men, unless the bad had the same moderation, and were willing to follow them into the wilderness. But, if the one shall contend to get out of employment, while the other strive to get into it, the affairs of mankind are like to be in so ill a posture, that even the good men themselves will hardly be able to enjoy their very retreats in security.

Yet, I confess, if any deserved to have this privilege, it ought to have been granted to him, as soon as any man living, upon consideration of the manner in which he spent the liberty that he got. For he withdrew himself out of the crowd, with desires of enlightening and instructing the minds of those that remained in it. It was his resolution in that station to search into the secrets of divine and human knowledge, and to communicate what he should observe. He always professed, that he went out of the world, as it was man's, into the same world, as it was nature's, and as it was God's. The whole compass of the creation, and all the wonderful effects of the divine wisdom, were the constant prospect of his senses and his thoughts. And indeed he entered with great advantage on the studies of nature, even as the first great men of antiquity did, who were generally both poets and philosophers. He betook himself to its contemplation, as well furnished with sound judgment, and diligent observation, and good method to discover its mysteries, as with abilities to set it forth in all its ornaments.

This labour about natural science was the perpetual and uninterrupted task of that obscure part of his life. Besides this, we had persuaded him to look back into his former studies, and to publish a discourse concerning style. In this he had designed to give an account of the proper sorts of writing, that were fit for all manner of arguments, to compare the perfections and imperfections of the authors of antiquity with those of this present age, and to deduce all down to the particular use of the English genius and language. This subject he was very fit to perform : it being most proper for him to be the judge, who had been the best practiser. But he scarce lived to draw the first lines of it. All the foot-steps that I are only some indigested

can find remaining of it, characters of ancient and modern authors. And now for the future, I almost despair ever to see it well accomplished, unless you, Sir, would give me leave to name the man that should undertake it.

But his last and principal design, was that which ought to be the principal to every wise man; the establishing his mind in the faith he professed. He was in his practice exactly obedient to the use and precepts of our church. Nor was he inclined to any uncertainty and doubt, as abhorring all contention in indifferent things, and much more in sacred. But he beheld the divisions of Christendom: he saw how many controversies had been introduced by zeal or ignorance, and continued by faction. He had there

fore an earnest intention of taking a review of the original principles of the primitive Church: believing that every true Christian had no better means to settle his spirit, than that which was proposed to Æneas and his followers, to be the end of their wanderings,

"—antiquam exquirite matrem."

This examination he purposed should reach to our Saviour's and the Apostles' lives, and their immediate successors for four or five centuries, till interest and policy prevailed over devotion. He hoped to have absolutely compassed it in three or four years; and when that was done, there to have fixed for ever, without any shaking or alteration in his judgment. Indeed it was a great damage to our church, that he lived not to perform it. For very much of the primitive light might have been expected, from a mind that was endued with the primitive meekness and innocence. And besides, such a work, coming from one that was no divine, might have been very useful for this age; wherein it is one of the principal cavils against religion, that it is only a matter of interest, and only supported for the gain of a particular profession.

But alas! while he was framing these great things in his thoughts, they were unfortunately cut off, together with his life. His solitude, from the very beginning, had never agreed so well with the constitution of his body, as of his mind. The chief cause of it

was, that, out of haste to be gone away from the tumult and noise of the city, he had not prepared so healthful a situation in the country, as he might have done, if he had made a more leisurable choice. Of this he soon began to find the inconvenience at BarnElms, where he was afflicted with a dangerous and lingering fever. After that, he scarce ever recovered his former health, though his mind was restored to its perfect vigour; as may be seen by his two last books of plants, that were written since that time, and may at least be compared with the best of his other works. Shortly after his removal to Chertsea, he fell into another consuming disease. Having languished under this for some months, he seemed to be pretty well cured of its ill symptoms. But in the heat of the last summer, by staying too long amongst his labourers in the meadows, he was taken witha violent defluxion, and stoppage in his breast and throat. This he at first neglected, as an ordinary cold; and refused to send for his usual physicians, till it was past all remedies; and so in the end, after a fortnight's sickness, it proved mortal to him.

Who can here, Sir, forbear exclaiming on the weak hopes and frail condition of human nature? For, as long as Mr. Cowley was pursuing the course of ambition, in an active life, which he scarce esteemed his true life; he never wanted a constant health, and strength of body. But as soon as ever he had found an opportunity of beginning indeed to live, and to

enjoy himself in security, his contentment was first broken by sickness, and at last his death was occasioned by his very delight in the country and the fields, which he had long fancied above all other pleasures. But let us not grieve at this fatal accident upon his account, lest we should seem to repine at the happy change of his condition, and not to know that the loss of a few years, which he might longer have lived, will be recompensed by an immortal memory. If we complain, let it only be for our own sakes that in him we are at once deprived of the greatest natural and improved abilities, of the usefullest conversation, of the faithfullest friendship, of a mind that practised the best virtues itself, and a wit that was best able to recommend them to others.

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His body was attended to Westminster Abbey by a great number of persons of the most eminent quality, and followed with the praises of all good and learned men. It lies near the ashes of Chaucer and Spenser, the two most famous English poets of former times. But whoever would do him right, should not only equal him to the principal ancient writers of our own nation, but should also rank his name amongst the authors of the true antiquity, the best of the Greeks and Romans.-In that place there is a monument designed for him, by my Lord Duke of Buckingham, in testimony of his affection. And the King himself was pleased to bestow on him the best epitaph, when, upon the news of his death, his Majesty