Soon after, left the world that famous and truly-illuminate doctor, Francis Junius, the glory of Leyden, the other hope of the Church, the Oracle of Textual and School-divinity; rich in languages, subtle in distinguishing, and in argument invincible: and his companion in labours, Lu. Trelcatius, would needs be his companion in joys; who had doubled our sorrow and loss, but that he recompensed it with a son like himself.

Soon after, fell old reverend Beza; a long-fixed star in this firmament of the Church: who, after many excellent monuments of learning and fidelity, lived to prove upon his adversaries, that he was not dead at their day.

Neither may I, without injury, omit that worthy pair of our late Divines, Greenham and Perkins: whereof the one excelled in experimental divinity; and knew well how to stay a weak conscience, how to raise a fallen, how to strike a remorseless: the other, in a distinct judgment, and a rare dexterity in clearing the obscure subtleties of the School, and easy explication of the most perplex discourses.

Doctor Reynolds is the last; not in worth, but in the time of his loss. He alone was a well-furnished library, full of all faculties, of all studies, of all learning: the memory, the reading of that man, were near to a miracle.

These are gone, amongst many more, whom the Church mourns for in secret: would God her loss could be as easily supplied, as lamented. Her sorrow is for those, that are past; her remainder of joy in those, that remain; her hope, in the next age. I pray God the causes of her hope and joy may be equivalent to those of her grief.

What should this work in us, but an imitation, yea, that word is not too big for you, an emulation of their worthiness? It is no pride, for a man to wish himself spiritually better, than he dare hope to reach: nay, I am deceived, if it be not true humility: for, what doth this argue him, but low in his conceit, high in his desires only? or, if so; happy is the ambition of grace, and power of sincere serviceableness to God. Let us wish, and affect this, while the world lays plots for greatness. Let me not prosper, if I bestow envy on them. He is great, that is good and no man, methinks, is happy on earth, to him that hath grace for substance, and learning for ornament.

If you know it not, the Church, our Mother, looks for much at your hands: she knows how rich our common Father hath left you: she notes your graces, your opportunities, your employments: she thinks you are gone so far, like a good merchant, for no small gain; and looks you shall come home, well laded. And, for vent of your present commodities, though our chief hope of success be cut off with that unhoped peace; yet what can hinder your private traffic for God?

I hope, and who doth not? that this blow will leave in your noble Venetians a perpetual scar; and that their late irresolution shall

make them ever capable of all better counsels; and have his work, like some great eclipse, many years after. How happy were it for Venice, if, as she is every year married to the sea, so she were once thoroughly espoused to Christ!

In the mean time, let me persuade you to gratify us at home, with the publication of that your exquisite Polemical Discourse; whereto our conference with M. Alabaster gave so happy an occasion. You shall hereby clear many truths, and satisfy all readers: yea, I doubt not, but an adversary, not too perverse, shal! acknowledge the truth's victory, and yours. It was wholesome counsel of a Father, that, in the time of a heresy, every man should write.

Perhaps, you complain of the inundations of Frankfort. How many have been discouraged from benefiting of the world, by this conceit of multitude! Indeed, we all write; and, while we write, cry out of number. How well might many be spared, even of those, that complain of too many! whose importunate babbling cloys the world, without use. My suspicion gives me, that some may perhaps reflect this censure upon myself. I am content to put it to hazard; and, if need be, bear it. But certainly, methinks, of profitable writings store is an easy fault. No man is bound to read; and he, that will spend his time and his eyes where no sensible profit draws him on, is worthy to lose his labour.

Let others look to their own: I dare promise yours happy success. Be entreated, only to cast off this injurious modesty; and suffer me to draw you forth into Paul's Church-yard; and to fetch from you some honest issue of an able mind: which, surviving you, shall still preach the truth, when you are gone to dust.

God give you as prosperous a return, as your passage was difficult; and serve himself of your gifts at home, and repossess us of you; whom we at once love and reverence.

EPISTLE VIII

TO MY LORD, THE EARL OF ESSEX.

MY LORD:

Advice for his Travels.

BOTH my duty and promise make my letters your debt; and, if neither of these, my thirst of your good. You shall never but need good counsel; most, in travel; then are both our dangers. greater, and our hopes.

I need not tell you the eyes of the world are much upon you; for your own sake, for your father's: only let your eyes be upon it again; to observe it; to satisfy it; and, in some cases, to contemn it. As your graces, so your weaknesses, will be the sooner spied, by how much you are more noted: the higher any building is, the more it requires exquisite proportion; which, in some low and rude piles, is needless. If your virtues shall be eminent like your father's, you cannot so hide yourself, but the world will see you; and force upon you applause and admiration, in spite of modesty but, if you shall come short in these, your father's perfection shall be your blemish.

Think now, that more eyes are upon you, than at home of foreigners, of your own; theirs to observe, ours to expect. For, now we account you in the School of Wisdom: whence if you return not better, you shall worse; with the loss of your time, of our hopes. For, I know not how natural it is to us, to look for alteration in travel; and, with the change of air and land, to presuppose a change in the person. Now you are, through both your years and travel, in the forge of your hopes: we all look, not without desire and apprecation, in what shape you will come forth.

Think it not enough that you see, or can say you have seen, strange things of nature or event: it is a vain and dead travel, that rests in the eye or the tongue. All is but lost, unless your busy mind shall, from the body that it sees, draw forth some quintessence of observation; wherewith to inform and enrich itself. There is nothing can quit the cost and labour of Travel, but the gain of wisdom. How many have we seen and pitied, which have brought nothing from foreign countries, but mis-shapen clothes; or, exotical gestures; or, new games; or, affected lispings; or, the diseases of the place, or, which is worst, the vices! These men have, at once, wandered from their country, and from themselves: and some of them, too easy to instance, have left God behind them; or, perhaps, instead of him, have, after a loose and filthy life, brought home some idle puppet in a box, whereon to spend their devotion. Let their wreck warn you; and let their follies be entertained by you, with more detestation than pity.

I know your Honour too well, to fear you: your young years have been so graciously prevented with sovereign antidotes of truth and holy instruction, that this infection despairs of prevailing: your very blood gives you argument of safety: yet, good counsel is not unseasonable, even where danger is not suspected.

For God's sake, my Lord, whatsoever you gain, lose nothing of the truth remit nothing of your love and piety to God; of your favour and zeal to religion. As sure as there is a God, you were trained up in the true knowledge of him. If either Angel, or Devil, or Jesuit, should suggest the contrary, send him away, with defiance. There you see and hear, every day, the true mother and the feigned, striving and pleading for the living child. The true Prince of Peace hath past sentence from heaven, on our side. Do

not you stoop so much, as to a doubt or motion of irresolution. Abandon those from your table and salt, whom your own or others' experience shall descry dangerous: those serpents are full of insinuations but, of all, those of your own country; which are so much more pernicious, by how much they have more colour of privilege of entireness.

Religion is the greatest care: advices for carriage, and improvement of travel, challenge the next place. I need not counsel you to keep your state, with affability; and so to manage yourself, as that your courtesy may be more visible, than your greatness. Nature hath taught you this; and hath secretly propagated it from your father; who, by his sweetness of disposition, won as many hearts, as by his valour and munificence. I rather tell you, that a good nature hath betrayed many; who, looking for that in others which they have found in themselves, have at last complained of their own credulity, and others' deceit.

Trust not strangers, too much; with your counsel, with your person: and, in your greatest familiarities, have an eye to their common disposition and infirmities. Those natures, wherewith you converse, are subject to displeasure; and violent, in pursuit of small indignities. Yesterday heard I named, from no unfaithful report, a French Courtier, that, in single combat, hath sent eighteen souls from the field to their place: yet he, ever, as the patient in the quarrel; and, for this, mentioned with more than excuse: I censure not how justly. This is others' care: only hence I argue the rifeness of unkindness taken, and pursued. You shall see, that the soil is not so diverse, as the inclination of persons: who, in all climates, though they differ in particulars, yet still agree too well in common faults. The Italian, deep, close, and crafty; the French, rash; the German, dull. One, not forward to offer wrongs; but, apprehensive of a small wrong offered: another, prone, either to take, or give them; but, not uneasy to remit: another, long in conceiving, long in retaining.

What do I exemplify? There are long catalogues of peculiar vices, that haunt special places; which, if they were not notoriously infamous, my charity would serve me to particularize. It were pity there should be fewer virtues, local and proper.

There are good uses to be made of others' enormities; if no more, by them to correct our own: who loaths vice in another, is in good forwardness to leave it in himself: the view of the public calamities and disorders of other Churches, shall best teach you thankfulness for the better state of ours. But, better use of their virtues; by how much it is more excellent to know what we should do, than what we should not.

You must now look upon all things, not with the eyes of a stranger only; but of a philosopher, but of a Christian; which accounts all lost, that is not reduced to practice. It is a great praise, that you are wiser by the contemplation of foreign things; but, much greater, that you are better. That you have seen cities, and courts,

and Alps, and rivers, can never yield you so sound comfort; as that you have looked seriously into yourself. In vain do we affect all foreign knowledge, if we be not thoroughly acquainted at home.

Think much, and say little; especially in occasions of dispraise: wherein, both a little is enough, and ofttimes any thing is too

much.

You cannot enquire too much: that, which in us inferiors would be censured for dangerous curiosity, in your greatness shall be construed as a commendable desire of knowledge.

Ask, still, after men of greatest parts and reputation; and, where you find fame no liar, note and respect them. Make choice of those for conversation, which, either in present or in hope, are eminent; and, when you meet with excellencies in any faculty, leave not without some gain of knowledge. What are others' graces to you, if you only admire them; not imitate, not appropriate them?

Lo, your equals in time grow up happily in the College (so I may term it) of our young and hopeful Court, which you have left; and, above all, that gracious Precedent of worthiness and perfection: whom while in all other things you serve, you may without reproof emulate for learning, virtue, piety. Myself am witness of their progress; which I do joyfully gratulate to the succeeding age. Beware, lest their diligence shall outstrip you; and upbraid you with that ancient check, of Going far, and faring

worse.

I am bold and busy, in counselling you abound with better monitors; and the best you carry about, I hope, in your own bosom. Though these should be needless; yet they argue my humble affection, and discharge my duty. My prayers are better than my counsels; both of them hearty and unfeigned for your good. God guide and return you safe, from a journey not more happy and prosperous than I wish it.

EPISTLE IX.

TO SIR ROBERT DRURY, AND HIS LADY.

Concerning my Removal from them.

WITH how unwilling a heart I leave you, He knows, that searches the heart: neither durst I go, but that I sensibly see his hand pulling me from you. Indeed, desire of competency betrayed me, at