accordingly you may observe, that in the prose of them, there is little curiosity of ornament; but they are written in a lower and humbler style than the rest, and, as an unfeigned image of his soul should be drawn, without flattery. I do not speak this to their disadvantage. For the true perfection of wit is, to be pliable to all occasions, to walk or fly, according to the nature of every subject. And there is, no doubt, as much art, to have only plain conceptions on some arguments, as there is in others to have extraordinary flights.

To these, that he has here left scarce finished, it was his design to have added many others. And a little before his death, he communicated to me his resolutions, to have dedicated them all to my Lord St. Albans, as a testimony of his entire respects to him; and a kind of apology for having left human affairs, in the strength of his age, while he might still have been serviceable to his country. But, though he was prevented in this purpose by his death, yet it becomes the office of a friend to make good his intentions. I therefore here presume to make a present of them to his Lordship. I doubt not but, according to his usual humanity, he will accept this imperfect legacy, of the man whom he long honoured with his domestic conversation. And I am confident his Lordship will believe it to be no injury to his fame, that in these papers my Lord St. Albans and Mr. Cowley's name shall be read together by posterity.

I might, Sir, have made a longer discourse of his writings, but that I think it fit to direct my speech concerning him by the same rule by which he was wont to judge of others. In his esteem of other men, he constantly preferred the good temper of their minds, and honesty of their actions, above all the excellencies of their eloquence or knowledge. The same course I will take in his praise, which chiefly ought to be fixed on his life. For that, he deserves more applause from the most virtuous men, than for his other abilities he ever obtained from the learned.

He had indeed a perfect natural goodness, which neither the uncertainties of his condition, nor the largeness of his wit, could pervert. He had a firmness and strength of mind, that was of proof against the art of poetry itself. Nothing vain or fantastical, nothing flattering or insolent, appeared in his humour. He had a great integrity and plainness of manners; which he preserved to the last, though much of his time was spent in a nation, and way of life, that is not very famous for sincerity. But the truth of his heart was above the corruption of ill examples: and therefore the sight of them rather confirmed him in the contrary virtues.

There was nothing affected or singular in his habit, or person, or gesture. He understood the forms of good-breeding enough to practise them without burdening himself or others. He never oppressed any man's parts, nor ever put any man out of countenance.

He never had any emulation for fame, or contention for profit with any man. When he was in business, he suffered others' importunities with much easiness: when he was out of it, he was never importunate himself. His modesty and humility were so great, that, if he had not had many other equal virtues, they might have been thought dissimulation.

His conversation was certainly of the most excellent kind; for it was such as was rather admired by his familiar friends, than by strangers at first sight. He surprised no man at first with any extraordinary appearance: he never thrust himself violently into the good opinion of his company. He was content to be known by leisure and by degrees and so the esteem, that was conceived of him, was better grounded and more lasting.

In his speech, neither the pleasantness excluded gravity, nor was the sobriety of it inconsistent with delight. No man parted willingly from his discourse: for he so ordered it, that every man was satisfied that he had his share. He governed his passions with great moderation. His virtues were never troublesome or uneasy to any. Whatever he disliked in others, he only corrected it by the silent reproof of a better practice.

His wit was so tempered, that no man had ever reason to wish it had been less; he prevented other men's severity upon it, by his own: he never willingly recited any of his writings. None but his

intimate friends ever discovered he was a great poet, by his discourse. His learning was large and profound, well composed of all ancient and modern knowledge. But it sat exceeding close and handsomely upon him it was not embossed on his mind, but enamelled.

He never guided his life by the whispers or opinions of the world: yet he had a great reverence for a good reputation. He hearkened to fame, when it was a just censurer: but not when an extravagant babbler. He was a passionate lover of liberty and freedom. from restraint, both in actions and words: but what honesty others receive from the direction of laws, he had by native inclination; and he was not beholding to other men's wills, but to his own, for his innocence.

He performed all his natural and civil duties with admirable tenderness. Having been born after his father's death, and bred up under the discipline of his mother, he gratefully acknowledged her care of his education to her death, which was in the eightieth year of her age. For his three brothers, he always maintained a constant affection. And having survived the two first, he made the third his heir. In his long dependance on my Lord St. Albans, there never happened any manner of difference between them: except a little at last, because he would leave his service; which only shewed the innocence of the servant, and the kindness of the master His friendships were

C

inviolable. The same men with whom he was familiar in his youth, were his nearest acquaintance at the day of his death. If the private course of his last years made him contract his conversation to a few, yet he only withdrew, not broke off, from any of the others.

His thoughts were never above nor below his condition. He never wished his estate much larger. Yet he enjoyed what he had with all innocent freedom ; he never made his present life uncomfortable, by undue expectations of future things. Whatever disappointments he met with, they only made him understand fortune better, not repine at her the more his Muse indeed once complained, but never his mind. He was accomplished with all manner of abilities for the greatest business; if he would but have thought so himself.

If any thing ought to have been changed in his temper and disposition, it was his earnest affection for obscurity and retirement. This, Sir, give me leave to condemn, even to you, who I know agreed with him in the same humour. I acknowledge he chose that state of life, not out of any poetical rapture, but upon a steady and sober experience of human things. But, however, I cannot applaud it in him. It is certainly a great disparagement to virtue, and learning itself, that those very things which only make men useful in the world, should incline them to leave it. This ought never to be allowed to good