Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, and hath studied to make
his shoulders sufficient; for which he hath not been hasty to launch
forth of his port, the university, but expected the ballast of learning,
and the wind of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning but the end
of his studies; to which he takes the ordinary stair, and makes the arts
his way. He counts it not profaneness to be polished with human reading,
or to smooth his way by Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded
both religions, and anchored in the best, and is a protestant out of
judgment, not faction; not because his country, but his reason is on
this side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, and yet the pulpit
not his itch, but fear. His discourse is substance, not all rhetoric,
and he utters more things than words. His speech is not helped with
inforced action, but the matter acts itself. He shoots all his
meditations at one butt; and beats upon his text, not the cushion;
making his hearers, not the pulpit, groan. In citing of popish errors,
he cuts them with arguments, not cudgels them with barren invectives;
and labours more to shew the truth of his cause than the spleen. His
sermon is limited by the method, not the hourglass; and his devotion
goes along with him out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a week,
because he would not be idle; nor talks three hours together, because he
would not talk nothing: but his tongue preaches at fit times, and his
conversation is the every day's exercise. In matters of ceremony, he is
not ceremonious, but thinks he owes that reverence to the Church to bow
his judgment to it, and make more conscience of schism, than a surplice.
He esteems the Church hierarchy as the Church's glory, and however we
jar with Rome, would not have our confusion distinguish us. In
simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes in the bargain, and is
loath to come by promotion so dear: yet his worth at length advances
him, and the price of his own merit buys him a living. He is no base
grater of his tithes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. The lawyer
is the only man he hinders, by whom he is spited for taking up quarrels.
He is a main pillar of our church, though not yet dean or canon, and his
life our religion's best apology. His death is the last sermon, where,
in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die by his example.[10]