nescit
regnare. Published by Authority. London, MDCL.

'The Character of King James' forms a section by itself at the
conclusion of the volume, pp. 177-89. The volume was reprinted in
the following year, when there were added to it 'The Court of King
Charles' and 'Observations (instead of a Character) upon this King,
from his Childe-hood'. Both editions are carelessly printed. The
second, which corrects some of the errors of the first but introduces
others, has been used for the present text.

Weldon was clerk of the kitchen to James I and afterwards clerk of
the Green Cloth. He was knighted in 1617, and accompanied James to
Scotland in that year, but was dismissed from his place at court for
his satire on the Scots. He took the side of the parliament in the
Civil War. The dedication to Lady Elizabeth Sidley (first printed in
the second edition) states that the work 'treads too near the heeles
of truth, and these Times, to appear in publick'. According to Anthony
à Wood she had suppressed the manuscript, which was stolen from
her. Weldon had died before it was printed. The answer to it called
_Aulicus Coquinariæ_ describes it as 'Pretended to be penned by Sir
A.W. and published since his death, 1650'.

Other works of the same kind, though of inferior value, are Sir Edward
Peyton's _The Divine Catastrophe of The Kingly Family Of the House of
Stuarts_, 1652, and Francis Osborne's _Traditionall Memoyres on The
Raigne of King James_, 1658. They were printed together by Sir Walter
Scott in 1811 under the title _The Secret History of the Court of
James the First_, a collection which contains the historical material
employed in _The Fortunes of Nigel_.

Though carelessly written, and as carelessly printed, Weldon's
character of James is in parts remarkably vivid. It was reprinted by
itself in Morgan's _Pboenix Britannicus_, 1732, pp. 54-6; and it
was incorporated in the edition of Defoe's _Memoirs of a Cavalier_
published in 1792: see _The Retrospective Review_, 1821, vol. iii, pt.
ii, pp. 378-9.

There is a valuable article on Weldon's book as a whole in _The
Retrospective Review_, 1823, vol. vii, pt. I.

PAGE 4, l. 6. _before he was born_, probably an allusion to the murder
of Rizzio in Mary's presence.

l. 11. The syntax is faulty: delete 'and'?

On James's capacity for strong drinks, compare Roger Coke's _Detection
of the Court and State of England_ (1694), ed. 1719, vol. i, p. 78.

l. 27. _that foul poysoning busines_, the poisoning of Sir Thomas
Overbury, the great scandal of the reign. Robert Ker, or Carr, created
Viscount Rochester 1611 and Earl of Somerset 1613, had cast his eye
on the Countess of Essex, and, after a decree of nullity of marriage
with Essex had been procured, married her in December 1613. Overbury,
who had been Somerset's friend, opposed the projected marriage. On
a trumped up charge of disobedience to the king he was in April 1613
committed to the Tower, where he was slowly poisoned, and died in
September. Somerset and the Countess were both found guilty in 1616,
but ultimately pardoned; four of the accomplices were hanged. Weldon
deals with the scandal at some length in the main part of his work,
pp. 61 ff.

l. 30. _Mountgomery_, Philip Herbert, created Earl of Montgomery 1605,
succeeded his brother, William Herbert, as fourth Earl of Pembroke
in 1630 (see No. 7). To this 'most noble and incomparable paire
of brethren' Heminge and Condell dedicated the First Folio of
Shakespeare's plays, 1623. Montgomery's character is given by
Clarendon, _History_, ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 74-5; and, as fourth
Earl of Pembroke, vol. ii, pp. 539-41.

Page 5, l. 22. _unfortunate in the marriage of his Daughter_. James's
daughter Elizabeth married the Elector Palatine, Frederick V, in 1613.
His election as King of Bohemia led to the Thirty Years' War (1618-48)
in which James long hesitated to become involved and played at best
an ineffectual part. The opinion here expressed is explained by
an earlier passage in Weldon's book, pp. 82-4: 'In this Favourites
(Somerset's) flourishing time, came over the _Palsgrave_ to marry our
Kings daughter, which for the present, gave much content, and with the
generall applause, yet it proved a most infortunate match to him and
his Posterity, and all Christendome, for all his Alliance with so
many great Princes, which put on him aspiring thoughts, and was so
ambitious as not to content himselfe with his hereditary patrimony
of one of the greatest Princes in _Germany_; but must aspire to a
Kingdome, beleeving that his great allyance would carry him through
any enterprise, or bring him off with honour, in both which he failed;
being cast out of his own Country with shame, and he and his, ever
after, living upon the devotion of other Princes; but had his Father
in Law spent halfe the mony in Swords he did in words, for which he
was but scorned, it had kept him in his own inheritance, and saved
much Christian bloud since shed; but whiles he, being wholly addicted
to peace, spent much treasure, in sending stately Embassadours to
treat, his Enemies (which he esteemed friends) sent Armies with a
lesse charge to conquer, so that it may be concluded, that this
then thought the most happy match in Christendome, was the greatest
unhappinesse to Christendome, themselves, and posterity.'

l. 27. _Sir Robert Mansell_ (1573-1656), Vice-Admiral of England under
Charles I. Clarendon, writing of the year 1642, says that 'his courage
and integrity were unquestionable' (ed. Macray, vol. ii, p. 219).
'Argiers' or 'Argier' was the common old form of 'Algiers': cf. _The
Tempest_, I. ii. 261, 265.

Page 6, l. 2. _Cottington_, Francis Cottington (1578-1652), baronet
1623, Baron Cottington, 1631. He was Chancellor of the Exchequer from
1629 to 1642.

Page 7, l. 5. The first edition reads 'In sending Embassadours, which
were'. The printer's substitution of 'His' for 'In' and omission of
'which' do not wholly mend the syntax.

l. 10. _peace with honour_. An early instance of the phrase made
famous by Lord Beaconsfield in his speech of July 16, 1878, after the
Congress of Berlin, 'Lord Salisbury and myself have brought you back
peace, but a peace I hope with honour.' Cf. _Notes and Queries_, 1887,
Seventh Series, vol. iii, p. 96.

l. 14. _Nullum tempus, &c._, the law maxim _Nullum tempus occurrit
regi_, lapse of time does not bar the crown. The Parliament which met
in February 1624 passed 'An Act for the generall quiett of the Subject
agaynst all pretences of Concealement' (21° Jac. I, c. 2) which
declared sixty years' possession of Lands, &c., to be a good title
against the Crown.

l. 18. _his Tuesday Sermons_, likewise explained by an earlier passage
in Weldon's book, pp. 8, 9: 'the chiefe of those secrets, was that
of _Gowries_ Conspiracy, though that Nation [the Scots] gave little
credit to the Story, but would speak sleightly and despitefully of
it, and those of the wisest of that Nation; yet there was a weekly
commemoration by the Tuesday Sermon, and an anniversary Feast, as
great as it was possible, for the Kings preservation, ever on the
fifth of August.' James attempted to force the Tuesday sermon on the
University of Oxford; it was to be preached by members of each college
in rotation. See Brodrick's _Memorials of Merton College_, 1885, p.

Page 8, l. 1. _a very wise man_. Compare _The Fortunes of Nigel_,
chap. v: 'the character bestowed upon him by Sully--that he was
the wisest fool in Christendom'. Two volumes of the _Mémoires_ of
Maximilien de Béthune, Duc de Sully (1560-1641), appeared in 1638; the
others after 1650. There is much about James in the second volume, but
this description of him does not appear to be there.

ll. 10-12. _two Treasurers_, see p. 21, ll. 15-22: _three
Secretaries_, Sir Thomas Lake; Sir Robert Naunton; Sir George Calvert,
Baron Baltimore; Sir Edward Conway, Viscount Conway: _two Lord
Keepers_, Sir Francis Bacon; John Williams, Bishop of Lincoln (see
p. 18, l. 5): _two Admiralls_, Charles Howard of Effingham, Earl of
Nottingham; the Duke of Buckingham: _three Lord chief Justices_, Sir
Edward Coke; Henry Montagu, Earl of Manchester; James Ley, Earl of

Weldon's statement is true of the year 1623; he might have said
'_three_ Treasurers' and '_four_ Secretaries'.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 7-9, 18-20; _History_, Bk. I, ed. 1702, vol.
i, pp. 9-11, 26-9; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 10-13, 38-43.

This is the first of the portraits in Clarendon's great gallery, and
it is drawn with great care. Clarendon was only a youth of twenty when
Buckingham was assassinated, and he had therefore not the personal
knowledge and contact to which the later portraits owe so much of
their value. But he had throughout all his life been interested in
the remarkable career of this 'very extraordinary person'. Sir Henry
Wotton's 'Observations by Way of Parallel' on the Earl of Essex
and Buckingham had suggested to him his first character study, 'The
Difference and Disparity' between them. (It is printed after the
'Parallel' in _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, and described in the third
edition, 1672, as 'written by the Earl of Clarendon in his younger
dayes'.) His two studies offer an interesting comparison. Many of the
ideas are the same, but there is a marked difference in the precision
of drawing and the ease of style. The character here reprinted was
written when Clarendon had mastered his art.

Page 11, l. 5. See p. 4, l. 27.

Page 13, l. 25. The passage here omitted deals with Buckingham's
unsuccessful journey to Spain with Prince Charles, and with his

Page 16, l. 28. _touched upon before_, ed. Macray, vol. i, p. 38; here


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 27, 28; _History_, Bk. I, ed. 1702, vol. i,
pp. 36-8; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 56-9.

Page 18, l. 5. _the Bishopp of Lincolne_, John Williams (1582-1650),
afterwards Archbishop of York. He succeeded Bacon as Lord Keeper. He
is sketched in Wilson's _History of Great Britain_, pp. 196-7, and
Fuller's _Church-History of Britain_, 1655, Bk. XI, pp. 225-8. His
life by John Hacket, _Scrinia Reserata_, 1693, is notorious for the
'embellishments' of its style; a shorter life, based on Hacket's, was
an early work of Ambrose Philips.

l. 22. _the Earle of Portlande_, Sir Richard Weston: see No. 5.

l. 24. _Hambleton_, Clarendon's usual spelling of 'Hamilton'.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 28-32; _History_, Bk. I, ed. 1702, vol. i,
pp. 31-43; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 59-67.

Another and more favourable character of Weston is the matter of an
undated letter which Sir Henry Wotton sent to him as 'a strange New
years Gift' about 1635. 'In short, it is only an Image of your Self,
drawn by memory from such discourse as I have taken up here and
there of your Lordship, among the most intelligent and unmalignant
men; which to pourtrait before you I thought no servile office, but
ingenuous and real'. See _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, ed. 1672, pp. 333-6.

Page 21, l. 7. _the white staffe_. 'The Third _Great Officer_ of the
Crown, is the _Lord High Treasurer of England_, who receives this High
Office by delivery of a _White Staffe_ to him by the _King_, and
holds it _durante bene placito Regis_' (Edward Chamberlayne, _Angliæ
Notitia_, 1674, p. 152).

Page 23, l. 4. _L'd Brooke_, Sir Fulke Greville (1554-1628) the
friend and biographer of Sir Philip Sidney. He was Chancellor of the
Exchequer from 1614 to 1621.

Page 28, l. 18. _eclarcicement_, introduced into English about
this time, and in frequent use till the beginning of the nineteenth

l. 28. _a younge, beautifull Lady_, Frances, daughter of Esmé, third
Duke of Lennox, married to Jerome Weston, afterwards second Earl of
Portland, in 1632.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 33, 34; _History_, Bk. I, ed. 1702, vol. i,
p. 44; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 69-71.

This is one of Clarendon's most unfriendly portraits. It was seriously
edited when first printed. The whole passage about the coldness and
selfishness of Arundel's nature on p. 31, ll. 12-30, was omitted, as
likewise the allusion to his ignorance on p. 30, ll. 25-7, 'wheras in
truth he was only able to buy them, never to understande them.' Minor
alterations are the new reading 'thought no part of History _so_
considerable, _as_ what related to his own Family' p. 30, ll. 28,
29, and the omission of 'vulgar' p. 31, l. 11. The purpose of these
changes is obvious. They are extreme examples of the methods of
Clarendon's first editors. In no other character did they take so
great liberties with his text.

Arundel's great collection of ancient marbles is now in the Ashmolean
Museum in the University of Oxford. The inscriptions were presented
to the University in 1667 by Lord Henry Howard, Arundel's grandson,
afterwards sixth Duke of Norfolk, and the statues were reunited
to them in 1755 by the gift of Henrietta Countess of Pomfret. As
Clarendon's _History_ was an official publication of the University,
it is probable that the prospect of receiving the statues induced
the editors to remove or alter the passages that might be thought

As a whole this character does not show Clarendon's usual detachment.
Arundel was Earl Marshal, and Clarendon in the Short Parliament of
1640 and again at the beginning of the Long Parliament had attacked
the jurisdiction of the Earl Marshal's Court, which, as he says,
'never presumed to sit afterwards'. The account given in Clarendon's
_Life_, ed. 1759, pp. 37-9, explains much in this character. Clarendon
there says that Arundel 'did him the honour to detest and hate him
perfectly'. There was resentment on both sides. The character was
written in Clarendon's later years, but he still remembered with
feeling the days when as Mr. Edward Hyde he was at cross purposes with
this Earl of ancient lineage.

A different character of Arundel is given in the 'Short View' of his
life written by Sir Edward Walker (1612-77), Garter King of Arms and
Secretary of War to Charles I:

'He was tall of Stature, and of Shape and proportion rather goodly
than neat; his Countenance was Majestical and grave, his Visage long,
his Eyes large black and piercing; he had a hooked Nose, and some
Warts or Moles on his Cheeks; his Countenance was brown, his Hair thin
both on his Head and Beard; he was of a stately Presence and Gate, so
that any Man that saw him, though in never so ordinary Habit, could
not but conclude him to be a great Person, his Garb and Fashion
drawing more Observation than did the rich Apparel of others; so that
it was a common Saying of the late Earl of _Carlisle_, Here comes the
Earl of _Arundel_ in his plain Stuff and trunk Hose, and his Beard
in his Teeth, that looks more like a Noble Man than any of us. He
was more learned in Men and Manners than in Books, yet understood the
_Latin_ Tongue very well, and was Master of the _Italian_; besides he
was a great Favourer of learned Men, such as Sir _Robert Cotton_, Sir
_Henry Spelman_, Mr. _Camden_, Mr. _Selden_, and the like. He was a
great Master of Order and Ceremony, and knew and kept greater Distance
towards his Sovereign than any Person I ever observed, and expected
no less from his inferiours; often complaining that the too great
Affability of the King, and the _French_ Garb of the Court would
bring MAJESTY into Contempt.... He was the greatest Favourer of Arts,
especially Painting, Sculpture, Designs, Carving, Building and the
like, that this Age hath produced; his Collection of Designs being
more than of any Person living, and his Statues equal in Number, Value
and Antiquity to those in the Houses of most Princes; to gain which,
he had Persons many Years employed both in _Italy_, _Greece_, and so
generally in any part of _Europe_ where Rarities were to be had. His
Paintings likewise were numerous and of the most excellent Masters,
having more of that exquisite Painter _Hans Holben_ than are in the
World besides.... He was a Person of great and universal Civility, but
yet with that Restriction as that it forbad any to be bold or sawcy
with him; though with those whom he affected, which were Lovers of
State, Nobility and curious Arts, he was very free and conversible;
but they being but few, the Stream of the times being otherwise, he
had not many Confidents or Dependents; neither did he much affect
to have them, they being unto great Persons both burthensome and
dangerous. He was not popular at all, nor cared for it, as loving
better by a just Hand than Flattery to let the common People to know
their Distance and due Observance. Neither was he of any Faction in
Court or Council, especially not of the _French_ or Puritan.... He was
in Religion no Bigot or Puritan, and professed more to affect moral
Vertues than nice Questions and Controversies.... If he were defective
in any thing, it was that he could not bring his Mind to his Fortune;
which though great, was far too little for the Vastness of his noble

Walker's character was written before Clarendon's. It is dated
'Iselsteyne the 7th of June 1651'. It was first published in 1705 in
his _Historical Discourses upon Several Occasions_, pp. 221-3.

Page 30, l. 15. _his wife_, 'the Lady Alithea Talbot, third Daughter
and Coheir of _Gilbert Talbot_ Earl of _Shrewsbury_, Grandchild of
_George Talbot_ Earl of _Shrewsbury_ and Earl Marshal of _England_'
(Walker, _Historical Discourses_, p. 211).


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 34, 35; _History_, Bk. I, ed. 1702, vol. i,
pp. 44-6; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 71-3.

This pleasing portrait of Pembroke, one of the great patrons of
literature of James's reign, follows immediately after the unfriendly
portrait of Arundel, the art collector. Clarendon knew the value of
contrast in the arrangement of his gallery.

Pembroke is sometimes supposed to have been the patron of Shakespeare.
It cannot, however, be proved that there were any personal relations,
though the First Folio was dedicated to him and his brother, the Earl
of Montgomery, afterwards fourth Earl of Pembroke. See note, p. 4,
l. 30. He was the patron of Ben Jonson, who dedicated to him his
_Catiline_, his favourite play, and his _Epigrams_, 'the ripest of
my studies'; also of Samuel Daniel, Chapman, and William Browne. See
_Shakespeare's England_, vol. ii, pp. 202-3.

Clarendon has also given a character of the fourth Earl, 'the poor
Earl of Pembroke', _History_, ed. Macray, vol. ii, pp. 539-41.


Timber: or, Discoveries; Made Vpon Men and Matter. By Ben: Iohnson.
London, Printed M.DC.XLI. (pp. 101-2.)

This character is a remarkable testimony to the impression which
Bacon's restrained eloquence made on his contemporaries. Yet it is
little more than an exercise in free translation. Jonson has pieced
together two passages in the _Controversies_ of Marcus Seneca, and
placed the name of 'Dominus Verulanus' in the margin. The two passages
are these:

'Non est unus, quamvis præcipuus sit, imitandus: quia nunquam par
fit imitator auctori. Hæc natura est rei. Semper citra veritatem est
similitudo.' Lib. I, Præfatio (ed. Paris, 1607, p. 58).

'Oratio eius erat valens cultu, ingentibus plena sententiis. Nemo
minus passus est aliquid in actione sua otiosi esse. Nulla pars erat,
quæ non sua virtute staret. Nihil, in quo auditor sine damno aliud
ageret. Omnia intenta aliquo, petentia. Nemo magis in sua potestate
habuit audientium affectus. Verum est quod de illo dicit Gallio
noster. Cum diceret, rerum potiebatur, adeo omnes imperata faciebant.
Cum ille voluerat, irascebantur. Nemo non illo dicente timebat, ne
desineret.' Epit. Declamat. Lib. III (p. 231).

From the continuation of the first passage Jonson took the words
'insolent Greece' ('insolenti Græciæ') in his verses 'To the memory of

Jonson has left a more vivid picture of Bacon as a speaker in a short
sentence of his Conversations with Drummond of Hawthornden: 'My Lord
Chancelor of England wringeth his speeches from the strings of his


Reign of King James the First, 1653, pp. 158-60.

Page 36, l. 18. _which the King hinted at_, in the King's Speech to
the Lords, 1621: 'But because the World at this time talks so much of
_Bribes_, I have just cause to fear the whole _Body_ of this _House_
hath _bribed_ him [Prince Charles] to be a good _Instrument_ for you
upon all occasions: He doth so good Offices in all his _Reports_
to me, both for the _House_ in _generall_, and every one of you
in _particular_.' The speech is given in full by Wilson before the
passage on Bacon.

Page 37, l. 25. The passage here omitted is 'The humble Submission and
Supplication of the Lord Chancellour'.

Page 38, l. 10. _a good Passeover_, a good passage back to Spain.
Gondomar was Spanish ambassador.


The Church-History of Britain; From the Birth of Jesus Christ, Untill
the Year M.DC.XLVIII. Endeavoured By Thomas Fuller. London, 1655. (Bk.
x, p. 89.)


Resuscitatio, Or, Bringing into Publick Light Severall Pieces, of
the Works, Civil, Historical, Philosophical, & Theological, Hitherto
Sleeping; Of the Right Honourable Francis Bacon Baron of Verulam,
Viscount Saint Alban. According to the best Corrected Coppies.
Together, With his Lordships Life. By William Rawley, Doctor in
Divinity, His Lordships First, and Last, Chapleine. Afterwards,
Chapleine, to His late Maiesty. London, 1657.

'The Life of the Honourable Author' serves as introduction to this
volume of Bacon's literary remains. It runs to fourteen pages,
unnumbered. The passage quoted from this life (_c1v-c2v_) is of the
nature of a character.

Rawley's work is disfigured by pedantically heavy punctuation. He
carried to absurd excess the methods which his Master adopted in the
1625 edition of his _Essays_. It has not been thought necessary to
retain all his commas.

Page 41, l. 4. _Et quod tentabam_, &c. Ovid, _Tristia_, IV. x. 26.


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 48; _Life_, ed. 1759, p. 16.

Page 42, l. 23. _M'r Cowly_, an indication of Cowley's fame among his
contemporaries. This was written in 1668, after the publication of
_Paradise Lost_, but Clarendon ignores Milton.

l. 25. _to own much of his_, 'to ascribe much of this' _Life_ 1759.

Page 43, l. 2. _M'r Hyde_, Clarendon himself.


A New Volume of Familiar Letters, Partly Philosophicall, Politicall,
Historicall. The second Edition, with Additions. By James Howell, Esq.
London, 1650. (Letter XIII, pp. 25-6.)

This is the second volume of _Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ_, first published
1645 (vol. 1) and 1647 (vol. 2). The text is here printed from the
copy of the second edition which Howell presented to Selden with an
autograph dedication: 'Ex dono Authoris ... Opusculum hoc honoris ergô
mittitur, Archiuis suis reponendum. 3° non: Maij 1652.' The volume now
reposes in the Selden collection in the Bodleian library. The second
edition of this letter differs from the first in the insertion of the
bracketed words, ll. 22, 23, and the date.

The authenticity of the letters as a whole is discussed in Joseph
Jacob's edition, 1890, pp. lxxi ff. This was probably not a real
letter written to his correspondent at the given date. But whenever,
and in whatever circumstances, Howell wrote it, the value of the
picture it gives us of Ben Jonson is not impaired.

PAGE 43, l. 9. _Sir Tho. Hawk_. Sir Thomas Hawkins, translator of
Horace's _Odes and Epodes_, 1625; hence 'your' Horace, p. 44, l. 4.

l. 17. _T. Ca._ Thomas Carew, the poet, one of the 'Tribe of Ben'.

PAGE 44, l. 6. _Iamque opus_, Ovid, _Metam._ xv. 871; cf. p. 202,
l. 13. l. 8. _Exegi monumentum_, Horace, _Od._ iii. 30. i. l. 10. _O
fortunatam_, preserved in Quintilian, _Inst. Orat._ ix. 4. 41 and xi.
I. 24, and in Juvenal, _Sat._ x. 122.


This remarkable portrait of a country gentleman of the old school
is from the 'Fragment of Autobiography', written by the first Earl
of Shaftesbury (see Nos. 68, 69) towards the end of his life. The
manuscript is among the Shaftesbury papers in the Public Record
Office, but at present (1918) has been temporarily withdrawn for
greater safety, and is not available for reference. The text is
therefore taken from the modernized version in W.D. Christie's
_Memoirs of Shaftesbury_, 1859, pp. 22-5, and _Life of Shaftesbury_,
1871, vol. i, appendix i, pp. xv-xvii.

The character was published in Leonard Howard's _Collection of
Letters, from the Original Manuscripts_, 1753, pp. 152-5, and was
reprinted in _The Gentleman's Magazine_ for April 1754, pp. 160-1, and
again in _The Connoisseur_, No. 81, August 14, 1755. _The Gentleman's
Magazine_ (1754, p. 215) is responsible for the error that it is to be
found in Peck's _Desiderata Curiosa_.

Hastings was Shaftesbury's neighbour in Dorsetshire. A full-length
portrait of him in his old age, clad in green cloth and holding
a pike-staff in his right hand, is at St. Giles, the seat of the
Shaftesbury family. It is reproduced in Hutchins's _History of
Dorset_, ed. 1868, vol. iii, p. 152.

PAGE 44, ll. 24-26. He was the second son of George fourth Earl of
Huntingdon. Shaftesbury is describing his early associates after his
marriage in 1639: 'The eastern part of Dorsetshire had a bowling-green
at Hanley, where the gentlemen went constantly once a week, though
neither the green nor accommodation was inviting, yet it was well
placed for to continue the correspondence of the gentry of those
parts. Thither resorted Mr. Hastings of Woodland,' &c.

Page 47, l. 12. '_my part lies therein-a_.' As was pointed out by E.F.
Rimbault in _Notes and Queries_, 1859, Second Series, vol. vii, p.
323, this is part of an old catch printed with the music in _Pammelia.
Musicks Miscellanie. Or, Mixed Varietie of Pleasant Roundelayes, and
delightfull Catches_, 1609:

  There lies a pudding in the fire,
    and my parte lies therein a:
  whome should I call in,
    O thy good fellowes and mine a.

_Pammelia_, 'the earliest collection of rounds, catches, and canons
printed in England', was brought out by Thomas Ravenscroft. Another
edition appeared in 1618.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 383-4; _History_, Bk. XI, ed. 1704, vol. iii,
pp. 197-9; ed. Macray, vol. iv, pp. 488-92.

The sense of Fate overhangs the portrait in which Clarendon paints for
posterity the private virtues of his unhappy master. The easy dignity
of the style adapts itself to the grave subject. This is one of
Clarendon's greatest passages. It was written twenty years after
Charles's death, but Time had not dulled his feelings. 'But ther shall
be only incerted the shorte character of his person, as it was found
in the papers of that person whose life is heare described, who was so
nerely trusted by him, and who had the greatest love for his person,
and the greatest reverence for his memory, that any faythfull servant
could exspresse.' So he wrote at first in the account of his own life.
On transferring the passage to the _History_ he substituted the more
impersonal sentence (p. 48, l. 27--p. 49, l. 5) which the general
character of the _History_ demanded.

Page 48, l. 15. _our blessed Savyour_. Compare 'The Martyrdom of King
Charls I. or His Conformity with Christ in his Sufferings. In a Sermon
preached at Bredah, Before his Sacred Majesty King Charls The Second,
And the Princess of Orange. By the Bishop of Downe. Printed at the
Hage 1649, and reprinted at London ... 1660'. Clarendon probably heard
this sermon.

l. 21. _have bene so much_, substituted in MS. for 'fitt to be more'.

_treatises_. E.g. _Elenchus Motuum Nuperorum in Anglia_ (part 1),
1649, by George Bate or Bates, principal physician to Charles I and
II; _England's black Tribunall. Set forth in the Triall of K. Charles
I_, 1660; and the sermon mentioned above.

Page 51, l. 20. _educated by that people_. His tutor was Sir Peter
Young (1544-1628), the tutor of James. Patrick Young (1584-1652), Sir
Peter's son, was Royal Librarian.

l. 26. _Hambleton_. Cf. p. 18, l. 24.


Mémoires Of the reigne of King Charles I. With a Continuation to the
Happy Restauration of King Charles II. By Sir Philip Warwick, Knight.
Published from the Original Manuscript. With An Alphabetical Table.
London, 1701. (pp. 64-75.)

Warwick (1609-83) was Secretary to Charles in 1647-8. 'When I think
of dying', he wrote, adapting a saying of Cicero, 'it is one of my
comforts, that when I part from the dunghill of this world, I shall
meet King Charles, and all those faithfull spirits, that had virtue
enough to be true to him, the Church, and the Laws unto the last.'
(_Mémoires_, p. 331.) Passages in the _Mémoires_ show that they were
begun after the summer of 1676 (p. 37), and completed shortly after
May 18, 1677 (p. 403).

Page 55, l. 13. _Sir Henry Vane_, the elder.

l. 14. _dyet_, allowance for expenses of living.

Page 56, l. 26. [Greek: Eikon Basilikae]. _The Pourtraicture of His
Sacred Maiesty in his Solitudes and Sufferings_ was published in
February 1649. Charles's authorship was at once doubted in Milton's
Pourtraicture of Truths most sacred Majesty truly suffering, though
not solely_, and supported in [Greek: EIKON AKLASTOS], in [Greek:
EIKON AE PISTAE], and in _The Princely Pellican_, all published
in 1649. The weight of evidence is now strongly in favour of
the authorship of John Gauden (1605-62), bishop of Exeter at
the Restoration. Gauden said in 1661 that he had written it, and
examination of his claims is generally admitted to have confirmed
them. See H.J. Todd's _Letter concerning the Author_, 1825, and
_Gauden the Author, further shewn_, 1829; and C.E. Doble's four
letters in _The Academy_, May 12-June 30, 1883.

Carlyle had no doubt that Charles was not the author. 'My reading
progresses with or without fixed hope. I struggled through the
"Eikon Basilike" yesterday; one of the paltriest pieces of vapid,
shovel-hatted, clear-starched, immaculate falsity and cant I have ever
read. It is to me an amazement how any mortal could ever have taken
that for a genuine book of King Charles's. Nothing but a surpliced
Pharisee, sitting at his ease afar off, could have got up such a set
of meditations. It got Parson Gauden a bishopric.'--Letter of November
26, 1840 (Froude's _Thomas Carlyle_, 1884, vol. i, p. 199).

Page 57, l. 4. Thomas Herbert (1606-82), made a baronet in 1660.
Appointed by Parliament in 1647 to attend the King, he was latterly
his sole attendant, and accompanied him with Juxon to the scaffold.
His _Threnodia Carolina_, reminiscences of Charles's captivity, was
published in 1702 under the title, _Memoirs of the Two last Years of
the Reign of that unparalleled Prince, of ever Blessed Memory, King
Charles I_. It was 'printed for the first time from the original MS.'
(now in private possession), but in modernized spelling, in Allan
Fea's _Memoirs of the Martyr King_, 1905, pp. 74-153.

l. 10. Gilbert Burnet (1643-1715), bishop of Salisbury, 1689, the
historian whose characters are given in the later part of this volume.
His _Mémoires of the Lives and Actions of James and William Dukes of
Hamilton_, 1677, his first historical work, appeared while Warwick was
writing his _Mémoires of Charles_. It attracted great attention, as
its account of recent events was furnished with authentic documents.
'It was the first political biography of the modern type, combining
a narrative of a man's life with a selection from his letters' (C.H.
Firth, introduction to Clarke and Foxcroft's _Life of Burnet_, 1907,
p. xiii).

l. 15. _affliction gives understanding_. Compare Proverbs 29. 15,
and Ecclesiasticus 4. 17 and 34. 9; the exact words are not in the
Authorised Version.

l. 30. Robert Sanderson (1587-1663), Regius Professor of Divinity at
Oxford, 1642, Bishop of Lincoln, 1660. Izaak Walton wrote his _Life_,

Page 58, l. 20. Sir Dudley Carleton (1573-1632), created Baron
Carleton, 1626, and Viscount Dorchester, 1628; Secretary of State,

l. 21. Lord Falkland, see pp. 71-97; Secretary of State, 1642.

Page 59, ll. 11-13. Plutarch, Life of Alexander the Great; opening
sentences, roughly paraphrased.

Page 60, l. 20. _Venient Romani_, St. John, xi. 48. See _The
Archbishop of Canterbury's Speech or His Funerall Sermon, Preacht by
himself on the Scaffold on Tower-Hill, on Friday the 10. of Ianuary,
1644. London_, 1644, p. 10: 'I but perhaps a great clamour there is,
that I would have brought in Popery, I shall answer that more fully
by and by, in the meane time, you know what the Pharisees said against
Christ himself, in the eleventh of _Iohn_, _If we let him alone,
all men will beleeve on him_, Et venient Romani, _and the Romanes
will come and take away both our place and the Nation_. Here was a
causelesse cry against Christ that the Romans would come, and see how
just the Iudgement of God was, they crucified Christ for feare least
the Romans should come, and his death was that that brought in the
Romans upon them, God punishing them with that which they most feared:
and I pray God this clamour of _veniunt Romani_, (of which I have
given to my knowledge no just cause) helpe not to bring him in; for
the Pope never had such a Harvest in England since the Reformation, as
he hath now upon the Sects and divisions that are amongst us.'

ll. 22-30. Hugo Grotius (1583-1645) brought out his _De Jure Belli ac
Pacis Libri Tres_ at Paris in 1625. Towards the end of the dedication
to Louis XIII Grotius says: 'Pertæsos discordiarum animos excitat in
hanc spem recens contracta inter te & sapientissimum pacisque illius
sanctæ amantissimum Magnæ Britanniæ Regem amicitia & auspicatissimo
Sororis tuæ matrimonio federata.'


Clarendon, MS. History, p. 59; _History_, Bk. III, ed. 1702, vol. i,
pp. 203-4; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 340-2.

Page 62, l. 23. Thomas Savile (1590-1658), created Viscount Savile,
1628, Privy Councillor, 1640, Controller and then Treasurer of the
Household. 'He was', says Clarendon, 'a man of an ambitious and
restless nature, of parts and wit enough, but in his disposition and
inclination so false that he could never be believed or depended upon.
His particular malice to the earl of Strafford, which he had sucked in
with his milk, (there having always been an immortal feud between the
families, and the earl had shrewdly overborne his father), had engaged
him with all persons who were willing, and like to be able, to do him
mischieve' (_History_, Bk. VI, ed. Macray, vol. ii, p. 534).

Page 63, l. 25. _S'r Harry Vane_. See p. 152, ll. 9 ff.

l. 26. _Plutarch recordes_, Life of Sylla, last sentence.


Mémoires of the reigne of King Charles I, 1701, pp. 109-13.

Page 65, l. 21. Warwick was member for Radnor in the Long Parliament
from 1640 to 1644. The Bill of Attainder passed the Commons on April
21, 1641, by 204 votes to 59 (Clarendon, ed. Macray, vol. i, p. 306;
Rushworth, _Historical Collections_, third part, vol. i, 1692, p.
225). The names of the minority were posted up at Westminster, under
the heading 'These are Straffordians, Betrayers of their Country'
(Rushworth, _id._, pp. 248-9). There are 56 names, and 'Mr. Warwick'
is one of them.


Clarendon, MS. History, p. 398; _History_, Bk. VI, ed. 1703, vol. ii,
pp. 115-6; ed. Macray, vol. ii, pp. 477-8.

Page 68, l. 5. _Et velut æquali_. The source of this quotation is not
yet found.

l. 15. _the Standard was sett up_, at Nottingham, on August 22, 1642.

l. 17. Robert Greville (1608-43), second Baron Brooke, cousin of Sir
Fulke Greville, first Baron (p. 23, l. 4). See Clarendon, ed. Macray,
vol. ii, pp. 474-5.

l. 27. _all his Children_. Compare Warwick's account of 'that most
noble and stout Lord, the Earle of Northampton', _Mémoires_, pp.
255-7: 'This may be said of him, that he faithfully served his Master,
living and dead; for he left six eminent sons, who were all heirs
of his courage, loyalty, and virtue; whereof the eldest was not then


Clarendon, MS. History, pp. 477-8; _History_, Bk. VII, ed. 1703, vol.
ii, pp. 269-70; ed. Macray, vol. iii, pp. 177-8.

Carnarvon's character has much in common with Northampton's. Though
separated in the _History_, they are here placed together as companion
portraits of two young Royalist leaders who fell early in the Civil

Page 70, l. 21. Dorchester and Weymouth surrendered to Carnarvon on
August 2 and 5, 1643. They were granted fair conditions, but on the
arrival of the army of Prince Maurice care was not taken 'to observe
those articles which had been made upon the surrender of the towns;
which the earl of Carnarvon (who was full of honour and justice upon
all contracts) took so ill that he quitted the command he had with
those forces, and returned to the King before Gloster' (Clarendon,
vol. iii, p. 158).


Clarendon, MS. History, pp. 478-81; _History_, Bk. VII, ed. 1703, vol.
ii, pp. 270-7; ed. Macray, vol. iii, pp. 178-90.

Clarendon wrote two characters of Falkland, the one in 1647 in the
'History' and the other in 1668 in the 'Life'. Both are long, and both
are distinguished by sustained favour of affection and admiration as
well as by wealth of detail. He was aware that the earlier character
was out of scale in a history, but he would not condense it. He even
thought of working it up into a book by itself, wherein he would
follow the example of Tacitus who wrote the _Agricola_ before the
_Annals_ and _Histories_. He corresponded about it with John Earle
(see No. 50). From two of the letters the following extracts are

'I would desire you (at your leisure) to send me that discourse
of your own which you read to me at Dartmouth in the end of your
contemplations upon the Proverbs, in memory of my Lord Falkland; of
whom in its place I intend to speak largely, conceiving it to be so
far from an indecorum, that the preservation of the fame and merit of
persons, and deriving the same to posterity, is no less the business
of history, than the truth of things. And if you are not of another
opinion, you cannot in justice deny me this assistance' (March 16,
1646-7: _State Papers_, 1773, vol. ii, p. 350).

'I told you long since, that when I came to speak of that unhappy
battle of Newbury, I would enlarge upon the memory of our dear friend
that perished there; to which I conceive myself obliged, not more by
the rights of friendship, than of history, which ought to transmit the
virtue of excellent persons to posterity; and therefore I am careful
to do justice to every man who hath fallen in the quarrel, on which
side soever, as you will find by what I have said of Mr. Hambden
himself. I am now past that point; and being quickened your most
elegant and political commemoration of him, and from hints there,
thinking it necessary to say somewhat for his vindication in such
particulars as may possibly have made impression in good men, it may
be I have insisted longer upon the argument than may be agreeable to
the rules to be observed in such a work; though it be not much longer
than Livy is in recollecting the virtues of one of the Scipios after
his death. I wish it were with you, that you might read it; for if
you thought it unproportionable for the place where it is, I could
be willingly diverted to make it a piece by itself, and inlarge it
into the whole size of his life; and that way it would be sooner
communicated to the world. And you know Tacitus published the life
of Julius Agricola, before either of his annals or his history. I
am contented you should laugh at me for a fop in talking of Livy or
Tacitus; when all I can hope for is to side Hollingshead, and Stow, or
(because he is a poor Knight too, and worse than either of them) Sir
Richard Baker' (December 14, 1647, _id._ p. 386).

Page 71, l. 22. _Turpe mori_. Lucan, ix. 108.

l. 26. His mother's father, Sir Lawrence Tanfield, Chief Baron of the
Exchequer. He died in May 1625. See p. 87, ll. 21 ff.

Page 72, l. 3. _His education_. See p. 87, ll. 6-13. His father, Henry
Carey, first Viscount, was Lord Deputy of Ireland from 1622 to 1629,
when he was recalled. He died in 1633.

l. 30. _his owne house_, at Great Tew, 16 miles NW. of Oxford;
inherited from Sir Lawrence Tanfield. The house was demolished in
1790, but the gardens remain.

PAGE 74, l. 14. _two large discources_. See p. 94, ll. 10-15.
Falkland's _Of the Infallibilitie of the Church of Rome ... Now
first published from a Copy of his owne hand_ had appeared at Oxford
in 1645, two years before Clarendon wrote this passage. It is a
short pamphlet of eighteen quarto pages. It had been circulated in
manuscript during his lifetime, and he had written a _Reply_ to an
_Answer_ to it. The second 'large discource' may be this _Reply_. Or
it may be his _Answer to a Letter of Mr. Mountague, justifying his
change of Religion, being dispersed in many Copies_. Both of these
were first published, along with the _Infallibilitie_, in 1651, under
the editorship of Dr. Thomas Triplet, tutor of the third Viscount,
to whom the volume is dedicated. The dedication is in effect a
character of Falkland, and dwells in particular on his great virtue
of friendship. A passage in it recalls Clarendon. 'And your blessed
Mother', says Triplet, 'were she now alive, would say, she had the
best of Friends before the best of Husbands. This was it that made
_Tew_ so valued a Mansion to us: For as when we went from _Oxford_
thither, we found our selves never out of the Universitie: So we
thought our selves never absent from our own beloved home'.

l. 25. He was Member for Newport in the Isle of Wight in The Short
Parliament, and again in The Long Parliament.

Page 75, l. 5. His father was Controller of the Household before his
appointment as Lord Deputy of Ireland. Cf. p. 91, ll. 3, 4.

l. 18. _L'd Finch_, Sir John Finch (1584-1660), Speaker, Chief Justice
of the Common Pleas, and Lord Keeper, created Baron Finch, 1640. He
was impeached in 1640 and fled to Holland. 'The Lord Falkland took
notice of the business of ship-money, and very sharply mentioned the
lord Finch as the principal promoter of it, and that, being then
a sworn judge of the law, he had not only given his own judgement
against law, but been the solicitor to corrupt all the other judges to
concur with him in their opinion; and concluded that no man ought to
be more severely prosecuted than he' (Clarendon, vol. i, p. 230).

Page 77, l. 26. _haud semper_, Tacitus, _Agricola_, ix.

Page 78, l. 17. _in republica Platonis_, Cicero, _Epis. ad Atticum_,
ii. 1.

l. 20. _it_, i.e. his avoiding them.

l. 30. Sir Harry Vane, the elder, was dismissed from the Secretaryship
of State in November 1641. In an earlier section of the _History_
(vol. i, p. 458) Clarendon claims responsibility for Falkland's
acceptance of the Secretaryship: 'It was a very difficult task to
Mr. Hyde, who had most credit with him, to persuade him to submit to
this purpose of the King cheerfully, and with a just sense of the
obligation, by promising that in those parts of the office which
required most drudgery he would help him the best he could, and would
quickly inform him of all the necessary forms. But, above all, he
prevailed with him by enforcing the ill consequence of his refusal',

Page 80, l. 19. _in tanto viro_, Tacitus, _Agricola_, ix.

l. 20. _Some sharpe expressions_. See the quotation by Fuller, p.
105, ll. 14, 15. Clarendon refers to Falkland's speech 'Concerning
Episcopacy' in the debate on the bill for depriving the bishops of
their votes, introduced on March 30, 1641: 'The truth is, Master
Speaker, that as some ill Ministers in our state first tooke
away our mony from us, and after indeavoured to make our mony
not worth the taking, by turning it into brasse by a kind of
_Antiphilosophers-stone_: so these men used us in the point of
preaching, first depressing it to their power, and next labouring
to make it such, as the harme had not beene much if it had beene
depressed, the most frequent subjects even in the most sacred
auditories, being the _Jus divinum_ of Bishops and tithes, the
sacrednesse of the clergie, the sacriledge of impropriations,
the demolishing of puritanisme and propriety, the building of the
prerogative at _Pauls_, the introduction of such doctrines, as,
admitting them true, the truth would not recompence the scandall; or
of such as were so far false, that, as Sir _Thomas More_ sayes of the
Casuists, their businesse was not to keepe men from sinning, but to
enforme them _Quam prope ad peccatum sine peccato liceat accedere_:
so it seemed their worke was to try how much of a Papist might bee
brought in without Popery, and to destroy as much as they could of the
Gospell, without bringing themselves into danger of being destroyed by
the Law.'--_Speeches and Passages of This Great and Happy Parliament:
From the third of November, 1640 to this instant June, 1641_, p. 190.
The speech is reprinted in Lady Theresa Lewis's _Lives of the Friends
of Clarendon_, 1852, vol. i, pp. 53-62.

Page 82, ll. 23-6. See p. 90, ll. 6-13.

Page 83, l. 2. Falkland's participation in 'the Northern Expedition
against the Scots', 1639, was the subject of a eulogistic poem by

  Great is thy _Charge_, O _North_; be wise and just,
  _England_ commits her _Falkland_ to thy trust;
  Return him safe: _Learning_ would rather choose
  Her _Bodley_, or her _Vatican_ to loose.
  All things that are but _writ_ or _printed_ there,
  In his unbounded Breast _engraven_ are, &c.

It was the occasion also of Waller's 'To my Lord of Falkland'.

l. 14. _et in luctu_, Tacitus, _Agricola_, xxix.

l. 15. _the furious resolution_, passed on November 24, 1642, after
the battle at Brentford: see Clarendon, vol. ii, pp. 395-9.

Page 84, l. 9. _adversus malos_, Tacitus, _Agricola_, xxii.

ll. 11-28. The date of this incident is uncertain. Professor Firth
believes it to have happened when the House resolved that Colonel
Goring 'deserved very well of the Commonwealth, and of this House',
for his discovery of the army plot, June 9, 1641 (_Journals of the
House of Commons_, vol. ii, p. 172).

Page 85, l. 18. _the leaguer before Gloster_. The siege of Gloucester
was raised by the Earl of Essex on September 8, 1643. Clarendon
had described it (vol. iii, pp. 167 ff.) just before he came to the
account of Falkland.

Page 86, l. 1. _the battell_, i.e. of Newbury, September 20, 1643. How
Falkland met his death is told in Byron's narrative of the fight: 'My
Lord of Falkland did me the honour to ride in my troop this day, and I
would needs go along with him, the enemy had beat our foot out of the
close, and was drawne up near the hedge; I went to view, and as I was
giving orders for making the gap wide enough, my horse was shott in
the throat with a musket bullet and his bit broken in his mouth so
that I was forced to call for another horse, in the meanwhile my Lord
Falkland (more gallantly than advisedly) spurred his horse through the
gapp, where both he and his horse were immediately killed.' See Walter
Money, _The Battles of Newbury_, 1884, p. 52; also p. 93.

A passage in Whitelocke's _Memorials_, ed. 1682, p. 70, shows that
he had a presentiment of his death: 'The Lord _Falkland_, Secretary
of State, in the morning of the fight, called for a clean shirt, and
being asked the reason of it, answered, _that if he were slain in the
Battle, they should not find, his body in foul Linnen_. Being diswaded
by his friends to goe into the fight, as having no call to it, and
being no Military Officer, he said _he was weary of the times, and
foresaw much misery to his own Countrey, and did beleive be should be
out of it ere night_, and could not be perswaded to the contrary, but
would enter into the battle, and was there slain.'


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 51-4; _Life_, ed. 1759, pp. 19-23.

This is Falkland in his younger days, amid the hospitable pleasures of
Tew, before he was overwhelmed in politics and war.

Page 86, l. 20. _he_, i.e. Clarendon.

Page 88, l. 2. _the two most pleasant places_, Great Tew (see p. 72,
l. 30) and Burford, where Falkland was born. He sold Burford in 1634
to William Lenthall, the Speaker of the Long Parliament: see p. 91, l.

Page 89, l. 2. He married Lettice, daughter of Sir Richard Morrison
of Tooley Park, Leicestershire. His friendship with her brother Henry
is celebrated in an ode by Ben Jonson, 'To the immortall memorie, and
friendship of that noble paire, Sir Lucius Cary, and Sir H. Morison'
(_Under-woods_, 1640, p. 232).

Page 91, ll. 17-20. So in the MS. The syntax is confused, but the
sense is clear.

Page 92, ll. 21, 22. Gilbert Sheldon (1598-1677), Archbishop of
Canterbury, 1663; Chancellor of the University of Oxford, and builder
of the Sheldonian Theatre there.

George Morley (1597-1684), Bishop of Worcester, 1660.

Henry Hammond (1605-60), chaplain to Charles I.

Clarendon has given short characters of Sheldon and Morley in his
_Life_. For his characters of Earle and Chillingworth, see Nos. 50 and

Page 94, l. 11. See note p. 74, l. 14.

Page 95, l. 3. Cf. p. 78, l. 17.

l. 17. It is notable that Clarendon nowhere suggests that Falkland was
also a poet. Cowley gives his verses the highest praise in his address
to him on the Northern Expedition (see p. 83, l. 2, note); and they
won him a place in Suckling's _Sessions of the Poets_:

  He was of late so gone with Divinity
  That he had almost forgot his Poetry,
  Though to say the truth (and _Apollo_ did know it)
  He might have been both his Priest and his Poet.

His poems were collected and edited by A.B. Grosart in 1871.


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 55; _Life_, ed. 1759, p. 24.

This very pleasing portrait of Godolphin serves as a pendant to the
longer and more elaborate description of his friend. Clarendon wrote
also a shorter character of him in the _History_ (vol. ii, pp. 457-8).

Page 96, l. 2. _so very small a body_. He is the 'little Cid' (i.e.
Sidney) of Suckling's _Sessions of the Poets_.

PAGE 97, l. 1. He was member for Helston from 1628 to 1643.

l. 6. In the character in the _History_ Clarendon says that he left
'the ignominy of his death upon a place which could never otherwise
have had a mention to the world'. The place was Chagford.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 69-70; _History_, Bk. I, ed. 1702, vol. i,
pp. 69-73; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 119-25.

The three characters of Laud here given supplement each other. They
convey the same idea of the man.

Page 97, l. 20. George Abbott (1562-1633), Archbishop of Canterbury,
1611. In the preceding paragraph Clarendon had written an unfavourable
character of him. He 'considered Christian religion no otherwise than
as it abhorred and reviled Popery, and valued those men most who did
that most furiously': 'if men prudently forbore a public reviling
and railing at the hierarchy and ecclesiastical government, let their
opinions and private practice be what it would, they were not only
secure from any inquisition of his, but acceptable to him, and at
least equally preferred by him': his house was 'a sanctuary to the
most eminent of that factious party'. Cf. p. 100, ll. 21-7.

Page 101, l. 2. In the omitted portion Clarendon dealt with the
'Arminianism', as it was then understood in England: 'most of the
popular preachers, who had not looked into the ancient learning, took
Calvin's word for it, and did all they could to propagate his opinions
in those points: they who had studied more, and were better versed
in the antiquities of the Church, the Fathers, the Councils, and the
ecclesiastical histories, with the same heat and passion in preaching
and writing, defended the contrary. But because in the late dispute in
the Dutch churches, those opinions were supported by Jacobus Arminius,
the divinity professor in the university of Leyden in Holland, the
latter men we mentioned were called Arminians, though many of them
had never read a word written by Arminius'. Arminius (the name is the
Latinized form of Harmens or Hermans) died in 1609.


The Church-History of Britain, 1648, Bk. XI, pp. 217-9.

Page 104, l. 15. Canterbury College was founded at Oxford in 1363 by
Simon Islip, Archbishop of Canterbury. It was incorporated in Christ
Church, Wolsey's foundation, and so 'lost its name'; but the name
survives in the Canterbury quadrangle.

Page 105, l. 13. _Lord F._, i.e. Lord Falkland: see p. 80, l. 20 note.


Mémoires of the reigne of King Charles I, 1701, pp. 78-82, 89-93.

Page 107, l. 27. _cleansed it by fire_. Perhaps a reminiscence of
Dryden's _Annus Mirabilis_, 1667, stanza 276:

  The daring Flames peep't in, and saw from far
    The awful Beauties of the Sacred Quire:
  But since it was prophan'd by Civil War,
    Heav'n thought it fit to have it purg'd by fire.

l. 29. _too too_, so in the original; perhaps but not certainly a


Mémoires, 1701, pp. 93-6.

Page 112, l. 9. _Lord Portland_, Sir Richard Weston: see No. 5.

l. 13. _white staff_, see p. 21, l. 7 note.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 152-3; _History_, Bk. IV, ed. 1702, vol. i,
pp. 332-3; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 563-5.

This is the first of three characters of Hertford in Clarendon's
_History_. The others, in Bk. VI (MS. Life) ed. Macray, ii. 528, and
Bk. VII (MS. History) iii. 128, are supplementary.

Page 114, l. 10. _disobligations_, on account of his secret marriage
with James's cousin, Arabella Stuart, daughter of Charles Stuart, Earl
of Lennox, brother of the Earl of Darnley. She died a prisoner in the
Tower; he escaped to France, but after her death was allowed to return
to England in 1616. He succeeded his grandfather as Earl of Hertford
in 1621. He lived in retirement from the dissolution of Parliament in
March 1629 to 1640, when he was made a Privy Councillor.

Page 115, l. 5. He was appointed Governor to the Prince of Wales in
May 1641, in succession to the Earl of Newcastle. He was then in his
fifty-third year. In the following month he was made a Marquis. See
his life in Lady Theresa Lewis's _Lives of the Friends of Clarendon_,
vol. ii, pp. 436-42.

Page 116, l. 2. _attacque_, an unexpected form of 'attach' at this
time, and perhaps a slip, but 'attack' and 'attach' are ultimately the
same word; cf. Italian _attaccare_. The _New English Dictionary_ gives
an instance in 1666 of 'attach' in the sense of 'attack'.


Clarendon, MS. History, Transcript, vol. iv, pp. 440-2; _History_, Bk.
VIII, ed. 1703, vol. ii, pp. 391-3; ed. Macray, vol. iii, pp. 380-3.

The original manuscript of much of Book VIII is lost. The text is
taken from the transcript that was made for the printers.

This is the portrait of a great English nobleman whose tastes
lay in music and poetry and the arts of peace, but was forced by
circumstances into the leadership of the Royalist army in the North.
He showed little military talent, though he was far from devoid
of personal courage; and he escaped from the conflict, weary and
despondent, when other men were content to carry on the unequal
struggle. He modelled himself on the heroes of Romance. The part he
tried to play could not be adjusted to the rude events of the civil

His romantic cast of mind is shown in his challenge to Lord Fairfax to
follow 'the Examples of our Heroick Ancestors, who used not to spend
their time in scratching one another out of holes, but in pitched
Fields determined their Doubts'. Fairfax replied by expressing his
readiness to fight but refusing to follow 'the Rules of _Amadis
de Gaule_, or the Knight of the Sun, which the language of the
Declaration seems to affect in appointing pitch'd battles' (Rushworth,
_Historical Collections_, third part, vol. ii, 1692, pp. 138, 141).

Warwick's short character of Newcastle resembles Clarendon's: 'He was
a Gentleman of grandeur, generosity, loyalty, and steddy and forward
courage; but his edge had too much of the razor in it: for he had
a tincture of a Romantick spirit, and had the misfortune to have
somewhat of the Poet in him; so as he chose Sir William Davenant, an
eminent good Poet, and loyall Gentleman, to be Lieutenant-Generall
of his Ordnance. This inclination of his own and such kind of
witty society (to be modest in the expressions of it) diverted many
counsels, and lost many opportunities; which the nature of that
affair, this great man had now entred into, required' (_Mémoires_, pp.

His life by the Duchess of Newcastle--the 'somewhat fantastical, and
original-brain'd, generous Margaret Newcastle', as Charles Lamb calls
her--was published in 1667. The edition by C.H. Firth, 1886, contains
copious historical notes, and an introduction which points out
Newcastle's place as a patron and author.

Page 116, ll. 15-22. Newcastle had been besieged at York. He was
relieved by Prince Rupert, who, against Newcastle's advice, forced on
the disastrous battle of Marston Moor (July 2, 1644) without waiting
for reinforcements. In this battle Newcastle was not in command
but fought at the head of a company of volunteers. The next day he
embarked at Scarborough for the continent, where he remained till the

l. 24. He published two books on horsemanship--_La Méthode et
Invention Nouvelle de Dresser les Chevaux_, written originally in
English, but printed in French at Antwerp in 1658, and _A New Method
and Extraordinary Invention to Dress Horses_, 1667. The former was
dedicated to Prince Charles, whom, as Governor, he had taught to
ride. On his reputation as a horseman, see C.H. Firth, _op. cit._, pp.

Page 117, l. 20. He was Governor of the Prince from 1638 to 1641: cf.
note on p. 115, l. 5.

l. 29. Newcastle-upon-Tyne (from which he took his title) was
'speedily and dexterously' secured for the King at the end of June
1642 'by his lordship's great interest in those parts, the
ready compliance of the best of the gentry, and the general good
inclinations of the place' (Clarendon, vol. ii, p. 227).

Page 118, l. 17. Henry Clifford (1591-1643) fifth Earl of Cumberland.
He had commanded the Royalist forces in Yorkshire, but was 'in his
nature inactive, and utterly inexperienced'. He willingly gave up
the command (Clarendon, vol. ii, pp. 282, 464-5). He died shortly

l. 28. _this last_, Marston Moor.

Page 119, l. 8. _unacquainted with War_. Clarendon expressed himself
privately on this point much more emphatically than the nature of his
_History_ would allow: 'you will find the Marquis of Newcastle a very
lamentable man and as fit to be a General as a Bishop.' (Letter to
Sir Edward Nicholas, dated Madrid, June 4, 1650: _State Papers_, 1786,
vol. iii, p. 20.)

l. 10. James King (1589?-1652?), created Baron Eythin and Kerrey in
the Scottish peerage in 1643. He had been a general in the army of the
King of Sweden, and returned to this country in 1640. He left it with
Newcastle after Marston Moor. He entirely disapproved of Rupert's
plans for the battle; his comment, as reported by Clarendon, was 'By
God, sir, it is very fyne in the paper, but ther is no such thinge in
the Feilds' (vol. iii, p. 376).


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 136; _History_, Bk. IV, ed. 1702, vol. i, pp.
270-1; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 461-3.

The references to Digby in various parts of the _History_ show the
interest--sometimes an amused interest--that Clarendon took in his
strange and erratic character. 'The temper and composition of his mind
was so admirable, that he was always more pleased and delighted that
he had advanced so far, which he imputed to his virtue and conduct,
than broken or dejected that his success was not answerable, which
he still charged upon second causes, for which he could not be
accountable' (vol. iv, p. 122). 'He was a person of so rare a
composition by nature and by art, (for nature alone could never have
reached to it,) that he was so far from being ever dismayed by any
misfortune, (and greater variety of misfortunes never befell any man,)
that he quickly recollected himself so vigorously, that he did really
believe his condition to be improved by that ill accident' (_id._, p.
175). But the interest is shown above all by the long study of Digby
that he wrote at Montpelier in 1669. It was first printed in his
_State Papers_, 1786, vol. iii, supplement, pp. li-lxxiv. The
manuscript--a transcript revised by Clarendon--is in the Bodleian
Library, Clarendon MS. 122, pp. 1-48.

Page 120, l. 8. _the other three_, Sir John Culpeper, or Colepeper;
Lord Falkland; and Clarendon.

Page 121, l. 2. _sharpe reprehension_. 'He was committed to the Fleet
in June 1634, but released in July, for striking Mr. Crofts in Spring
Garden, within the precincts of the Court. _Cal. Dom. State. Papers_,
1634-5 (1864), pp. 81, 129'--Macray, vol. i, p. 461.

Shaftesbury gives a brief sketch of him at this time in his
fragmentary autobiography: 'The Earl of Bristoll was retired from all
business and lived privately to himself; but his son the Lord Digby,
a very handsome young man of great courage and learning and of a quick
wit, began to show himself to the world and gave great expectations
of himself, he being justly admired by all, and only gave himself
disadvantage with a pedantic stiffness and affectation he had

l. 19. As Baron Digby, during the lifetime of his father; June 9,

Page 123, l. 5. _a very unhappy councell_, the impeachment and
attempted 'Arrest of the Five Members', January 3 and 4, 1642. Compare
Clarendon, vol. i, p. 485: 'And all this was done without the least
communication with any body but the Lord Digby, who advised it.'


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 389, and MS. History, p. 25 (or 597);
_History_, Bk. XI, ed. 1704, vol. iii, pp. 210-11; ed. Macray, vol.
iv, pp. 510-11.

This admirable character was not all written at the same time. The
first sentence is from Clarendon's Life, and the remainder from the
History, where the date, '21 Nov. 1671', is appended. 123, l. 15.
_Crumwells owne character_,--in the debate in Parliament on carrying
out the sentence of death, March 8, 1649. Clarendon had briefly
described Cromwell's speech: 'Cromwell, who had known him very well,
spake so much good of him, and professed to have so much kindness
and respect for him, that all men thought he was now safe, when he
concluded, that his affection to the public so much weighed down his
private friendship, that he could not but tell them, that the question
was now, whether they would preserve the most bitter and the most
implacable enemy they had' (vol. iv, p. 506).

l. 22. He married in November 1626, Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Charles
Morrison, of Cassiobury, Hertfordshire, and granddaughter of the first
Viscount Campden. Their daughter Theodosia was the wife of the second
Earl of Clarendon.

Page 124, l. 13. _an indignity_, probably a reference to Lord Hopton's
command of the army in the west; see vol. iv, p. 131.


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 273; _History_, Bk. VIII, ed. 1703, vol. ii,
pp. 427-8; ed. Macray, vol. iii, pp. 443-5.

The four generals in this group are described on various occasions in
the _History_. In this passage Clarendon sums up shortly what he says
elsewhere, and presents a parallel somewhat in the manner of Plutarch.

Page 125, l. 23. Clarendon has a great passage in Book VII (vol. iii,
pp. 224-6) on the value of Councils, even when the experience and
wisdom of the councillors individually may not promise the right
decisions. The passage is suggested by, and immediately follows, a
short character of Prince Rupert.

Page 126, ll. 15, 16. Clarendon refers to the retreat of the
Parliamentary Army at Lostwithiel, on August 31, 1644, when Essex
embarked the foot at Fowey and escaped by sea, and Sir William Balfour
broke away with the horse. In describing it, Clarendon says that 'the
notice and orders came to Goring when he was in one of his jovial
exercises; which he received with mirth, and slighting those who sent
them, as men who took alarms too warmly; and he continued his delights
till all the enemy's horse were passed through his quarters, nor did
then pursue them in any time' (vol. iii, p. 403; cf. p. 391). But
Goring's horse was not so posted as to be able to check Balfour's.
See the article on Goring by C.H. Firth in the _Dictionary of National
Biography_ and S.R. Gardiner's _Civil War_, 1893, vol. ii, pp. 13-17.
Clarendon was misinformed; yet this error in detail does not impair
the truth of the portrait.


Clarendon, MS. History, pp. 447-8; _History_, Bk. VII, ed. 1704, vol.
ii, pp. 204-6; ed. Macray, vol. iii, pp. 61-4.

The studied detachment that Clarendon tried to cultivate when writing
about his political enemies is nowhere shown better than in the
character of Hampden. 'I am careful to do justice', he claimed, 'to
every man who hath fallen in the quarrel, on which side soever, as
you will find by what I have said of Mr. Hambden himself' (see No.
21, note). The absence of all enthusiasm makes the description of
Hampden's merits the more telling. But there is a tail with a sting in

The last sentence, it must be admitted, is not of a piece with
the rest of the character. There was some excuse for doubting its
authenticity. But doubts gave place to definite statements that it
had been interpolated by the Oxford editors when seeing the
_History_ through the press. Edmund Smith, the author of _Phædra and
Hippolytus_, started the story that while he was resident in Christ
Church he was 'employ'd to interpolate and alter the Original', and
specially mentioned this sentence as having been 'foisted in'; and
the story was given a prominent place by Oldmixon in his _History of
England, during the Reigns of the Royal House of Stuart_ (see _Letters
of Thomas Burnat to George Duckett_, ed. Nichol Smith, 1914, p. xx).
A controversy ensued, the final contribution to which is John Burton's
_Genuineness of L'd Clarendon's History Vindicated_, 1744. Once the
original manuscript was accessible, all doubt was removed. Every word
of the sentence is there to be found in Clarendon's hand. But it is
written along the margin, to take the place of a deleted sentence, and
is evidently later than the rest of the character. This accounts for
the difference in tone.

Page 129, ll. 22 ff. Compare Warwick, _Mémoires_, p. 240: 'He was of
a concise and significant language, and the mildest, yet subtillest,
speaker of any man in the House; and had a dexterity, when a question
was going to be put, which agreed not with his sense, to draw it over
to it, by adding some equivocall or sly word, which would enervate the
meaning of it, as first put.'

At the beginning of this short character of Hampden, Warwick says that
'his blood in its temper was acrimonious, as the scurfe commonly on
his face shewed'.

Page 131, l. 4. _this that was at Oxforde_, i.e. the overture,
February and March 1643: Clarendon, vol. ii, pp. 497 ff.

ll. 24-6. _Erat illi_, &c. Cicero, _Orat. in Catilinam_ iii. 7.
'Cinna' should be 'Catiline'.


Clarendon, MS. History, pp. 525-7; _History_, Bk. VII, ed. 1703, vol.
ii, pp. 353-5; ed. Macray, vol. iii, pp. 321-4.

The character of Pym does not show the same detachment as the
character of Hampden. Clarendon has not rejected unauthenticated
Royalist rumour.

Page 132, ll. 7-9. This rumour occasioned the publication of an
official narrative of his disease and death, 'attested under the Hands
of his Physicians, Chyrurgions, and Apothecary', from which it appears
that he died of an intestinal abscess. See John Forster's _John Pym_
('Lives of Eminent British Statesmen', vol. iii), pp. 409-11.

l. 19. He was member for Tavistock from 1624.

Page 133, l. 26. Oliver St. John (1603-42), Solicitor-General,
mortally wounded at Edgehill.

ll. 29, 30. Cf. p. 129, ll. 15-18.

Page 134, l. 3. Francis Russell (1593-1641), fourth Earl of Bedford.
'This lord was the greatest person of interest in all the popular
party, being of the best estate and best understanding of the whole
pack, and therefore most like to govern the rest; he was besides of
great civility, and of much more good-nature than any of the others.
And therefore the King, resolving to do his business with that party
by him, resolved to make him Lord High Treasurer of England, in the
place of the Bishop of London, who was as willing to lay down the
office as any body was to take it up; and, to gratify him the more, at
his desire intended to make Mr. Pimm Chancellor of the Exchequer, as
he had done Mr. St. John his Solicitor-General' (Clarendon, vol. i,
p. 333). The plan was frustrated by Bedford's death in 1641. The
Chancellorship of the Exchequer was bestowed on Culpeper (_id._, p.

ll. 27 ff. The authority for this story is the _Mercurius Academicus_
for February 3, 1645-6 (pp. 74-5), a journal of the Court party
published at Oxford (hence the title), and the successor of the
_Mercurius Aulicus_. The Irishman is there reported to have made this
confession on the scaffold.

Page 135, ll. 25-8. _The last Summer_, i.e. before Pym's death, 1643.
See Clarendon, vol. iii, pp. 116, 135, 141.

Page 136, ll. 7-10. He died on December 8, 1643, and was buried on
December 13 in Westminster Abbey, whence his body was ejected at the


Clarendon, MS. History, Bk. X, p. 24 (or 570); _History_, ed. 1704,
vol. iii, pp. 84-5; ed. Macray, vol. iv, pp. 305-7.

The two characters of Cromwell by Clarendon were written about the
same time. Though the first is from the manuscript of the History,
it belongs to a section that was added in 1671, when the matter in
the original History was combined with the matter in the Life. It
describes Cromwell as Clarendon remembered him before he had risen
to his full power. He was then in Clarendon's eyes preeminently a
dissembler--'the greatest dissembler living'. The other character
views him in the light of his complete achievement. It represents
him, with all his wickedness, as a man of 'great parts of courage and
industry and judgement'. He is a 'bad man', but a 'brave, bad man',
to whose success, remarkable talents, and even some virtues, must have
contributed. The recognition of his greatness was unwilling; it was
all the more sincere.

'Crumwell' is Clarendon's regular spelling.

Page 136, l. 22. Hampden's mother, Elizabeth Cromwell, was the sister
of Cromwell's father.

Page 138, l. 18. _the Modell_, i.e. the New Model Army, raised in the
Spring of 1645. See C.H. Firth's _Cromwell's Army_, 1902, ch. iii.

l. 21. _chaunged a Generall_, the Earl of Essex. See No. 40.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 549-50; _History_, Bk. XV, ed. 1704, vol.
iii, pp. 505-6, 509; ed. Macray, vol. vi, pp. 91-2, 97.

Page 139, ll. 3, 4. _quos vituperare_, Cicero, _Pro Fonteio_, xvii.
39 'Is igitur vir, quem ne inimicus quidem satis in appellando
significare poterat, nisi ante laudasset.'

ll. 19, 20. _Ausum eum_, Velleius Paterculus, ii. 24.

Page 140, ll. 9-12. Machiavelli, _The Prince_, ch. vii.

ll. 17-22. Editorial taste in 1704 transformed this sentence thus:
'In a word, as he was guilty of many Crimes against which Damnation
is denounced, and for which Hell-fire is prepared, so he had some good
Qualities which have caused the Memory of some Men in all Ages to be
celebrated; and he will be look'd upon by Posterity as a brave wicked


Mémoires Of the reigne of King Charles I, 1701, pp. 247-8.

Page 141, l. 17. _a servant of Mr. Prynn's_, John Lilburne (1614-57).
But it is doubtful if he was Prynne's servant; see the article in the
_Dictionary of National Biography_. Lilburne's petition was presented
by Cromwell on November 9, 1640, and referred to a Committee; and
on May 4, 1641, the House resolved 'That the Sentence of the
Star-Chamber, given against John Lilborne, is illegal, and against the
Liberty of the Subject; and also, bloody, wicked, cruel, barbarous,
and tyrannical' (_Journals of the House of Commons_, vol. ii, pp. 24,

ll. 29, 30. Warwick was imprisoned on suspicion of plotting against
the Protector's Government in 1655.


A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe, Esq.; Edited by
Thomas Birch, 1742, vol. i, p. 766.

This passage is from a letter written to 'John Winthrop, esq; governor
of the colony of Connecticut in New England', and dated 'Westminster,
March 24, 1659'.

Maidston was Cromwell's servant.


Reliquiæ Baxterianæ: or, Mr. Richard Baxter's Narrative of The most
Memorable Passages of his Life and Times. Faithfully Publish'd from
his own Original Manuscript, By Matthew Sylvester. London: MDCXCVI.
(Lib. I, Part I, pp. 98-100.)

The interest of this character lies largely in its Presbyterian point
of view. It is a carefully balanced estimate by one who had been a
chaplain in the Parliamentary army, but opposed Cromwell when, after
the fall of Presbyterianism, he assumed the supreme power.

Page 144, ll. 19-24. See the article by C.H. Firth on 'The Raising of
the Ironsides' in the Transactions of the Royal Historical Society,
1899, vol. xiii, and its sequel, 'The Later History of the Ironsides',
1901, vol. xv; and the articles on John Desborough (who married
Cromwell's sister) and James Berry in the _Dictionary of National
Biography_. 'Who Captain Ayres was it is difficult to say ... He left
the regiment about June 1644, and his troop was given to James Berry
... the captain-lieutenant of Cromwell's own troop'. (R.H.S. Trans.,
vol. xiii, pp. 29, 30). Berry subsequently became one of Cromwell's
major-generals. His character is briefly sketched by Baxter, who
calls him 'my old Bosom Friend', _Reliquiæ_, 1696, p. 57. For Captain
William Evanson, see R.H.S. Trans., vol. xv, pp. 22-3.

Page 146, l. 12. A passage from Bacon's essay 'Of Faction' (No. 51)
is quoted in the margin in the edition of 1696. 'Fraction' in l. 12 is
probably a misprint for 'Faction'.

Page 148, ll. 7-10. The concluding sentence of the essay 'Of
Simulation and Dissimulation'. Brackets were often used at this time
to mark a quotation.


Reliquiæ Baxterianæ, 1696, Lib. I, Part I, p. 48.

Much the same opinion of Fairfax was held by Sir Philip Warwick and
Clarendon. Warwick says he was 'a man of a military genius, undaunted
courage and presence of mind in the field both in action and danger,
but of a very common understanding in all other affairs, and of a
worse elocution; and so a most fit tool for Mr. Cromwel to work with'
(_Mémoires_, p. 246). Clarendon alludes to him as one 'who had no
eyes, and so would be willinge to be ledd' (p. 138, l. 24). But Milton
saw him in a different light when he addressed to him the sonnet on
his capture of Colchester in August 1648:

  _Fairfax_, whose name in armes through Europe rings
  Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,...
  Thy firm unshak'n vertue ever brings
  Victory home,...
  O yet a nobler task awaites thy hand;
  For what can Warr, but endless warr still breed,
  Till Truth, & Right from Violence be freed,
  And Public Faith cleard from the shamefull brand
  Of Public Fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed
  While Avarice, & Rapine share the land.

Fairfax's military capacity is certain, and his private virtues are
unquestioned. Writing in 1648, Milton credited him with the power to
settle the affairs of the nation. But Fairfax was not a politician. He
broke with Cromwell over the execution of the king, and in July 1650
retired into private life. Baxter, Warwick, and Clarendon all wrote
of him at a distance of time that showed his merits and limitations in
truer perspective.

Milton addressed him again when singing the praises of Bradshaw and
Cromwell and other Parliamentary leaders in his _Pro Populo Anglicano
Defensio Secunda_, 1654. As a specimen of a contemporary Latin
character, and a character by Milton, the passage is now quoted in

'Sed neque te fas est præterire, _Fairfaxi_, in quo cum summa
fortitudine summam modestiam, summam vitæ sanctitatem, & natura &
divinus favor conjunxit: Tu harum in partem laudum evocandus tuo jure
ac merito es; quanquam in illo nunc tuo secessu, quantus olim Literni
Africanus ille Scipio, abdis te quoad potes; nec hostem solum, sed
ambitionem, & quæ præstantissimum quemque mortalium vincit, gloriam
quoque vicisti; tuisque virtutibus & præclare factis, jucundissimum &
gloriosissimum per otium frueris, quod est laborum omnium & humanarum
actionum vel maximarum finis; qualique otio cum antiqui Heroes, post
bella & decora tuis haud majora, fruerentur, qui eos laudare conati
sunt poetæ, desperabant se posse alia ratione id quale esset digne
describere, nisi eos fabularentur, coelo receptos, deorum epulis
accumbere. Verum te sive valetudo, quod maxime crediderim, sive
quid aliud retraxit, persuasissimum hoc habeo, nihil te a rationibus
reipublicæ divellere potuisse, nisi vidisses quantum libertatis
conservatorem, quam firmum atque fidum Anglicanæ rei columen ac
munimentum in successore tuo relinqueres' (ed. 1654, pp. 147-8).

Page 149, l. 9. The Self-denying Ordinance, discharging members of
Parliament from all offices, civil and military, passed both Houses on
April 3, 1645.

l. 18. He succeeded his father as third Lord Fairfax in 1648.

l. 21. See p. 118, ll. 8 ff.


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 103; _History_, Bk. III, ed. 1702, vol. i, pp.
148-9; ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 247-9.

Baxter has an account of Vane in his Autobiography: 'He was the
Principal Man that drove on the Parliament to go too high, and act
too vehemently against the King: Being of very ready Parts, and very
great Subtilty, and unwearied Industry, he laboured, and not without
Success, to win others in Parliament, City and Country to his Way.
When the Earl of _Strafford_ was accused, he got a Paper out of his
Father's Cabinet (who was Secretary of State) which was the chief
Means of his Condemnation: To most of our Changes he was that _within_
the House, which _Cromwell_ was _without_. His great Zeal to drive
all into War, and to the highest, and to cherish the Sectaries, and
especially in the Army, made him above all Men to be valued by that
Party ... When Cromwell had served himself by him as his surest
Friend, as long as he could; and gone as far with him as their way lay
together, (_Vane_ being for a Fanatick Democracie, and _Cromwell_ for
Monarchy) at last there was no Remedy but they must part; and when
_Cromwell_ cast out the Rump (as disdainfully as Men do Excrements)
he called _Vane_ a Jugler' (_Reliquiæ Baxterianæ_, Lib. I, Part I, p.
75). This account occurs in Baxter's description of the sectaries who
were named after him 'Vanists'.

Clarendon and Baxter both lay stress on the element of the fanatic
in Vane's nature; and in a later section of the _History_ Clarendon
speaks of it emphatically: ... 'Vane being a man not to be described
by any character of religion; in which he had swallowed some of the
fancies and extravagances of every sect or faction, and was become
(which cannot be expressed by any other language than was peculiar to
that time) _a man above ordinances_, unlimited and unrestrained by any
rules or bounds prescribed to other men, by reason of his perfection.
He was a perfect enthusiast, and without doubt did believe himself
inspired' (vol. vi, p. 148).

Milton's sonnet, to Vane 'young in yeares, but in sage counsell old'
gives no suggestion of the fanatic:

          besides to know
  Both spirituall powre & civill, what each meanes
  What severs each thou 'hast learnt, which few have don.
  The bounds of either sword to thee wee ow.
  Therfore on thy firme hand religion leanes
  In peace, & reck'ns thee her eldest son.

There was much in Vane's views about Church and State with which
Milton sympathized; and the sonnet was written in 1652, before
Cromwell broke with Vane.

See also Pepys's _Diary_, June 14, 1662, and Burnet's _History of His
Own Time_, ed. Osmund Airy, vol. i, pp. 284-6.

Page 150, ll. 13, 14. _Magdalen College_, a mistake for Magdalen Hall,
of which Vane was a Gentleman Commoner; but he did not matriculate.
See Wood's _Athenæ Oxonienses_, ed. Bliss, vol. iii, col. 578.

l. 17. He returned to England in 1632; he had been in the train of the
English ambassador at Vienna.

ll. 25 ff. He transported himself into New England in 1635. He was
chosen Governor of Massachusetts in March 1636 and held the post
for one year, being defeated at the next election. He retransported
himself into England in August 1637.

Page 151, ll. 27-9. 'In New Hampshire and at Rhode Island. The grant
by the Earl of Warwick as the Governor of the King's Plantations in
America of a charter for Providence, &c., Rhode Island, is dated March
14, 164-3/4; _Calendar of Colonial State Papers_, 1574-1660, p. 325.
The code of laws adopted there in 1647 declares "sith our charter
gives us power to govern ourselves ... the form of government
established in Providence plantations is democratical." _Collections
of the Massachusetts Hist. Soc._, second series, vol. vii, p.
79.'--Note by Macray.

Page 152, ll. 2, 3. He married Frances, daughter of Sir Christopher
Wray, of Ashby, Lincolnshire.

ll. 5, 6. He was made joint Treasurer of the Navy in January 1639, and
was dismissed in December 1641.

ll. 10 ff. Strafford was created Baron of Raby in 1640. At the
conclusion of Book VI Clarendon says that the elder Vane's 'malice to
the Earl of Strafford (who had unwisely provoked him, wantonly and out
of contempt) transported him to all imaginable thoughts of revenge'.
Cf. p. 63, l. 25.


Clarendon, MS. History, p. 486 (first paragraph) and Life, p. 249
(second paragraph); _History_, Bk. VII, ed. 1703, vol. ii, p. 292; ed.
Macray, vol. iii, pp. 216-17.

Clarendon added the first paragraph in the margin of the manuscript
of his earlier work when he dovetailed the two works to form the
_History_ in its final form.

Page 152, l. 27. _this Covenant_, the Solemn League and Covenant,
which passed both Houses on September 18, 1643: 'the battle of Newbery
being in that time likewise over (which cleared and removed more
doubts than the Assembly had done), it stuck very few hours with both
Houses; but being at once judged convenient and lawful, the Lords and
Commons and their Assembly of Divines met together at the church,
with great solemnity, to take it, on the five and twentieth day of
September' (Clarendon, vol. iii, p. 205).


Memoirs of the Life of Colonel Hutchinson, Governor of Nottingham
Castle and Town ... Written by His Widow Lucy, Daughter of Sir Allen
Apsley, Lieutenant of the Tower, &c. Now first published from the
original manuscript by the Rev. Julius Hutchinson ... London: 1806.
(pp. 4-6.)

The original manuscript has disappeared, and the edition of 1806 is
the only authoritative text. It has been many times reprinted. It was
edited with introduction, notes, and appendices by C.H. Firth in 1885
(new edition, 1906).

The Memoirs as a whole are the best picture we possess of a puritan
soldier and household of the seventeenth century. They were written by
his widow as a consolation to herself and for the instruction of
her children. To 'such of you as have not seene him to remember his
person', she leaves, by way of introduction, 'His Description.' It is
this passage which is here reprinted.

44, 45, 46, 47, 48.

Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 212-15; _History_, Bk. VI, ed. 1703, vol. ii,
pp. 158-62; ed. Macray, vol. ii, pp. 541-8.

These five characters of Parliamentary peers follow one another at
the conclusion of Clarendon's sixth book, and are part of his 'view
of those persons who were of the King's Council, and had deserted his
service, and stayed in the Parliament to support the rebellion'.
A short passage on the Earl of Holland, between the characters of
Warwick and Manchester, is omitted.

Taken as a group, they are yet another proof of Clarendon's skill in
portraiture. Each character is clearly distinguished.

Page 159, ll. 7-10. His grandfather was William Cecil (1520-98), Lord
Burghley, the great minister of Elizabeth; his father was Robert Cecil
(1563-1612), created Earl of Salisbury, 1605, Secretary of State at
the accession of James.

Page 160, l. 9. He was member for King's Lynn in 1649, and
Hertfordshire in 1654 and 1656.

ll. 13-16. _Hic egregiis_, &c. Seneca, _De Beneficiis_, iv, cap. 30.

Page 161, ll. 3-19. 'Clarendon's view that Warwick was a jovial
hypocrite is scarcely borne out by other contemporary evidence. The
"jollity and good humour" which he mentions are indeed confirmed. "He
was one of the most best-natured and cheerfullest persons I have in
my time met with," writes his pious daughter-in-law (_Autobiography
of Lady Warwick_, ed. Croker, p. 27). Edmund Calamy, however, in his
sermon at Warwick's funeral, enlarges on his zeal for religion; and
Warwick's public conduct during all the later part of his career is
perfectly consistent with Calamy's account of his private life (_A
Pattern for All, especially for Noble Persons_, &c., 1658, 410, pp.
34-9).'--C.H. Firth, in the _Dictionary of National Biography_.

l. 13. _Randevooze_ (or _-vouze_, or _-vouce_, or _-vowes_) is a
normal spelling of _Rendezvous_ in the seventeenth century. The words
had been introduced into English by the reign of Elizabeth.

ll. 20-2. The proceedings are described at some length by Clarendon,
vol. ii, pp. 19-22, 216-23. Warwick was appointed Admiral by the
Parliament on July 1, 1642.

l. 23. The expulsion of the Long Parliament on April 20, 1653. A
thorough examination of all the authorities for the story of the
expulsion will be found in two articles by C.H. Firth in _History_,
October 1917 and January 1918.

ll. 24-5. Robert Rich, his grandson, married Frances, Cromwell's
youngest daughter, in November 1657, but died in the following
February, aged 23. See _Thurloe's State Papers_, vol. vi, p. 573.

Page 162, l. 11. _in Spayne_, on the occasion of the proposed Spanish

ll. 22-3. He resigned his generalship on April 2, 1645, the day before
the Self-Denying Ordinance was passed.

ll. 24 ff. His first wife was Buckingham's cousin, their mothers
being sisters. He married his second wife in 1626, before Buckingham's
death. He was five times married.

Page 163, l. 11. _his father_, Henry Montagu (1563-1642), created
Baron Montagu of Kimbolton and Viscount Mandeville, 1620, and Earl of
Manchester, 1628. By the favour of Buckingham he had been made Lord
Treasurer in 1620, but within a year was deprived of the office and
'reduced to the empty title of President of the Council'; see the
character (on the whole favourable) by Clarendon, vol. i, pp. 67-9.

l. 12. Manchester and Warwick are described by Clarendon as 'the two
pillars of the Presbyterian party' (vol. iv, p. 245).

Page 164, l. 16. He was accused with the five members of the House of
Commons, January 3, 1642. Cf. p. 123, l. 5.

l. 26. Elsewhere Clarendon says that Manchester 'was known to have all
the prejudice imaginable against Cromwell' (vol. iv, p. 245). He lived
in retirement during the Commonwealth, but returned to public life at
the Restoration, when he was made Lord Chamberlain.

This character may be compared with Clarendon's other character of
Manchester, vol. i, pp. 242-3, and with the character in Warwick's
_Mémoires_, pp. 246-7. Burnet, speaking of him in his later years,
describes him as 'A man of a soft and obliging temper, of no great
depth, but universally beloved, being both a vertuous and a generous

Page 165, ll. 6-9. See Clarendon, vol. i, p. 259.

l. ii. _that unhappy kingdome_. This was written in France.

ll. 20-5. Antony à Wood did not share Clarendon's scepticism about
Say's descent, though he shared his dislike of Say himself: see
_Athenæ Oxonienses_, ed. Bliss, vol. in, col. 546.

Page 166, ll. 25 ff. See Clarendon, ed. Macray, vol. i, pp. 333-5. Cf.
note p. 134, l. 3. After the King's execution he took little part in
public affairs, but at the Restoration he managed to be made a Privy
Councillor and Lord Privy Seal.

Clarendon has another and shorter character of Say, which supplements
the character here given, and deals mainly with his ecclesiastical
politics (vol. i, p. 241). He was thought to be the only member of the
Independent party in the House of Peers (vol. iii, p. 507).

Arthur Wilson gives short characters of Essex, Warwick, and Say:
'_Saye_ and _Seale_ was a seriously subtil _Peece_, and alwayes averse
to the Court wayes, something out of pertinatiousnesse; his _Temper_
and _Constitution_ ballancing him altogether on that _Side_, which
was contrary to the _Wind_; so that he seldome tackt about or went
upright, though he kept his _Course_ steady in his owne way a long
time: yet it appeared afterwards, when the harshnesse of the humour
was a little allayed by the sweet _Refreshments_ of Court favours,
that those sterne _Comportments_ supposed _naturall_, might be
mitigated, and that indomitable Spirits by gentle usage may be tamed
and brought to obedience' (_Reign of King James I_, p. 162).


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 48-9: _Life_, ed. 1759, p. 16.

This and the four following characters of men of learning and letters
are taken from the early section of the _Life_ where Clarendon proudly
records his friendships and conversation with 'the most excellent men
in their several kinds that lived in that age, by whose learning and
information and instruction he formed his studies, and mended his
understanding, and by whose gentleness and sweetness of behaviour,
and justice, and virtue, and example, he formed his manners.' The
characters of Jonson, Falkland, and Godolphin which belong to the same
section have already been given.

Page 167, l. 27. _his conversation_, fortunately represented for us in
his _Table-Talk_, a collection of the 'excellent things that usually
fell from him', made by his amanuensis Richard Milward, and published
in 1689.

Page 168, l. 3. _M'r Hyde_, i.e. Clarendon himself.

l. 5. _Seldence_, a phonetic spelling, showing Clarendon's haste in

l.10. Selden was member for Oxford during the Long Parliament.

ll. 15, 16. Compare Clarendon's _History_, vol. ii, p. 114: 'he had
for many years enjoyed his ease, which he loved, was rich, and would
not have made a journey to York, or have lain out of his own bed, for
any preferment, which he had never affected. Compare also Aubrey's
_Brief Lives_, ed. A. Clark, vol. ii, p. 224: 'He was wont to say
"I'le keepe myselfe warme and moyst as long as I live, for I shall be
cold and dry when I am dead ".'


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 57; _Life_, ed. 1759, pp. 26-7.

Izaak Walton included a short character of Earle in his _Life of
Hooker_, published in the year of Earle's death: 'Dr. Earle, now Lord
Bishop of Salisbury, of whom I may justly say, (and let it not offend
him, because it is such a trifle as ought not to be concealed from
posterity, or those that now live, and yet know him not,) that since
Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom God hath blessed with more
innocent wisdom, more sanctified learning, or a more pious, peaceable,
primitive temper: so that this excellent person seems to be only like
himself, and our venerable Richard Hooker.'

See also _Athenæ Oxonienses_, ed. Bliss, vol. iii, cols. 716-9.

Page 168, l. 25. _Earle of Pembroke_, the fourth Earl, Lord
Chamberlain 1626-1641: see p. 4, l. 30, note.

Page 169, l. 3. _Proctour_, in 1631. The 'very witty and sharpe
discourses' are his _Micro-cosmographie_, first published anonymously
in 1628.

l. 23. Compare p. 72, ll. 29 ff., and p. 90, ll. 21 ff.

l. 28. He was made chaplain and tutor to Prince Charles in 1641. His
'lodginge in the court' as chaplain to the Lord Chamberlain had made
him known to the king.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 57-8; _Life_, ed. 1759, pp. 27-8.

'The Ever Memorable Mr. John Hales, of Eaton-Colledge', as he is
called on the title-page of his _Golden Remains_, published in 1659
(second impression, 1673), is probably best known now by his remark
'That there was no subject of which any Poet ever writ, but he would
produce it much better treated of in Shakespeare'. This remark was
first given in print in Dryden's essay _Of Dramatick Poesie_, 1668,
and was repeated in varying forms in Nahum Tate's Dedication to the
_Loyal General_, 1680, Charles Gildon's _Reflections on Mr. Rymer's
Short View of Tragedy_, 1694, and Nicholas Rowe's _Account of the
Life of Shakespear_, 1709. But it had apparently been made somewhere
between 1633 and 1637 in the company of Lord Falkland. It is the one
gem that survives of this retired student's 'very open and pleasant

Clarendon's portrait explains the honour and affection in which the
'ever memorable' but now little known scholar was held by all his
friends. The best companion to it is the life by Wood, _Athenæ
Oxonienses_, ed. Bliss, vol. iv, cols. 409-15. See also John Pearson's
preface to _Golden Remains_.

Page 170, ll. 10 ff. Hales was elected Fellow of Merton College in
1605, and Regius Professor of Greek in 1615. His thirty-two letters to
Sir Dudley Carlton (cf. p. 58, l. 20) reporting the proceedings of the
Synod of Dort, run from November 24, 1618, to February 7, 1619, and
are included in his _Golden Remains_. On his return to England in 1619
he withdrew to his fellowship at Eton.

Sir Henry Savile's monumental edition of the Greek text of St.
Chrysostom, in eight large folio volumes, was published at Eton,
1610-12. Savile was an imperious scholar, but when Clarendon says
that Hales 'had borne all the labour' of this great edition, he can
only mean that Hales had given his assistance at all stages of its
production. In Brodrick's _Memorials of Merton College_, p. 70, it is
stated that Hales was voted an allowance for the help he had given.
Savile was appointed Warden of Merton in 1585 and Provost of Eton in
1596, and continued to hold both posts at the same time till his death
in 1622.

Page 171, ll. 8-12. Compare the verse epistle in Suckling's _Fragmenta
Aurea_, which was manifestly addressed to Hales, though his name is
not given (ed. 1648, pp. 34-5):

  Whether these lines do find you out,
  Putting or clearing of a doubt;
   ... know 'tis decreed
  You straight bestride the Colledge Steed ...
  And come to Town; 'tis fit you show
  Your self abroad, that men may know
  (What e're some learned men have guest)
  That Oracles are not yet ceas't ...
  News in one day as much w' have here
  As serves all Windsor for a year.

In Suckling's _Sessions of the Poets_, 'Hales set by himselfe most
gravely did smile'.

ll. 14 ff. Compare the story told by Wood: 'When he was Bursar of his
Coll. and had received bad money, he would lay it aside, and put good
of his own in the room of it to pay to others. Insomuch that sometimes
he has thrown into the River 20 and 30_l_. at a time. All which he
hath stood to, to the loss of himself, rather than others of the
Society should be endamaged.'

l. 19. Reduced to penury by the Civil Wars, Hales was 'forced to sell
the best part of his most admirable Library (which cost him 2500_l_.)
to Cornelius Bee of London, Bookseller, for 700_l_. only'. But Wood
also says that he might be styled 'a walking Library'. Another account
of his penury and the sale of his library is found in John Walker's
_Sufferings of the Clergy_, 1714, Part II, p. 94.

l. 24. _syded_, i.e. stood by the side of, equalled, rivalled.

Page 173, ll. 1 ff. His _Tract concerning Schisme and Schismaticks_
was published in 1642, and was frequently reissued. It was written
apparently about 1636, and certainly before 1639. He was installed as
canon of Windsor on June 27, 1639.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 58-9; _Life_, ed. 1759, pp. 28-30.

Clarendon clearly enjoyed writing this character of Chillingworth. The
shrewd observation is tempered by subdued humour. Looking back on his
friendship at a distance of twenty years, he felt an amused pleasure
in the disputatiousness which could be irritating, the intellectual
vanity, the irresolution that came from too great subtlety.
Chillingworth was always 'his own convert'; 'his only unhappiness
proceeded from his sleeping too little and thinking too much'. But
Clarendon knew the solid merits of _The Religion of Protestants_
(_History_, vol. i, p. 95); and he felt bitterly the cruel
circumstances of his death.

Page 174, ll. 17-19. Compare the character of Godolphin, p. 96, ll. 1

Page 176, l. 14. _the Adversary_, Edward Knott (1582-1656), Jesuit

l. 29. _Lugar_, John Lewgar (1602-1665): see Wood's _Athenæ
Oxonienses_, ed. Bliss, vol. iii, cols. 696-7.

Page 177, l. 24. This Engine is described in the narrative of the
siege of Gloucester in Rushworth's _Historical Collections_, ed. 1692,
Part III, vol. ii, p. 290: 'The King's Forces, by the Directions of
Dr. _Chillingworth_, had provided certain Engines, after the manner of
the Roman _Testudines cum Pluteis_, wherewith they intended to Assault
the City between the South and West Gates; They ran upon Cart-Wheels,
with a _Blind_ of Planks Musquet-proof, and holes for four Musqueteers
to play out of, placed upon the Axle-tree to defend the Musqueteers
and those that thrust it forwards, and carrying a Bridge before it;
the Wheels were to fall into the Ditch, and the end of the Bridge to
rest upon the Towns Breastworks, so making several compleat Bridges to
enter the City. To prevent which, the Besieged intended to have made
another Ditch out of their Works, so that the Wheels falling therein,
the Bridge would have fallen too short of their Breastworks into their
wet Mote, and so frustrated that Design.'

ll. 26 ff. Hopton took Arundel Castle on December 9, 1643, and was
forced to surrender on January 6 (Clarendon, vol. iii, pp. 330-5).
Aubrey says that Chillingworth 'dyed of the _morbus castrensis_ after
the taking of Arundel castle by the parliament: wherin he was very
much blamed by the king's soldiers for his advice in military affaires
there, and they curst _that little priest_ and imputed the losse of
the castle to his advice'. (_Brief Lives_, ed. A. Clark, vol. i, p.
172). The chief actor in the final persecution was Francis Cheynell
(1608-65), afterwards intruded President of St. John's College
and Professor of Divinity in the University of Oxford; see his
_Chillingworthi Novissima. Or, the Sicknesse, Heresy, Death, and
Buriall of William Chillingworth (In his own phrase) Clerk of Oxford,
and in the conceit of his fellow Souldiers, the Queens Arch-Engineer,
and Grand-Intelligencer_, 1644.


Clarendon, MS. Life, p. 55; _Life_, ed. 1759, pp. 24, 25.

Weakness of character disguised by ready wit, pleasant discourse,
and charm of manner is Clarendon's judgement on Waller. They had
been friends in their early days when Waller was little more than
an opulent poet who could make a good speech in parliament; but his
behaviour on the discovery of 'Waller's plot', the purpose of which
was to hold the city for the king, his inefficiency in any action
but what was directed to his own safety and advancement, and his
subsequent relations with Cromwell, definitely estranged them.
To Clarendon, Waller is the time-server whose pleasing arts are
transparent. 'His company was acceptable, where his spirit was
odious.' The censure was the more severe because of the part which
Waller had just played at Clarendon's fall. The portrait may be
overdrawn; but there is ample evidence from other sources to confirm
its essential truth.

Burnet says that '_Waller_ was the delight of the House: And even at
eighty he said the liveliest things of any among them: He was only
concerned to say that which should make him be applauded. But he never
laid the business of the House to heart, being a vain and empty, tho'
a witty, man' (_History of His Own Time_, ed. 1724, vol. i, p. 388).
He is described by Aubrey, _Brief Lives_, ed. A. Clark, vol. ii, pp.

Clarendon's character was included by Johnson in his _Life of Waller_,
with a few comments. Page 179, l. 1. _a very rich wife_, Anne, only
daughter of John Bankes, mercer; married 1631, died 1634. 'The fortune
which Waller inherited from his father, which must have been largely
increased during his long minority, has been variously estimated
at from £2,000 to £3,500 a year; adding to this the amount which
he received with Miss Bankes, said to have been about £8,000, and
allowing for the difference in the value of the money, it appears
probable that, with the exception of Rogers, the history of English
literature can show no richer poet' (_Poems of Waller_, ed. Thorn
Drury, vol. i, p. xx).

l. 4. _M'r Crofts_, William Crofts (1611-77), created Baron Crofts of
Saxham in 1658 at Brussels. He was captain of Queen Henrietta Maria's

l. 6. _D'r Marly_. See p. 92, l. 21, note.

ll. 10-14. Waller's poems were first published in 1645, when Waller
was abroad. But they had been known in manuscript. They appear to
have first come to the notice of Clarendon when Waller was introduced
to the brilliant society of which Falkland was the centre. If the
introduction took place, as is probable, about 1635, this is the
explanation of Clarendon's 'neere thirty yeeres of age'. But some of
his poems must have been written much earlier. What is presumably
his earliest piece, on the escape of Prince Charles from shipwreck
at Santander on his return from Spain in 1623, was probably written
shortly after the event it describes, though like other of his early
pieces it shows, as Johnson pointed out, traces of revision.

l. 21. _nurced in Parliaments_. He entered Parliament in 1621, at the
age of sixteen, as member for Amersham. See _Poems_, ed. Drury, vol.
i. p. xvii.

Page 180, l. 5. The great instance of his wit is his reply to Charles
II, when asked why his Congratulation 'To the King, upon his Majesty's
happy Return' was inferior to his Panegyric 'Upon the Death of the
Lord Protector'--'Poets, Sir, succeed better in fiction than in truth'
(quoted from _Menagiana_ in Fenton's 'Observations on Waller's Poems',
and given by Johnson). See _Lives of the Poets_, ed. G.B. Hill, vol.
i, p. 271.


Brief View and Survey of the Dangerous and pernicious Errors to Church
and State, In Mr. Hobbes's Book, Entitled Leviathan. By Edward Earl of
Clarendon. Oxford, 1676. (pp. 2-3.)

It is a misfortune that Clarendon did not write a character of Hobbes,
and, more than this, that there is no character of Hobbes by any one
which corresponds in kind to the other characters in this collection.
But in answering the _Leviathan_, Clarendon thought it well to state
by way of introduction that he was on friendly terms with the author,
and the passage here quoted from his account of their relations is in
effect a character. He condemned Hobbes's political theories; 'Yet I
do hope', he says, 'nothing hath fallen from my Pen, which implies the
least undervaluing of Mr. _Hobbes_ his Person, or his Parts.'

Page 181, l. 21. _ha's_, a common spelling at this time and earlier,
on the false assumption that _has_ was a contraction of _haves_.


Bodleian Library, MS. Aubrey 9, foll. 34-7, 41, 42, 46-7.

The text of these notes on Hobbes is taken direct from Aubrey's
manuscript, now in the Bodleian Library. The complete life is printed
in _Brief Lives by John Aubrey_, edited by Andrew Clark, 1898, vol. i,
pp. 321-403.

Aubrey collected most of his biographical notes, to which he gave the
title '[Greek: Schediasmata.] Brief Lives', in order to help Anthony à
Wood in the compilation of his _Athenæ Oxonienses_. 'I have, according
to your desire', he wrote to Wood in 1680, 'putt in writing these
minutes of lives tumultuarily, as they occur'd to my thoughts or as
occasionally I had information of them.... 'Tis a taske that I never
thought to have undertaken till you imposed it upon me.' Independently
of Wood, Aubrey had collected material for a life of Hobbes, in
accordance with a promise he had made to Hobbes himself. All his
manuscript notes were submitted to Wood, who made good use of them.
On their return Aubrey deposited them in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford,
the library of which is now merged in the Bodleian.

The notes were written 'tumultuarily', jotted down hastily, and as
hastily added to, altered, and transposed. They are a first draft for
the fair copy which was never made. The difficulty of giving a true
representation of them in print is increased by Aubrey's habit of
inserting above the line alternatives to words or phrases without
deleting the original words or even indicating his preference. In the
present text the later form has, as a rule, been adopted, the other
being given in a footnote.

'The Life of Mr. Thomas Hobbes, of Malmesburie' is by far the longest
of Aubrey's 'Brief Lives', but it does not differ from the others
in manner. The passages selected may be regarded as notes for a

Page 183, ll. 1 ff. Aubrey is a little more precise in his notes
on Bacon. 'Mr. Thomas Hobbes told me ... that he was employed in
translating part of the Essayes, viz. three of them, one whereof was
that of the Greatnesse of Cities, the other two I have now forgott'
(ed. A. Clark, vol. i, p. 83). On the evidence of style, Aldis Wright
thought that the other two essays translated by Hobbes were 'Of
Simulation and Dissimulation' and 'Of Innovation': see the preface to
his edition of _Bacon's Essays_, 1862, pp. xix, xx. The translation
appeared in 1638 under the title _Sermones fideles, sive interiora

l. 4. Gorhambury was Bacon's residence in Hertfordshire, near St.
Alban's, inherited from his father. Aubrey described it in a long
digression 'for the sake of the lovers of antiquity', ed. Clark, vol.
i, pp. 79-84, and p. 19.

l. 5. Thomas Bushell (1594-1674), afterwards distinguished as a mining
engineer and metallurgist: see his life in the _Dictionary of National

Page 185, l. 2. (_i._) or _i._, a common form at this time for _i.e._

l. 20. Henry Lawes (1596-1662), who wrote the music for _Comus_, and
to whom Milton addressed one of his sonnets:

  _Harry_ whose tuneful and well measur'd Song
  First taught our English Musick how to span
  Words with just note and accent,...
  To after age thou shalt be writ the man,
  That with smooth aire couldst humor best our tongue.

This sonnet was prefixed to Lawes's _Choice Psalmes_ in 1648; his
_Ayres and Dialogues for One, Two, and Three Voices_ appeared in three
books from 1653 to 1658.


The Life of That Reverend Divine, and Learned Historian, Dr. Thomas
Fuller. London, 1661. (pp. 66-77.)

This work was twice reissued with new title-pages at Oxford in 1662,
and was for the first time reprinted in 1845 by way of introduction to
J.S. Brewer's edition of Fuller's _Church History_. It is the basis of
all subsequent lives of Fuller. But the author is unknown.

The passage here quoted from the concluding section of this _Life_ is
the only contemporary sketch of Fuller's person and character that is
now known. Aubrey's description is a mere note, and is considerably
later: 'He was of a middle stature; strong sett; curled haire; a very
working head, in so much that, walking and meditating before dinner,
he would eate-up a penny loafe, not knowing that he did it. His
naturall memorie was very great, to which he had added the _art of
memorie_: he would repeate to you forwards and backwards all the
signes from Ludgate to Charing-crosse' (ed. A. Clark, vol. i, p. 257).

Page 187, l. 20. _a perfect walking Library_, Compare p. 171, l. 19,

Page 191, ll. 3 ff. Compare Aubrey. But Fuller disclaimed the use of
an art of memory. 'Artificiall memory', he said, 'is rather a trick
then an art.' He condemned the 'artificiall rules which at this day
are delivered by Memory-mountebanks'. His great rule was 'Marshall thy
notions into a handsome method'. See his section 'Of Memory' in his
_Holy State_, 1642, Bk. III, ch. 10; and compare J.E. Bailey, _Life of
Thomas Fuller_, 1874, pp. 413-15.


Bodleian Library, MS. Aubrey 8 foll. 63, 63 v, 68.

The text is taken direct from Aubrey's manuscript, such contractions
as 'X'ts coll:' and 'da:' for daughter being expanded. For the
complete life, see _Brief Lives_, ed. A. Clark, vol. ii, pp. 62-72.

There is no character of Milton. We have again to be content with
notes for a character.

Page 192, l. 7. Christ's College, Cambridge, which Milton entered in
February 1625, aged sixteen.

ll. 15-18. Milton had three daughters, by his first wife--Anne, Mary,
and Deborah. Mary died unmarried. Deborah's husband, Abraham Clarke,
left Dublin for London during the troubles in Ireland under James II:
see Masson's _Life of Milton_, vol. vi, p. 751. He is described by
Johnson as a 'weaver in Spitalfields': see _Lives of the Poets_, ed.
G.B. Hill, vol. i, pp. 158-60.

Page 193, ll. 2-4. _Litera Canina_. See Persius, _Sat_. i. 109
'Sonat hic de nare canina littera'; and compare Ben Jonson, _English
Grammar_, '_R_ Is the _Dogs_ Letter, and hurreth in the sound.'

ll. 11, 12. But the Comte de Cominges, French Ambassador to England,
1662-5, in his report to Louis XIV on the state of literature in
England, spoke of 'un nommé Miltonius qui s'est rendu plus infâme par
ses dangereux écrits que les bourreaux et les assassins de leur roi'.
This was written in 1663, and Cominges knew only Milton's Latin works.
See J.J. Jusserand, _A French Ambassador at the Court of Charles the
Second_, 1892, p. 58, and _Shakespeare en France_, 1898, p. 107.

l. 19. _In toto nusquam_. Ovid, _Amores_, i. 5. 18.

Page 194, l. 4. Milton died November 8: see Masson, _Life of Milton_,
vol. vi, p. 731.


Letters of State, Written by Mr. John Milton, To most of the Sovereign
Princes and Republicks of Europe. From the Year 1649 Till the Year
1659. To which is added, An Account of his Life.... London: Printed in
the Year, 1694. (p. xxxvi.)

'The Life of Mr. John Milton' (pp. i-xliv) serves as introduction to
this little volume of State Papers. It is the first life of Milton.
Edward Phillips (1630-96) was the son of Milton's sister, and was
educated by him. Unfortunately he failed to take proper advantage of
his great opportunity. The Life is valuable for some of its details,
but as a whole it is disappointing; and it makes no attempt at
characterization. The note on Milton in his _Theatrum Poetarum, or a
Compleat Collection of the Poets_, 1675, is also disappointing.


Explanatory Notes and Remarks on Milton's Paradise Lost. By J.
Richardson, Father and Son. With the Life of the Author, and a
Discourse on the Poem. By J.R. Sen. London: M.DCC.XXXIV. (pp. iii-v;
xciv; c; cxiv.)

Jonathan Richardson (1665-1745) was one of the chief portrait-painters
of his time. There are portraits by him of Pope, Steele, and
Prior--all now in the National Portrait Gallery; and his writings on
painting were standard works till the time of Reynolds. His book on
Milton was an excursion late in life, with the assistance of his son,
into another field of criticism. His introductory life of Milton
(pp. i-cxliii) is a substantial piece of work, and is valuable as
containing several anecdotes that might otherwise have been lost.
Those that bear on Milton's character are here reproduced. The
typographical eccentricities have been preserved.

Page 194, ll. 28 ff. Edward Millington's place of business was 'at the
Pelican in Duck Lane' in 1670; from Michaelmas, 1671, it was 'at the
Bible in Little Britain' (see Arber's _Term Catalogues_, vol. i, pp.
31, 93). It was about 1680 that he turned auctioneer of books, though
he did not wholly abandon publishing. 'There was usually as much
Comedy in his "Once, Twice, Thrice", as can be met with in a modern
Play.' See the _Life and Errors of John Dunton_, ed. 1818, pp. 235-6.
He died at Cambridge in 1703.

Page 196, l. 4. Dr. Tancred Robinson (d. 1748), physician to George I,
and knighted by him.

l. 10. Henry Bendish (d. 1740), son of Bridget Ireton or Bendish,
Cromwell's granddaughter: see _Letters of John Hughes_, ed. John
Duncombe, vol. ii (1773), pp. x, xlii.

l. 14. John Thurloe (1616-68), Secretary of State under Cromwell.
Compare No. 38 note.

l. 25. 'Easy my unpremeditated verse', _Paradise Lost_, ix. 24.


The Works of M'r Abraham Cowley. Consisting of Those which were
formerly Printed: and Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now
Published out of the Authors Original Copies. London, 1668.--'Several
Discourses by way of Essays, in Verse and Prose,' No. II. (pp. 143-6.)

Cowley's Essays were written towards the close of his life. They were
'left scarce finish'd', and many others were to have been added to
them. They were first published posthumously in the collected edition
of 1668, under the superintendence of Thomas Sprat (see No. 61).
This edition, which alone is authoritative, has been followed in the
present reprint of the eleventh and last Essay, probably written at
the beginning of 1667.

Page 198, l. 1. _at School_, Westminster.

ll. 19 ff. The concluding stanzas of 'A Vote', printed in Cowley's
_Sylva_, 1636. Cowley was then aged eighteen. The first stanza
contains three new readings, 'The unknown' for 'Th' ignote', 'I would
have' for 'I would hug', and 'Not on' for 'Not from'.

Page 199, l. 15. _out of Horace_, _Odes_, iii. 29. 41-5.

Page 200, l. 4. _immediately_. The reading in the text of 1668 is
'irremediably', but 'immediately' is given as the correct reading in
the 'Errata' (printed on a slip that is pasted in at the conclusion of
Cowley's first preface). The edition of 1669 substitutes 'immediately'
in the text. The alteration must be accepted on Sprat's authority, but
it is questionable if it gives a better sense.

ll. 6-10. Cowley was admitted to Trinity College, Cambridge, as a
Westminster scholar on June 14, 1637. He was admitted Minor Fellow
in 1640, and graduated M.A. in 1643. He was ejected in the following
year as a result of the Earl of Manchester's commission to enforce the
solemn League and Covenant in Cambridge. See _Cowley's Pure Works_,
ed. J.R. Lumby, pp. ix-xiii, and Johnson's _Lives of the Poets_, ed.
G.B. Hill, vol. i, p. 5.

ll. 9, 10. _Cedars ... Hyssop_. I Kings, iv. 33.

l. 12. _one of the best Persons_, Henry Jermyn, created Baron Jermyn,
1643, and Earl of St. Albans, 1660, chief officer of Henrietta Maria's
household in Paris: see Clarendon, vol. iv, p. 312. As secretary
to Jermyn, Cowley 'cyphcr'd and decypher'd with his own hand, the
greatest part of all the Letters that passed between their Majesties,
and managed a vast Intelligence in many other parts: which for some
years together took up all his days, and two or three nights every
week' (Sprat). He told Sprat that he intended to dedicate all his
Essays to St. Albans 'as a testimony of his entire respects to him'.

Page 201, l. 10. _Well then_. The opening lines of 'The Wish',
included in _The Mistress_, 1647 (ed. 1668, pp. 22-3).

ll. 14 ff. At the instance of Jermyn, Cowley had been promised by both
Charles I and Charles II the mastership of the Savoy Hospital, but the
post was given in 1660 to Sheldon, and in 1663, on Sheldon's promotion
to the Archbishopric of Canterbury, to Henry Killigrew: see W.J.
Loftie, _Memorials of the Savoy_, 1878, pp. 145 ff., and Wood, _Fasti
Oxonienses_, ed. Bliss, part I, col. 494. In the _Calendar of State
Papers_, Domestic Series, 1661-2, p. 210, there is the statement of
the case of Abraham Cowley, 'showing that the place may be held by a
person not a divine, and that Cowley ... having seen all preferments
given away, and his old University companions advanced before him, is
put to great shame by missing this place'. He is called 'Savoy missing
Cowley' in the Restoration _Session of the Poets_, printed in _Poems
on State Affairs_.

l. 21. _Thou, neither_. In the ode entitled 'Destinie', _Pindarique
Odes_, 1656 (ed. 1668, p. 31, 'That neglected').

l. 28. _A Corps perdu_, misprinted _A Corps perdi_, edd. 1668, 1669,
_A Corpus perdi_, 1672, 1674, &c.; _Perdue_, Errata, 1668.

Page 202, l. 1. St. Luke, xii. 16-21.

ll. 3-5. 'Out of hast to be gone away from the Tumult and Noyse of the
City, he had not prepar'd so healthful a situation in the Country, as
he might have done, if he had made a more leasurable choice. Of this
he soon began to find the inconvenience at _Barn Elms_, where he was
afflicted with a dangerous and lingring _Fever_.... Shortly after his
removal to _Chertsea_ [April 1665], he fell into another consuming
Disease. Having languish'd under this for some months, he seem'd to
be pretty well cur'd of its ill Symptomes. But in the heat of the last
Summer [1667], by staying too long amongst his Laborers in the Medows,
he was taken with a violent Defluxion, and Stoppage in his Breast, and
Throat. This he at first neglected as an ordinary Cold, and refus'd
to send for his usual Physicians, till it was past all remedies; and
so in the end after a fortnight sickness, it prov'd mortal to him'
(Sprat). In the Latin life prefixed to Cowley's _Poemata Latina_,
1668, Sprat is more specific: 'Initio superioris Anni, inciderat in
_Morbum_, quem Medici _Diabeten_ appellant.'

l. 6. _Non ego_. Horace, _Odes_, ii. 17. 9, 10.

ll. 11 ff. _Nec vos_. These late Latin verses may be Cowley's own, but
they are not in his collected Latin poems. Compare Virgil, _Georgics_,
ii. 485-6. 'Syluæq;' = 'Sylvæque': 'q;' was a regular contraction for
_que_: cf. p. 44, l. 6.


The Works of Mr. Abraham Cowley, 1668.--'An Account of the Life and
Writings of M'r Abraham Cowley'. (pp. [18]-[20].)

Thomas Sprat (1635-1713), author of _The History of the
Royal-Society_, 1667, afterwards Bishop of Rochester, 1684, was
entrusted by Cowley's will with 'the revising of all his Works that
were formerly printed, and the collecting of those Papers which he had
design'd for the Press'; and as literary executor he brought out in
1668 a folio edition of the English works, and an octavo edition of
the Latin works. To both he prefixed a life, one in English and the
other in Latin. The more elaborate English life was written partly in
the hope that 'a Character of Mr. _Cowley_ may be of good advantage to
our Nation'. Unfortunately the ethical bias has injured the biography.
In Johnson's words, 'his zeal of friendship, or ambition of eloquence,
has produced a funeral oration rather than a history: he has given the
character, not the life of Cowley; for he writes with so little detail
that scarcely any thing is distinctly known, but all is shewn confused
and enlarged through the mist of panegyrick.' Similarly Coleridge asks
'What literary man has not regretted the prudery of Sprat in refusing
to let his friend Cowley appear in his slippers and dressing-gown?'
(_Biographia Literaria_, ch. iii). His method is the more to be
regretted as no one knew Cowley better in his later years. His
greatest error of judgement was to suppress his large collection
of Cowley's letters. But with all its faults Sprat's Life of Cowley
occupies an important place at the beginning of English biography of
men of letters. It is the earliest substantial life of a poet whose
reputation rested on his poetry. Fulke Greville's life of Sir Philip
Sidney was the life of a soldier and a statesman of promise; and to
Izaak Walton, Donne was not so much a poet as a great Churchman.

In the edition of 1668 the life of Cowley runs to twenty-four folio
pages. The passage here selected deals directly with his character.

Page 203, ll. 25-7. It is evidently the impression of a stranger at
first sight that Aubrey gives in his short note: 'A.C. discoursed very
ill and with hesitation' (ed. A. Clark, vol. i, p. 190).


A Character of King Charles the Second: And Political, Moral and
Miscellaneous Thoughts and Reflections. By George Savile, Marquis of
Halifax. London: MDCCL.

Halifax's elaborate and searching account of Charles II was first
published in 1750 'from his original Manuscripts, in the Possession
of his Grand-daughter Dorothy Countess of Burlington'. It consists
of seven parts: I. Of his Religion; II. His Dissimulation; III. His
Amours, Mistresses, &c.; IV. His Conduct to his Ministers; V. Of
his Wit and Conversation; VI. His Talents, Temper, Habits, &c.; VII.
Conclusion. Only the second, fifth, and sixth are given here. The
complete text is reprinted in Sir Walter Raleigh's _Works of Halifax_,
1912, pp. 187-208.

For other characters of Charles, in addition to the two by Burnet
which follow, see Evelyn's _Diary_, February 4, 1685; Dryden's
dedication of _King Arthur_, 1691; 'A Short Character of King Charles
the II' by John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave, Duke of Buckingham,
'Printed from the Original Copy' in _Miscellaneous Works Written by
George, late Duke of Buckingham_, ed. Tho. Brown, vol. ii, 1705, pp.
153-60, and with Pope's emendations in _Works_, 1723, vol. ii, pp.
57-65; and James Welwood's _Memoirs Of the Most Material Transactions
in England, for the Last Hundred Years, Preceding the Revolution_,
1700, pp. 148-53.

For Halifax himself, see No. 72.

Page 208, l. 12. An allusion to the Quarrel of the Ancients and
Moderns, which assumed prominence in England with the publication
in 1690 of Sir William Temple's _Essay upon the Ancient and Modern
Learning_. Compare Burnet, p. 223, l. 11 and note.

PAGE 209, l. 29. _Ruelle_. Under Louis XIV it was the custom for
ladies of fashion to receive morning visitors in their bedrooms; hence
_ruelle_, the passage by the side of a bed, came to mean a ladies'
chamber. Compare _The Spectator_, Nos. 45 and 530.

Page 211, l. 2. _Tiendro cuydado_, evidently an imperfect recollection
of the phrase _se tendrá cuydado_, 'care will be taken', 'the matter
will have attention': compare _Cortes de Madrid_, 1573, Peticion
96,... 'se tendrá cuidado de proueher en ello lo que conuiniere'.

Page 212, ll. 7, 8. Compare Pepys's _Diary_, May 4, 1663: 'meeting the
King, we followed him into the Park, where Mr. Coventry and he talking
of building a new yacht out of his private purse, he having some
contrivance of his own'. Also, Evelyn's _Diary_, February 4, 1685:
'a lover of the sea, and skilful in shipping; not affecting other
studies, yet he had a laboratory and knew of many empirical medicines,
and the easier mechanical mathematics.' Also, Buckingham, ed. 1705,
p. 155: 'the great and almost only pleasure of Mind he seem'd addicted
to, was _Shipping_ and _Sea-Affairs_; which seem'd to be so much his
Talent for _Knowledge_, as well as _Inclination_, that a War of that
Kind, was rather an _Entertainment_, than any _Disturbance_ to his
Thoughts.' Also Welwood, _Memoirs_, p. 151. Also, Burnet, _infra_, p.

Page 213, l. 10. According to Pepys (_Diary_, December 8, 1666),
the distinction between Charles Stuart and the King was drawn by Tom
Killigrew in his remonstrance to Charles on the very ill state that
matters were coming to: 'There is a good, honest, able man, that I
could name, that if your Majesty would employ, and command to see all
things well executed, all things would soon be mended; and this is one
Charles Stuart, who now spends his time in employing his lips about
the Court, and hath no other employment; but if you would give him
this employment, he were the fittest man in the world to perform it.'

Page 217, ll. 11 ff. Compare Welwood's _Memoirs_, p. 149.


Bishop Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. From the Restoration
of King Charles II. to the Settlement of King William and Queen Mary
at the Revolution. London: 1724. (pp. 93-4.)

Burnet began his _History of His Own Time_ in 1683, after the
publication of his _History of the Reformation_. In its original form
it partook largely of the nature of Memoirs. But on the appearance
of Clarendon's History in 1702 he was prompted to recast his entire
narrative on a method that confined the strictly autobiographical
matter to a section by itself and as a whole assured greater dignity.
The part dealing with the reign of Charles II was rewritten by August
1703. The work was brought down to 1713 and completed in that year.
Two years later Burnet died, leaving instructions that it was not to
be printed till six years after his death.

The _History_ was published in two folio volumes, dated 1724 and 1734.
The first, which contains the reigns of Charles II and James II, came
out at the end of 1723 and was edited by Burnet's second son, Gilbert
Burnet, then rector of East Barnet. The second volume was edited
by his third son, Thomas Burnet, afterwards a Judge of the Court
of Common Pleas. The complete autograph of the History, and the
transcript which was prepared for the press under the author's
directions, are now both in the Bodleian Library.

The original form of the work survives in two transcripts (one of them
with Burnet's autograph corrections) in the Harleian collection in
the British Museum, and in a fragment of Burnet's original manuscript
in the Bodleian. The portions of this original version that differ
materially from the final printed version were published in 1902 by
Miss H.C. Foxcroft under the title _A Supplement to Burnet's History_.

Much of the interest of the earlier version lies in the characters,
which are generally longer than they became on revision, and
sometimes contain details that were suppressed. But in a volume of
representative selections, where the art of a writer is as much our
concern as his matter, the preference must be given to what Burnet
himself intended to be final. The extracts are reprinted from the two
volumes edited by his sons. There was not the same reason to go direct
to his manuscript as to Clarendon's: see notes p. 231, l. 26; p. 252,
l. 10; and p. 255, l. 6.


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (pp. 611-3.)

Burnet's two characters of Charles II are in striking agreement with
the more elaborate study by Halifax.

Page 221, ll. 1 ff. Compare Halifax, p. 216, ll. 10 ff.

l. 14. _his Chancellor_, Clarendon.

Page 222, l. 16. _he became cruel_. This statement was attacked by
Roger North, _Lives of the Norths_, ed. 1890, vol. i, p. 330: 'whereas
some of our barbarous writers call this awaking of the king's genius
to a sedulity in his affairs, a growing cruel, because some suffered
for notorious treasons, I must interpret their meaning; which is a
distaste, because his majesty was not pleased to be undone as his
father was; and accordingly, since they failed to wound his person and
authority, they fell to wounding his honour.' Buckingham says, 'He was
an Illustrious Exception to all the Common Rules of _Phisiognomy_; for
with a most _Saturnine_ harsh sort of Countenance, he was both of a
_Merry_ and a _Merciful_ Disposition' (ed. 1705, p. 159); with which
compare Welwood, ed. 1700, p. 149. The judicial verdict had already
been pronounced by Halifax: see p. 216, ll. 23 ff.

ll. 21-3. See Burnet, ed. Osmund Airy, vol. i, p. 539, for the
particular reference. The scandal was widespread, but groundless.

Page 223, l. 9. _the war of Paris_, the Fronde. See Clarendon, vol. v,
pp. 243-5.

ll. 11 ff. Compare Buckingham, ed. 1705, p. 157: 'Witty in all
sorts of Conversation; and telling a Story so well, that, not out of
Flattery, but the Pleasure of hearing it, we seem'd Ignorant of what
he had repeated to us Ten Times before; as a good _Comedy_ will bear
the being often seen.' Also Halifax, p. 208, ll. 7-14.

l. 17. John Wilmot (1647-80), second Earl of Rochester, son of Henry
Wilmot, first Earl (No. 32). Burnet knew him well and wrote his life,
_Some Passages of the Life and Death Of the Right Honourable John Earl
of Rochester_, 1680; 'which', says Johnson, 'the critick ought to read
for its elegance, the philosopher for its arguments, and the saint for
its piety' (_Lives of the Poets_, ed. G.B. Hill, vol. i, p. 222).

ll. 25 ff. The resemblance to Tiberius was first pointed out in print
in Welwood's _Memoirs_, p. 152, which appeared twenty-four years
before Burnet's _History_. But Welwood was indebted to Burnet. He
writes as if they had talked about it; or he might have seen Burnet's
early manuscript.


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (pp. 94-5.)

The author of most of the characters in this volume himself deserves a
fuller character. The main portions of Burnet's original sketch (1683)
are therefore given here, partly by way of supplement, and partly to
illustrate the nature of Burnet's revision (1703):

'The great man with the king was chancellor Hyde, afterwards made Earl
of Clarendon. He had been in the beginning of the long parliament very
high against the judges upon the account of the ship-money and became
then a considerable man; he spake well, his style had no flaw in it,
but had a just mixture of wit and sense, only he spoke too copiously;
he had a great pleasantness in his spirit, which carried him sometimes
too far into raillery, in which he sometimes shewed more wit than
discretion. He went over to the court party when the war was like to
break out, and was much in the late king's councils and confidence
during the war, though he was always of the party that pressed the
king to treat, and so was not in good terms with the queen. The late
king recommended him to this king as the person on whose advices he
wished him to rely most, and he was about the king all the while that
he was beyond sea, except a little that he was ambassador in Spain; he
managed all the king's correspondences in England, both in the little
designs that the cavaliers were sometimes engaged in, and chiefly in
procuring money for the king's subsistence, in which Dr. Sheldon was
very active; he had nothing so much before his eyes as the king's
service and doated on him beyond expression: he had been a sort of
governor to him and had given him many lectures on the politics
and was thought to assume and dictate too much ... But to pursue
Clarendon's character: he was a man that knew England well, and was
lawyer good enough to be an able chancellor, and was certainly a very
incorrupt man. In all the king's foreign negotiations he meddled too
much, for I have been told that he had not a right notion of foreign
matters, but he could not be gained to serve the interests of other
princes. Mr. Fouquet sent him over a present of 10,000 pounds after
the king's restoration and assured him he would renew that every
year, but though both the king and the duke advised him to take it he
very worthily refused it. He took too much upon him and meddled in
everything, which was his greatest error. He fell under the hatred
of most of the cavaliers upon two accounts. The one was the act of
indemnity which cut off all their hopes of repairing themselves of
the estates of those that had been in the rebellion, but he said it
was the offer of the indemnity that brought in the king and it was
the observing of it that must keep him in, so he would never let that
be touched, and many that had been deeply engaged in the late times
having expiated it by their zeal of bringing home the king were
promoted by his means, such as Manchester, Anglesey, Orrery, Ashley,
Holles, and several others. The other thing was that, there being an
infinite number of pretenders to employments and rewards for their
services and sufferings, so that the king could only satisfy some few
of them, he upon that, to stand between the king and the displeasure
which those disappointments had given, spoke slightly of many of them
and took it upon him that their petitions were not granted; and some
of them having procured several warrants from the secretaries for the
same thing (the secretaries considering nothing but their fees), he
who knew on whom the king intended that the grant should fall, took
all upon him, so that those who were disappointed laid the blame
chiefly if not wholly upon him. He was apt to talk very imperiously
and unmercifully, so that his manner of dealing with people was as
provoking as the hard things themselves were; but upon the whole
matter he was a true Englishman and a sincere protestant, and what
has passed at court since his disgrace has sufficiently vindicated him
from all ill designs' (_Supplement_, ed. Foxcroft, pp. 53-6).

There is a short character of Clarendon in Warwick's _Mémoires_, pp.
196-8; compare also Pepys's _Diary_, October 13, 1666, and Evelyn's
_Diary_, August 27, 1667, and September 18, 1683.


Clarendon, MS. Life, pp. 638-9; _Continuation of the Life of Edward
Earl of Clarendon_, ed. 1759, pp. 51-2.

Page 226, l. 8. He was released from Windsor Castle in March 1660.
Compare Burnet's character, p. 228, ll. 2-4.

l. 19. _the Chancellour_, i.e. Clarendon himself.

Page 227, ll. 5 ff. John Middleton (1619-74), created Earl of
Middleton, 1656. He was taken prisoner at Worcester, but escaped to
France. As Lord High Commissioner for Scotland and Commander-in-chief,
he was mainly responsible for the unfortunate methods of forcing
episcopacy on Scotland.

William Cunningham (1610-64), ninth Earl of Glencairn, Lord Chancellor
of Scotland.

John Leslie (1630-81), seventh Earl and first Duke of Rothes,
President of the Council in Scotland; Lord Chancellor, 1667.

On the composition of the ministry in Scotland, compare Burnet, ed.
Osmund Airy, vol. i, pp. 199, ff.


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (pp. 101-2.)

We are fortunate in having companion characters of Lauderdale by
Clarendon and Burnet. Their point of view is different. Clarendon
describes the Lauderdale of the Restoration who is climbing to power
and is officially his inferior. Burnet looks back on him at the
height of power and remembers how it was made to be felt. But the two
characters have a strong likeness. Burnet is here seen at his best.

Page 228, ll. 14-17. Compare Roger North's _Lives of the Norths_, ed.
1890, vol. i, p. 231: 'the duke himself, being also learned, having
a choice library, took great pleasure ... in hearing him talk of
languages and criticism'. Compare also Evelyn's _Diary_, August 27,
1678. His library was dispersed by auction--the French, Italian, and
Spanish books on May 14, and the English books on May 27, 1690: copies
of the sale catalogues are in the Bodleian. The catalogue of his
manuscripts, 1692, is printed in the _Bannatyne Miscellany_, vol. ii,
1836, p. 149.

l. 30. As Professor of Theology in the University of Glasgow Burnet
had enjoyed the favour of Lauderdale, and had dedicated to him, in
fulsome terms, _A Vindication of the Church and State of Scotland_.
The break came suddenly, and with no apparent cause, in 1673, when
Burnet was appointed royal chaplain and was winning the ears of the
King. Henceforward Lauderdale continued a 'violent enemy'. Their
relations at this time are described in Clarke and Foxcroft's _Life of
Gilbert Burnet_, 1907, pp. 109 ff., where Burnet's concluding letter
of December 15, 1673, is printed in full.

Page 229, ll. 2-7. Richard Baxter delivered himself to Lauderdale in a
long letter about his lapse from his former professions of piety--'so
fallne from all that can be called serious religion, as that
sensuality and complyance with sin is your ordinary course.' The
letter (undated, but before 1672) is printed in _The Landerdale
Papers_, ed. Osmund Airy, Camden Society, vol. iii, 1885, pp. 235-9.

ll. 8-12. 'The broad and pungent wit, and the brutal _bonhomie_..
probably went as far as anything else in securing Charles's favour.'
Osmund Airy, Burnet's _History_, vol. i, p. 185.


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (pp. 96-7.)

Page 230, l. 14. He was chosen for Tewkesbury in March 1640, but he
did not sit in the Long Parliament.

l. 18, _a town_, Weymouth: see p. 70, l. 21 note. He had been
appointed governor of it in August 1643 after some dispute, but was
shortly afterwards removed (Clarendon, vol. iii, pp. 163-5, 362).

Page 231, l. 2. Shaftesbury writes about the prediction of 'Doctor
Olivian, a German, a very learned physician', in his autobiographical
fragment: see No. 14 note.

ll. 14, 15. Compare Burnet's first sketch of Shaftesbury, ed.
Foxcroft, p. 59: 'he told some that Cromwell offered once to make him
king, but he never offered to impose so gross a thing on me.'

ll. 17, 18. See the Newsletter of December 28, 1654, in _The Clarke
Papers_, ed. C.H. Firth, Camden Society, 1899, p. 16: 'a few daies
since when the House was in a Grand Committee of the whole House upon
the Government, Mr. Garland mooved to have my Lord Protectour crowned,
which mocion was seconded by Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, Mr. Hen.
Cromwell, and others, but waved.'

l. 26. After 'party' Burnet wrote (autograph, fol. 49) 'He had no sort
of virtue: for he was both a leud and corrupt man: and had no regard
either to trueth or Justice.' But he struck out 'no sort ... and had'.
The sentence thus read in the transcript (p. 76) 'He had no regard
either to Truth or Justice'. This in turn was struck out, either by
Burnet himself or by the editor.

The following words are likewise struck out in the transcript, after
'manner' (l. 28): 'and was not out of countenance in owning his
unsteadiness and deceitfullness.'


Absalom and Achitophel. A Poem ... The Second Edition; Augmented and
Revised. London, 1681. (ll. 142-227.)

The first edition was published on November 17, 1681, a few days
before Shaftesbury's trial for high treason. In the second, which
appeared within a month, the character of Shaftesbury was 'augmented'
by twelve lines (p. 233, ll. 17-28).

Shaftesbury had been satirized by Butler in the Third Part of
_Hudibras_, 1678, three years before the crisis in his remarkable
career, and while his schemes still prospered. To Butler he is the
unprincipled turn-coat who thinks only of his own interests:

  So Politick, as if one eye
  Upon the other were a Spye;...
  H'had seen three Governments Run down,
  And had a Hand in ev'ry one,
  Was for 'em, and against 'em all.
  But Barb'rous when they came to fall:...
  By giving aim from side, to side,
  He never fail'd to save his Tide,
  But got the start of ev'ry State,
  And at a Change, ne'r came too late....
  Our _State-Artificer_ foresaw,
  Which way the World began to draw:...
  He therefore wisely cast about,
  All ways he could, t'_insure his Throat_;
  And hither came t'observe, and smoke
  What Courses other Riscers took:
  And to the utmost do his Best
  To Save himself, and Hang the Rest.

(Canto II, ll. 351-420).

Dryden's satire should be compared with Butler's. But a comparison
with the prose character by Burnet, which had no immediate political
purpose, will reveal even better Dryden's mastery in satirical
portraiture. Another verse character is in _The Review_ by Richard
Duke, written shortly after Dryden's poem.

Absalom is Monmouth, David Charles II, Israel England, the Jews the
English, and a Jebusite a Romanist.

Page 232, l. 28. Compare Seneca, _De Tranquillitate Animi_, xvii. 10:
'nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiæ fuit.'

Page 233, l. 7. The humorous definition of man ascribed to Plato in
Diogenes Laertius, Lib. vi. 40 (Life of Diogenes), [Greek: Platonos
horisamenou, anthropos esti zoon dipoun apteron.]

The son was a handsomer man than the father, though he did not inherit
his ability. His son, the third earl, was the critic and philosopher
who wrote the _Characteristicks_.

l. 12. _the Triple Bond_, the alliance of England, Holland, and Sweden
against France in 1667, broken by the war with France against Holland
in 1672. But Shaftesbury then knew nothing of the secret Treaty of
Dover, 1670.

l. 16. _Usurp'd_, in ed. 1 'Assum'd'.

l. 25. _Abbethdin_ 'the president of the Jewish judicature', 'the
father of the house of judgement'. Shaftesbury was Lord Chancellor,

Page 234, l. 4. David would have sung his praises instead of writing a
psalm, and so Heaven would have had one psalm the less.

ll. 5, 6. Macaulay pointed out in his essay on Sir William Temple
that these lines are a reminiscence of a couplet under the portrait of
Sultan Mustapha the First in Knolles's _Historie of the Turkes_ (ed.
1638, p. 1370):

  Greatnesse, on Goodnesse loues to slide, not stand,
  and leaues for Fortunes ice, Vertues firm land.

l. 15. The alleged Popish Plot, invented by Titus Oates, to murder the
king and put the government in the hands of the Jesuits. Shaftesbury
had no share in the invention, but he believed it, and made political
use of it.

Page 235, l. 4. This line reappears in _The Hind and the Panther_,
Part I, l. 211. As W.D. Christie pointed out, it is a reminiscence
of a couplet in _Lachrymæ Musarum_, 1649, the volume to which
Dryden contributed his school-boy verses 'Upon the Death of the Lord

  It is decreed, we must be drain'd (I see)
  Down to the dregs of a _Democracie_.

This is the opening couplet of the English poem preceding Dryden's,
and signed 'M.N.' i.e. Marchamont Needham (p. 81).


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (p. 100.)

'The portrait of this Duke has been drawn by four masterly hands:
Burnet has hewn it out with his rough chissel; Count Hamilton touched
it with that slight delicacy, that finishes while it seems but to
sketch; Dryden catched the living likeness; Pope compleated the
historical resemblance.'--Horace Walpole, _Royal and Noble Authors_,
ed. 1759, vol. ii, p. 78.

There is also Butler's prose character of 'A Duke of Bucks', first
printed in Thyer's edition of the _Genuine Remains of Butler_, 1759,
vol. ii, pp. 72-5, but written apparently about 1667-9. And there is a
verse character in Duke's _Review_.

Page 235, l. 11. _a great liveliness of wit_. In the first sketch
Burnet wrote 'he has a flame in his wit that is inimitable'. It lives
in _The Rehearsal_. His 'Miscellaneous Works' were collected in two
volumes by Tom Brown, 1704-5.

Page 236, l. 12. Compare Butler: 'one that has studied the whole Body
of Vice.'

l. 14. Sir Henry Percy, created Baron Percy of Alnwick in 1643. He
was then general of the ordinance of the king's army. He joined the
Queen's party in France in 1645.

l. 15. _Hobbs_. For Burnet's view of Hobbes, see p. 246, ll. 21 ff.


Absalom and Achitophel. Second Edition. 1681. (ll. 543-68.)

Dryden is his own best critic: 'The Character of _Zimri_ in my
_Absalom_, is, in my Opinion, worth the whole Poem: 'Tis not bloody,
but 'tis ridiculous enough. And he for whom it was intended, was
too witty to resent it as an injury. If I had rail'd, I might have
suffer'd for it justly: But I manag'd my own Work more happily,
perhaps more dextrously. I avoided the mention of great Crimes
and apply'd my self to the representing of Blind-sides, and little
Extravagancies: To which, the wittier a Man is, he is generally the
more obnoxious. It succeeded as I wish'd.' ('Discourse concerning
Satire' prefixed to Dryden's Juvenal, 1693, p. xlii.)

Burnet's prose character again furnishes the best commentary.

Page 236, ll. 28 ff. Compare Butler: 'He is as inconstant as the Moon,
which he lives under ... His Mind entertains all Things very freely,
that come and go; but, like Guests and Strangers they are not
welcome, if they stay long ... His Ears are perpetually drilled with
a Fiddlestick. He endures Pleasures with less Patience, than other Men
do their Pains.'


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (pp. 267-8.)

This is not one of Burnet's best characters. He did not see the
political wisdom that lay behind the ready wit. Halifax was too subtle
for Burnet's heavy-handed grasp. To recognize the inadequacy of this
short-sighted estimate, it is sufficient to have read the 'Character
of King Charles II' (No. 62).

Burnet suffered from Halifax's wit: 'In the House of Lords,' says the
first Earl of Dartmouth, 'he affected to conclude all his discourses
with a jest, though the subject were never so serious, and if it did
not meet with the applause he expected, would be extremely out of
countenance and silent, till an opportunity offered to retrieve the
approbation he thought he had lost; but was never better pleased than
when he was turning Bishop Burnet and his politics into ridicule'
(Burnet, ed. Airy, vol. i, p. 485).

Dryden understood Halifax, the Jotham of his _Absalom and Achitophel_:

  _Jotham_ of piercing Wit and pregnant Thought:
  Endew'd by Nature, and by Learning taught
  To move Assemblies, who but onely tri'd
  The worse awhile, then chose the better side;
  Nor chose alone, but turn'd the Balance too;
  So much the weight of one brave man can do.

See also Dryden's dedication to Halifax of his _King Arthur_.


The Life of the Right Honourable Francis North, Baron of Guilford,
Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, under King Charles II. and King James
II.... By the Honourable Roger North, Esq; London, MDCCXLII. (pp.

Roger North's lives of his three brothers, Lord Keeper Guilford,
Sir Dudley North, and Dr. John North, Master of Trinity College,
Cambridge, were begun about 1710 but were not published till 1742-4,
eight years after his death. The edition of the 'Lives of the Norths'
by Augustus Jessopp, 3 vols., 1890, contains also his autobiography.

The Life of Lord Keeper Guilford is invaluable as a picture of the
bench and bar under Charles II and James II.

Page 240, l. 6. Sir Francis Pemberton (1625-97), Lord Chief Justice,
1681, removed from the King's Bench, 1683, 'near the time that the
great cause of the _quo warranto_ against the city of London was to be
brought to judgment in that court.' North had just described him as a

Page 241, l. 1. Compare Scott's _Monastery_, ch. xiv: '"By my troggs,"
replied Christie, "I would have thrust my lance down his throat."'
'Troggs' is an altered form of 'Troth'. It appears to be Scottish
in origin; no Southern instance is quoted in Wright's _Dialect
Dictionary_. Saunders may have learned it from a London Scot.

l. 22. Sir John Maynard (1602-90), 'the king's eldest serjeant, but
advanced no farther'. Described by North, ed. 1890, p. 149; also p.
26: 'Serjeant Maynard, the best old book-lawyer of his time, used to
say that the law was _ars bablativa_'.

l. 30. Sir Matthew Hale (1609-76), Lord Chief Justice of the King's
Bench, described by North, pp. 79 ff. Burnet wrote _The Life and Death
of Sir Matthew Hale_, 1682.

Page 243, l. 5. The action taken by the Crown in 1682 contesting the
charter of the city of London. Judgement was given for the Crown. See
_State Trials_, ed. 1810, vol. viii, 1039 ff., and Burnet, ed. Airy,
vol. ii, pp. 343 ff., and compare Hallam, _Constitutional History_,
ch. xii, ed. 1863, pp. 453-4.


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (pp. 186-91).

This passage brings together ten of the great divines of the century.
It would be easy, as critics have shown, to name as many others, such
as Jeremy Taylor, Sanderson, Sheldon, Cosin, Pearson, and South. But
Burnet is mainly concerned with the men who in his opinion had the
greatest influence during the time of which he is writing, and who
were known to him personally. By way of introduction he speaks of
the Cambridge Platonists under whom his great contemporaries had been
formed. Incidentally he expresses his views on Hobbes's _Leviathan_,
and he concludes with a valuable account of the reform in preaching.
The passage as a whole is an excellent specimen of Burnet's method and

Page 246, ll. 6, 7. John Owen (1616-83), made Dean of Christ Church by
Cromwell in 1651, Vice-Chancellor of the University, 1652-8, deprived
of the Deanery, 1659. Thomas Goodwin (1600-80), President of Magdalen
College, 1650-60, likewise one of the Commission of Visitors to the
University appointed by the Parliament. Both were Independents. See
H.L. Thompson, _Christ Church_ (College Histories), 1900, pp. 69, 70;
and H.A. Wilson, _Magdalen College_, 1899, pp. 172-4.

Page 248, l. 5. Simon Episcopius, or Bischop (1583-1643), Dutch
theologian and follower of Arminius: see p. 101, l. 3, note.

Page 249, l. 12. _Irenicum_. _A Weapon-Salve for the Churches Wounds_,
published 1661.

Page 252, l. 10. The following sentence is in the original manuscript
(folio 98) before 'But I owed': 'and if I have arrived at any faculty
of writing clear and correctly, I owe that entirely to them: for as
they joined with Wilkins in that Noble tho despised attempt at an
Universall Character, and a Philosophicall Language, they took great
pains to observe all the common errours of language in generall, and
of ours in particular: and in the drawing the tables for that work,
which was Lloyds province, he had looked further into a naturall
purity and simplicity of stile, than any man I ever knew: into
all which he led me, and so helpt me to any measure of exactnes
of writing, which may be thought to belong to me.' The sentence is
deleted in the transcript that was sent to the printer; but whether it
was deleted by Burnet himself, or by the editor, is uncertain. There
are other minor alterations in the same page of the transcript (p.

The book referred to in the omitted passage is Wilkins's _Essay
Towards a Real Character And a Philosophical Language_, presented
to the Royal Society and published in 1668. Lloyd's 'continual
assistance' is acknowledged in the 'Epistle to the Reader'.


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. i. (pp. 168-70.)

Page 253, l. 23. He served under Turenne in four campaigns, 1652-5,
latterly as Lieutenant-General. His own account of these campaigns has
fortunately been preserved. It is a portion of the journal to which
Burnet refers. See _The Life of James the Second King of England,
etc., collected out of memoirs writ of his own hand.... Published from
the original Stuart manuscripts in Carlton-House_, edited by James
Stanier Clarke, 2 vols, 1816.

Page 254, l. 20. After the surrender at Oxford on June 24, 1646, James
was given into the charge of the Earl of Northumberland and confined
at St. James's. See _Life_, ed. J.S. Clarke, vol. i, pp. 30-1, and
Clarendon, vol. iv, pp. 237, and 326-8.

Page 255, l. 3. Richard Stuart (1594-1651), 'the dean of the King's
chapel, whom his majesty had recommended to his son to instruct him in
all matters relating to the Church' (Clarendon, vol. iv, p. 341). See
Wood's _Athenæ Oxonienses_, ed. Bliss, vol. iii, cols. 295-8, and John
Walker's _Sufferings of the Clergy_, Pt. II, p. 48.

ll. 6-8. The autograph reads (fol. 87): 'He said that a Nun had
advised him to pray every day, that if he was not in the right way
that God would set him right, did make a great impression on him.' The
transcript (p. 127) agrees with the print.

ll. 27-9. James definitely joined the Roman church at the beginning of
1669: see _Life_, ed. J.S. Clarke, vol. i, p. 440.

Page 256, l. 3. As High Admiral he defeated the Dutch at Lowestoft,
1665, and Southwold Bay, 1672. Compare Dryden's _Annus Mirabilis_, ll.

  Victorious _York_ did first, with fam'd success,
  To his known valour make the _Dutch_ give place;

also his _Verses to the Duchess_ on the Duke's victory of June 3,
1665. He ceased to be High Admiral on the passing of the Test Act,

Page 256, l. 6. Sir William Coventry (1628-86), secretary to James,
1660-7. 'He was the man of the finest parts and the best temper that
belonged to the court:' see his character by Burnet, ed. Airy, vol. i,
pp. 478-9.

ll. 13 ff. Compare Pepys's _Diary_, November 20, 1661, June 27 and
July 2, 1662, June 2, 1663, July 21, 1666, &c.


Burnet's History of His Own Time. Vol. ii. (p. 292-3.)


Abbott, George, Archbishop of Canterbury
Achitophel. See Shaftesbury.
Aires, or Ayres, Captain.
Anglesey, Arthur Annesley, first Earl of.
Argyle, Archibald Campbell, Marquis of.
Army, The New Model.
Arundel, Thomas Howard, Earl of:
  character by Clarendon;
    by Sir Edward Walker;
  his art collections.
Ascham, Roger.
Ashley, Lord. See Shaftesbury.
Aubrey, John:
  description of Hobbes;
  of Milton;
  his manuscripts; quoted.
_Aulicus Coquinariæ_.

Bacon, Sir Francis, Baron Verulam, Viscount St. Albans:
  character by Jonson;
    by Arthur Wilson;
    by Fuller;
    by Rawley;
  his relations with Hobbes;
  Essays quoted by Baxter;
  _Advancement of Learning_;
  _Henry VII_;
Baker, Sir Richard.
Balfour, Sir William.
Bankes, Anne, wife of Edmund Waller.
Bate, or Bates, George: _Elenchus Motuum_.
Baxter, Richard:
  character of Cromwell;
  _Reliquiæ Baxterianæ_;
  letter to Lauderdale.
Bedford, Francis Russell, fourth Earl of.
Bee, Cornelius, bookseller.
Bendish, Bridget.
Bendish, Henry.
Bentivoglio, Cardinal Guido.
Berry, James.
Bolton, Edmund: _Hypercritica_.
Bradshaw, John: Milton's praise of.
Brentford, Patrick Ruthven, Earl of:
  character by Clarendon.
Bristol, John Digby, first Earl of.
Bristol, second Earl of. See Digby, George.
Brooke, Sir Fulke Greville, first Baron.
Brooke, Robert Greville, second Baron.
Buckingham, George Villiers, first Duke of:
  character by Clarendon;
    by Sir Henry Wotton;
  Clarendon's early account.
Buckingham, George Villiers, second Duke of:
  character by Burnet;
    by Dryden (Zimri);
  other characters.
Buckingham, or Buckinghamshire, John Sheffield, Duke of:
  'Character of Charles II'.
Burleigh, William Cecil, Baron.
Burnet, Gilbert, Bishop of Salisbury:
  characters of Charles II;
    seventeenth-century divines;
    James II;
  account of Vane;
  Sir Philip Warwick;
    his characters;
    revision of his characters;
  _History of His Own Time_;
  _Memoirs of Dukes of Hamilton_;
  _Life of Hale_;
  _Life of Rochester_;
  relations with Lauderdale;
    with English divines.
Burton, John.
Bushell, Thomas.
Butler, Samuel: character of Shaftesbury;
  of Buckingham.
Byron, John, first Baron Byron.

Calamy, Edward.
Calvert, Sir George, Baron Baltimore.
Camden, William.
Cambridge Platonists.
Canterbury College.
Capel, Arthur, Baron Capel:
  character by Clarendon,
  Cromwell's character of him.
Carew, Thomas.
Carleton, Sir Dudley, Baron Carleton,
  Viscount Dorchester.
Carlisle, James Hay, Earl of.
Carlyle, Thomas.
Carnarvon, Robert Dormer, Earl of: character by Clarendon.
Cavendish, George.
Cecil, Robert. _See_ Salisbury.
Chamberlayne, Edward: _Angliæ Nolitia_.
Charles I:
  character by Clarendon;
    by Sir Philip Warwick;
Charles II:
  his character by Halifax;
    by Burnet;
  other characters;
  his taste in sermons.
Cheynell, Francis.
Chillingworth, William: character by Clarendon;
  his siege engine.
Christ Church, Oxford.
Christie, W.D.
Clarendon, Edward Hyde, Earl of:
  character by Burnet;
  other characters of him;
  characters written by him, _see_ Contents;
  his long study of Digby;
  his merits as a character writer;
  his conception of history;
  his manuscripts;
  the _History_;
    its authenticity;
    editorial alterations;
  the _Life_;
  _View of Hobbes's Leviathan_;
  _Essays_ quoted;
  _Letters_ quoted;
  other writings;
  his picture gallery.
Clarendon, Henry Hyde, second Earl of.
Clarke, Abraham.
Coke, Sir Edward.
Coke, Roger: _Detection of the Court and State of England_.
Coleridge, S.T.
Cominges, Le Comte de, French ambassador.
Con, Signior, papal nuncio.
_Connoisseur, The_.
Conway, Sir Edward, Viscount Conway.
Cottington, Sir Francis, Baron Cottington.
Cotton, Sir Robert.
Cousin, Victor.
Coventry, Sir Thomas, Baron Coventry: character by Clarendon.
Coventry, Sir William, character by Burnet.
Cowley, Abraham:
  'Of My self',
  character by Sprat,
  note by Aubrey,
  his _Essays_,
  verses on Falkland,
  Latin verses.
Crofts, William, Baron Crofts.
Cromwell, Oliver, Lord Protector:
  character by Clarendon,
    by Sir Philip Warwick,
    by John Maidston,
    by Baxter.
Cudworth, Ralph: character by Burnet.
Culpeper, or Colepeper, Sir John.
Cumberland, Henry Clifford, Earl of.
_Cyrus, Le Grand_.

Davenant, Sir William.
Davila, Enrico Caterino.
Desborough, John.
Digby, George, Baron Digby, second Earl of Bristol:
  character by Clarendon;
  others by Clarendon;
  description by Shaftesbury.
Diogenes Laertius.
_Divers portraits_.
Dominico, Signior.
Dorchester, Viscount. See Carleton.
Dort, Synod of.
Dryden, John:
  character of Shaftesbury,
    of Buckingham;
    of Halifax;
  _Absalom and Achitophel_;
  _Annus Mirabilis_;
  _Of Dramatick Poesie_;
  _Verses to Duchess of York_;
  dedication of _King Arthur_.
Duke, Richard, _The Review_.
Dunton, John, _Life and Errors_.

Earle, or Earles, John, Bishop of Worcester:
  character by Clarendon;
  described by Walton;
  letters from Clarendon;
_Eikon Basilike_.
Elizabeth, daughter of James I.
_England's Black Tribunall_.
_Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ_.
Essex, Robert Devereux, second
  Earl of: Clarendon's early study.
Essex, Robert Devereux, third Earl of:
  character by Clarendon,
    by Arthur Wilson.
Evanson, William.
Evelyn, John:
  letter quoted.

Fairfax, Ferdinando, second Baron.
Fairfax, Sir Thomas, third Baron:
  character by Baxter,
  Milton's sonnet;
    and Latin character;
  Clarendon's estimate,
  Warwick's estimate.
Falkland, Henry Cary, first Viscount.
Falkland, Lattice, second Viscountess.
Falkland, Lucius Gary, second Viscount:
  character by Clarendon (1647);
  later character (1668);
  his marriage;
  his death;
  his speech concerning episcopacy;
  his writings;
  quoted by Fuller.
  See also Tew.
Finch, Sir John, Baron Finch.
Firth, C.H.
Fouquet, Nicholas.
Fuller, Thomas:
  his character (anonymous);
  described by Aubrey;
  his _Life_;
  his character of Bacon;
    of Laud;
  his characters;
  _Holy State_;
  _Worthies of England_.

_Galerie des Peintures, La_.
Gardiner, S.R.
Gauden, John.
_Gentleman's Magazine_.
Gildon, Charles.
Glencairn, William Cunningham, Earl of.
Godolphin, Sidney: character by Clarendon.
Gondomar, Spanish ambassador.
Goodwin, Thomas, President of Magdalen College, Oxford.
Goring, George, Baron Goring: character by Clarendon.
Greville, Fulke. See Brooke.
Grotius, Hugo.
Guilford, Francis North, Baron of, Lord Keeper.

Hacket, John: _Scrinia Reserata_.
Hale, Sir Matthew, Lord Chief Justice.
Hales, John, of Eton:
  character by Clarendon;
  letters on Synod of Dort;
  _Tract concerning Schisme_;
  _Golden Remains_;
  praise of Shakespeare.
Halifax, George Savile, Marquis of:
  character by Burnet;
    by Dryden;
  his character of Charles II.
Hall, Joseph, Bishop.
Hamilton, Antoine.
Hamilton, James, third Marquis and first Duke of Hamilton.
Hamilton, William, second Duke of Hamilton.
Hammond, Henry, chaplain to Charles I.
Hampden, John:
  character by Clarendon;
    Clarendon's reference to it;
    its authenticity;
  character by Sir Philip Warwick.
Hastings, Henry: character by Shaftesbury.
Hawkins, Sir Thomas.
Hayward, Sir John.
Henry, Prince.
Herbert, Sir Thomas.
Hertford, William Seymour, Marquis of: character by Clarendon.
Hobbes, Edmund.
Hobbes, Thomas:
  described by Clarendon;
    by Aubrey;
  assists Bacon;
  Burnet's opinions.
Holinshed, Raphael.
Holland, Philemon.
Holles, Denzil, first Baron Holles.
Hopton, Ralph, first Baron Hopton.
Howard, Charles, Baron Howard of Effingham, Earl of Nottingham.
Howard, Leonard: _Collection of Letters_.
Howell, James: character of Ben Jonson.
Huntingdon, Earls of.
Hutchinson, John, Colonel:
  character by his widow;
  her _Memoirs_.
Hyde, Edward. See Clarendon.

_Irenicum_, Stillingfleet's.
Islip, Simon, Archbishop of Canterbury.

James I:
  character by Arthur Wilson;
    by Sir Anthony Weldon;
  'the wisest foole in Christendome'.
James II:
  characters by Burnet;
  his journal;
  High Admiral.
Jermyn, Henry, Baron Jermyn, Earl of St. Albans.
Johnson, Samuel:
  _Lives of the Poets_.
Jonson, Ben:
  character by Clarendon;
    by James Howell;
  his character of Bacon,
    and description.
Jotham. See Halifax.
Juxon, William, Archbishop of Canterbury: character by Sir Philip Warwick.

Killigrew, Henry.
Killigrew, Thomas, the elder.
Kimbolton, Baron. See Manchester, Earl of.
King, James, General.
Knolles, Richard: _History of The Turkes_.
Knott, Edward: 'the learned Jesuit'.

La Bruyère.
_Lachrymæ Musarum_.
Lake, Sir Thomas.
Laud, William, Archbishop of Canterbury:
  character by Clarendon;
    by Fuller;
    by Sir Philip Warwick;
  speech on scaffold.
Lauderdale, John Maitland, Earl of:
  character by Clarendon;
  character by Burnet;
  his library.
Lawes, Henry, musician.
Leicester, Robert Sidney, Earl of.
Levett, Mr., Page of Bedchamber to Charles I.
Lewgar, John.
Lilburne, John.
Lincoln, Bishop of. _See_ Williams, John.
Lloyd, William, Bishop of Worcester: character by Burnet.
Lugar. See Lewgar.

Macaulay, Lord,
Maidston, John: character of Cromwell,
Manchester, Edward Montagu, second Earl of, Baron Montagu of Kimbolton,
  Viscount Mandeville:
  character by Clarendon,
    by Warwick,
    by Burnet,
Manchester, Henry Montagu, first Earl of,
Mandeville, Viscount. See Manchester, Earl of.
Mansell, Sir Robert,
Marlborough, James Ley, Earl of,
_Martyrdom of King Charles_,
Maurice, Prince.
Maynard, Sir John,
_Mercurius Academicus_,
Middlesex, Lionel Cranfield, Earl of,
Middleton, John, Earl of Middleton,
Millington, Edward, bookseller and auctioneer,
Milton, John:
  described by Aubrey,
  note by Edward Phillips,
  notes by Jonathan Richardson,
  his sonnet to Fairfax,
    to Vane,
    to Henry Lawes,
  his Latin character of Fairfax,
  _Defensio Secunda_,
  his daughters,
  ignored by Clarendon,
Milward, Richard,
Montgomery, Earl of. See Pembroke, fourth Earl of.
Montpensier, Mlle de,
More, Henry, the Cambridge Platonist: character by Burnet,
More, Sir Thomas,
Morley, George, Bishop of Worcester,
'My part lies therein-a',

Naunton, Sir Robert,
Needham, Marchamont,
Newcastle, William Cavendish, Marquis of, afterwards Duke of:
  character by Clarendon,
  character by Warwick,
  Life by the Duchess,
  his books on horsemanship,
  Clarendon's opinion of his military capacity,
Nicholas, Sir Edward,
North, Francis. See Guilford, Lord Keeper.
North, Roger:
  character of Sir Edmund Saunders,
  his _Lives of the Norths_,
North, Sir Thomas,
Northampton, Spencer Compton, second Earl of: character by Clarendon,
Northumberland, Algernon Percy, tenth Earl of,
Nott. See Knott.

Oldmixon, John,
Olivian, Dr., 'a German',
Orrery, Roger Boyle, first Earl of,
Osborne, Francis: _Traditionall Memoyres on the Raigne of King James_,
Overbury, Sir Thomas,
Owen, John, Dean of Christ Church,

Patrick, Simon, Bishop of Chichester: character by Burnet,
'Peace begot Plenty',
'Peace with honour',
Pearson, John, Bishop of Chester,
Peck, Francis: _Desiderata Curiosa_,
Pemberton, Sir Francis, Lord Chief Justice,
Pembroke, Philip Herbert, Earl of Montgomery, fourth Earl of,
Pembroke, William Herbert, third Earl of: character by Clarendon,
Pepys, Samuel: _Diary_,
Percy, Sir Henry, Baron Percy of Alnwick,
Peyton, Sir Edward: _Divine Catastrophe of the House of Stuarts_,
Philips, Ambrose,
Phillips, Edward:
  note on Milton, his uncle,
  _Life of Milton_,
  _Theatrum Poetarum_,
_Phoenix Britannicus_,
_Poems on State Affairs_,
Portland, Earl of. See Weston, Sir Richard.
Preaching, reform in,
Prynne, William,
Pym, John: character by Clarendon,

Raleigh, Sir Walter,
Rawley, William:
  character of Bacon,
_Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_,
_Retrospective Review_,
Rich, Robert, Earl of Warwick's grandson,
Richardson, Jonathan:
  notes on Milton,
  _Explanatory Notes on Paradise Lost_,
Robinson, Sir Tancred,
Rochester, first Earl of. See Wilmot, Henry.
Rochester, John Wilmot, second Earl of,
Rochester, Laurence Hyde, first Earl of the Hyde family,
Rothes, John Leslie, Earl and Duke of,
Rowe, Nicholas,
Rupert, Prince: character by Clarendon,
Rushworth: _Historical Collections_,
Russell, Sir William, Treasurer of the Navy,
Ruthven, Patrick. See Brentford, Earl of.
Rutland, Francis Manners, sixth Earl of,

St. John, Oliver,
St. John's College, Oxford,
St. Martin's, 'the greatest cure in England',
St. Paul's Cathedral,
St. Peters in Cornhill,
Salisbury, Robert Cecil, first Earl of,
Salisbury, William Cecil, third Earl of: character by Clarendon,
Sanderson, Robert, Bishop of Lincoln,
Saunders, Sir Edmund, Lord Chief Justice: character by Roger North,
Savile, Sir Henry,
Savile, George. See Halifax, Marquis of.
Savile, Thomas, Viscount Savile,
Savoy Hospital,
Say and Sele, William Fiennes, Viscount:
  character by Clarendon,
    by Arthur Wilson,
Scott, Sir Walter,
Scudéry, Madeleine de
Selden, John: character by Clarendon
Seneca, Lucius Annæus
Seneca, Marcus Annæus
_Session of the Poets_ (Restoration poem)
_Sessions of the Poets_, Suckling's
Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Baron Ashley, Earl of:
  character by Burnet;
    by Dryden (Achitophel);
    by Butler;
    by Duke;
  his character of Henry Hastings;
  description of Digby;
  his _Autobiography_
Sheldon, Gilbert, Archbishop of Canterbury
Shrewsbury, Gilbert Talbot, Earl of
Smith, Edmund
Somaize, Antoine Bandeau, sieur de
Somerset, Robert Ker _or_ Carr, Earl of
Sorel, Charles
Spelman, Sir Henry
Spenser, Edmund
Sprat, Thomas, Bishop of Rochester:
  character of Cowley;
  _Life of Cowley_
Stillingfleet, Edward, Bishop of Worcester: character by Burnet
Stow, John
Strada, Famiano
Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, Earl of:
  character by Clarendon;
    by Warwick;
Stuart, Richard, dean of the King's Chapel
Suckling, Sir John
Suffolk, Thomas Howard, Earl of
Sully, Duc de: _Mémoires_
Swift, Jonathan

Tanfield, Sir Lawrence
Tate, Nahum
Temple, Sir William
Tenison, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury: character by Burnet
Tew, seat of Lord Falkland
Thuanus (Jacques de Thou)
Thurloe, John, Secretary of State;
  _State Papers_
Tiberius, James I compared to;
  Charles II compared to
Tillotson, John, Archbishop of Canterbury: character by Burnet
Triplet, Dr. Thomas
Tuesday Sermons of James I
Turenne, Marshal

Vane, Sir Henry, the elder
Vane, Sir Henry, the younger:
  characters by Clarendon;
  character by Baxter;
  Milton's sonnet;
  other accounts
Velleius Paterculus

Walker, Sir Edward: _Historical Discourses_
Walker, John: _Sufferings of the Clergy_
Walker, Mr., of the Temple, 'a Relation of Milton's'
Waller, Edmund:
  his character by Clarendon,
  described by Burnet,
    by Aubrey,
Walpole, Horace: _Royal and Noble Authors_,
Walton, Izaak,
Warwick, Mary, Countess of,
Warwick, Sir Philip:
  character of Charles I,
  his characters,
  his _Mémoires_,
  a Straffordian,
  described by Burnet,
Warwick, Robert Rich, second Earl of:
  character by Clarendon,
    by Arthur Wilson,
  pillar of the Presbyterian party,
Wayte, Mr.,
Weldon, Sir Anthony:
  character of James I,
  _Court and Character of King James_,
Welwood, James: _Memoirs_,
Weston, Sir Richard, Earl of Portland:
  character by Clarendon,
    by Wotton,
Whitchcot, or Whichcote, Benjamin: character by Burnet,
Whitelocke: _Memorials_,
'White Staff',
Wilkins, John:
  character by Burnet,
  his _Essay Towards a Real Character_,
William of Wickham,
Williams, John, Bishop of Lincoln, Lord Keeper,
Wilmot, Henry, Baron Wilmot, Earl of Rochester: character by Clarendon,
Wilson, Arthur:
  character of James I,
    of Bacon,
    of Essex, Warwick, and Say,
  _Reign of King James_,
Wolsey, Cardinal,
Wood: _Athenæ Oxonienses_,
Worthington, John: character by Burnet,
Wotton, Sir Henry,
Wright, Dr., 'an ancient clergyman in Dorsetshire',


Young, Sir Peter,
Young, Patrick,

Zimri. See Buckingham.

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