_Born 1618. Died 1667._
_Of My self._
It is a hard and nice Subject for a man to write of himself, it grates
his own heart to say any thing of disparagement, and the Readers Eares
to hear any thing of praise from him. There is no danger from me
of offending him in this kind; neither my Mind, nor my Body, nor my
Fortune, allow me any materials for that Vanity. It is sufficient, for
my own contentment, that they have preserved me from being scandalous,
or remarkable on the defective side. But besides that, I shall here
speak of myself, only in relation to the subject of these precedent
discourses, and shall be likelier thereby to fall into the contempt,
then rise up to the estimation of most people. As far as my Memory
can return back into my past Life, before I knew, or was capable
of guessing what the world, or glories, or business of it were, the
natural affections of my soul gave me a secret bent of aversion
from them, as some Plants are said to turn away from others, by
an Antipathy imperceptible to themselves, and inscrutable to mans
understanding. Even when I was a very young Boy at School, instead of
running about on Holy-daies and playing with my fellows, I was wont to
steal from them, and walk into the fields, either alone with a Book,
or with some one Companion, if I could find any of the same temper.
I was then too, so much an Enemy to all constraint, that my Masters
could never prevail on me, by any perswasions or encouragements,
to learn without Book the common rules of Grammar, in which they
dispensed with me alone, because they found I made a shift to do the
usual exercise out of my own reading and observation. That I was then
of the same mind as I am now (which I confess, I wonder at my self)
may appear by the latter end of an Ode, which I made when I was but
thirteen years old, and which was then printed with many other Verses.
The Beginning of it is Boyish, but of this part which I here set down
(if a very little were corrected) I should hardly now be much ashamed.
9.
This only grant me, that my means may lye
Too low for Envy, for Contempt too high.
Some Honor I would have
Not from great deeds, but good alone.
The unknown are better than ill known.
Rumour can ope' the Grave,
Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends
Not on the number, but the choice of Friends.
10.
Books should, not business, entertain the Light,
And sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.
My House a Cottage, more
Then Palace, and should fitting be
For all my Use, no Luxury.
My Garden painted o're
With Natures hand, not Arts; and pleasures yeild,
_Horace_ might envy in his Sabine field.
11.
Thus would I double my Lifes fading space,
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,
These unbought sports, this happy State,
I would not fear nor wish my fate,
But boldly say each night,
To morrow let my Sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to Day.
You may see by it, I was even then acquainted with the Poets (for the
Conclusion is taken out of _Horace_;) and perhaps it was the immature
and immoderate love of them which stampt first, or rather engraved
these Characters in me: They were like Letters cut into the Bark of
a young Tree, which with the Tree still grow proportionably. But, how
this love came to be produced in me so early, is a hard question: I
believe I can tell the particular little chance that filled my head
first with such Chimes of Verse, as have never since left ringing
there: For I remember when I began to read, and to take some pleasure
in it, there was wont to lie in my Mothers Parlour (I know not by
what accident, for she her self never in her life read any Book but of
Devotion) but there was wont to lie _Spencers_ Works; this I happened
to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted with the Stories of the
Knights, and Giants, and Monsters, and brave Houses, which I found
every where there: (Though my understanding had little to do with all
this) and by degrees with the tinckling of the Rhyme and Dance of the
Numbers, so that I think I had read him all over before I was twelve
years old, and was thus made a Poet as immediately [1] as a Child is
made an Eunuch. With these affections of mind, and my heart wholly set
upon Letters, I went to the University; But was soon torn from thence
by that violent Publick storm which would suffer nothing to stand
where it did, but rooted up every Plant, even from the Princely Cedars
to Me, the Hyssop. Yet I had as good fortune as could have befallen me
in such a Tempest; for I was cast by it into the Family of one of the
best Persons, and into the Court of one of the best Princesses of the
World. Now though I was here engaged in wayes most contrary to the
Original design of my life, that is, into much company, and no small
business, and into a daily sight of Greatness, both Militant and
Triumphant (for that was the state then of the _English_ and _French_
Courts) yet all this was so far from altering my Opinion, that it
oncly added the confirmation of Reason to that which was before but
Natural Inclination. I saw plainly all the Paint of that kind of Life,
the nearer I came to it; and that Beauty which I did not fall in Love
with, when, for ought I knew, it was reall, was not like to bewitch,
or intice me, when I saw that it was Adulterate. I met with several
great Persons, whom I liked very well, but could not perceive that
any part of their Greatness was to be liked or desired, no more then
I would be glad, or content to be in a Storm, though I saw many Ships
which rid safely and bravely in it: A storm would not agree with my
stomach, if it did with my Courage. Though I was in a croud of as good
company as could be found any where, though I was in business of great
and honourable trust, though I eate at the best Table, and enjoyed the
best conveniences for present subsistance that ought to be desired
by a man of my condition in banishment and publick distresses, yet I
could not abstain from renewing my old School-boys Wish in a Copy of
Verses to the same effect.
Well then; I now do plainly see
This busie World and I shall ne're agree, &c.
And I never then proposed to my self any other advantage from His
Majesties Happy Restoration, but the getting into some moderately
convenient Retreat in the Country, which I thought in that case I
might easily have compassed, as well as some others, who[2] with
no greater probabilities or pretences have arrived to extraordinary
fortunes: But I had before written a shrewd Prophesie against my
self, and I think _Apollo_ inspired me in the Truth, though not in the
Elegance of it.
Thou, neither great at Court nor in the War,
Nor at th' Exchange shal't be, nor at the wrangling Barr;
Content thy self with the small barren praise
Which neglected Verse does raise, &c.
However by the failing of the Forces which I had expected, I did not
quit the Design which I had resolved on, I cast my self into it _A
Corps perdu_, without making capitulations, or taking counsel of
Fortune. But God laughs at a Man, who sayes to his Soul, _Take thy
ease_: I met presently not onely with many little encumbrances and
impediments, but with so much sickness (a new misfortune to me) as
would have spoiled the happiness of an Emperour as well as Mine:
Yet I do neither repent nor alter my course. _Non ego perfidum Dixi
Sacramentum_; Nothing shall separate me from a Mistress, which I have
loved so long, and have now at last married; though she neither has
brought me a rich Portion, nor lived yet so quietly with me as I hoped
from Her.
--_Nec vos, dulcissima mundi
Nomina, vos Musæ, Libertas, Otia, Libri,
Hortique Syluæq; anima remanente relinquam._
Nor by me ere shall you,
You of all Names the sweetest, and the best,
You Muses, Books, and Liberty and Rest;
You Gardens, Fields, and Woods forsaken be,
As long as Life it self forsakes not Me.
[Footnote 1: 'irremediably' text 1668, 'immediately' errata 1668.]
[Footnote 2: 'who' omitted 1668, inserted 1669.]
61.
By THOMAS SPRAT.
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 prefer'd 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 it self. Nothing vain or fantastical,
nothing flattering or insolent appeared in his humour. He had a great
integrity, and plainness of Manners; which he preserv'd 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
confirm'd 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 opprest any mans
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 suffer'd 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 surpriz'd 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 conceiv'd 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 govern'd 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
practise.
His Wit was so temper'd, that no man had ever reason to wish it had
been less: he prevented other mens 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 compos'd of all Antient and
Modern Knowledge. But it sat exceeding close and handsomly upon him:
it was not imbossed 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 Babler.
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 mens wills, but to his own for his Innocence.
62.