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was owing to Elwood the Quaker. When Milton had
There are also some other pieces of Milton, for he continued publishing to the last. In 1672 he published Artis logicæ plenior inftitutio ad Petri Rami methodum concinnata, An institution of logic after the me thod of Petrus Ramus; and the year following, A: treatise of true religion, and the best means to prevent the growth of Popery, which had greatly increased through the connivance of the King, and the more open encouragement of the Duke of York; and the saine year his poems, which had been printed in 1645, were re printed with the addition of several others. His far miliar epistles and some academical exercises, Epiftolarum familiarum, lib. 1 & prolufiones quædam oratoria in collegio Chrifti habite, were printed in 1674; as was also his translation out of Latin into English of the Poles declaration concerning the election of their King John III. setting forth the virtues and merits of that prince. He wrote also a brief history of Muscovy, col. lected from the relations of several travellers; but it was not printed till after his death in 1682. He had likewise his state-letters transcribed at the request of the Danish resident; but neither were they printed till after his death in 1676, and were translated into EngJith in 1694. To that translation a Life of Milton was prefixed by his nephew Mr. Edward Philips ; and at ihe end of that Life his excellent sonnets to Fairfax, Cromwell, Sir Henry Vane, and Cyriac Skinner on his blindness, were first printed. Besides these works which were published, he wrote a system of divinity, which Mr. Toland says was in the hands of his friend Cyriac Skinner ; but where at present is uncertain. And Mr. Philips says, that he had prepared for the press an answer to some little scribbling quack in London, who had written a scurrilous libel against him: But whether by the diffuation of friends, as thinking him a fellow not worth his notice, or for what other cause Mr. Philips knoweth not, this answer was never published. And indeed the best vindicator of him and his writings hath been Time. Pofterity hath univer, fally paid that honour to his merits, which was denied him by great part of his contemporaries,
After a life thus spent in study and labours for the public, be died of the gout at his house in BunhillRow, on or about the roth of November 1674, when he had within a month completed the fixty fixth year of his age. It is not known when he was first attack, ed by the gout; but he was grievoully afflicted with it several of the last years of his life, and was weaken. ed to such a degree, that he died without a groan, and thuse in the room' perceived not when he expired. His body was decently interred near that of his father, who had died very aged about the year 1647, in the chancel of the church of St.Giles's, Cripplegate; and all his great and learned friends in London, not with. out a friendly concourse of the common people, paid their last respects in attending it to the grave. It does not appear that any monument was erected to his memory till 1737, in which one was erected in Westeminster-abbey by Auditor Benson. But the best mon nument of him is his writings.
In his-youth he was esteemed extremely handsome; so that while he was a student at Cambridge, he was called the lady of Christ's college. He had a very fine skin and freth complexion ; his hair was of a light brown, and parted on the foretop hung down in curls waving upon his shoulders; his features were exact and regular; his voice agreeable and musical; his habit clean and neat; his deportment erect and manly. He. was middle-Gized and well proportioned, neither talf nor short, neither too lean nor too corpulent, strong and active in his younger years; and though afflicted with frequent headachs, blindness, and gout, was yet a comely and well-looking man to the last. His eyes were of a light-blue colour, and from the first are said to have been none of the brightest ; but after he lost the fight of them, (which happened about the 43d year of his age), they ftill appeared without spot or blemilh, and at first view, and at a little distance, it was not easy to know that he was blind. But there is the less need to be particular in the description of his person, as the idea of his face and countenance is pret ty well known from the numerous prints, pictures,
busts, medals, and other representations which have been made of him.
In his way of living he was an example of fobriety and temperance. He was very sparing in the use of wine or Itrong liquors of any kind. Let meaner poets make use of luch expedients to raise their fancy, and kindle their imagination. He wanted not any artifi-cial spirits; he had a natural fire, and poetic warmth enough of his own. He was likewise very abftemious in his diet, not faftidiously nice or delicate in the choiceof his dishes; but content with any thing that was most in reason; or easiest to be procured, eating and drinking (according to the diftinction of the philofo-pher) that he might live, and not living that he might eat and drink. So that probably his gout descended by inheritance from one or other of his parents; or if: it was of his own acquiring, it must have been owingo to his studious and fedentary life: And yet he delighted sometimes in walking and using exercise, but we hear nothing of his riding or hunting. Having learned to fence, he was such a master of his sword, that he was not afraid of resenting an affront from any man,'. Before he lost his fight, his principal-recreation was the exercise of his armis; but after he was confined by age and blindness, he had a machine to swing in for the preservation of his health. In his youth he was accustomed to fit up late at his studies, and seldom went to bed before midnight; but afterwards, finding it to be the ruin of his eyes, and looking on this cultoin as very pernicious to health at any time, he used: to go to rest early, feldom later than nine; and would be stirring in the summer at four, and in the winter at five in the morning; but if he was not disposed to rise at his usual hours, he still did not lie sleeping, but had fome body or other by his bedside to read to him. At. his first rising he had usually a chapter read to him out of the Hebrew Bible; and he commonly studied all the morning till twelve, then used some exercise for an hour, afterwards dined, and after dinner played on the organ, and either fung himself or made his wife ling, who (he said) had a good voice but no ear: then
he went up to study again till fix, when his friends came to visit him, and fat with him perhaps till eight; then he went down to supper, which was usually olives, or fome light thing; and after supper he smoaked his pipe, drank a glass of water, and went to bed. He loved the country, and commends it, as poets utually do; but after his return from his travels, he was very little there, except during the time of the plague in London. The civil war might at first detain him in town; and the pleasures of the country were in a great measure lost to him, as they depend moftly upon fight; whereas a blind man wanteth company and converfation, which is to be had botter in populous cities. But he was led out sometimes for the benefit of the fresh air, and in warm sunny weather he used to fit at the door of his house near Bunhill-Fields, and there, as well as in the house, received the visits of persons of quality and distinction; for he was no less visited to the last, both by his own countrymen and foreigners, than he had been in his flourishing condition before the Restoration.
Some objections indeed have been made to his temper; and there was a tradition in the university of Cambridge, that he and Mr. King (whose death be laments in his Lycidas) were competitors for a fellowfhip, and when they were both equal in point of learning, Mr. King was preferred by the college for his character of good nature, which was wanting in the other; and this was by Milton grievously resented. But the difference of their ages, Milton being at least four years elder, renders this story not very probable; and, besides, Mr. King was not elected by the college, but was made a fellow by a royal mandate: So that there can be no truth in the tradition; but if there was any, it was no sign of Milton's resentment, but a proof of his generosity, that he could live in such friendship with a successful rival, and afterwards so passionately lament his decease. His method of writing controver, sy is urged as another argument of his want of temper. But some allowance must be made for the cuftoms and manners of the time. Controversy, as well