_THE LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE_
(_Taken from the life by Izaak Walton_).
Master John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573, of good and
virtuous parents: and, though his own learning and other multiplied
merits may justly appear sufficient to dignify 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 country.
By his mother he was descended of the family of the famous and learned
Sir Thomas More, sometime Lord Chancellor of England: as also, from that
worthy and laborious Judge Rastall, who left posterity the vast Statutes
of the Law of this nation most exactly abridged.
He had his first breeding in his father's house, where a private tutor
had the care of him, until the tenth year of his age; and, in his
eleventh year, was sent to the University of Oxford, having at that time
a good command both of the French and Latin tongue. This, and some other
of his remarkable abilities, made one then give this censure of him:
That this age had brought forth another Picus Mirandula; of whom story
says, that he was rather born than made wise by study.
There he remained for some years in Hart Hall, having, for the
advancement of his studies, tutors of several sciences to attend and
instruct him, till time made him capable, and his learning expressed in
public exercises, declared him worthy, to receive his first degree in
the schools, which he forbore by advice from his friends, who, being for
their religion of the Romish persuasion, were conscionably averse to
some parts of the oath that is always 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 soils, he
staid till his seventeenth year; all which time he was a most laborious
student, often changing his studies, but endeavouring to take no degree,
for the reasons formerly mentioned.
About the seventeenth year of his age he was removed to London, and then
admitted into Lincoln's Inn, 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 £3,000.) His mother,
and those to whose care he was committed, were watchful to improve his
knowledge, and to that end appointed him tutors both in the mathematics,
and in all the other liberal sciences, to attend him. But, with these
arts, they were advised to instil into him particular principles of the
Romish Church; of which those tutors professed, 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 powerful persuasion, and did work much upon him, as he
professeth in his preface to his "Pseudo-Martyr," a book of which the
reader shall have some account in what follows.
He was now entered 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 persuaded
him that there could be no such sin as schism, if an adherence to some
visible Church were not necessary.
About the nineteenth year of his age, he, being then unresolved what
religion to adhere to, and considering how much it concerned his soul to
choose the most orthodox, did therefore,--though his youth and health
promised him a long life--to rectify all scruples that might concern
that, presently lay aside all study of the law, and of all other
sciences that might give him a denomination; and began seriously to
survey and consider the body of Divinity, as it was then controverted
betwixt the Reformed and the Roman Church. And, as God's blessed
Spirit did then awaken him to the search, and in that industry
did never forsake him--they be his own words (in his preface to
"Pseudo-Martyr")--so he calls the same Holy Spirit to witness 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, frequent prayers, and an indifferent affection to
both parties; and, indeed, Truth had too much light about her to be hid
from so sharp an inquirer; and he had too much ingenuity not to
acknowledge he had found her.
Being to undertake this search, he believed the Cardinal 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 wilful delays
had been inexcusable both towards God and his own conscience: he
therefore proceeded in this search with all moderate haste, and about
the twentieth year of his age did show the then Dean of
Gloucester--whose name my memory hath now lost--all the Cardinal's 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.
About a year following he resolved to travel: and the Earl of Essex
going first to Cales, and after the Island voyages, the first anno 1596,
the second 1597, he took the advantage of those opportunities, waited
upon his Lordship, and was an eye-witness 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 useful observations
of those countries, their laws and manner of government, and returned
perfect in their languages.
The time that he spent in Spain was, at his first going into Italy,
designed for travelling to the Holy Land, and for viewing Jerusalem 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 of money into those remote parts, denied him
that happiness, which he did often occasionally mention with a
deploration.
Not long after his return into England, that exemplary pattern of
gravity and wisdom, the Lord Ellesmere, then Keeper of the Great Seal,
the Lord Chancellor of England, taking notice of his learning,
languages, and other abilities, and much affecting his person and
behaviour, 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 Master Donne's attendance upon
him, account him to be so much his servant as to forget he was his
friend; and, to testify it, did always use him with much courtesy,
appointing him a place at his own table, to which he esteemed his
company and discourse to be a great ornament.
He continued that employment for the space of five years, being daily
useful, and not mercenary to his friend. 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 Ellesmere, and daughter to Sir
George More, then Chancellor 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, in the County of Surrey; but too late, by
reason of some faithful promises which were so interchangeably passed,
as never to be violated by either party.
These promises were only known to themselves; and the friends of both
parties used much diligence, and many arguments, to kill or cool 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 move
feathers, and begets in us an unwearied industry to the attainment of
what we desire. And such an industry did, notwithstanding much
watchfulness against it, bring them secretly together,--I forbear to
tell the manner how,--and at last to a marriage too, without the
allowance of those friends whose approbation always was, and ever will
be necessary, to make even a virtuous love become lawful.
And that the knowledge of their marriage might not fall, like an
unexpected tempest, on those that were unwilling to have it so; and that
pre-apprehensions might make it the less enormous when it was known, it
was purposely whispered into the ears of many that it was so, yet by
none that could affirm it. But, to put a period to the jealousies of Sir
George--doubt often begetting more restless thoughts than 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 love and
error, he presently engaged his sister, the Lady Ellesmere, to join 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 remembered that errors might be over punished, and
desired therefore to forbear till second considerations might clear some
scruples, yet he became restless until his suit was granted and the
punishment executed. And though the Lord Chancellor did not, at Mr.
Donne's dismission, give him such a commendation as the great Emperor
Charles the Fifth did of his Secretary Eraso, when he parted with him to
his son and successor, Philip the Second, saying, "That in his Eraso, he
gave to him a greater gift than all his estate, and all the kingdoms
which he then resigned to him;" yet the Lord Chancellor said, "He parted
with a friend, and such a Secretary as was fitter to serve a king than a
subject."
Immediately after his dismission from his service, he sent a sad letter
to his wife to acquaint her with it; and after the subscription of his
name, writ,
"John Donne, Anne Donne, Un-done;"
and God knows it proved too true; for this bitter physic of Mr. Donne's
dismission, was not enough to purge out all Sir George's choler, for he
was not satisfied till Mr. Donne and his sometime compupil in Cambridge,
that married him, namely, Samuel Brooke, who was after Doctor in
Divinity and Master of Trinity College--and his brother Mr. Christopher
Brooke, sometime Mr. Donne's chamber-fellow in Lincoln's Inn, who gave
Mr. Donne his wife, and witnessed the marriage, were all committed to
three several prisons.
Mr. Donne was first enlarged, who neither gave rest to his body or
brain, nor to any friend in whom he might hope to have an interest,
until he had procured an enlargement for his two imprisoned friends.
He was now at liberty, but his days were still cloudy; and, being past
these troubles, others did still multiply upon him; for his wife was--to
her extreme sorrow--detained from him; and though, with Jacob, he
endured not a hard service for her, yet he lost a good one, and was
forced to make good his title, and to get possession of her by a long
and restless suit in law, which proved troublesome and sadly chargeable
to him, whose youth, and travel, and needless 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 general report of Mr. Donne's merits, together
with his winning behaviour,--which, when it would entice, had a strange
kind of elegant irresistible art;--these, and time, had so
dispassionated Sir George, that, as the world had approved his
daughter's choice, so he also could not but see a more than ordinary
merit in his new son; and this at last 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 natural
heat--that he laboured his son's restoration to his place; using to that
end both his own and his sister's power to her lord; but with no
success; 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 readmit servants at the request of passionate
petitioners."
Sir George's endeavour for Mr. Donne's readmission was by all means to
be kept secret:--for men do more naturally reluct for errors than submit
to put on those blemishes that attend their visible acknowledgment. But,
however, it was not long before Sir George appeared to be so far
reconciled as to wish their happiness, and not to deny them his paternal
blessing, but yet refused to contribute any means that might conduce to
their livelihood.
Mr. Donne's estate was the greatest part spent in many and chargeable
travels, books, and dear-bought experience: he out of all employment
that might yield a support for himself and wife, who had been curiously
and plentifully educated; both their natures generous, and accustomed to
confer, and 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 sorrows were lessened and his wants prevented by the seasonable
courtesy of their noble kinsman, Sir Francis Wolly, of Pirford in
Surrey, who intreated them to a cohabitation with him; where they
remained with much freedom to themselves, and equal content to Him, for
some years; and as their charge increased--she had yearly a child--so
did his love and bounty.
Mr. Donne and his wife continued with Sir Francis Wolly till his death:
a little before which time Sir Francis was so happy as to make a perfect
reconciliation between 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 with Sir Francis he studied the Civil
and Canon Laws; 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 a house in Mitcham--near to Croydon in Surrey--a place noted
for good air and choice company: there his wife and children remained;
and for himself he took lodgings in London, near to Whitehall, whither
his friends and occasions drew him very often, and where he was as often
visited by many of the nobility and others of this nation, who used him
in their counsels of greatest consideration, and with some rewards for
his better subsistence.
Nor did our own nobility only value and favour him, but his acquaintance
and friendship was sought for by most Ambassadors of foreign nations,
and by many other strangers whose learning or business occasioned their
stay in this nation.
Thus it continued with him for about two years, all which time his
family remained constantly at Mitcham; and to which place he often
retired himself, and destined some days to a constant study of some
points of controversy betwixt the English and Roman Church, and
especially those of Supremacy and Allegiance: and to that place and such
studies he could willingly have wedded himself during his life; but the
earnest persuasion of friends became at last to be so powerful, as to
cause the removal of himself and family to London, where Sir Robert
Drewry, a gentleman of a very noble estate, and a more liberal mind,
assigned him and his wife an useful apartment in his own large house in
Drury Lane, and not only rent free, but was also a cherisher of his
studies, and such a friend as sympathized with him and his, in all their
joy and sorrows.
At this time of Mr. Donne's and his wife's living in Sir Robert's house,
the Lord Hay was, by King James, sent upon a glorious embassy to the
then French King, Henry the Fourth; and Sir Robert put on a sudden
resolution to accompany him to the French Court, and to be present at
his audience there. And Sir Robert put on a sudden resolution to solicit
Mr. Donne to be his companion in that journey. And this desire was
suddenly made known to his wife, who was then with child, and otherwise
under so dangerous a habit of body as to her health, that she professed
an unwillingness to allow him any absence from her; saying, "Her
divining soul boded her some ill in his absence;" and therefore desired
him not to leave her. This made Mr. Donne lay aside all thoughts of the
journey, and really to resolve against it. But Sir Robert became
restless in his persuasions for it, and Mr. Donne was so generous as to
think he had sold his liberty when he received so many charitable
kindnesses from him, and told his wife so; who did therefore, with an
unwilling willingness, give a faint consent to the journey, which was
proposed to be but for two months; for about that time they determined
their return. Within a few days after this resolve, the Ambassador, Sir
Robert, and Mr. Donne, left London; and were the twelfth day got all
safe to Paris. Two days after their arrival there, Mr. Donne was left
alone in that room in which Sir Robert, and he, and some other friends
had dined together. To this place Sir Robert returned within half an
hour; and as he left, so he found, Mr. Donne alone; but in such an
ecstasy, and so altered as to his looks, as amazed Sir Robert to behold
him; insomuch that he earnestly desired Mr. Donne to declare what had
befallen him in the short time of his absence. To which Mr. Donne was
not able to make a present answer; but, after a long and perplexed
pause, did at last say, "I have seen a dreadful vision since I saw you:
I have seen my dear wife pass twice by me through this room, with her
hair hanging about her shoulders, and a dead child in her arms: this I
have seen since I saw you." To which Sir Robert replied, "Sure, sir, you
have slept since I saw you; and this is the result of some melancholy
dream, which I desire you to forget, for you are now awake." To which
Mr. Donne's reply was: "I cannot be surer that I now live than that I
have not slept since I saw you: and am as sure that at her second
appearing she stopped and looked me in the face, and vanished." Rest and
sleep had not altered Mr. Donne's opinion the next day: for he then
affirmed this vision with a more deliberate, and so confirmed a
confidence, that he inclined Sir Robert to a faint belief that the
vision was true. It is truly said that desire and doubt have no rest;
and it proved so with Sir Robert; for he immediately sent a servant to
Drewry House, with a charge to hasten back and bring him word whether
Mrs. Donne were alive; and, if alive, in what condition she was as to
her health. The twelfth day the messenger returned with this
account:--That he found and left Mrs. Donne very sad and sick in her
bed; and that, after a long and dangerous labour, she had been delivered
of a dead child. And, upon examination, the abortion proved to be the
same day, and about the very hour, that Mr. Donne affirmed he saw her
pass by him in his chamber.
This is a relation that will beget some wonder, and it well may; for
most of our world are at present possessed with an opinion that visions
and miracles are ceased. And, though it is most certain that two lutes,
being both strung and tuned to an equal pitch, and then one played upon,
the other that is not touched, being laid upon a table at a fit
distance, will--like an echo to a trumpet--warble a faint audible
harmony in answer to the same tune; yet many will not believe there is
any such thing as a sympathy of souls; and I am well pleased that every
reader do enjoy his own opinion. But if the unbelieving will not allow
the believing reader of this story, a liberty to believe that it may be
true, then I wish him to consider many wise men have believed that the
ghost of Julius Cæsar did appear to Brutus, and that both St. Austin,
and Monica his mother, had visions in order to his conversion. And
though these and many others--too many to name--have but the authority
of human story, yet the incredible reader may find in the sacred story
(1 Sam. xxviii. 14) that Samuel did appear to Saul even after his
death--whether really or not, I undertake not to determine. And Bildad,
in the Book of Job, says these words (iv. 13-16): "A spirit passed
before my face; the hair of my head stood up; fear and trembling came
upon me, and made all my bones to shake." Upon which words I will make
no comment, but leave them to be considered by the incredulous reader;
to whom I will also commend this following consideration: That there be
many pious and learned men that believe our merciful God hath assigned
to every man a particular guardian angel to be his constant monitor,
and to attend him in all his dangers, both of body and soul. And the
opinion that every man hath his particular angel may gain some authority
by the relation of St. Peter's miraculous deliverance out of prison
(Acts xii. 7-10; 13-15), not by many, but by one angel. And this belief
may yet gain more credit by the reader's considering, that when Peter
after his enlargement knocked at the door of Mary the mother of John,
and Rhode, the maidservant, being surprised with joy that Peter was
there, did not let him in, but ran in haste and told the disciples, who
were then and there met together, that Peter was at the door; and they,
not believing it, said she was mad: yet, when she again affirmed it,
though they then believed it not, yet they concluded, and said, "It is
his angel."
More observations of this nature, and inferences from them, might be
made to gain the relation a firmer belief; but I forbear, lest I, that
intended to be but a relator, may be thought to be an engaged person for
the proving what was related to me; and yet I think myself bound to
declare that, though it was not told me by Mr. Donne himself, it was
told me--now long since--by a person of honour, and of such intimacy
with him, that he knew more of the secrets of his soul than any person
then living: and I think he told me the truth; for it was told with such
circumstances, and such asseveration, that--to say nothing of my own
thoughts--I verily believe he that told it me did himself believe it to
be true.
I return from my account of the vision, to tell the reader, that both
before Mr. Donne's going into France, at his being there, and after his
return, many of the nobility and others that were powerful at court,
were watchful and solicitous to the King for some secular employment for
him. The King had formerly both known and put a value upon his company,
and had also given him some hopes of a state-employment; being always
much pleased when Mr. Donne attended him, especially at his meals, where
there were usually many deep discourses of general learning, and very
often friendly disputes, or debates of religion, betwixt his Majesty and
those divines, whose places required their attendance on him at those
times: particularly the Dean of the Chapel, 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 was then the King's 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 public 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
clearness in his stating 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 to 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 and diligently applied himself, and within six weeks
brought them to him under his own handwriting, as they be now printed;
the book bearing the name of "Pseudo-Martyr," printed anno 1610.
When the King had read and considered that book, he persuaded Mr. Donne
to enter into the Ministry; to which, at that time, he was, and
appeared, very unwilling, apprehending it--such was his mistaken
modesty--to be too weighty for his abilities.
Such strifes St. Austin had, when St. Ambrose endeavoured 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.
Donne's abilities--for he had been Chaplain to the Lord Chancellor, at
the time of Mr. Donne's being his Lordship's Secretary--that reverend
man did receive the news with much gladness; and, after some expressions
of joy, and a persuasion to be constant in his pious purpose, he
proceeded with all convenient speed to ordain him first Deacon, and then
Priest not long after.
Presently after he entered 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 boldness enough to have
preached to any eminent auditory; yet his modesty in this employment was
such, that he could not be persuaded to it, but went usually accompanied
with some one friend to preach privately in some village, not far from
London; his first sermon being preached at Paddington. This he did, till
his Majesty sent and appointed him a day to preach to him at Whitehall;
and, though much were expected from him, both by his Majesty and others,
yet he was so happy--which few are--as to satisfy and exceed their
expectations: preaching the Word so, as shewed his own heart was
possessed with those very thoughts and joys that he laboured to distil
into others: a preacher in earnest; weeping sometimes for his auditory,
sometimes with them; always preaching to himself like an angel from a
cloud, but in none; carrying some, as St. Paul was, to Heaven in holy
raptures, and enticing 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 virtue so as to make it beloved, even by those that
loved it not; and all this with a most particular grace and an
unexpressible addition of comeliness.
That summer, in the very same month in which he entered into sacred
Orders, and was made the King's Chaplain, his Majesty then going his
progress, was entreated 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 Harsnett, after Archbishop of York, was then
Vice-Chancellor, who, knowing him to be the author of that learned book
the "Pseudo-Martyr," required no other proof of his abilities, but
proposed it to the University, who presently assented, and expressed a
gladness that they had such an occasion to entitle him to be theirs.
His abilities and industry in his profession were so eminent, and he so
known and so beloved by persons of quality, that within the first year
of his entering into sacred Orders, he had fourteen advowsons of several
benefices presented to him: but they were in the country, and he could
not leave his beloved London, to which place he had a natural
inclination, having received both his birth and education in it, and
there contracted a friendship with many, whose conversation multiplied
the joys of his life; but an employment that might affix him to that
place would be welcome, for he needed it.
Immediately after his return from Cambridge his wife died, leaving him a
man of a narrow, unsettled estate, and--having buried five--the careful
father of seven children then living, to whom he gave a voluntary
assurance never to bring them under the subjection of a step-mother;
which promise he kept most faithfully, burying with his tears all his
earthly joys in his most dear and deserving wife's grave, and betook
himself to a most retired and solitary life.
In this retiredness, 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 daily acted on that restless stage, and
they were as perfectly crucified to him.
His first motion from his house was to preach where his beloved wife lay
buried--in St. Clement's Church, near Temple Bar, London; and his text
was a part of the Prophet Jeremy's Lamentation: "Lo, I am the man that
have seen affliction."
In this time of sadness he was importuned by the grave Benchers of
Lincoln's Inn--who were once the companions and friends of his youth--to
accept of their Lecture, which, by reason of Dr. Gataker's removal 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, or to deride
it, yet in his irregular youth to neglect the visible practice of
it,--there to become a Paul, and preach salvation to his beloved
brethren.
About which time the Emperor of Germany died, and the Palsgrave, who had
lately married the Lady Elizabeth, the King's only daughter, was elected
and crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning of many miseries in
that nation.
King James, 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
Ambassador to those unsettled Princes; and, by a special 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 always put a great value on him, and taken a great
pleasure in his conversation and discourse: and his friends at Lincoln's
Inn were as glad; for they feared that his immoderate study, and sadness
for his wife's death, would, as Jacob said, "make his days few," and,
respecting his bodily health, "evil" too: and of this there were many
visible signs.
About fourteen months after his departure out of England, he returned to
his friends of Lincoln's Inn, with his sorrows moderated, and his health
improved; and there betook himself to his constant course of preaching.
About a year after his return out of Germany, Dr. Carey was made Bishop
of Exeter, and by his removal, the Deanery of St. Paul's being vacant,
the King sent to Dr. Donne, and appointed him to attend him at dinner
the next day. When his Majesty was sat 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, knowing you love London, I do
therefore make you Dean of St. Paul's; and, when I have dined, then do
you take your beloved dish home to your study, say grace there to
yourself, and much good may it do you."
Immediately after he came to his Deanery, he employed workmen to repair
and beautify the Chapel; 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 George
More,--whom time had made a lover and admirer of him--came to pay to him
the conditioned sum of twenty pounds, he refused to receive it; and
said--as good Jacob did, when he heard his beloved son Joseph was
alive--"'It is enough;' you have been kind to me and mine: I know your
present condition is such as not to abound, 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.
Immediately after his admission into his Deanery the Vicarage of St.
Dunstan in the West, London, fell to him by the death of Dr. White, the
advowson of it having been given to him long before 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 another ecclesiastical endowment 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.
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 occasional
sermons, as at St. Paul's Cross, and other places. All which employments
he performed to the admiration of the representative body of the whole
Clergy of this nation.
He was once, and but once, clouded with the King's 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 general humour of
the pulpits, and was become busy in insinuating a fear of the King's
inclining to popery, and a dislike of his government; and particularly
for the King's then turning the evening lectures into catechising, and
expounding the Prayer of our Lord, and of the Belief, and Commandments.
His Majesty was the 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 at this very time discarded the court--I shall
forbear his name, unless 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 unless they be busy about what they
understand not, and especially about religion.
The King received this news with so much discontent and restlessness
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, Dr.
Donne kneeled down, and thanked his Majesty, and protested his answer
was faithful, and 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." At which the King raised him from his knees with his
own hands, and "protested he believed him; and that he knew he was an
honest man, and doubted not but that he loved him truly." And, having
thus dismissed him, he called some Lords of his Council into his
chamber, and said with much earnestness, "My Doctor is an honest man;
and, my Lords, I was never better satisfied with an answer than he hath
now made me; and I always rejoice when I think that by my means he
became a Divine."
He was made Dean in the fiftieth year of his age, and in his
fifty-fourth year a dangerous sickness 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
sickness first seized his body; but it continued long, and threatened
him with death, which he dreaded not.
Within a few days his distempers abated; and as his strength increased
so did his thankfulness to Almighty God, testified in his most excellent
"Book of Devotions," which he published at his recovery; in which the
reader may see the most secret thoughts that then possessed his soul,
paraphrased and made public: a book that may not unfitly be called a
Sacred Picture of Spiritual Ecstasies, occasioned and applicable to the
emergencies of that sickness; which book, 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.
This sickness brought him so near to the gates of death, and he saw the
grave so ready to devour him, that he would often say his recovery was
supernatural: but that God that then restored 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. Harvey, at Abury Hatch, in Essex,
he there fell into a fever, which, with the help of his constant
infirmity--vapours from the spleen--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 Job, "My welfare passeth away as a
cloud, the days of my affliction have taken hold of me, and weary nights
are appointed for me."
Reader, this sickness continued long, not only weakening, but wearying
him so much, that my desire is he may now take some rest; and that
before I speak 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 error of his life; an error which,
though he had a wit able and very apt to maintain paradoxes, yet he was
very far from justifying it: and though his wife's competent years, and
other reasons, might be justly urged to moderate severe censures, yet he
would occasionally condemn himself for it: and doubtless it had been
attended with an heavy repentance, if God had not blessed them with so
mutual and cordial affections, as in the midst of their sufferings made
their bread of sorrow taste more pleasantly than 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 only to exercise his sharp
wit and high fancy; and in those pieces which were facetiously composed
and carelessly 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 joined to assist him with their utmost
skill.
It is a truth, that in his penitential years, viewing some of those
pieces that had been loosely--God knows, too loosely--scattered in his
youth, he wished they had been abortive, or so short-lived that his own
eyes had witnessed their funerals; but, though he was no friend to them,
he was not so fallen out with heavenly poetry, as to forsake that; no,
not 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 hymn, expressing the great joy that then
possessed his soul, in the assurance of God's favour to him when he
composed it:--
"AN HYMN
"TO GOD THE FATHER
"Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.
"Wilt Thou forgive that sin, which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two:--but wallow'd in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.
"I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now, and heretofore;
And having done that, Thou hast done,
I fear no more."
I have the rather mentioned this hymn, for that he caused it to be set
to a most grave and solemn tune, and to be often sung to the organ by
the choiristers of St. Paul's 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 hymn
have restored to me the same thoughts of joy that possessed my soul in
my sickness, when I composed it. And, O the power of church-music! that
harmony added to this hymn has raised the affections of my heart, and
quickened my graces of zeal and gratitude; and I observe that I always
return from paying this public duty of prayer and praise to God, with an
unexpressible tranquillity of mind, and a willingness to leave the
world."
After this manner did the disciples of our Saviour, and the best of
Christians in those ages of the Church nearest to His time, offer their
praises to Almighty God. And the reader of St. Augustine's life may
there find, that towards his dissolution he wept abundantly, that the
enemies of Christianity had broke in upon them, and profaned and ruined
their sanctuaries, and because their public hymns and lauds were lost
out of their Churches. And after this manner have many devout souls
lifted up their hands and offered acceptable sacrifices unto Almighty
God, where Dr. Donne offered his, and now lies buried.
But now [1656], Oh Lord! how is that place become desolate!
Before I proceed further, I think fit to inform the reader, that not
long before his death 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 cross:
his varying no otherwise than to affix Him not to a cross, but to an
anchor--the emblem of Hope;--this he caused to be drawn in little, and
then many of those figures thus drawn to be engraven very small in
Heliotropium stones, and set in gold; and of these he sent to many of
his dearest friends, to be used as seals, or rings, and kept as
memorials of him, and of his affection to them.
His dear friends and benefactors, Sir Henry Goodier and Sir Robert
Drewry, could not be of that number; nor could the Lady Magdalen
Herbert, the mother of George Herbert, for they had put off mortality,
and taken possession of the grave before him; but Sir Henry Wotton, and
Dr. Hall, the then--late deceased--Bishop of Norwich, were; and so were
Dr. Duppa, Bishop of Salisbury, and Dr. Henry King, Bishop of
Chichester--lately deceased--men, in whom there was such a commixture of
general learning, of natural eloquence, and Christian humility, that
they deserve a commemoration by a pen equal to their own, which none
have exceeded.
And in this enumeration of his friends, though many must be omitted, 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 spiritual
conflicts, he hath comforted and raised many a 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 may, by still
reading, still keep those sacred fires burning upon the altar of so pure
a heart, as shall free it from the anxieties of this world, and keep it
fixed upon things that are above. Betwixt this George Herbert and Dr.
Donne, there was a long and dear friendship, made up by such a sympathy
of inclinations that they coveted and joyed to be in each other's
company; and this happy friendship was still maintained by many sacred
endearments; of which that which followeth may be some testimony.
"TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT;
"SENT HIM WITH ONE OF MY SEALS OF THE ANCHOR AND CHRIST.
[Illustration]
"_A Sheaf of Snakes used
heretofore to be my Seal,
which is the Crest of our
poor family._"
[Illustration]
"Qui prius assuetus serpentum falce tabellas
Signare, hæc nostræ symbola parva domus,
Adscitus domui Domini----
"Adopted in God's family, and so
My old coat lost, into new Arms I go.
The Cross, my Seal in Baptism, spread below,
Does by that form into an Anchor grow.
Crosses grow Anchors, bear as thou shouldst do
Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.
But He that makes our Crosses Anchors thus,
Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.
Yet with this I may my first Serpents hold;--
God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old--
The Serpent, may, as wise, my pattern be;
My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.
And, as he rounds the earth to murder, sure
He is my death; but on the Cross, my cure,
Crucify nature then; and then implore
All grace from Him, crucified there before.
When all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown
This Seal's a Catechism, not a Seal alone.
Under that little Seal great gifts I send,
Both works and pray'rs, pawns and fruits of a friend.
O! may that Saint that rides on our Great Seal,
To you that bear his name, large bounty deal.
"John Donne."
"IN SACRAM ANCHORAM PISCATORIS
"GEORGE HERBERT.
"Quod Crux nequibat fixa clavique additi,--
Tenere Christum scilicet ne ascenderet,
Tuive Christum--
"Although the Cross could not here Christ detain,
When nail'd unto't, but He ascends again;
Nor yet thy eloquence here keep Him still,
But only whilst thou speak'st--this Anchor will:
Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to
This certain Anchor add a Seal; and so
The water and the earth both unto thee
Do owe the symbol of their certainty.
Let the world reel, we and all ours stand sure,
This holy cable's from all storms secure.
"George Herbert."
I return to tell the reader, that, besides these verses to his dear Mr.
Herbert, and that Hymn that I mentioned to be sung in the choir of St.
Paul's 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 bears this title:--
"AN HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS.
"_March 23, 1630._
"Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with Thy Choir of Saints, for evermore
I shall be made Thy music, as I come
I tune my instrument here at the door,
And, what I must do then, think here before.
"Since my Physicians by their loves are grown
Cosmographers; and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed----
"So, in His purple wrapt, receive my Lord!
By these His thorns, give me His other Crown
And, as to other souls I preach'd Thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,
'That He may raise; therefore the Lord throws down.'"
If these fall under the censure of a soul, whose too much mixture with
earth makes it unfit to judge of these high raptures and illuminations,
let him know, that many holy and devout men have thought the soul of
Prudentius to be most refined, when, not many days before his death, "he
charged it to present his God each morning and evening with a new and
spiritual song;" justified by the example of King David and the good
King Hezekiah, who, upon the renovation of his years paid his thankful
vows to Almighty God in a royal 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 days 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 oftener, so after his sermon he
never gave his eyes rest, till he had chosen out a new text, and that
night cast his sermon into a form, and his text into divisions; and the
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
week's meditations, and usually spent that day in visitation of friends,
or some 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 only so industrious, but in the most unsettled days of
his youth, his bed was not able to detain him beyond 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; though he
took great liberty after it. And if this 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 six score of his sermons, all written with his own hand, also an
exact and laborious Treatise concerning self-murder, called Biathanatos;
wherein all the laws violated by that act are diligently surveyed, and
judiciously censured: a Treatise written in his younger days, which
alone might declare him then not only perfect in the Civil and Canon
Law, 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 only found in his study, but all businesses that passed
of any public consequence, either in this or any of our
neighbour-nations, he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the language of
that nation, and kept them by him for useful memorials. 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.
He did prepare to leave the world before life left him; making his Will
when no faculty of his soul was damped or made defective by pain or
sickness, or he surprised by a sudden apprehension of death: but it was
made with mature deliberation, expressing himself an impartial father,
by making his children's portions equal; and a lover of his friends,
whom he remembered 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 Thomas Grimes, he gave that striking
clock, which he had long worn in his pocket; to his dear friend and
executor, Dr. King--late Bishop of Chichester--that 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 Padre Paolo 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--that
married him--Master of Trinity College in Cambridge, he gave the picture
of the Blessed Virgin and Joseph.--To Dr. Winniff who succeeded him in
the Deanery--he gave a picture called the Skeleton.--To the succeeding
Dean, who was not then known, he gave many necessaries of worth, and
useful for his house; and also several pictures and ornaments for the
Chapel, with a desire that they might be registered, and remain as a
legacy to his successors.--To the Earls of Dorset and Carlisle he gave
several pictures; and so he did to many other friends; legacies, given
rather to express his affection, than 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 entitle themselves
to be his alms-people: for all these he made provision, and so largely,
as, having then six children living, might to some appear more than
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.
"In the name of the blessed and glorious Trinity. Amen. I John
Donne, by the mercy of Christ Jesus, and by the calling of the
Church of England, Priest, being at this time in good health and
perfect understanding--praised be God therefore--do hereby make my
last Will and Testament in manner and form following:--
"First, I give my gracious God an entire sacrifice of body and
soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance which His
Blessed Spirit imprints in me now of the Salvation of the one, and
the Resurrection of the other; and for that constant and cheerful
resolution, which the same Spirit hath established in me, to live
and die in the religion now professed in the Church of England. In
expectation of that Resurrection, I desire my body may be
buried--in the most private manner that may be--in that place of
St. Paul's Church, London, that the now Residentiaries have at my
request designed for that purpose, &c.--And this my last Will and
Testament, made in the fear of God,--whose mercy I humbly beg, and
constantly rely upon in Jesus Christ--and in perfect love and
charity with all the world--whose pardon I ask, from the lowest of
my servants, to the highest of my superiors--written all with my
own hand, and my name subscribed to every page, of which there are
five in number.
"Sealed December 13, 1630."
Nor was this blessed sacrifice of charity expressed only at his death,
but in his life also, by a cheerful and 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 prison,
that lay for their fees or small debts: he was a continual giver to poor
scholars, both of this and foreign 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 festival 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, and by a too liberal heart and
carelessness became decayed in his estate; and when the receiving of it
was denied, by the gentleman's saying, "He wanted not;"--for the reader
may note, that as there be some spirits so generous as to labour to
conceal and endure a sad poverty, rather than expose themselves to 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 desire is,
that you, who in the days of your plenty have cheered and raised the
hearts of so many of your dejected friends, would now receive this from
me, and use it as a cordial for the cheering of your own:" and upon
these terms it was received. He was an happy reconciler of many
differences in the families of his friends and kindred,--which he never
undertook faintly; for such undertakings have usually faint effects--and
they had such a faith in his judgment and impartiality, that he never
advised them to any thing in vain. He was, even to her death, a most
dutiful son to his mother, careful 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
the mother's milk, spent her estate in foreign countries, to enjoy a
liberty in it, and died in his house but three months before him.
And to the end it may appear how just a steward he was of his Lord and
Master's revenue, I have thought fit to let the reader know, that after
his entrance into his Deanery, as he numbered his years, he, at the foot
of a private account, to which God and His Angels were only 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; and
having done that, he then blessed each year's poor remainder with a
thankful prayer; which, for that they discover a more than common
devotion, the reader shall partake some of them in his own words:--