examined before the usurpers, who tried all imaginable ways to make him serviceable to their ends. That course not prevailing, he was committed to a severe restraint; and scarce at last obtained his liberty upon the hard terms of a thousand pound bail, which burden Dr. Scarborough very honourably took upon himself. Under these bonds he continued till the general redemption. Yet, taking the opportunity of the confusions that followed upon Cromwell's death, he ventured back into France, and there remained in the same station as before, till near the time of the king's return.

This certainly, Sir, is abundantly sufficient to justify his loyalty to all the world; though some have endeavoured to bring it in question, upon occasion of a few lines in the preface to one of his books. The objection I must not pass by in silence, because it was the only part of his life that was liable to misinterpretation, even by the confession of those that envied his fame. In this case, perhaps, it were enough, to allege for him to men of moderate minds, that what hé there said was published before a book of poetry, and so ought rather to be esteemed as a problem of his fancy and invention, than as the real image of his judgment. But his defence in this matter may be laid on a surer foundation. This is the true reason that is to be given of his delivering that opinion. Upon his coming over, he found the state of the royal party very desperate. He perceived the strength

of their enemies so united, that, till it should begin to break within itself, all endeavours against it were like to prove unsuccessful. On the other side, he beheld their zeal for his Majesty's cause to be still so active, that it often hurried them into inevitable ruin. He saw this with much grief. And though he approved their constancy as much as any man living, yet he found their unseasonable shewing it did only disable themselves, and give their adversaries great advantages of riches and strength by their defeats. He, therefore, believed that it would be a meritorious service to the King, if any man, who was known to have followed his interest, could insinuate into the usurpers' minds, that men of his principles were now willing to be quiet, and could persuade the poor oppressed royalists to conceal their affections for better occasions. And as for his own particular, he was a close prisoner when he writ that against which the exception is made; so that he saw it was impossible for him to pursue the ends for which he came hither, if he did not make some kind of declaration of his peaceable intentions. This was then his opinion; and the success of things seems to prove, that it was not very ill grounded; for, certainly, it was one of the greatest helps to the King's affairs, about the latter end of that tyranny, that many of his best friends dissembled their counsels, and acted the same designs, under the disguises and names of other parties.

This, Sir, you can testify to have been the innocent occasion of these words, on which so much clamour was raised. Yet, seeing his good intentions were so ill interpreted, he told me, the last time that ever I saw him, that he would have them omitted in the next impression; of which his friend Mr. Cook is a witness. However, if we should take them in the worst sense of which they are capable; yet, methinks, for his maintaining one false tenet in the political philosophy, he made a sufficient atonement, by a continual service of twenty years, by the perpetual loyalty of his discourse, and by many of his other writings, wherein he has largely defended and adorned the royal cause. And to speak of him, not as our friend, but according to the common laws of humanity, certainly, that life must needs be very unblameable, which had been tried in business of the highest consequence, and practised in the hazardous secrets of courts and cabinets; and yet there can nothing disgraceful be produced against it, but only the error of one paragraph and a single metaphor.

But to return to my narration, which this digression has interrupted: upon the King's happy restoration, Mr. Cowley was past the fortieth year of his age; of which the greatest part had been spent in a various and tempestuous condition. He now thought he had sacrificed enough of his life to his curiosity and experience. He had enjoyed many excellent occasions of observation. He had been present in many great

revolutions, which, in that tumultuous time, disturbed the peace of all our neighbour-states, as well as our own. He had nearly beheld all the splendour of the highest part of mankind. He had lived in the presence of princes, and familiarly conversed with greatness in all its degrees, which was necessary for one that would contemn it aright: for to scorn the pomp of the world before a man knows it, does commonly proceed rather from ill-manners than a true magnanimity.

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He was now weary of the vexations and formalities of an active condition. He had been perplexed with a long compliance to foreign manners. He was satiated with the arts of court which sort of life, though his virtue had made innocent to him, yet nothing could make it quiet. These were the reasons that moved him to forego all public employments, and to follow the violent inclination of his own mind, which, in the greatest throng of his former business, had still called upon him, and represented to him the true delights of solitary studies, of temperate pleasures, and of a moderate revenue, below the malice and flatteries of fortune.

At first he was but slenderly provided for such a retirement, by reason of his travels, and the afflictions of the party to which he adhered, which had put him quite out of all the roads of gain. Yet, notwithstanding the narrowness of his income, he remained fixed to his resolution, upon his confidence in the

temper of his own mind, which he knew had contracted its desires into so small a compass, that a very few things would supply them all. But upon the settlement of the peace of our nation, this hinderance of his design was soon removed: for he then obtained a plentiful estate, by the favour of my Lord St. Albans, and the bounty of my Lord Duke of Buckingham; to whom he was always most dear, and whom he ever respected, as his principal patrons, The last of which great men, you know, Sir, it is my duty to mention, not only for Mr. Cowley's sake, but. my own though I cannot do it, without being ashamed, that, having the same encourager of my studies, I should deserve his patronage so much less.

Thus he was sufficiently furnished for his retreat. And immediately he gave over all pursuit of honour and riches, in a time, when, if any ambitious or covetous thoughts had remained in his mind, he might justly have expected to have them readily satisfied. In his last seven or eight years, he was concealed in his beloved obscurity, and possessed that solitude, which, from his very childhood, he had always most passionately desired. Though he had frequent invitations to return into business, yet he never gave ear to any persuasions of profit or preferment. His visits to the city and court were very few his stays in town were only as a passenger, not an inhabitant. The places that he chose for the seats of his declining