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'Mr Molyneux-Few words are best. My letters to my father have come to the eyes of some. Neither can I condemn any but you for it. If it be so, you have played the very knave with me; and so I will make you know, if I have good proof of it. But that for so much as is past. For that is to come, I assure you before God, that if ever I know you do so much as read any letter I write to my father, without his commandment, or my consent, I will thrust my dagger into you. And trust to it, for I speak it in earnest. In the mean time, farewell.'

Of the following extracts, three are from Sidney's Arcadia,' and the fourth from his 'Defence of Poesy.'

[A Tempest.]

tioned in a history of English Literature; and in judging of his merits, we ought to bear in mind the early age at which he was cut off. His 'Arcadia,' on which the chief portion of his fame undoubtedly rests, was so universally read and admired in the reigns of Elizabeth and her successor, that, in 1633, it had reached an eighth edition. Subsequently, however, it fell into comparative neglect, in which, during the last century, the contemptuous terms in which it was spoken of by Horace Walpole contributed not a little to keep it. By that writer it is characterised as 'a tedious, lamentable, pedantic, pastoral romance, which the patience of a young virgin in love cannot now wade through.' And the judgment more recently pronounced by Dr Drake,* and Mr Hazlitt, is almost equally unfavourable. On the other hand, Sidney has found a fervent admirer in There arose even with the sun a veil of dark clouds another modern writer, who highly extols the before his face, which shortly, like ink poured into 'Arcadia' in the second volume of the Retrospective water, had blacked over all the face of heaven, preReview. A middle course is steered by Dr Zouch, paring, as it were, a mournful stage for a tragedy who, in his memoirs of Sidney, published in 1808, to be played on. For, forthwith the winds began while he admits that changes in taste, manners, and to speak louder, and, as in a tumultuous kingdom, to opinions, have rendered the Arcadia' unsuitable to think themselves fittest instruments of commandmodern readers, maintains that there are passages in ment; and blowing whole storms of hail and rain this work exquisitely beautiful-useful observations upon them, they were sooner in danger than they on life and manners-a variety and accurate discri- could almost bethink themselves of change. For then mination of characters-fine sentiments, expressed in the traitorous sea began to swell in pride against the strong and adequate terms-animated descriptions, afflicted navy, under which, while the heaven favoured equal to any that occur in the ancient or modern them, it had lain so calmly; making mountains of poets-sage lessons of morality, and judicious reflec-itself, over which the tossed and tottering ship should tions on government and policy. A reader,' he con- climb, to be straight carried down again to a pit of tinues, who takes up the volume, may be compared hellish darkness, with such cruel blows against the to a traveller who has a long and dreary road to sides of the ship, that, which way soever it went, was pass. The objects that successively meet his eye still in his malice, that there was left neither power to may not in general be very pleasing, but occa- stay nor way to escape. And shortly had it so dissionally he is charmed with a more beautiful pro- severed the loving company, which the day before had spect-with the verdure of a rich valley-with a tarried together, that most of them never met again, meadow enamelled with flowers-with a murmur of but were swallowed up in his never-satisfied mouth. a rivulet-the swelling grove-the hanging rockthe splendid villa. These charming objects abundantly compensate for the joyless regions he has traversed. They fill him with delight, exhilarate his drooping spirits and at the decline of day, he reposes with complacency and satisfaction. This representation we are inclined to regard as doing at least ample justice to the Arcadia, the former high popularity of which is, doubtless, in some degree attributable to the personal fame of its author, and to the scarcity of works of fiction in the days of Elizabeth. But to whatever causes the admiration with which it was received may be ascribed, there can hardly, we think, be a question, that a work so extensively perused must have contributed not a little to fix the English tongue, and to form that vigorous and imaginative style which characterises the literature of the beginning and middle of the seventeenth century. Notwithstanding the occasional over-inflation and pedantry of his style, Sidney may justly be regarded as the best prose writer of his time. He was, in truth, what Cowper felicitously calls him, a 'warbler of poetic prose.'

In his personal character, Sidney, like most men of high sensibility and poetical feeling, showed a disposition to melancholy and solitude. His chief fault seems to have been impetuosity of temper, an illustration of which has already been quoted from his reply to 'Leicester's Commonwealth.' The same trait appears in the following letter (containing what proved to be a groundless accusation), which he wrote in 1578 to the secretary of his father, then lord deputy of Ireland.

* Essays Illustrative of the Tatler, Spectator, &c., ii. 9. † Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Eliza beth, p. 263.

[Description of Arcadia.]

There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately trees; humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the refreshing of silver rivers; meadows, enamelled with all sorts of eyepleasing flowers; thickets, which being lined with most pleasant shade, were witnessed so to, by the cheerful disposition of many well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober security; while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the dam's comfort; here a shepherd's boy piping, as though he should never be old; there a young shepherdess knitting, and withal singing; and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her hands kept time to her voice-music.

[A Stag Hunt.]

Then went they together abroad, the good Kalander well he loved the sport of hunting when he was a entertaining them with pleasant discoursing-how young man, how much in the comparison thereof he disdained all chamber-delights, that the sun (how great a journey soever he had to make) could never prevent him with earliness, nor the moon, with her midnight for the deers feeding. O, said he, you will sober countenance, dissuade him from watching till breath with exercise, and in heart with joyfulness; never live to my age, without you keep yourself in too much thinking doth consume the spirits; and oft it falls out, that, while one thinks too much of his doing, he leaves to do the effect of his thinking. Then spared he not to remember, how much Arcadia was changed since his youth; activity and good fellowship being nothing in the price it was then held in; but, according to the nature of the old-growing world,

still worse and worse. Then would he tell them stories of such gallants as he had known; and so, with pleasant company, beguiled the time's haste, and shortened the way's length, till they came to the side of the wood, where the hounds were in couples, staying their coming, but with a whining accent craving liberty; many of them in colour and marks so resembling, that it showed they were of one kind. The huntsmen handsomely attired in their green liveries, as though they were children of summer, with staves in their hands to beat the guiltless earth, when the hounds were at a fault; and with horns about their necks, to sound an alarm upon a silly fugitive; the hounds were straight uncoupled, and ere long the stag thought it better to trust to the nimbleness of his feet than to the slender fortification of his lodging; but even his feet betrayed him; for, howsoever they went, they themselves uttered themselves to the scent of their enemies, who, one taking it of another, and sometimes believing the wind's advertisements, sometimes the view of (their faithful counsellors) the huntsmen, with open mouths, then denounced war, when the war was already begun. Their cry being composed of so well-sorted mouths, that any man would perceive therein some kind of proportion, but the skilful woodmen did find a music. Then delight and variety of opinion drew the horsemen sundry ways, yet cheering their hounds with voice and horn, kept still, as it were, together. The wood seemed to conspire with them against his own citizens, dispersing their noise through all his quarters ; and even the nymph Echo left to bewail the loss of Narcissus, and became a hunter. But the stag was in the end so hotly pursued, that, leaving his flight, he was driven to make courage of despair; and so turning his head, made the hounds, with change of speech, to testify that he was at a bay: as if from hot pursuit of their enemy, they were suddenly come to a parley.

[Praise of Poetry.]

The philosopher showeth you the way, he informeth you of the particularities, as well of the tediousness of the way, as of the pleasant lodging you shall have when your journey is ended, as of the many bye-turnings that may divert you from your way; but this is to no man, but to him that will read him, and read him with attentive studious painfulness; which constant desire whosoever hath in him, hath already passed half the hardness of the way, and therefore is beholden to the philosopher but for the other half. Nay, truly, learned men have learnedly thought, that where once reason hath so much overmastered passion, as that the mind hath a free desire to do well, the inward light each man hath in itself is as good as a philosopher's book; since in nature we know it is well to do well, and what is well and what is evil, although not in the words of art which philosophers bestow upon us; for out of natural conceit the philosophers drew it. But to be moved to do that which we know, or to be moved with desire to know, hoc opus hic labor est'-[' this is the grand difficulty."]

·

tale, forsooth, he cometh unto you, with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner; and pretending no more, doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue; even as the child is often brought to take most wholesome things, by hiding them in such other as have a pleasant taste; which, if one should begin to tell them the nature of the aloes or rhubarbarum they should receive, would sooner take their physic at their ears than their mouth. So is it in men (most of whom are childish in the best things, till they be cradled in their graves). Glad they will be to hear the tales of Hercules, Achilles, Cyrus, Æneas; and hearing them, must needs hear the right description of wisdom, valour, and justice; which, if they had been barely (that is to say, philosophically) set out, they would swear they be brought to school again.

LORD BURLEIGH.

Another of the favourites of Queen Elizabeth was WILLIAM CECIL, LORD BURLEIGH, who, for forty years, ably and faithfully served her in the capacity of secretary of state. He died in 1598, at the age of seventy-six. As a minister, this celebrated individual was distinguished for wariness, application, sagacity, calmness, and a degree of closeness which sometimes degenerated into hypocrisy. Most of these qualities characterised also what is, properly speaking, his sole literary production; namely, Precepts or Directions for the Well Ordering and Carriage of a Man's Life. These precepts were addressed to his son, Robert Cecil, afterwards Earl of Salisbury. Some of them are here subjoined.

[Choice of a Wife.]

When it shall please God to bring thee to man's estate, use great providence and circumspection in choosing thy wife. For from thence will spring all thy future good or evil. And it is an action of life, like unto a stratagem of war; wherein a man can err but once. If thy estate be good, match near home and at leisure; if weak, far off and quickly. Inquire diligently of her disposition, and how her parents have been inclined in their youth. Let her not be poor, how generous soever. For a man can buy nothing in the market with gentility. Nor choose a base and uncomely creature altogether for wealth; for it will cause contempt in others, and loathing in thee. Neither make choice of a dwarf, or a fool; for, by the one thou shalt beget a race of pigmies; the other will be thy continual disgrace, and it will yirke thee to hear her talk. For thou shalt find it, to thy great grief, that there is nothing more fulsome than a she-fool.

[Domestic Economy.]

And touching the guiding of thy house, let thy hospitality be moderate, and, according to the means of thy estate, rather plentiful than sparing, but not costly. For I never knew any man grow poor by keeping an orderly table. But some consume themselves Now, therein, of all sciences (I speak still of human, through secret vices, and their hospitality bears the and according to the human conceit) is our poet the blame. But banish swinish drunkards out of thine monarch. For he doth not only show the way, but house, which is a wice impairing health, consuming giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice much, and makes no show. I never heard praise any man to enter into it. Nay, he doth, as if your jour- ascribed to the drunkard, but for the well-bearing of ney should lie through a fair vineyard, at the very first, his drink; which is a better commendation for a give you a cluster of grapes; that, full of that taste, brewer's horse or a drayman, than for either a gentleyou may long to pass farther. He beginneth not with man or a serving-man. Beware thou spend not above obscure definitions; which must blur the margin with three of four parts of thy revenues; nor above a third interpretations, and load the memory with doubtful- part of that in thy house. For the other two parts ness; but he cometh to you with words set in delight-will do no more than defray thy extraordinaries, which ful proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well enchanting skill of music; and with a

1 Well-born.

always surmount the ordinary by much; otherwise thou shalt live like a rich beggar, in continual want. And the needy man can never live happily nor contentedly. For every disaster makes him ready to mortgage or sell. And that gentleman, who sells an acre of land, sells an ounce of credit. For gentility is nothing else but ancient riches. So that if the foundation shall at any time sink, the building must needs follow.

[Education of Children.]

Bring thy children up in learning and obedience, yet without outward austerity. Praise them openly, reprehend them secretly. Give them good countenance and convenient maintenance according to thy ability, otherwise thy life will seem their bondage, and what portion thou shalt leave them at thy death, they will thank death for it, and not thee. And I am persuaded that the foolish cockering of some parents, and the over-stern carriage of others, causeth more men and women to take ill courses, than their own vicious inclinations. Marry thy daughters in time, lest they marry themselves. And suffer not thy sons to pass the Alps; for they shall learn nothing there but pride, blasphemy, and atheism. And if by travel they get a few broken languages, that shall profit them nothing more than to have one meat served in divers dishes. Neither, by my consent, shalt thou train them up in wars; for he that sets up his rest to live by that profession, can hardly be an honest man or a good Christian. Besides, it is a science no longer in request than use; for soldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer.

[Suretyship and Borrowing.]

RICHARD HOOKER.

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Richard Hooker.

Beware of suretyship for thy best friends. He that payeth another man's debts, seeketh his own decay. ness and attention from the hostess, that, according But, if thou canst not otherwise choose, rather lend to his biographer (Walton), in his excess of gratitude, thy money thyself upon good bonds, although thouhe thought himself bound in conscience to believe borrow it. So shalt thou secure thyself, and pleasure all that she said. So the good man came to be perthy friend. Neither borrow money of a neighbour, or suaded by her that he was a man of a tender constia friend, but of a stranger, where, paying for it, thou tution; and that it was best for him to have a wife, shalt hear no more of it. Otherwise thou shalt eclipse that might prove a nurse to him-such an one as thy credit, lose thy freedom, and yet pay as dear as might both prolong his life, and make it more comto another. But in borrowing of money, be precious fortable; and such an one she could and would proof thy word; for he that hath care of keeping days of vide for him, if he thought fit to marry.' Hooker, payment, is lord of another man's purse. little apt to suspect in others that guile of which he himself was so entirely free, became the dupe of this woman, authorising her to select a wife for him, and promising to marry whomsoever she should choose. The wife she provided was her own daughter, described as 'a silly, clownish woman, and withal a mere Xantippe,' whom, however, he married according to his promise. With this helpmate he led but an uncomfortable life, though apparently in a spirit of resignation. When visited by Sandys and Cranmer at a rectory in Buckinghamshire, to which he had been presented in 1584, he was found by them reading Horace, and tending sheep in the absence of his servant. In his house they received little entertainment, except from his conversation; and even this, Mrs Hooker did not fail to disturb, by calling him away to rock the cradle, and by exhibiting such other samples of good manners, as made them glad to depart on the following morning. In taking leave, Cranmer expressed his regret at the smallness of Hooker's income, and the uncomfortable state of his domestic affairs; to which the worthy man replied, My dear George, if saints have usually a double share in the miseries of this life, I, that am none, ought not to repine at what my wise Creator hath appointed for me, but labour (as indeed. I do daily) to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in patience and peace.' On his return to Lon

One of the earliest, and also one of the most distinguished prose writers of this period, was RICHARD HOOKER, a learned and gifted theologian, born of poor but respectable parents near Exeter, about the year 1553. At school he displayed so much aptitude for learning, and gentleness of disposition, that, having been recommended to Jewel, bishop of Salisbury, he was taken under the care of that prelate, who, after a satisfactory examination into his merits, sent him to Oxford, and contributed to his support. At the university, Hooker studied with great ardour and success, and became much respected for modesty, prudence, and piety. After Jewel's death, he was patronised by Sandys, bishop of London, who sent his son to Oxford to enjoy the benefit of Hooker's instructions. Another of his pupils at this time was George Cranmer, a grand-nephew of the famous archbishop of that name; and with both these young men he formed a close and enduring friendship. In 1579, his skill in the oriental languages led to his temporary appointment as deputy-professor of Hebrew; and two years later, he entered into holy orders. Not long after this he had the misfortune to be entrapped into a

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don, Sandys made a strong appeal to his father in behalf of Hooker, the result of which was the appointment of the meek divine, in 1585, to the office of master of the Temple. He accordingly removed to London, and commenced his labours as forenoon preacher. It happened that the office of afternoon lecturer at the Temple was at this period filled by Walter Travers, a man of great learning and eloquence, but highly Calvinistical in his opinions, while the views of Hooker, on the other hand, both on church government and on points of theology, were of a moderate cast. The consequence was, that the doctrines delivered from the pulpit varied very much in their character, according to the preacher from whom they proceeded. Indeed, the two orators sometimes preached avowedly in opposition to each other-a circumstance which gave occasion to the remark, that the forenoon sermons spoke Canterbury, and the afternoon Geneva.' This disputation, though conducted with good temper, excited so much attention, that Archbishop Whitgift suspended Travers from preaching. There ensued between him and Hooker a printed controversy, which was found so disagreeable by the latter, that he strongly expressed to the archbishop his wish to retire into the country, where he might be permitted to live in peace, and have leisure to finish his treatise Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, already begun. A letter which he wrote to the archbishop on this occasion deserves to be quoted, as showing not only that peacefulness of temper which adhered to him through life, but likewise the object that his great work was intended to accomplish. It is as follows:'My lord-When I lost the freedom of my cell, which was my college, yet I found some degree of it in my quiet country parsonage. But I am weary of the noise and oppositions of this place; and, indeed, God and nature did not intend me for contentions, but for study and quietness. And, my lord, my particular contests here with Mr Travers have proved the more unpleasant to me, because I believe him to be a good man; and that belief hath occasioned me to examine mine own conscience concerning his opinions. And to satisfy that, I have consulted the holy Scripture, and other laws, both human and divine, whether the conscience of him and others of his judgment ought to be so far complied with by us as to alter our frame of church government, our manner of God's worship, our praising and praying to him, and our established ceremonies, as often as their tender consciences shall require us. And in this examination I have not only satisfied myself, but have begun a treatise in which I intend the satisfaction of others, by a demonstration of the reasonableness of our laws of ecclesiastical polity. But, my lord, I shall never be able to finish what I have begun, unless I be removed into some quiet parsonage, where I may see God's blessings spring out of my mother earth, and eat my own bread in peace and privacy: a place where I may, without disturbance, meditate my approaching mortality, and that great account which all flesh must give at the last day to the God of all spirits.'

ber 1600. A few days previously, his house was robbed, and when the fact was mentioned to him, he anxiously inquired whether his books and papers were safe. The answer being in the affirmative, he exclaimed, 'Then it matters not, for no other loss can trouble me.'

Hooker's treatise on 'Ecclesiastical Polity' displays an astonishing amount of learning, sagacity, and industry; and is so excellently written, that, according to the judgment of Lowth, the author has, in correctness, propriety, and purity of English style, hardly been surpassed, or even equalled, by any of his successors. This praise is unquestionably too high; for, as Dr Drake has observed, though the words, for the most part, are well chosen and pure, the arrangement of them into sentences is intricate and harsh, and formed almost exclusively on the idiom and construction of the Latin. Much strength and vigour are derived from this adoption, but perspicuity, sweetness, and ease, are too generally sacrificed. There is, notwithstanding these usual features of his composition, an occasional simplicity in his pages, both of style and sentiment, which truly charms. Dr Drake refers to the following sentence, with which the preface to the 'Ecclesiastical Polity' is opened, as a striking instance of that elaborate collocation which, founded on the structure of a language widely different from our own, was the fashion of the age of Elizabeth. Though for no other cause, yet for this, that posterity may know we have not loosely, through silence, permitted things to pass away as in a dream, there shall be, for men's information, extant this much concerning the present state of the church of God established amongst us, and their careful endeavours which would have upheld the same.'

The argument against the Puritans is conducted by Hooker with rare moderation and candour, and certainly the church of England has never had a regarded simply as a theological treatise; it is still more powerful defender. The work is not to be referred to as a great authority upon the whole range of moral and political principles. It also bears a value as the first publication in the English language which observed a strict methodical arrangement, and presented a train of clear logical reasoning, As specimens of the body of the work, several extracts are here subjoined :

[Scripture and the Law of Nature.]

What the Scripture purposeth, the same in all not in judgment, one thing especially we must obpoints it doth perform. Howbeit, that here we swerve serve; namely, that the absolute perfection of Scripture is seen by relation unto that end whereto it tendeth. imagine the general and main drift of the body of And even hereby it cometh to pass, that, first, such as sacred Scripture not to be so large as it is, nor that God did thereby intend to deliver, as in truth he doth, a full instruction in all things unto salvation necessary, the knowledge whereof man by nature could not otherwise in this life attain unto; they are by this very mean induced, either still to look for new reveIn consequence of this appeal, Hooker was pre-word of God uncertain tradition, that so the doctrine lations from heaven, or else dangerously to add to the sented, in 1591, to the rectory of Boscomb, in Wiltshire, where he finished four books of his treatise, which were printed in 1594. Queen Elizabeth hav. ing in the following year presented him to the rectory of Bishop's-Bourne, in Kent, he removed to that place, where the remainder of his life was spent in the faithful discharge of the duties of his office. Here he wrote the fifth book, published in 1597; and finished other three, which did not appear till after his death. This event took place in Novem

of man's salvation may be complete; which doctrine we constantly hold in all respects, without any such things added, to be so complete, that we utterly refuse as much as once to acquaint ourselves with anything man's salvation, is added as in supply of the Scripfurther. Whatsoever, to make up the doctrine of ture's insufficiency, we reject it; Scripture, purposing this, hath perfectly and fully done it. Again, the

* Essays Illustrative of the Tatler, &c., i. 10.

please him not. For which cause, if they who this way swerve be compared with such sincere, sound, and discreet as Abraham was in matter of religion, the service of the one is like unto flattery, the other like the faithful sedulity of friendship. Zeal, except it be ordered aright, when it bendeth itself unto conflict with all things either indeed, or but imagined to be, opposite unto religion, useth the razor many times with such eagerness, that the very life of religion itself is thereby hazarded; through hatred of tares the corn in the field of God is plucked up. So that zeal needeth both ways a sober guide. Fear, on the other side, if it have not the light of true understanding concerning God, wherewith to be moderated, breedeth likewise superstition. It is therefore dangerous that, in things divine, we should work too much upon the spur either of zeal or fear. Fear is a good solicitor to devotion. Howbeit, sith fear in this kind doth grow from an apprehension of Deity endued with irresistible power to hurt, and is, of all affections (anger excepted), the unaptest to admit any conference with reason, for which cause the wise man doth say of fear, that it is a betrayer of the forces of reasonable understanding; therefore, except men know beforehand what manner of service pleaseth God, while they are fearful they try all things which fancy offereth. Many there are who never think on God but when they are in extremity of fear; and then, because what to think, or what to do, they are uncertain; perplexity not suffering them to be idle, they think and do, as it were in a phrensy, they know not what. Superstition neither knoweth the right kind, nor observeth the due measure, of actions belonging to the service of God, but is always joined with a wrong opinion touching things divine. Superstition is, when things are either abhorred or observed, with a zealous or fearful, but erroneous relation to God. By means whereof, the superstitious do sometimes serve, though the true God, yet with needless offices, and defraud him of duties necessary, sometimes load others than him with such honours as properly are his.

scope and purpose of God in delivering the holy Scripture, such as do take more largely than behoveth, they, on the contrary, side-racking and stretching it further than by him was meant, are drawn into sundry as great inconveniences. They, pretending the Scripture's perfection, infer thereupon, that in Scripture all things lawful to be done must needs be contained. We count those things perfect which want nothing requisite for the end whereto they were instituted. As, therefore, God created every part and particle of man exactly perfect that is to say, in all points sufficient unto that use for which he appointed it-so the Scripture, yea, every sentence thereof, is perfect, and wanteth nothing requisite unto that purpose for which God delivered the same. So that, if hereupon we conclude, that because the Scripture is perfect, therefore all things lawful to be done are comprehended in the Scripture; we may even as well conclude so of every sentence, as of the whole sum and body thereof, unless we first of all prove that it was the drift, scope, and purpose of Almighty God in holy Scripture to comprise all things which man may practise. But admit this, and mark, I beseech you, what would follow. God, in delivering Scripture to his church, should clean have abrogated among them the Law of Nature, which is an infallible knowledge imprinted in the minds of all the children of men, whereby both general principles for directing of human actions are comprehended, and conclusions derived from them; upon which conclusions groweth in particularity the choice of good and evil in the daily affairs of this life. Admit this, and what shall the Scripture be but a snare and a torment to weak consciences, filling them with infinite perplexities, scrupulosities, doubts insoluble, and extreme despairs? Not that the Scripture itself doth cause any such thing (for it tendeth to the clean contrary, and the fruit thereof is resolute assurance and certainty in that it teacheth); but the necessities of this life urging men to do that which the light of nature, common discretion, and judgment of itself directeth them unto; on the other side, this doctrine teaching them that so to do were to sin against their own souls, and that they put forth their hands to iniquity, whatsoever they go about, and But so it is, the name of the light of nature is made have not first the sacred Scripture of God for direc- hateful with men; the star of reason and learning, tion; how can it choose but bring the simple a thou- and all other such like helps, beginneth no otherwise sand times to their wits' end; how can it choose but to be thought of, than if it were an unlucky comet ; vex and amaze them? For in every action of common or as if God had so accursed it, that it should never life, to find out some sentence clearly and infallibly shine or give light in things concerning our duty any setting before our eyes what we ought to do (seem we way towards him, but be esteemed as that star in the in Scripture never so expert), would trouble us more revelation, called Wormwood, which, being fallen than we are aware. In weak and tender minds, we from heaven, maketh rivers and waters in which it little know what misery this strict opinion would falleth so bitter, that men tasting them die thereof. breed, besides the stops it would make in the whole A number there are who think they cannot admire as course of all men's lives and actions. Make all things they ought the power and authority of the word of sin which we do by direction of nature's light, and by God, if in things divine they should attribute any the rule of common discretion, without thinking at force to man's reason; for which cause they never use all upon Scripture; admit this position, and parents reason so willingly as to disgrace reason. Their usual shall cause their children to sin, as oft as they cause and common discourses are unto this effect. First, them to do anything, before they come to years of the natural man perceiveth not the things of the capacity, and be ripe for knowledge in the Scripture. spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto him; Admit this, and it shall not be with masters as it was neither can he know them, because they are spiritually with him in the gospel; but servants being com- discerned,' &c. &c. By these and the like disputes, an manded to go, shall stand still till they have their opinion hath spread itself very far in the world; as if errand warranted unto them by Scripture. Which, as the way to be ripe in faith, were to be raw in wit and it standeth with Christian duty in some cases, so judgment; as if reason were an enemy unto religion, common affairs to require it were most unfit. childish simplicity the mother of ghostly and divine wisdom.

[Zeal and Fear in Religion.]

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Two affections there are, the forces whereof, as they bear the greater or lesser sway in man's heart, frame accordingly to the stamp and character of his religionthe one zeal, the other fear. Zeal, unless it be rightly guided, when it endeavoureth most busily to please God, forceth upon him those unseasonable offices which

*

[Defence of Reason.]

To our purpose, it is sufficient that whosoever doth serve, honour, and obey God, whosoever believeth in him, that man would no more do this than innocents and infants do but for the light of natural reason that shineth in him, and maketh him apt to apprehend those things of God, which being by grace discovered, are effectual to persuade reasonable minds, and none other, that honour, obedience, and credit, belong

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