IF the late deceased Provost of Eaton Colledge, Sir Hen­ry Wotton, that great Master of Language and Art, had lived to see the publication of these Sermons, he had presented the world with the Authors life ex­actly written, which was a work worthy his undertaking, and he fit to undertake it. Betwixt whom and the Author there was such a friendship contracted in their youth, as nothing but death should force a separation. And though their bodies were divi­ded [Page 2] yet their affections were not, for that Learned Knights love followed his friends fame be­yond death and the forgetfull grave. And this he testifyed by intreating me, whom he acquain­ted with his intentions, to in­quire of some particulars that concerned it, not doubting but my knowledge of the Author and love to his memory might make my diligence usefull, I did pre­pare them in a readiness to be aug­mented and rectifyed by his po­werfull pen; but then death pre­vented his intentions.

When I heard that sad news, & heard also that these Sermons were to be printed, & want the Authors Life, w^ch I thought wor­thy to be recorded, indignation or grief (truly I know not wch) tran­sported me so far, that I reviewed [Page 3] my forsaken collections, & resolved the world should see the best narration of it, that my artlesse pen guided by the hand of truth could present to it.

I shall be demanded, as once Pompeys poor bondman was (he was then alone on the Sea-shore gathering the scattered pieces of an old broken Boat to burn the neglected body of his dead Ma­ster) Who art thou that preparest the funerals of Pompey the Great? Who I am that so officiously set the Authors Memory on fire? I hope the question will have in it more of wonder then dis­dain: wonder indeed the Rea­der may, that I who professe my self artlesse, should presume with my faint light, to shew forth his Life, whose very Name maketh it illustrious. But be this to the dis­advantage [Page 4] of the person represen­ted, certain I am 'tis much to the advantage of the beholder, who shall here see the Authors picture in a naturall dresse, which ought to beget faith in what is spoken; for he that wants skill to deceive may safely be trusted.

And if the Authors glorious spirit which now is in heaven, can have the leisure to look down and see me the meanest of all his friends, in the midst of this offi­cious duty, confident I am he wil not disdain this well-meant sa­crifice to his memory; for whilst his conversation made me & ma­ny others happy below, I know his humility and gentlenesse was eminent, and I have heard Di­vines say, That those vertues which were but sparks upon earth, become great and glorious stars in heaven.

[Page 5]This being premised, I pro­ceed to tell the Reader, the Au­thor was born in London, of good and vertuous parents: and though his own learning and other mul­tiplied merits may justly seem sufficient to dignifie both him­self and his posterity; yet the Reader may be pleased to know that his Father was masculinely and lineally descended from a ve­ry ancient Family in Wales, where many of his name now live, that deserve and have great re­putation in that Countrey.

By his Mother he was de­scended of the Family of the fa­mous and learned Sir Tho. Moor, sometime L. Chancelour of Engl. as also from that worthy and laborious Iudge Rastall, who left Posterity the vast Statutes of [Page 6] the Law of this Nation most exactly abridged.

He had his first breeding in his Fathers house, where a private Tutor had the care of him, un­till the nineth year of his age, and in his tenth year was sent to the University of Oxford, having at that time a good command both of the French and Latine Tongue. This and some other of his remarkable abilities, made one give this censure of him, That this age had brought forth another Picus Mirandula; of whom Story sayes, That he was rather born than made wise by study.

There he remained in Hart-Hall, having for the advance­ment of his studies Tutors of se­verall Sciences to attend and in­struct him, till time made him [Page 7] capable, and his learning expres­sed in publick exercises declared him worthy to receive his first degree in the Schooles, which he forbore by advice from his friends, who being for their Re­ligion of the Romish perswasion, were conscionably averse to some parts of the Oath that is alwaies tendered at those times, and not to be refused by those that ex­pect the titulary honour of their studies.

About the fourteenth year of his age he was transplanted from Oxford to Cambridge, where that he might receive nourishment from both Soiles, he staid till his seventeenth yeare; all which time he was a most laborious Student, often changing his stu­dies, but endeavouring to take no degree, for the reasons formerly mentioned.

[Page 8]About the seventeenth yeare of his age, he was removed to London, and then admitted into Lincolns Inne, with an intent to study the Law; where he gave great testimonies of his Wit, his Learning, and of his Improve­ment in that profession: which never served him for other use than an Ornament and Self-sa­tisfaction.

His Father died before his ad­mission into this Society, and being a Merchant left him his portion in money (it was 3000 l.) His mother and those to whose care he was committed, were watchfull to improve his know­ledge, and to that end appoint­ted him Tutors in the Mathema­ticks, and all the Liberall Scien­ces, to attend him. But with these Arts they were advised to [Page 9] instill particular principles of the Romish Church, of which those Tutors profest (though secretly) themselves to be members.

They had almost obliged him to their faith, having for their advantage (besides many op­portunities) the example of his dear and pious Parents, which was a most powerfull perswasi­on, and did work much upon him, as he professeth in his Pseudo-Martyr; a book of which the Reader shall have some ac­count in what followes.

He was now entred into the eighteenth year of his age, and at that time had betrothed himself to no Religion that might give him any other denomination than a Christian. And Reason and Piety had both perswaded [Page 10] him that there could be no such sin as Schisme, if an adherence to some visible Church were not necessary.

He did therefore at his en­trance into the nineteenth year of his age (though his youth and strength then promised him a long life) yet being unresolved in his Religion, he thought it ne­cessary to rectifie all scruples that concerned that: and therefore waving the Law, and betrothing himself to no Art or Profession, that might justly denominate him; he begun to survey the Body of Divinity, as it is controverted betwixt the Re­formed and the Roman Church. And as Gods blessed Spirit did then awaken him to the search, and in that industry did never forsake him, (they be his own wordsIn his Preface to Pseu­do-Mar.) [Page 11] so he calls the same holy Spirit to witnesse this protestation, that in that disquisition and search, he pro­ceeded with humility and diffidence in himself, and by that which he took to be the safest way, namely, his frequent prayers, and an in­different affection to both par­ties.

Being to undertake this search, he believed the Cardinall Bel­larmine to be the best defender of the Roman cause, and there­fore betook himself to the exa­mination of his Reasons. The Cause was weighty, and wilfull delayes had been inexcusable both towards God and his own conscience; he therefore pro­ceeded in this search with all moderate haste, and before the twentieth yeare of his age, did shew the then Dean of Glocester [Page 12] (whose name my memory hath now lost) all the Cardinals works marked with many weighty ob­servations under his own hand; which works were bequeathed by him at his death as a Legacy to a most dear Friend.

The year following he resolved to travell; and the Earl of Essex going first the Cales, and after the Island voyages, he took the advantage of these opportu­nities, waited upon his Lordship, and was an eye-witnesse of those happy and unhappy em­ployments.

But he returned not back into England, till he had staid some years first in Italy, and then in Spain, where he made many usefull observations of those Countreys, their Laws and man­ner [Page 13] of Government, and return­ed into England perfect in their Languages.

The time that he spent in Spain was at his first going into Italy designed for travelling the Holy Land, and for viewing Ie­rusalem and the Sepulchre of our Saviour. But at his being in the furthest parts of Italy, the disap­pointment of company, or of a safe Convoy, or the uncertainty of returns for money into those remote parts, denied him that happiness which he did often oc­casionally mention with a deplo­ration.

Not long after his returne into England, that exempla­ry pattern of gravity and wis­dom, the Lord Elsemore, Keep­er of the great Seal, and Lord [Page 14] cellour of England, taking notice of his Learning, Languages, and other abilities, and much affect­ing his person and condition, took him to be his chief Secre­tary, supposing and intending it to be an Introduction to some more weighty employment in the State, for which his Lordship did often protest he thought him very fit.

Nor did his Lordship in this time of Mr. Donne's attendance upon him, account him to be so much his servant, as to forget he was his friend; and to testi­fie it, did alwayes use him with much courtesie, appointing him a place at his own table, to which he esteemed his company and discourse a great ornament.

He continued that employ­ment [Page 15] for the space of five years, being daily usefull, and not mer­cenary to his friends. During which time he (I dare not say unhappily) fell into such a liking, as (with her approbation) increased into a love with a young Gentlewoman that lived in that Family, who was Niece to the Lady Elsemore, and Daughter to Sir George Moor, then Chancel­lour of the Garter and Lieute­nant of the Tower.

Sir George had some intimati­on of it, and knowing preventi­on to be a great part of wisdom, did therefore remove her with much haste from that to his own house at Lothesley, but too late, by reason of some faithfull pro­mises which were so interchan­gably passed as never to be violated.

[Page 16]These promises were onely known to themselves, and the friends of both parties used much diligence and many argu­ments to kill or coole their affe­ctions to each other: but in vain; for love is a flattering mischief, that hath denied aged and wise men a foresight of those evils that too often prove to be the children of that blind father; a passion that carries us to commit errors with as much ease as whirl­winds remove feathers, and beget in us an unwearied industry to the attainment of what we desire. And such an industry did, not­withstanding much watchfulness against it, bring them together (I forbear to tell how) and to a mar­riage too without the allowance of those friends, whose approbati­on always was & ever will be ne­cessary to make even a vertuous love become lawful.

[Page 17]And that the knowledge of their marriage might not fall, like an unexpected tempest, on those that were unwilling to have it so; but that preappre­hensions might make it the less enormous, it was purposely whis­pered into the ears of many that it was so, yet by none that could attest it. But to put a period to the jealousies of Sir George, (Doubt often begetting more restless thoughts then the cer­tain knowledge of what we fear) the news was in favour to Mr. Donne, and with his allowance, made known to Sir George by his honourable friend and neighbour Henry Earl of Northumberland: but it was to Sir George so im­measurably unwelcome, and so transported him, that as though his passion of anger and inconsi­deration might exceed theirs of [Page 18] love and errour, he presently en­gaged his sister the Lady Else­more to joyn with him to pro­cure her Lord to discharge Mr. Donne of the place he held under his Lordship. This request was followed with violence; and though Sir George were remem­bred, that errors might be over-punished, and desired therefore to forbear till second considera­tions might clear some scruples, yet he became restlesse untill his suit was granted, and the punish­ment executed. The Lord Chancellour then at Mr. Donnes dis­mission, saying, he parted with a Friend; and protested he thought him a Secretary fitter for a King then a Subject.

But this Physick of M. Donne's dismission was not strong enough to purge out all Sir George his [Page 19] choler, who was not satisfied till Mr. Donne and his Compu­pill in Cambridge that married him, namely, Samuel Brook (who was after Doctor in Divinity, and Master of Trinity Colledge) and his brother Mr. Christopher Brook, Mr. Donne's Chamber-fellow in Lincolns Inne, who gave Mr. Donne his Wife, and witnes­sed the marriage, were all com­mitted, and to three severall prisons.

Mr. Donne was first enlarged, who neither gave rest to his bo­dy or brain, nor any friend in whom he might hope to have an interest, untill he had procured an enlargement for his two im­prisoned friends.

He was now at Liberty, but his dayes were still cloudy; and be­ing past these troubles, others [Page 20] did still multiply upon him; for his wife was (to her extreme sorrow) detained fom him; and though with Iacob he endured not an hard service for her, yet he lost a good one, and was for­ced to make good his title to her, and to get possession of her by a long and a restlesse suit in Law, which proved troublesome and chargeable to him, whose youth, and travell, and bounty, had brought his estate into a nar­row compass.

It is observed, and most truly, that silence and submission are charming qualities, and work most upon passionate men; and it proved so with Sir George; for these and a generall report of Mr. Donne's merits, together with his winning behaviour, (which when it would intice, [Page 21] had a strange kind of elegant ir­resistible art) these and time had so dispassionated Sir George, that as the world had approved his daughters choice, so he also could not but see a more then ordinary merit in his new son; and this melted him into so much remorse (for Love and Anger are so like Agues, as to have hot and cold fits.) And love in parents, though it may be quenched, yet is easily re­kindled, and expires not, till death denies mankind a naturall heat) that he laboured his sons restoration to his place; using to that end both his own and his sisters power to her Lord, but with no successe; for his answer was, That though he was unfeigned­ly sorry for what he had done, yet it was inconsistent with his place and credit, to discharge and re-admit [Page 22] admit servants at the request of passionate petitioners.

Sir George's endeavour for Mr. Donne's re-admission, was by all meanes to be kept secret (for men do more naturally reluct for errours, than submit to put on those blemishes that attend their visible acknowledgement.) How­ever it was not long before Sir George appeared to be so far re­conciled, as to wish their happi­nesse, and not to deny them his paternall blessing, but refused to contribute any meanes that might conduce to their liveli­hood.

Mr. Donne's estate was the greatest part spent in many and chargable Travels, Books, and dear-bought Experience; he out of all employment that might yield a support for himself and [Page 23] wife, who had been curiously and plentifully educated; both their natures generous, and accustomed to confer, but not to receive courtesies: These and other considerations, but chiefly that his wife was to bear a part in his sufferings, surrounded him with many sad thoughts, and some apparent apprehensions of want.

But his sorrowes were lessen­ed and his wants prevented by the seasonable courtesie of their noble kinsman Sir Francis Wolly of Pirford, who intreated them to a cohabitution with him; where they remained with much freedome to themselves, and equal content to him for many years; and as their charge en­creased (she had yearly a child) so did his love and boun­ty.

[Page 24]It hath been observed by wise and considering men, that wealth hath seldome been the portion, and never the mark to discover good people, but that Almighty God, who disposeth all things wisely, hath of his abundant goodnesse denied it (he onely knowes why) to many whose minds he hath enriched with the greater blessings of knowledge and vertue, as the fairer testimo­nies of his love to mankind; and this was the present condi­tion of this man of so excellent erudition and endowments; whose necessary and daily ex­pences were hardly reconcilable with his uncertain and narrow estate. Which I mention, for that at this time there was a most generous offer made him for the moderating of his world­ly cares; the declaration of [Page 25] which shall be the next employ­ment of my pen.

God hath been so good to his Church, as to afford it in every age some such men to serve at his Altar as have been piously ambitious of doing good to man­kind; a disposition that is so like to God himself, that it owes it self onely to him who takes a pleasure to behold it in his crea­tures. These times he did blesse with many such; some of which still live to be patterns of Apo­stolicall Charity, and of more than Humane Patience. I have said this because I have occasion to mention one of them in my following discourse; namely, Dr. Morton, the most laborious and learned Bishop of Durham, one that God hath blessed with per­fect intellectuals, and a cheerfull [Page 26] heart at the age of 94 yeares (and is yet living) one that in his dayes of plenty used his large Revenue to the encouragement of Learning and Vertue; and is now (be it spoken with sorrow) reduced to a narrow estate, which he embraces without repining; and still shews the beauty of his mind by so liberall a hand, as if this were an age in which to mo­rrow were to care for it self. I have taken a pleasure in giving the reader a short, but true character of this good man, from whom I received this following relati­on. He sent to Mr. Donne, and intreated to borrow an hour of his time for a Conference the next day. After their meeting there was not many minutes passed before he spake to Mr. Donne to this purpose; ‘Mr. Donne, The occasion of send­ing [Page 27] for you is to propose to you what I have often revolv'd in my own thought since I last saw you: which, neverthelesse, I will not do but upon this con­dition, that you shall not re­turn me a present answer, but forbeare three dayes, and be­stow some part of that time in fasting and prayer; and after a serious consideration of what I shall propose, then return to me with your answer. Deny me not, Mr. Donne, for it is the effect of a true love, which I would gladly pay as a debt due for yours to me.’

This request being grant­ed, the Doctor exprest himself thus: ‘Mr. Donne, I know your E­ducation and Abilities; I know [Page 28] your expectation of a State-employment; and I know your fitnesse for it; and I know too the many delayes and contin­gencies that attend Court-pro­mises; and let me tell you, my love begot by our long friend­ship and familiarity hath prom­pted me to such an inquisition of your present temporall e­state, as makes me no stranger to your necessities, which are such as your generous spirit could not bear, if it were not supported with a pious pati­ence: you know I have for­merly perswaded you to wave your Court-hopes, and enter into holy Orders; which I now again perswade you to embrace, with this reason added to my former request: The King hath now made me Dean of Gloce­ster, and I am possessed of a [Page 29] Benefice, the profits of which are equall to those of my Dean­ry, I will think my Deanry e­nough for my maintenance (who am and resolve to die a single man) and will quit my Benefice and estate you in it (which the Patron is willing I shall doe) if God shall incline your heart to embrace this mo­tion. Remember, Mr. Donne, no mans education or parts make him too good for this employment, which is to be an Ambassadour for him who by a vile death opened the gates of life to mankind. Make me no pre­sent answer; but remember your promise, and return to me the third day with your resolu­tion.’

At the hearing of this, Mr. Donne's faint breath and perplext [Page 30] countenance gave a visible testi­mony of an inward conflict; but he departed without returning an answer till the third day, and then it was to this effect; ‘My most worthy and most deare friend, since I saw you I have been faith­full to my promise, and have also meditated much of your great kindnesse, which hath been such as would ex­ceed even my gratitude; but that it cannot doe, and more I cannot return you; and that I do with an heart full of humili­ty and thanks, though I may not accept of your offer; but my refusall is not for that I think my self too good for that calling, for which Kings, if they think so, are not good e­nough: nor for that my edu­cation [Page 31] and learning, though not eminent, may not, being assisted with Gods grace and humility, render me in some measure fit for it: but I dare make so dear a friend as you are my Confessor; some irre­gularities of my life, have been so visible to some men, that though I have, I thank God, made my peace with him by penitentiall resolutions against them, and by the assistance of his grace banish'd them my af­fections; yet this, which God knows to be so, is not so vi­sible to man, as to free me from their censures, and it may be that sacred calling from a dishonour. And besides, where­as it is determined by the best of Casuists, that Gods glory should be the first end, and a maintenance the second motive [Page 32] to embrace that calling; and though that each man may propose to himself both toge­ther; yet the first may not be put last without a violation of conscience, which he that sear­ches the heart will judge. And truly my present condi­tion is such, that if I ask my own conscience whether it be reconcilable to that rule, it is at this time so perplexed about it, that I can neither give my self nor you an answer. You know Sir, who sayes, Happy is that man whose conscience doth not accuse him for that thing which he does. To these I might adde other reasons that disswade me; but I crave your favour that I may forbeare to expresse them.’

This was his present resoluti­on, [Page 33] but the heart of man is not in his own keeping; and he was destined to this sacred service by an higher hand, a hand so power­full, as forced him to a compli­ance: of which I shall give the reader an account before I shall give a rest to my pen.

Mr. Donne and his wife conti­nued with Sir Francis Wolly till his death; a little before which time he was so happy as to make a perfect reconciliation betwixt Sir George and his forsaken son and daughter, Sir George condi­tioning by bond to pay to Mr. Donne 800 l. at a certain day, as a portion with his wife, or 20 l. quarterly for their maintenance, as the interest for it, till the said portion was paid.

Most of those years that he li­ved [Page 34] with Sir Francis, he studied the Civil and Common Lawes; in which he acquired such a per­fection, as was judged to hold proportion with many who had made that study the employ­ment of their whole life.

Sir Francis being dead, and that happy family dissolved, Mr. Donne took for himself an house in Micham (near to Croydon in Surrey) a place noted for good aire and choice company: there his wife and children remained, & for himself he took lodgings in London near to White-Hall, whither his friends and occasions drew him very often, and where he was often visited by many of the Nobility and others of this Nation, who used him in their Counsels of greatest considera­tion.

[Page 35]Nor did our owne Nobility onely value and favour him, but his acquaintance and friendship was sought for by most Ambas­sadours of forraign Nations, and by many other strangers, whose learning or businesse occasion­ed their stay in this Nation.

He was much importuned by many friends to make his resi­dence in London, but he still de­nied it, having setled his deare wife and children at Micham, whither he often retired himself, and destin'd certaine dayes to a constant study of some points of Controversies; but after some yeares, the perswasion of friends was so powerful, as to cause the removall of himself and family to London, where Sir Robert Drewry, a Gentleman of a very [Page 36] noble estate, and a more liberall mind, assigned him a very choice and usefull house rent-free, next to his own in Drewry-lane; and was also a cherisher of his studies, and such a friend as sympathized with him and his in all their joy and sorrowes.

Many of the Nobility were watchfull and solicitous to the King for some preferment for him; His Majesty had formerly both known and put a value up­on his company, and had also gi­ven him some hopes of a State-employment, being the better pleased when Mr. Donne atten­ded him, especially at his meals, where there were usually many deep discourses of general learn­ing, and very often friendly de­bates or disputes of Religion be­twixt his Majesty and those Di­vines, [Page 37] whose places required their attendance on him at those times: particularly, the Dean of the Chappel, who then was Bishop Montague (the publisher of the learned and eloquent Works of his Majesty) and the most reve­rend Doctor Andrews, the late learned Bishop of Winchester, who then was the Kings Almo­ner.

About this time there grew many disputes that concerned the Oath of Supremacy and Alle­giance, in which the King had appeared and engaged himself by his publick writings now extant; and his Majesty discoursing with Mr. Donne concerning many of the reasons which are usually ur­ged against the taking of those Oaths, apprehended such a vali­dity and clearnesse in his stating [Page 38] the Questions, and his Answers to them, that his Majesty com­manded him to bestow some time in drawing the Arguments into a method, and then write his Answers to them; and ha­ving done that, not to send but be his own messenger and bring them to him. To this he pre­sently applied himself, and with­in six weeks brought them to him under his own hand-writing, as they be now printed, the Book bearing the name of Pseu­do-Martyr.

When the King had read and considered that booke, he perswaded Mr. Donne to enter into the Ministry; to which at that time he was and appeared very unwilling, apprehending it (such was his mistaking mode­sty) to be too weighty for his [Page 39] abilities; and though his Maje­sty had promised him a favour, and many persons of worth me­diated with his Majesty for some secular employment for him, to which his education had apted him, and particulary the Earle of somerset, when in his height of favour, being then at Theobalds with the King, where one of the Clerks of the Council died that night, the Earle having sent im­mediately for Mr. Donne to come to him, said, Mr. Donne, To te­stifie the reality of my affection, and my purpose to prefer you, stay in this garden till I go up to the King, and bring you word that you are Clerk of the Council. The King gave a positive denial to all re­quests; and having a discerning spirit, replied, I know Mr. Donne is a learned man, has the abilities of a learned Divine, and will prove [Page 40] a powerfull Preacher, and my de­sire is to prefer him that way. After that, as he professeth,In his book of Devo­tions. the King descended almost to a solicitation of him to enter into sacred Orders: which, though he then denied not, yet he deferred it for three years. All which time he appli­ed himself to an incessant study of Textuall Divinity, and to the attainment of a greater perfecti­on in the learned Languages, Greek and Hebrew.

In the first and most blessed times of Christianity, when the Clergy were look'd upon with reverence, and deserved it, when they overcame their opposers by high examples of Vertue, by a blessed Patience and long Suf­fering; those onely were then judged worthy the Ministry, whose quiet and meek spirits did [Page 41] make them look upon that sa­cred calling with an humble ado­ration and fear to undertake it; which indeed requires such great degrees of humility, and labour, and care; that none but such were then thought worthy of that Ce­lestiall dignity. And such onely were then sought out, and soli­cited to undertake it. This I have mentioned because for­wardness and inconsideration could not in Mr. Donne as in many others, be an argument of insuf­ficiency or unfitnesse, for he had considered long, and had many strifes within himself concerning the strictnesse of life and compe­tency of learning required in such as enter into sacred Orders; and doubtlesse, considering his own demerits, did humbly aske God with St. Paul, Lord who is sufficient for these things? and with [Page 42] meek Moses, Lord who am I? And sure if he had consulted with flesh and blood, he had not put his hand to that holy plough. But, God who is able to prevaile, wrestled with him as the Angell did with Iacob, and marked him; mark't him for his own, mark't him with a blessing, a blessing of obedience to the motions of his blessed Spirit. And then, as he had formerly asked God with Moses, Who am I? So now be­ing inspired with an apprehension of Gods particular mercy to him, he came to ask King Davids thankfull question, Lord who am I that thou art so mindfull of me? So mindfull of me as to lead me for more then forty yeares through this wildernesse of the many temptations, and various turnings of a dangerous life; so mercifull to me as to move the [Page 43] learned'st of Kings, to descend to move me to serve at thy Al­tar; so mercifull to me as to move my heart to imbrace this holy motion, thy motions I will imbrace. And I now say with the blessed Virgin, Be it with thy servant as seemeth best in thy sight; and so I do take the cup of salva­tion, and will call upon thy Name and preach thy Gospel.

Such strifes as these St. Au­stine had, when St. Ambrose in­deavoured his conversion to Christianity, with which he con­fesseth, he acquainted his friend Alipius. Our learned Author (a man fit to write after no mean Copy) did the like. And de­claring his intentions to his dear friend Dr. King then Bishop of London, a man famous in his ge­neration, and no stranger to Mr. [Page 44] Donnes abilities. (For he had been Chaplain to the Lord Chancel­lour, at the time of Mr. Donnes being his Lordships Secretary) That Reverend man did receive the news with much gladnesse, and after some expressions of joy, and a perswasion to be con­stant in his pious purpose, he pro­ceeded with all convenient speed to ordain him both Deacon and Priest.

Now the English Church had gain'd a second St. Austine, for I thinke none was so like him be­fore his conversion; none so like St. Ambrose after it; and if his youth had the infirmities of the one, his age had the excel­lencies of the other, the learning and holinesse of both.

And now all his studies which [Page 45] had been occasionally diffused, were all concentred in Divinity. Now he had a new calling, new thoughts, and a new imployment for his wit and eloquence. Now all his earthly affections were changed into divine love; and all the faculties of his own soul were ingaged in the conversion of others. In preaching the glad tidings of remission to repenting sinners; and peace to each trou­bled soul. To these he applyed himself with all care & diligence; and now, such a change was wrought in him, that he could say with David, Oh how amiable are thy Tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts! Now he declared openly, that when he required a temporal, God gave him a spiritual-blessing: And that, he was now gladder to be a door-keeper in the house of God, then he could to be in­joy [Page 46] the noblest of all temporall im­ployments.

Presently after he entred into his holy profession, the King sent for him, and made him his Chap­lain in ordinary; and promised to take a particular care for his pre­ferment.

And though his long familia­rity with Scholars, and persons of greatest quality, was such as might have given some men boldnesse enough to have preached to any eminent Audi­tory, yet his modesty in this im­ployment was such, that he could not be perswaded to it, but went usually accompanied with some one friend, to preach privately in some villages not far from Lon­don. This he did till his Ma­jesty sent and appointed him a [Page 47] day to preach to him; and though much were expected from him, both by his Majesty and others, yet he was so happy which few are, as to satisfie and exceed their expectations; preaching the Word so, as shewed his own heart was possest with those ve­ry thoughts, and joyes that he laboured to distill into others. A Preacher in earnest, weeping sometimes for his Auditory, sometimes with them; alwaies preaching to himself like an An­gell from a cloud, but in none; carrying some, as St. Paul was, to Heaven in holy raptures, and inticing others by a sacred art and Courtship to amend their lives; here picturing a vice so as to make it ugly to those that practised it; and a vertue so, as to make it be loved even by those that lov'd it not, and all [...] [Page 44] [...] [Page 45] [...] [Page 46] [...] [Page 47] [Page 48] this with a most particular grace and an unexpressable addition of comelinesse.

There may be some that may incline to think (such indeed as have not heard him) that my af­fection to my friend, hath trans­ported me to an immoderate commendation of his preaching. If this meets with any such, Let me intreat, though I will omit many, yet that he will receive at least a double witnesse for what I say being attested by a Gentle­man of worth, Mr. Chidley, and a frequent hearer of his Sermons. It is part of a funerall elogy writ on him, and a known truth though it be in verse.

More of this, and more wit­nesses might be brought, but I forbear and returne.

That summer, in the very same moneth in which he entred [Page 50] into sacred Orders, and was made the Kings Chaplain, His Ma­jesty then going his Progresse, was intreated to receive an en­tertainment in the University of Cambridge: And Mr. Donne at­tending his Majesty at that time, his Majesty was pleased to re­commend him to the University, to be made Doctor in Divi­nity, Doctor Harsnet (after Arch­Bishop of York) was then Vice-Chancellour, who knowing him to be the Author of the Pseudo-Martyr, required no other proof of his abilities, but proposed it to the University, who presently assented and exprest a gladnesse, that they had such an occasion to intitle him to be theirs.

His abilities and industry in his profession, were so eminent, and he so known and beloved [Page 51] by persons of quality, that with­in the first year of his entring in­to sacred Orders, he had four­teen Advowsons of several Beni­fices presented to him: But they were in the Country, and he could not leave his beloved Lon­don, to which place he had a na­turall inclination, having recei­ved both his birth and educati­on in it, and contracted a friend­ship there with many; whose conversation multiplyed the joyes of his life: But, an imploy­ment that might affixe him to that place would be welcome, for he needed it.

Immediately after his return from Cambridge, his wife dyed, leaving him a man of an unsetled estate, and (having buryed five) the carefull father of seven chil­dren then living, to whom he [Page 52] gave a voluntary assurance never to bring them under the sub­jection of a step-mother, which promise he kept most faithfully, burying with his teares all his earthly joyes in his most dear and deserving wives grave; and be­take himself to a most retired and solitary life.

In this retirednesse which was often from the sight of his dea­rest friends, he became crucified to the world, and all those vanities, those imaginary pleasures that are dayly acted on that restlesse stage, and they crucified to him. Nor s it hard to thinke (being passions may be both changed and heightned by accidents) but that that abundant affection which once was betwixt him and her, who had long been the de­light of his eyes, the Companion [Page 53] of his youth; her, with whom he had devided so many pleasant sorrows and contented feares as the Common-people are not ca­pable of: She being now remo­ved by death, a commeasurable grief took as full a possession of him as joy had done, and so in­deed it did: for now his very soul was elemented of nothing but sadness, now grief took so full a possession of his heart, as to leave no place for joy. If it did? It was a joy to be alone, where like a Pelican in the mildernesse, he might bemoane himself without witnesse or restraint, and poure forth his passions like Iob in the dayes of his affliction, Oh that I might have the desire of my heart! Oh that God would grant the thing that I long for! For then as the Grave is become her house, so I would hasten to make it mine al­so; [Page 54] that we two might there make our beds together in the darke. Thus as the Israelites sate mour­ning by the rivers of Babylon, when they remembred Sion; so he gave some ease to his oppressed heart by thus venting his sor­rowes. Thus he began the day, and ended the night, ended the restless night and began the wea­ry day in lamentations. And thus he continued till a consideration of his new ingagements to God, and St. Pauls Wo is me if I preach not the Gospel: disper'st those sad clouds that had now benighted his hopes, and forc'd him to be­hold the light.

His first motion from his house was to preach, where his beloved wife lay buryed (in St. Clements Church neer Temple-Barre London,) and his text was [Page 55] a part of the Prophet Ieremy's Lamentations: Lo, I am the man that have seen affliction.

And indeed his very words and looks testified him to be truly such a man; and they with the addition of his sighs and teares did so work upon the affe­ctions of his hearers, as melted and moulded them into a com­panionable sadnesse; and so they left the Congregation; but their houses presented them with ob­jects of diversion, and his presen­ted him with no diversions, but with fresh objects of sorrow, in beholding many helplesse chil­dren, and a consideration of the many cares and casualties that at­tended their education.

In this time of sadnesse he was importuned by the grave Ben­chers [Page 56] of Lincolns Inne, once the friends of his youth, to accept of their Lecture, which by reason of Dr. Gatakers removall from thence was then void; of which he accepted, being most glad to renew his intermitted friendship with those whom he so much lo­ved, and where he had been a Saul, though not to persecute Christianity, yet in his irregular youth to neglect the visible prac­tise of it, there to become a Paul, and preach salvation to his brethren.

And now his life was as a Shi­ning light amongst his old friends; now he gave an ocular te­stimony of the strictnesse and re­gularity of it; now he might say as S. Paul advised his Corinthians, Be ye followers of me, as I follow Christ, and walk as ye have me for [Page 57] an example; not the example of a busie-body, but of a contempla­tive, an harmlesse, and an holy life and conversation.

The love of that noble socie­ty was expressed to him many wayes; for, besides fair lodgings that were set apart and newly furnished for him, with all neces­saries, other courtesies were dai­ly added; so many and so freely, as if they meant their gratitude should exceed his merits; and in this love-strife of desert and li­berality, they continued for the space of three years, he preach­ing faithfully and constantly to them, and they liberally requi­ting him. About which time the Emperour of Germany died, and the Palsgrave, who had late­ly married the Lady Elizabeth the Kings onely daugther, was [Page 58] elected and crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning of many miseries in that Nation.

King Iames, whose Motto (Beati Pacifici) did truly speak the very thoughts of his heart, endeavoured first to prevent, and after to compose the discords of that discomposed State: and amongst other his endeavours did then send the Lord Hay Earl of Doncaster his Ambassadour to those unsetled Princes; and by a speciall command from his Ma­jesty Dr. Donne was appointed to assist and attend that employ­ment to the Princes of the Uni­on: for which the Earl was most glad, who had alwayes put a great value on him, and taken a complacency in his coversati­on; and those of Lincolnes Inne [Page 59] that were his most intire friends were glad also; for they feared that his immoderate study and sadness for his wives death, would, as Iacob said, make his days few, and respecting his bodily health, evil too: and of this there were some visible signes. At his going he left his friends of Lin­colns Inne, and they him with many reluctations: for though he could not say as S. Paul to his Ephesians, Behold you to whom I have peached the kingdom of God, shall from henceforth see my face no more; yet he believing him­self to be in a Consumption, questioned, and they feared it: knowing that his troubled mind with the help of his unintermit­ted studies hastened the decayes of his weak body. But God turn­ed it to the best, for this employ­ment (to say nothing of the event [Page 60] of it) did not onely divert him from those serious studies and sad thoughts, but seemed to give him a new life by a true occasion of joy, to be an eye-witnesse of the health of his most dear and most honoured Mistresse the Qu of Bohemia, in a forraign Na­tion, and to be a witness of that gladness which she expressed to see him: Who having formerly known him a Courtier, was much joyed to see him in a Canonicall habit, and more glad to be an ear-witness of his excellent and powerfull preaching.

About fourteen moneths after his departure out of England, he returned to his friends of Lin­colns-Inne with his sorrows mo­derated, and his health impro­ved, and there be took himself to his constant course of preaching.

[Page 61]About a year after his return out of Germany, Dr. Cary was made Bishop of Exeter, and by his removall the Deanry of St. Pauls being vacant, the King sent to Dr. Donne, and appoint­ed him to attend him at dinner the next day. When his Majesty was sate down, before he had eat any meat, he said after his plea­sant manner, Dr. Donne, I have invited you to dinner, and though you sit not down with me, yet I will carve to you of a dish that I know you love well; for I know you love London, and I do there­fore make you Dean of Pauls; and when I have dined, then doe you take your beloved dish home to your study; say grace there to your self, and much good may it do you.

Immediately after he came to his Deanry, he employed work­men [Page 62] to repair and beautifie the Chappel, suffering, as holy Da­vid once vowed his eyes and tem­ples to take no rest, till he had first beautified the house of God.

The next quarter following, when his Father-in-law Sir Geo. Moor, whom Time had made a lover and admirer of him, came to pay to him the conditioned summe of twenty pounds; he refused to receive it, and said as good Iacob did, when he heard his beloved son Ioseph was a­live, It is enough, you have been kind to me and mine: I know your present condition, and I hope mine is or will be such as not to need it: I will therefore receive no more from you upon that contract; and in testimony of it freely gave him up his bond.

[Page 63]Immediately after his admis­sion into his Deanry, the Vica­rage of St. Dunston in the West, London, fell to him by the death of Dr. White, the Advewson of it having been formerly given to him by his honourable friend, Richard Earl of Dorset, then the Patron, and confirmed by his brother the late deceased Ed­ward, both of them men of much honour.

By these and other Ecclesia­sticall endowments which fell to him about the same time, given to him formerly by the Earl of Kent, he was enabled to become charitable to the poor, and kind to his friends, and to make such provision for his children, that they were not left scandalous, as relating to their or his profession and quality.

[Page 64]The next Parliament, which was within that present year, he was chosen Prolocutor to the Con­vocation; and about that time was appointed by his Majesty, his most gracious Master, to preach very many occasionall Sermons. All which employ­ments he performed, not onely to the allowance but admiration of the Representative Body of the whole Clergy of this Na­tion.

He was once, and but once, clowded with the Kings displea­sure, and it was about this time, which was occasioned by some malicious whisperer, who had told his Majesty that Dr. Donne had put on the generall humour of the Pulpits, and was become busie in insinuating a fear of the Kings inclining to Popery, and a [Page 65] dislike of his Government: and particularly, for his turning the evening Lectures into Catechi­sing, and expounding the Pray­er of our Lord, and of the Be­lief, and Commandements. His Majesty was more inclinable to believe this; for that a person of Nobility and great note, be­twixt whom and Dr. Donne, there had been a great friendship, was about this time discarded the Court (I shall forbear his name, unlesse I had a fairer occasion) and justly committed to prison; which begot many rumours in the common people, who in this Nation think they are not wise, unlesse they be busie about what they understand not, and espe­cially about Religion.

The King received this news with so much discontent and [Page 66] restlesnesse, that he would not suffer the Sun to set and leave him under this doubt; but sent for Dr. Donne, and required his answer to the Accusation; which was so clear and satisfactory, that the King said he was right glad he rested no longer under the suspicion. When the King had said this, Doctor Donne kneeled down and thanked his Majesty, and protested his answer was faithful & free from all collusion, and therefore desired that he might not rise till as in like cases he always had from God, so he might have from his Majesty some assurance that he stood clear and fair in his opinion. Then the King raised him from his knees with his own hands, and protested that he knew he was an honest man, and doubted not but that he loved him truly. And having thus dis­missed [Page 67] him, he called some Lords of his Council into his chamber, and said with much ear­nestnesse, My Doctor is an honest man: and my Lords, I was never better satisfied with an answer: and I alwayes rejoice when I think that by my means he became a Di­vine.

He was made Dean the fif­tieth year of his age; and in his fifty fourth yeare a dangerous sicknesse seized him, which inclined him to a Consumption. But God, as Job thankfully ac­knowledged, preserved his spirit, and kept his intellectuals as clear and perfect, as when that sicknesse first seized his body.

In this distemper of body his dear friend Dr. Henry King (chief Residenciary of that Church, and [Page 68] now Bishop of Chicester) a man then generally known by the Clergy of this Nation, and as generally noted for his obliging nature, visited him dayly, and observing that his sicknesse ren­dred his recovery doubtfull, he chose a seasonable time to speak to him, to this purpose.

‘Mr. Dean, I am by your fa­vour no stranger to your tempo­ral estate, & you are no stranger to the Offer lately made us, for the renewing a Lease of the best Prebends Corps belonging to our Church; and you know, 'twas denyed, for that our Te­nant being very rich, offered to fine at so low a rate as held not proportion with his advantages: but I will raise him to an higher summe, or procure that the o­ther Residenciaries shall joyn to [Page 69] accept of what was offered: one of those I can and will doe with­out delay, and without any trouble either to your body or mind, I beseech you to accept of my offer, for I know it will be a considerable addition to your present estate.’

To this, after a short pause, and raising himself upon his bed, he made this reply.

‘My most dear friend, I most humbly thank you for your ma­ny favours, and this in particu­lar: But, in my present condi­tion, I shall not accept of your proposall; for doubtlesse there is such a Sinne as Sacriledge, if there were not, it could not have a name in Scripture. And the Primitive Clergy were watchfull against all appearan­ces [Page 70] of it; and indeed then all Christians lookt upon it with horror and detestation: Judg­ing it to be even an open defi­ance of the power and providence of Almighty God, and a sad pre­sage of a declining Religion. But instead of such Christians, who had selected times set a part to fast and pray to God, for a pi­ous Clergy which they did obey, Our times abound with men that are busie and litigious about trifles and Church-Ce­remonies; and yet so far from scrupling Sacriledge, that they make not so much as a quaere what it is: But, I thank God I have, and dare not now upon my sick bed, when Almighty God hath made me uselesse to the service of the Church, make any advantages out of it. But if he shall again restore me to such [Page 71] a degree of health, as again to serve at his Altar, I shall then gladly take the reward which the bountifull Benefactours of this Church have designed me; for God knowes my Children and relations will need it. In which number my mother (whose Credulity and Charity has contracted a very plentifull to a very narrow estate) must not be forgotten: But Dr. King, if I recover not, that lit­tle, that very little, when divi­ded into eight parts, must, if you deny me not so Charitable a favour, fall into your hands as my mst faithfull friend and Executor; of whose Care and Justice; I make no more doubt then of Gods blessing on that which I have conscienciously collected for them, and this I declare as my unalterable reso­lution.’

[Page 72]The reply to this was onely a promise to observe his request.

Within a few dayes his di­stempers abated; and as his strength increased, so did his thankfulnesse to Almighty God, testified in his book of Devotions, which he published at his reco­very. In which the reader may see, the most secret thoughts that then possest his soul, Para­phrased and make publick; a book that may not unfitly be called a Sacred picture of spiritu­all extasies, occasioned and ap­plyable to the emergencies of that sicknesse, which being a composition of Meditations, dis­quisitions and prayers, he writ on his sick-bed; herein imitating the holy Patriarchs, who were wont to build their Altars in that place, where they had received their blessings.

[Page 73]This sicknesse brought him so neer to the gates of death, and he saw the grave so ready to de­vour him, that he would often say his recovery was supernatu­rall. But God that restor'd his health continued it to him, till the fifty-ninth year of his life. And then in August 1630. being with his eldest Daughter Mrs. Harvie at Abury hatch in Essex, he there fell into a fever, which with the help of his constant in­firmity (vapors from the spleene) hastened him into so visible a Consumption, that his behol­ders might say as St Paul of him­self, He dies daily; and he might say with Iob, my welfare passeth away as a cloud, the dayes of my affliction have taken hold of me, and weary nights are appointed for me.

[Page 74]Reader, this sicknesse conti­nued long, not onely weaken­ing but wearying him so much, that my desire is, he may now take some rest, and that before I speake of his death thou wilt not think it an impertinent di­gression to look back with me upon some observations of his life, which whilst a gentle slum­ber gives rest to his spirits, may, I hope, not unfitly exercise thy consideration.

His marriage was the remark­able errour of his life; an errour which though he had a wit able, very apt to maintain Paradoxes, yet he was very farre from justi­fying; & though his wives Com­petent yeares, and other reasons might be justly urged to mode­rate severe Censures; yet he would occasionally condemn [Page 75] himself for it: and doubtlesse it had been attended with an heavy Repentance, if God had not blest them with so mutuall and Cor­diall affections, as in the midst of their sufferings made their bread of sorrow taste more pleasantly then the banquets of dull and low-spirited people.

The recreations of his youth were Poetry, in which he was so happy, as if nature and all her varieties had been made onely to exercise his sharpe wit, and high fancy; and in those pieces which were facetiously Compo­sed and carelesly scattered (most of them being written before the twentieth year of his age) it may appear by his choice Metaphors, that both Nature and all the Arts joyn'd to assist him with their utmost skill.

[Page 76]It is a truth, that in his peni­tentiall yeares, viewing some of those pieces loosely scattered in his youth, he wish't they had been abortive, or so short liv'd, that his own eyes had witnessed their funeralls. But though he was no friend to them, he was not so fallen out with heavenly Poe­try as to forsake that, no not in that in his declining age; witnes­sed then by many Divine Son­nets, and other high, holy, and harmonious Composures. Yea even on his former sick-bed he wrote this heavenly Hymne, ex­pressing the great joy that then possest his soul in the Assurance of Gods favour to him.

I have the rather mentioned this Hymne, for that he caus'd it to be set to a most grave and so­lemn [Page 78] tune, and to be often sung to the Organ by the Choristers of that Church, in his own hearing, especially at the Evening Service; and at his return from his Custo­mary Devotions in that place, did occasionally say to a friend, The words of this Hymne have restored to me the same thoughts of joy that possest my soul in my sick­nesse when I composed it. And, Oh the power of Church-musick! that Harmony added to it has rais­ed the affections of my heart, and quickned my graces of zeal and gratitude; and I observe, that I alwaies return from paying this publick duty of Prayer and Praise to God with an unexpressible tran­quillity of mind, and a willingnesse to leave the world.

After this manner did the Disciples of our Saviour, and the [Page 79] best of Christians in those Ages of the Church nearest to his time, offer their praises to Al­mighty God. And the reader of St. Augustines life may there find, that towards his dissolution he wept abundantly, that the e­nemies of Christianity had broke in upon them, and prophaned and ruin'd their Sanctuaries, and because their Publick Hymns and Lauds were lost out of their Churches. And after this man­ner have many devout soules lifted up their hands and offered acceptable Sacrifices unto Al­mighty God in that place where Dr. Donne offered his.

But now oh Lord—

Before I proceed further, I think fit to informe the reader, that not long before his death [Page 80] he caused to be drawn a figure of the body of Christ extended up­on an Anchor, like those which painters draw when they would present us with the picture of Christ Crucified on the Crosse; his varying no otherwise then to affixe him to an Anchor (the Embleme of hope) this he caus­ed to be drawn in little, and then many of these figures thus drawn to be ingraven very small in H [...]litropian Stones, and set in gold, and of these he sent to ma­ny of his dearest friends to be used as Seales, or Rings, and kept as memorialls of him and his af­fection.

His dear friends Sir Henry Goodier and Sir Robert Drewry, could not be of that number, for they had put off mortality, and taken possession of the grave be­fore [Page 81] him. But Sir Henry Wootton, and Dr. Hall the late deceased Bishop of Norwich were, and so were Dr. Duppa Bishop of Sa­lisbury, and Dr. Henry King Bi­shop of Chicester, (both now li­ving-men) in whom there was and is such a Commixture of ge­nerall Learning, natural eloquence, and Christian humility, that they deserve a Commemoration by a pen equall to their own, which none hath exceeded.

And in this enumeration of his friends, though many must be ommitted, yet that man of primi­tive piety Mr. George Herbert may not, I mean that George Herbert, who was the Author of the Temple or Sacred Poems and Ejaculations. (A book, in which by declaring his own spirituall Conflicts he hath raised many a [Page 82] dejected and discomposed soul, and charmed them into sweet and quiet thoughts: A book, by the frequent reading whereof, and the assistance of that Spirit that seemed to inspire the Au­thor, the Reader may attain ha­bits of peace and piety, and all the gifts of the Holy Ghost and Heaven; and by still reading, still keep those sacred fires burn­ing upon the Altar of so pure a heart, as shall be freed from the anxieties of this world, and fixt upon things that are above;) be­twixt him and Dr. Donne there was a long and dear friendship, make up by such a' Sympa­thy of inclinations, that they co­veted and joyed to be in each o­thers Company; and this happy friendship was still maintained by many sacred indearments, of which that which followeth [Page 83] may be some Testimony.

To Mr. George Herbert, with one of my Seales of the Anchor and Crest. A sheafe of Snakes used heretofore to be my Seal, the Crest of our poor Family.

I return to tell the Reader, that besides these verses to his dear Mr. Herbert, and that Hymne that I mentioned to be sung in the Quire of S. Pauls Church; he did also shorten and beguile ma­ny sad hours by composing other sacred Ditties; and he writ an Hymn on his death-bed, which beares this title, ‘An Hymn to God my God in my sicknsse, March 23. 1630.’

If these fall under the censure of a soul, whose too much mix­ture with earth makes it unfit to judge of these high illuminati­ons; [Page 86] let him know that many holy & devout men have thought the soul of Prudentius to be most refined, when not many dayes be­fore his death he charged it to present his God each morning and evening with a new and spirituall song; justified by the example of King David and the good King Hezek [...]as, who upon the renovation of his years paid his thankfull vowes to Almighty God in a royall Hymn, which he concludes in these words, The Lord was ready to save, therefore I will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all the dayes of my life in the temple of my God.

The latter part of his life may be said to be a continued study; for as he usually preached once a week, if not oftner, so after his Sermon he never gave his eyes [Page 87] rest, till he had chosen out a new Text, and that night cast his Sermon into a forme, and his Text into divisions, and next day betook himself to consult the Fathers, and so commit his me­ditations to his memory, which was excellent. But upon Satur­day he usually gave himself and his mind a rest from the weary burthen of his weeks meditati­ons, and spent that day in visita­tion of friends, and other diversi­ons of his thoughts, and would say, that he gave both his body and mind that refreshment, that he might be enabled to do the work of the day following, not faintly, but with courage and cheerfulness.

Nor was his age onely so in­dustrious, but in the most unset­led days of his youth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond [Page 88] the hour of four in a morning: and it was no common business that drew him out of his cham­ber till past ten. All which time was employed in study; and if it seem strange, it may gain a be­lief by the visible fruits of his la­bours; some of which remain as testimonies of what is here writ­ten: for he left the resultance of 1400. Authors, most of them abridged and analysed with his own hand; he left also sixscore of his Sermons all written with his own hand; also an exact and laborious Treatise concerning self-murther, called Biathanatos, wherein all the Lawes violated by that Act are diligently sur­veyed and judiciously censured: a Treatise written in his younger dayes, which alone might de­clare him then not onely perfect in the Civil and Canon Law, [Page 89] but in many other such stu­dies and arguments, as enter not into the consideration of many that labour to be thought great Clerks, and pretend to know all things.

Nor were these onely found in his study, but all businesses that past of any publick conse­quence, either in this or any of our neighbour-nations, he abbre­viated either in Latine, or in the Language of that Nation, and kept them by him for a memo­riall. So he did the copies of di­vers Letters and cases of Consci­ence that had concerned his friends, with his observations and solutions of them, and divers other businesses of importance; all particularly and methodical­ly digested by himself.

[Page 90]He did prepare to leave the world before life left him, making his will when no faculty of his soul was damp'd or made defe­ctive by sickness, or he surprized by a sudden apprehension of death: but it was made with mature deliberation, expressing himself an impartiall Father by making his childrens portions equall; and a lover of his friends, whom he remembred with Lega­cies fitly and discreetly chosen and bequeathed. I cannot for­bear a nomination of some of them; for methinks they be persons that seem to challenge a recordation in this place, as namely, to his brother-in-law Sir Th. Grimes, he gave that striking Clock which he had long worn in his pocket.— To his deare friend and executor Dr. King, now Bishop of Chichester, that [Page 91] model of Gold of the Synod of Dort, with which the States pre­sented him at his last being at the Hague — and the two Pi­ctures of Padrie Paulo and Ful­gentio, men of his acquaintance when he travelled Italy, and of great note in that Nation for their remarkable learning. — To his ancient friend Dr. Brook, Ma­ster of Trinity Colledge in Cam­bridge he gave the picture of the blessed Virgin and Ioseph. —To Dr. Winniff (who succeeded him in the Deanry) he gave a picture called the Sceleton. — To the succeeding Dean, who was not then known, he gave many ne­cessaries of worth, and usefull for his house; and also severall Pi­ctures and Ornaments for the Chappel, with a desire that they might be registred, and remain as a Legacy to his Successors. [Page 92] —To the Earles of Dorset and of Carlile he gave several Pictures, and so he did to many other friends; Legacies given rather to express his affection, then to make any addition to their E­states: but unto the poor he was full of Charity, and unto many others, who by his constant and long continued bounty might in­title themselves to be his almes-people; for all these he made provision, and so largely, as ha­ving then six children living, might to some appear more then proportionable to his estate. I forbear to mention any more, lest the Reader may think I tre­spass upon his patience: but I will beg his favour to present him with the beginning and end of his Will.

Nor was this blessed sacrifice of Charity expressed onely at his [Page 95] death, but in his life also, by a cheerful & frequent visitation of any friend whose mind was de­jected, or his fortune necessitous; he was inquisitive after the wants of Prisoners, and redeemed ma­ny from thence that lay for their fees, or for small debts; he was a continuall giver to poor Scho­lars, both of this and forraign na­tions. Besides what he gave with his own hand, he usually sent a servant, or a discreet and trusty friend, to distribute his charity to all the Prisons in London at all the Festivall times of the year, especially at the Birth and Resur­rection of our Saviour. He gave an hundred pounds at one time to an old friend, whom he had known live plentifully, & by a too liberall heart then decayed in his estate: and when the receiving of it was denied, by saying, he wan­ted [Page 96] not; for as there be some spirits so generous as to labour to conceal and endure a sad po­verty, rather then those blushes that attend the confession of it; so there be others to whom Na­ture and Grace have afforded such sweet and compassionate souls, as to pity and prevent the distresses of mankind; which I have mentioned because of Dr. Donne's reply, whose answer was, I know you want not what will sustain nature, for a little will do that; but my defire is that you who in the dayes of your plenty have cheered the hearts of so many of your friends, would receive this from me, and use it as a cordiall for the cheering of your own: and so it was received. He was an happy reconciler of many differences in the families of his friends and kindred, which he [Page 97] never undertook faintly; for such undertakings have usually faint effects; and they had such a faith in his judgement and im­partiality, that he never advised them to any thing in vain. He was even to her death a most dutifull son to his Mother, care­full to provide for her supporta­tion; of which she had been de­stitute, but that God raised him up to prevent her necessities; who having sucked in the Reli­gion of the Roman Church with her Mothers milk, spent her estate in forraign Countreys to enjoy a liberty in it, and died in his house but three moneths be­fore him.

And to the end it may appear how just a steward he was of his Lord and Masters revenue, I have thought fit to let the Rea­der, [Page 98] know that after his entrance into his Deanery, as he numbred his yeares, and at the foot of a pri­vate account (to which God and his Angells were onely witnesses with him) computed first his revenue, then what was given to the poor, and other pious uses; and lastly, what rested for him and his; he blest each yeares poor remainder with a thankfull prayer; which for that they dis­cover a more then common Devotion, the Reader shall par­take some of them in his own words.

But I return from my long Digres­sion.

We left the Author sick in [Page 100] Essex, where he was forced to spend much of that winter, by reason of his disability to re­move from thence: And ha­ving never for almost twenty yeares omitted his personall At­tendance on his Majesty in that moneth in which he was to at­tend and preach to him; nor ha­ving ever been left out of the Roll and number of Lent-Prea­chers; and there being then (in Ianuary 1630.) a report brought to London, or raised there, that Dr. Donne was dead: That re­port gave him occasion to write this following letter to a friend.

Before that moneth ended, he was designed to preach upon his old constant day, the first Fri­day in Lent; he had notice of it, and had in his sicknesse so prepa­red for that imployment, that as he had long thirsted for it, so he resolved his weaknesse should not hinder his journey; he came therefore to London, some few dayes before his day appointed. At his being there many of his friends (who with sorrow saw his sicknesse had left him onely so much flesh as did cover his bones) doubted his strength to performe that task; and there­fore disswaded him from under­taking [Page 104] it, assuring him however, it was like to shorten his daies; but he passionately denyed their requests, saying, he would not doubt that God who in many weak­nesses had assisted him with an un­expected strength, would not now withdraw it in his last employment; professing an holy ambition to per­forme that sacred work. And when to the amazement of some be­holders he appeared in the Pul­pit, many thought he presented himself not to preach mortifica­tion by a living voice, but mor­tality by a decayed body and dy­ing face. And doubtlesse many did secretly ask that question in Ezekiel, Do these bones live? or can that soul Organize that tongue, Ezek. 37.3. to speak so long time as the sand in that glasse will move towards its Centre, and measure out an hour of this dying mans unspent life? [Page 105] Doubtlesse it cannot; yet after some faint pauses in his zealous prayer, his strong desires enabled his weake body to discharge his memory of his preconceived meditations; which were of dy­ing, the Text being, To God the Lord belong the issues from Death. Many that then saw his teares, and heard his hollow voice, pro­fessing they thought the Text prophetically chosen, and that Dr. Donne had preach't his own funerall Sermon.

Being full of joy that God had enabled him to performe this desired duty, he hastened to his house, out of which he never moved, till like St. Stephen, he was carryed by devout men to his Grave.

The next day after his Ser­mon, his strength being much [Page 106] wasted, and his spirits so spent, as indisposed him to businesse, or to talk. A friend that had often been a witnesse of his free and facetious discourse, asked him, Why are you sad? To whom he replyed with a countenance so full of cheerfull gravity, as gave testimony of an inward tranquillity of mind, and of a soul willing to take a farewell of this world. And said, ‘I am not sad, but most of the night past I have enter­tained my self with many thoughts of severall friends that have left me here, and are gone to that place from which they shall not returne: And that within a few dayes I also shall go hence and be no more seen. And my preparation for this change is become my nightly meditation [Page 107] upon my bed, which my infir­mities have now made restlesse to me. But at this present time I was in a serious Contempla­tion of the goodnesse of God to me, who am lesse then the least of his mercies; and looking back upon my life past, I now plainly see it was his hand that prevented me from all tempo­rall imployment, and it was his will that I should never settle nor thrive till I entred into the Ministry; in which I have now liv'd almost twenty yeares (I hope to his glory) and by which I most humbly thank him, I have been inabled to requite most of those friends which shewed me kindnesse when my fortune was very low, and (as it hath occasioned the expres­sion of my gratitude) I thank God most of them have stood [Page 108] in need of my requitall. I have liv'd to be usefull and com­fortable to my good father in Law Sir George Moore, whose patience God hath been plea­sed to exercise with many tem­porall crosses; I have maintain­ed my own mother, whom it hath pleased God after a plenti­full fortune in her younger dayes, to bring to a great decay in her very old Age. I have quieted the Consciences of ma­ny that have groaned under the burthen of a wounded Spirit, whose prayers I hope are a­vailable for me. I cannot plead innocency of life, especially of my youth: But I am to be judged by a mercifull God, who is not willing to see what I have done amisse. And though of my self I have nothing to present to him but sins and [Page 109] misery; yet I know he looks not upon me now as I am of my self, but as I am in my Sa­viour, and hath given me even at this time some testimonies by his holy Spirit, that I am of the number of his Elect: I am full of joy, and shall die in peace.’

I must here look so far back, as to tell the Reader, that at his first return out of Essex, his old Friend and Physician, Dr. Fox, a man of great worth, came to him to consult his health, who after a sight of him, and some queries concerning his distempers, told him, That by Cordials and drink­ing milk twenty dayes together, there was a probability of his re­stauration to health; but he pas­sionately denied to drink it. Ne­verthelesse, Dr. Fox, who loved him most intirely, wearied him [Page 110] with solicitations, till he yielded to take it for ten dayes; at the end of which time he told Dr. Fox, he had drunk it more to satisfie him, than to recover his health; and that he would not drink it ten dayes longer upon the best morall assurance of having twenty years added to his life, for he loved it not; and he was so far from fearing death (which is the King of terrours) that he longed for the day of his dissolution.

It is observed, that a desire of glory or commendation is root­ed in the very nature of man, and that those of the severest and most mortified lives, though they may become so humble as to banish self-flattery, and such weeds as naturally grow there; yet they have not been able to kill this desire of glory, but that [Page 111] like our radicall heat it will both live and die with us; and many think it should do so; and we want not sacred examples to ju­stifie the desire of having our memory to out-live our lives: which I mention, because Dr. Donne, by the perswasion of Dr. Fox, yielded at this very time to have a Monument made for him; but Dr. Fox undertook not to perswade how or what it should be; that was left to Dr. Donne himself.

This being resolved upon, Dr. Donne sent for a Carver to make for him in wood the figure of an Urn, giving him directions for the compasse and height of it, and to bring with it a board of the height of his body. These being got, and without delay a choice Painter was in a readiness [Page 112] to draw his picture, which was taken as followeth.— Severall Charcole-fires being first made in his large study, he brought with him into that place his win­ding-sheet in his hand, and ha­ving put off all his clothes, had his sheet put on him, and so ti­ed with knots at his head and feet, and his hands so placed as dead bodies are usually fitted for the grave. Upon this Urn he thus stood with his eyes shut, and so much of the sheet turned a­side as might shew his lean, pale, and death-like face, which was purposely turned toward the East, from whence he expected the second coming of our Savi­our. Thus he was drawn at his just height; and when the pi­cture was fully finished, he caused it to be set by his bed-side, where it continued, and became [Page 113] his hourly object till his death, and was then given to his dearest friend and Executor Dr. King, who caused him to be thus car­ved in one entire piece of white Marble, as it now stands in the Cathedrall Church of S. Pauls; and by Dr. Donn's own appoint­ment these words were to be af­fixed to it as his Epitaph:

Upon Monday following he took his last leave of his beloved Study, and being sensible of his hourly decay retired himself to his bed-chamber, and that week sent at severall times for many of his most considerable friends, with whom he took a solemn and deliberate farewell; commend­ing to their considerations some sentences usefull for the regula­tion of their lives, and dismist them as good Iacob did his sons, with a spirituall Benediction. [Page 115] The Sunday following he ap­pointed his servants, that if there were any businesse undone that concerned him or themselves, it should be prepared against Sa­turdy next; for after that day he would not mix his thoughts with any thing that concerned this world, nor ever did. But as Iob, so he waited for the appointed time of his dissolution.

And now he had nothing to do but die; to do which he stood in need of no longer time, for he had studied long, and to so hap­py a perfection, that in a former sickness he called God to wit­nessIn his book of Devoti­ons. he was that minute ready to deliver his soul into his hands, if that minute God would determine his dissolution. In that sickness he begg'd of God the constancy to be preserved in that estate forever; [Page 116] and his patient expecta­tion to have his immortall soul disrob'd from her garment of mortality, makes me confident he now had a modest assurance that his Prayers were then heard, and his Petition granted. He lay fifteen dayes earnestly expecting his hourly change, and in the last hour of his laft day, as his body melted away and vapoured into spirit, his soul having, I verily believe, some revelation of the Beatificall Vi­sion, he said, I were miserable if I might not die; and after those words closed many periods of his faint breath by saying often, Thy kingdome come, thy will be done. His speech, which had long been his ready and faithfull servant, left him not till the last minute, and then forsook him, not to serve another Master, but di­ed [Page 117] before him, for that it was become uselesse to him that now conversed with God on earth, as Angels are said to do in heaven, onely by thoughts and looks. Be­ing speechless, he did as S. Ste­phen, look stedfastly towards hea­ven, till he saw the Son of God stan­ding at the right hand of his Fa­ther: and being satisfied with this blessed sight, as his soul a­scended, and his last breath de­parted from him, he closed his own eyes, and then disposed his hands and body into such a po­sture as required no alteration by those that came to shroud him.

Thus variable, thus vertuous was the Life, thus excellent, thus exemplary was the Death of this memorable man.

[Page 118]He was buried in that place of S. Pauls Church which he had appointed for that use some yeares before his death, and by which he passed daily to pay his publick Devotions to Almighty God (who was then served twice a day by a publick form of Prayer and Praises in that place) but he was not buried privately, though he desired it; for beside an unnumbred number of others, many persons of Nobility and of eminency for Learning, who did love and honour him in his life, did shew it at his death, by a vo­luntary and sad attendance of his body to the grave, where no­thing was so remarkable as a pub­lick sorrow.

To which place of his Buriall some mournful Friend repaired; and as Alexander the Great did to [Page 119] the grave of the famous Achilles, so they strewed his with an abun­dance of curious and costly Flowers; which course they (who were never yet known) continued morning and evening for many dayes; not ceasing till the stones that were taken up in that Church to give his body ad­mission into the cold earth (now his bed of rest) were again by the Masons art levelled and firmed, as they had been for­merly, and his place of buriall undistinguishable to common view.

Nor was this all the Honour done to his reverend Ashes; for as there be some persons that will not receive a reward for that for which God accounts himself a debter; persons that dare trust God with their Charity, and [Page 120] without a witness; so there was by some gratefull unknowne friend, that thought Dr. Donne's memory ought to be perpetua­ted, an hundred Marks sent to his two faithfull FriendsDr. King and Dr. Mon­fort. and Executors towards the making of his Monument. It was not for many years known by whom, but after the death of Dr. Fox it was known that he sent it; and he lived to see as lively a repre­sentation of his dead friend as Marble can express; a Statue indeed so like Dr. Donne, that (as his friend Sir Henry Wotton hath expressed himself) it seems to breath faintly, and Posterity shall look upon it as a kind of ar­tificiall Miracle.