S'^: 
 
ALBERT R. MANN 
 LIBRARY 
 
 New York State Colleges 
 
 OF 
 
 Agriculture and Home Economics 
 
 AT 
 
 Cornell University 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 WILLARD A. KIGGINS, JR. 
 
 in memory of his father 
 
Cornell university tibrary 
 
 PR 3757.W6 1906 
 
 . p .ho Hues of Donne 
 The complete angler &th^^^^^^^^^ 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014520005 
 
Library of English Classics 
 
 WALTON 
 
The Complete Angler 
 
 The Lives of Donne, Wotton 
 Hooker, Herbert &' Sanderson 
 
 By Izaak Walton 
 
 London 
 
 Macmillan and Co. Limited 
 
 New York : The Macmillan Company 
 1906 
 
PR 
 
 3151 
 
 360758 
 
 First printed in Library of English Classics 1901, 
 Reprinted 1906. 
 
 GLASGOW : PRINTED AT THE" UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 BV ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 The first edition of Walton's Complete Angler was pub- 
 lished in the spring of 1653, with the title: 
 
 The Compleat Angler or the Contemplative Man's 
 Recreation. Being a Discourse of Fish and Fishing, 
 Not unworthy the perusal of most Anglers. Simon 
 Peter said, I go a fishing : and they said, We also 
 will go with thee. John 21.3. London, Printed by 
 T. Maxey for Rich. Marriot, in S. Dunstans Church- 
 yard Fleet Street, 1653. 
 
 In The Perfect Diurnall for May 9th- 1 6th, Marriot 
 advertised his venture as ' by Iz. Wa.' (a favourite signa- 
 ture of Walton's), and 'of iSpence price.' It may be 
 thought that a purchaser who directed that his copy 
 should be kept unsoiled and in its original sheepskin 
 jacket until 1891 or 1896 would have done well for his 
 descendants, for such copies sold in the former year for 
 ^^310 and in the latter for £,^1$. But arithmetic tells 
 us that at five per cent, compound interest the eighteen 
 pence would have amounted to these sums in each case 
 about seventy years earlier, and the book-lover is once 
 more warned not to allege these triumphs of the auction- 
 room in defence of his hobby. It is more germane to 
 quote the Complete Angler and the Lives as a justifica- 
 
VI 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 tlon for a particular form of collecting, the usually 
 dull practice of acquiring numerous editions of the 
 same work. It is characteristic of Walton's capacity 
 for finding pleasure and occupation in small things that 
 the six little books or essays which represent his literary 
 output during forty years were lovingly retouched in 
 nearly every successive edition, and that in copies he gave 
 away he seems often to have made trivial corrections. In 
 the case of the Complete Angler the chief changes were 
 made in the second edition, published in 1655, in which 
 the character of ' Auceps ' was added to the preliminary 
 dialogue, and by other additions scattered through the 
 book the number of pages was raised from 246 to 355. 
 Other, though much slighter, changes were made in the 
 third edition of 1661 (re-issued with a new title-page in 
 1664, and made scarcer than the second edition through 
 the destruction of copies in the Great Fire), and in the 
 fourth, issued in 1668 ; while of that of 1676, which, as the 
 last published during the author's life, has been taken for 
 our text, Walton writes : ' In this fifth impression there 
 are many inlargements, gathered both by my own obser- 
 vation and the communication with friends.' ^ With the 
 1676 edition two other books were issued between the 
 same boards : ' The Compleat Angler or Instructions how 
 to angle for a trout or grayling in a clear stream,' by 
 Walton's disciple, Charles Cotton ; and the fourth edition 
 of ' The Experienced Angler or Angling improved,' by 
 Colonel Venables. A general title-page, ' The Universal 
 Angler, made so by three books of fishing,* links the 
 treatises together; but while Cotton's is still frequently 
 
 1 As we have concerned ourselves with prices, it may be noted that in 
 the Ashburnham Sale in 1898 a set of the five editions, all in the original 
 bindings, fetched ;£8oo. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE vii 
 
 reprinted with Walton's, that by Venables seems to have 
 been published only once since 1683. 
 
 At the time of the first publication of the Complete 
 Angler y Walton was in his sixtieth year. His career as an 
 author (putting aside what little he had written in verse) 
 had begun in 1640, when, to use his own words, hearing 
 that the Sermons of his friend Dr. Donne were to be 
 printed and want the Author's life, indignation or grief 
 transported him so far that he reviewed the notes which he 
 had collected for the use of Sir Henry Wotton, and essayed 
 the task himself. The memoir was reprinted separately 
 in 1658, and with the Lives of Wotton, Hooker, and 
 Herbert in 1670. This first collected edition of the 
 four memoirs was republished in 1675, being then called 
 * the fourth edition,' two of the Lives having then been 
 previously printed three times, one four times, and one 
 twice. The Life of Wotton was written in 1651 for the 
 Reliquiae fVottoniae, which were published in that year and 
 reprinted in 1654 and 1672. The Life of Hooker was 
 published by itself in 1666, and prefixed the next year 
 to an edition of his Ecclesiastical Polity. That of Herbert 
 appeared in 1670, being then published both with his 
 Letters to his Mother and also with the three other 
 Lives. 
 
 In 1678 Walton was called upon in some haste for a 
 Life of Bishop Sanderson, and besought the reader's 
 clemency in the following note : 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 If I had had time to have review'd this Relation, as I intended, before 
 it went to the Press, I could have contracted some, and altered other 
 parts of it ; but 'twas hastened from me, and now too late for this im- 
 pression. If there be a second (which the Printer hopes for) I shall 
 both do that, and, upon information, mend any mistake, or supply what 
 may seem wanting. 
 
viii BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 When he wrote this Walton was in his 85th year, and 
 his modern editors, apparently thinking that it was un- 
 reasonable for him to look forward to a second edition^ 
 have unanimously taken their text from the 1678 edition, 
 while, also with singular unanimity, suppressing the Post- 
 script in which the old man expressed his hope. Never- 
 theless, a ' Second Impression ' exists, and may be found as 
 a thin folio bound up with the 168 1 edition of Sanderson's 
 Thirty-five Sermons, with its own title-page and the 
 imprint : ' London, Printed for Benjamin Tooke at the 
 Ship in St. Paul's Church-yard, and Thomas Sawbridge at 
 the three Flower-de-luces in Little Britain, 1681.' The 
 preface has been partly re-written, but at 87 or 88 the larger 
 revision the old man had gallantly intended may well have 
 been beyond his powers, and the alterations in the text are 
 of little importance. Such as they are, they will be found 
 reproduced in this edition, apparently for the first time, 
 the text of the other Lives being taken from the ' fourth 
 edition' of 1675. 
 
 Alfred W. Pollard. 
 
PAGE 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Complete Angler : 
 
 Dedication to John Offley, ... 3 
 
 Dedication to all Readers, ... 5 
 
 THE FIRST DAY 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. A Conference between an Anglerj a Falconer, and a 
 
 Hunter, each commending his Recreation, . 9 
 
 THE SECOND DAY 
 II. Observations of the Otter and Chub, . . 4.0 
 
 THE THIRD DAY 
 
 III. How to fish for, and to dress, the Chavender or Chub, 47 
 
 IV. Observations of the Nature and Breeding of the Trout, 
 
 and how to fish for him, and the Milk-Maid's Song, 52 
 
 V. More Directions how to fish for, and how to maice 
 for the Trout an Artificial Minnow and Flies, 
 with some Merriment, . . . . 6z 
 
 THE FOURTH DAY 
 
 VI. Observations of the Umber or Grayling and Directions 
 
 how to fish for them, .... 95 
 
X CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 VII. Observations of the Salmon, with Directions how to 
 
 fish for him, ..... 97 
 
 VIII. Observations of the Luce or Pike, with Directions 
 
 how to fish for him, . . . . 103 
 
 IX. Observations of the Carp, with Directions how to 
 
 fish for him, . . . . . 113 
 
 X. Observations of the Bream and Directions to catch him, 1 20 
 
 XI. Observations of the Tench and Advice how to Angle 
 
 for him, . . . . . .125 
 
 XII. Observations of the Perch and Directions how to 
 
 fish for him, . . . . .127 
 
 XIII. Observations of the Eel, and other Fish that want 
 
 Scales, and how to fish for them, . . 131 
 
 XIV. Observations of the Barbel and Directions how to fish 
 
 for him, . . . . • '37 
 
 XV. Observations of the Gudgeon, the Ruffe, and the 
 
 Bleak, and how to fish for them, . . 141 
 
 XVI. Is of nothing, or that which is nothing worth, . 143 
 
 THE FIFTH DAY 
 
 XVII. Of Roach and Dace, and how to fish for them, and /5/ 
 
 of Cadis, ...... -jic 
 
 XVIII. Of the Minnow or Penk, of the Loach, and of the 
 
 Bull-Head, or Miller's-Thumb, . . . 159 
 
 XIX. Of several Rivers, and some Observations of Fish,. 162 
 
 XX. Of Fish- Ponds and how to order them, . . 165 
 
 XXI. Directions for making of a Line, and for the colour- 
 ing of both Rod and Line, . . . 168 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 xi 
 
 Four Lives : 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication to George, T ,ord Bishop of Win- 
 chester, .... 
 
 183 
 
 Epistle to the Reader, . 
 
 184 
 
 Dr. John Donne, .... 
 
 187 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton, 
 
 244 
 
 Mr. Richard Hooker, 
 
 294 
 
 Mr. George Herbert, 
 
 370 
 
 Life of Sanderson, .... 
 
 423 
 
THE COMPLETE ANGLER 
 
 OR 
 
 THE CONTEMPLATIVE MAN'S RECREATION 
 WRITTEN BY IZAAK WALTON 
 
To the Right worshipful John Offley 
 
 of Madeley Manor, in the County of Stafford, Esquire, 
 
 My most honoured Friend 
 
 Sir,— 
 I HAVE made so ill use of your former favours, as by them 
 to be encouraged to entreat, that they may be enlarged to 
 the patronage and protection of this Book : and I have put 
 on a modest confidence, that I shall not be denied, because 
 it is a discourse of Fish and Fishing, which you know so 
 well, and both love and practise so much. 
 
 You are assured, though there be ignorant men of 
 another belief, that Angling is an Art : and you know that 
 Art better than others ; and that this is truth is demon- 
 strated by the fruits of that pleasant labour which you 
 enjoy, when you purpose to give rest to your mind, and 
 divest yourself of your more serious business, and (which 
 is often) dedicate a day or two to this recreation. 
 
 At which time, if common Anglers should attend you, 
 and be eyewitnesses of the success, not of your fortune, 
 but your skill, it would doubtless beget in them an 
 emulation to be like you, and that emulation might beget 
 an industrious diligence to be so ; but I know it is not 
 attainable by common capacities : and there be now many 
 men of great wisdom, learning, and experience, which love 
 and practise this Art, that know I speak the truth. 
 
 Sir, this pleasant curiosity of Fish and Fishing, of which 
 
 •you are so great a master, has been thought worthy the 
 
 pens and practices of divers in other nations, that have 
 
 been reputed men of great learning and wisdom. And 
 
 3 
 
4 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 amongst those of this nation, I remember Sir Heniy 
 Wotton, a dear lover of this Art, has told me, that his 
 intentions were to write a Discourse of the Art, and in 
 praise of Angling ; and doubtless he had done so, if death 
 had not prevented him; the remembrance of which had 
 often made me sorry, for if he had lived to do it, then the 
 unlearned Angler had seen some bettef treatise of this 
 Art, a treatise that might have proved worthy his perusal, 
 which, though some have undertaken, I could never yet 
 see in English. 
 
 But mine may be thought as weak, and as unworthy of 
 common view ; and I do here freely confess, that I should 
 rather excuse myself, than censure others, my own dis- 
 course being liable to so many exceptions ; against which 
 you, Sir, might make this one, ' that it can contribute 
 nothing to your knowledge.' And lest a longer epistle 
 may diminish your pleasure, I shall make this no longer 
 than to add this following truth, that I am really. Sir, your 
 most affectionate Friend, and most humble Servant, 
 
 Iz. Wa. 
 
To all Readers of this Discourse: but especially 
 to the Honest Angler 
 
 I THINK fit to tell thee these following truths; that I 
 did neither undertake, nor write, nor publish, and much 
 less own, this Discourse to please myself; and, having 
 been too easily drawn to do all to please others, as I pro- 
 posed not the gaining of credit by this undertaking, so I 
 would not willingly lose any part of that to which I had 
 a just title before I began it ; and do therefore desire and 
 hope, if I deserve not commendations, yet I may obtain 
 pardon. 
 
 And though this Discourse may be liable to some excep- 
 tions, yet I cannot doubt but that most Readers may 
 receive so much pleasure or profit by it, as may make it 
 worthy the time of their perusal, if they be not too grave 
 or too busy men. And this is all the confidence that I can 
 put on, concerning the merit of what is here offered to 
 their consideration and censure ; and if the last prove too 
 severe, as I have a liberty, so I am resolved to use it, and 
 neglect all sour censures. 
 
 And I wish the Reader also to take notice, that in 
 writing of it I have made myself a recreation of a 
 recreation; and that it might prove so to him, and 
 not read dull and tediously, I have in several places mixed, 
 not any scurrility, but some innocent, harmless mirth, of 
 which, if thou be a severe, sour-complexioned man, then 
 I here disallow thee to be a competent judge ; for divines 
 say, there are offences given, and offences not given but 
 taken. ' 
 
6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And I am the willinger to justify the pleasant part of it, 
 because though it is known I can be serious at seasonable 
 times, yet the whole Discourse is, or rather was, a picture 
 of my own disposition, especially in such days and times as 
 I have laid aside business, and gone a-fishing with honest 
 Nat. and R. Roe ; but they are gone, and with them most 
 of my pleasant hours, even as a shadow that passeth away 
 and returns not. 
 
 And next let me add this, that he that likes not the 
 book, should like the excellent picture of the Trout, and 
 some of the other fish, which I may take a liberty to com- 
 mend, because they concern not myself. 
 
 Next, let me tell the Reader, that in that which is the 
 more useful part of this Discourse, that is to say, the 
 observations of the nature and breeding, and seasons, and 
 catching of fish, I am not so simple as not to know, that a 
 captious reader may find exceptions against something said 
 of some of these ; and therefore I must entreat him to 
 consider, that experience teaches us to know that several 
 countries alter the time, and I think, almost the manner, 
 of fishes' breeding, but doubtless of their being in season ; 
 as may appear by three rivers in Monmouthshire, namely, 
 Severn, Wye, and Usk, where Camden (Brit. f. 622) 
 observes, that in the river Wye, Salmon are in season from 
 September to April ; and we are certain, that in Thames 
 and Trent, and in most other rivers, they be in season the 
 six hotter months. 
 
 Now for the Art of catching fish, that is to say. How 
 to make a man that was none, to be an Angler by a book, 
 he that undertakes it shall undertake a harder task than 
 Mr. Hales, a most valiant and excellent fencer, who in a 
 printed book called ^ Private School of Defence undertook 
 to teach that art or science, and was laughed at for his 
 labour. Not but that many useful things might be learned 
 by that book, but he was laughed at because that art was 
 not to be taught by words, but practice: and so must 
 Angling. And note also, that in this Discourse I do not 
 undertake to say all that is known, or may be said of it, 
 but I undertake to acquaint the Reader with many things 
 
EPISTLE TO THE READER 7 
 
 that are not usually known to every Angler ; and I shall 
 leave gleanings and observations enough to be made out 
 of the experience of all that love and practise this recrea- 
 tion, to which I shall encourage them. For Angling may 
 be said to be so like the Mathematicks, that it can never 
 be fully learnt ; at least not so fully, but that there will 
 still be more new experiments left for the trial of other 
 men that succeed us. 
 
 But I think all that love this game may here learn some- 
 thing that may be worth their money, if they be not poor 
 and needy men : and in case they be, I then wish them to 
 forbear to buy it ; for I write not to get money, but for 
 pleasure, and this Discourse boasts of no more, for I hate 
 to promise much, and deceive the Reader. 
 
 And however it proves to him, yet I am sure I have 
 found a high content in the search and conference of what 
 is here offered to the Reader's view and censure. I wish 
 him as much in the perusal of it, and so I might here take 
 my leave ; but will stay a little and tell him, that whereas 
 it is said by many, that in fly-fishing for a Trout, the 
 Angler must observe his twelve several flies for the twelve 
 months of the year, I say, he that follows that rule, shall be 
 as sure to catch fish, and be as wise, as he that makes hay 
 by the fair days in an Almanack, and no surer ; for those 
 very flies that use to appear about, and on, the water in 
 one month of the year, may the following year come almost 
 a month sooner or later, as the same year proves colder or 
 hotter : and yet, in the following Discourse, I have set 
 down the twelve flies that are in reputation with many 
 anglers ; and they may serve to give him some observa- 
 tidns concerning them. And he may note, that there are 
 in Wales, and other countries, peculiar flies, proper to 
 the particular place or country; and doubtless, unless a 
 man makes a fly to counterfeit that very fly in that place, 
 he is like to lose his labour, or much of it ; but for the 
 generality, three or four flies neat and rightly made, and 
 not too big, serve for a Trout in most rivers, all the 
 summer : and for winter fly-fishing it is as useful as an 
 Almanack out of date. And of these, because as no man 
 
8 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 is born an artist, so no man is born an Angler, I thought 
 fit to give thee this notice. 
 
 When I have told the reader, that in this fifth impres- 
 sion there are many enlargements, gathered both by my 
 own observation, and the communication with friends, I 
 shall stay him no longer than to wish him a rainy evening 
 to read this following Discourse ; and that if he be an 
 honest Angler, the east wind may never blow when he 
 goes a-fishing. j^ ^ 
 
THE COMPLETE ANGLER, 
 
 OR THE 
 
 CONTEMPLATIVE MAN'S RECREATION 
 
 {THE FIRST DJT] 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 yi Conference betwixt an Angler, a Falconer, and a Hunter, 
 each commending his Recreation 
 
 PISCATOR, VENATOR, AUCEPS 
 
 PiscATOR. You are well overtaken, Gentlemen ! A good 
 morning to you both I I have stretched my legs up 
 Tottenham Hill to overtake you, hoping your business 
 may occasion you towards Ware, whither I am going this 
 fine fresh May morning. 
 
 Venator. Sir, I, for my part, shall almost answer your 
 hopes ; for my purpose is to drink my morning's draught 
 at the Thatched House in Hoddesden ; and I think not to 
 rest till I come thither, where I have appointed a friend or 
 two to meet me : but for this gentleman that you see with 
 me, I know not how far he intends his journey ; he came 
 so lately into my company, that I have scarce had time to 
 ask him the question. 
 
 Auceps. Sir, I shall by your favour bear you company 
 as far as Theobalds, and there leave you ; for then I turn 
 up to a friend's house, who mews a hawk for me, which 
 I now long to see. 
 
 9 
 
10 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Venator. Sir, we are all so happy as to have a fine, 
 fresh, cool morning ; and I hope we shall each be the 
 happier in the others' company. And, Gentlemen, that I 
 may not lose yours, I shall either abate or amend my pace 
 to enjoy it, knowing that, as the Italians say, 'Good 
 company in a journey makes the way to seem the shorter.' 
 
 AucEPs. It may do so. Sir, with the help of good 
 discourse, which, methinks, we may promise from you, 
 that both look and speak so cheerfully : and for my part, 
 I promise you, as an invitation to it, that I will be as free 
 and open-hearted as discretion will allow me to be with 
 strangers. 
 
 Venator. And, Sir, I promise the like. 
 
 PiscATOR. I am right glad to hear your answers ; and, 
 in confidence you speak the truth, I shall put on a boldness 
 to ask you, Sir, whether business or pleasure caused you 
 to be so early up, and walk so fast .'' for this other 
 gentleman hath declared he is going to see a hawk, that 
 a friend mews for him. 
 
 Venator. Sir, mine is a mixture of both, a little business 
 and more pleasure ; for I intend this day to do all my 
 business, and then bestow another day or two in hunting 
 the Otter, which a friend, that I go to meet, tells me 
 is much pleasanter than any other chase whatsoever : 
 howsoever, I mean to try it ; for to-morrow morning we 
 shall meet a pack of Otter-dogs of noble Mr. Sadler's, 
 upon Amwell Hill, who will be there so early, that they 
 intend to prevent the sunrising. 
 
 Piscator. Sir, my fortune has answered my desires, 
 and my purpose is to bestow a day or two in helping to 
 destroy some of those villainous vermin : for I hate them 
 perfectly, because they love fish so well, or rather, because 
 they destroy so much ; indeed so much, that, in my judg- 
 ment all men that keep Otter-dogs ought to have pensions 
 from the King, to encourage them to destroy the very 
 breed of those base Otters, they do so much mischief. 
 
 Venator. But what say you to the Foxes of the 
 Nation, would not you as willingly have them destroyed ? 
 for doubtless they do as much mischief as Otters do. 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER ii 
 
 PiscATOR. Oh, Sir, if they do, it is not so much to 
 me and my fraternity, as those base vermin the Otters do. 
 
 AucEPS. Why, Sir, I pray, of what fraternity are you, 
 that you are so angry with the poor Otters ? 
 
 PiscATOR. I am, Sir, a Brother of the Angle, and there- 
 fore an enemy to the Otter : for you are to note, that we 
 Anglers all love one another, and therefore do I hate the 
 Otter both for my own, and their sakes who are of my 
 brotherhood. 
 
 Venator. And I am a lover of Hounds; I have 
 followed many a pack of dogs many a mile, and heard 
 many merry Huntsmen make sport and scoiF at Anglers. 
 
 AucEPs. And I profess myself a Falconer, and have 
 heard many grave, serious men pity them, it is such a 
 heavy, contemptible, dull recreation. 
 
 PiscATOR. You know. Gentlemen, it is an easy thing to 
 scoff at any art or recreation ; a little wit mixed with ill 
 nature, confidence, and malice, will do it ; but though they 
 often venture boldly, yet they are often caught, even in 
 their own trap, according to that of Lucian, the father of 
 the family of Scoffers : 
 
 Lucian, well skilled in scoffing, this hath writ, 
 Friend, that's your folly, which you think your wit : 
 This you vent oft, void both of wit and fear, 
 Meaning another, when yourself you jeer. 
 
 If to this you add what Solomon says of Scoffers, that 
 they are an abomination to mankind, let him that thinks 
 fit scoff on, and be a Scoffer still ; but I account them 
 enemies to me and all that love Virtue and Angling. 
 
 And for you that have heard many grave, serious 
 men pity Anglers ; let me tell you, Sir, there be many men 
 that are by others taken to be serious and grave men, 
 whom we contemn and pity. Men that are taken to be 
 grave, because nature hath made them of a sour com- 
 plexion ; money-getting men, men that spend all their 
 time, first in getting, and next, in anxious care to keep it ; 
 men that are condemned to be rich, and then always busy 
 or discontented : for these poor-rich-men, we Anglers pity 
 
12 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 them perfectly, and stand in no need to borrow their 
 thoughts to think ourselves so happy. No, no, Sir, we 
 enjoy a contentedness above the reach of such dispositions, 
 and as the learned and ingenuous ^Montaigne says, like 
 himself, freely, 'When my Cat and I entertain each other 
 with mutual apish tricks, as playing with a garter, who 
 knows but that I make my Cat more sport than she makes 
 me ? Shall I conclude her to be simple, that has her time 
 to begin or refuse, to play as freely as I myself have? 
 Nay, who knows but that it is a defect of my not under- 
 standing her language (for doubtless Cats talk and reason 
 with one another), that we agree no better : and who knows 
 but that she pities me for being no wiser than to play with 
 her, and laughs and censures my folly, for making sport 
 for her, when we two play together ? ' Thus freely speaks 
 Montaigne concerning Cats ; and I hope I may take as 
 great a liberty to blame any man, and laugh at him too, let 
 him be never so grave, that hath not heard what Anglers 
 can say in the justification of their Art and Recreation ; 
 which I may again tell you, is so full of pleasure, that we 
 need not borrow their thoughts, to think ourselves happy. 
 
 Venator. Sir, you have almost amazed me ; for though 
 I am no Scoffer, yet I have (I pray let me speak it without 
 offence) always looked upon Anglers, as more patient, and 
 more simple men, than I fear I shall find you to be. 
 
 PrscATOR. Sir, I hope you will not judge my earnest- 
 ness to be impatience : and for my simplicity, if by that 
 you mean a harmlessness, or that simplicity which was 
 usually found in the primitive Christians, who were, as 
 most Anglers are, quiet men, and followers of peace ; men 
 that were so simply wise, as not to sell their consciences 
 to buy riches, and with them vexation and a fear to die ; 
 if you mean such simple men as lived in those times when 
 there were fewer lawyers ; when men might have had 
 a lordship safely conveyed to them in a piece of parchment 
 no bigger than your hand, though several sheets wUl not 
 do it safely in this wiser age ; I say, Sir, if you take 
 us Anglers to be such simple men as I have spoken of, 
 
 'In Apol[ogie] for Ra[ymond de] Sebond. [Florio's Montaigne 
 Chap, xii.] 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 13 
 
 then myself and those of my profession will be glad to be 
 so understood : But if by simplicity you meant to express a 
 general defect in those that profess and practise the excel- 
 lent Art of Angling, I hope in time to disabuse you, and 
 make the contrary appear so evidently, that if you will but 
 have patience to hear me, I shall remove all the anticipa- 
 tions that discourse, or time, or prejudice, have possessed 
 you with against that laudable and ancient art ; for I 
 know it is worthy the knowledge and practice of a 
 wise man. 
 
 But, Gentlemen, though I be able to do this, I am not 
 so unmannerly as to engross all the discourse to myself ; 
 and, therefore, you two having declared yourselves, the 
 one to be a lover of Hawks, the other of Hounds, I shall 
 be most glad to hear what you can say in the commenda- 
 tion of that recreation which each of you love and prac- 
 tise ; and having heard what you can say, I shall be glad 
 to exercise your attention with what I can say concerning 
 my own Recreation and Art of Angling, and by this means 
 we shall make the way to seem the shorter : and if you 
 like my motion, I would have Mr. Falconer to begin. 
 
 AucEPS. Your motion is consented to with all my 
 heart ; and to testify it, I will begin as you have 
 desired me. 
 
 And first, for the Element that I use to trade in, which 
 is the Air, an element of more worth than weight, an 
 element that doubtless exceeds both the Earth and Water ; 
 for though I sometimes deal in both, yet the air is most 
 properly mine, I and my Hawks use that most, and it 
 yields us most recreation. It stops not the high soaring 
 of my noble, generous Falcon ; in it she ascends to such 
 a height, as the dull eyes of beasts and fish are not able to 
 reach to ; their bodies are too gross for such high eleva- 
 tions ; in the air my troops of hawks soar up on high, 
 and when they are lost in the sight of men, then they 
 attend upon and converse with the gods; therefore I 
 think my Eagle is so justly styled Jove's servant in 
 ordinary : and that very Falcon, that I am now going to 
 see, deserves no meaner a title, for she usually in her 
 
14 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 flight endangers herself, like the son of Daedalus, to have 
 her wings scorched by the sun's heat, she flies so near it, 
 but her mettle makes her careless of danger; for she 
 then heeds nothing, but makes her nimble pinions cut the 
 fluid air, and so makes her highway over the steepest 
 mountains and deepest rivers, and in her glorious career 
 looks with contempt upon those high steeples and mag- 
 nificent palaces which we adore and wonder at; from 
 which height, I can make her to descend by a word from 
 my mouth, which she both knows and obeys, to accept of 
 meat from my hand, to own me for her Master, to go 
 home with me, and be willing the next day to afford me 
 the like recreation. 
 
 And more ; this element of air which I profess to trade 
 in, the worth of it is such, and it is of such necessity, that 
 no creature whatsoever — not only those numerous creatures 
 that feed on the face of the earth, but those various 
 creatures that have their dwelling within the waters, every 
 creature that hath life in its nostrils, stands in need of my 
 element. The waters cannot preserve the Fish without 
 air, witness the not breaking of ice in an extreme frost ; 
 the reason is, for that if the inspiring and expiring organ 
 of any animal be stopped, it suddenly yields to nature, and 
 dies. Thus necessary is air, to the existence both of Fish 
 and Beasts, nay, even to Man himself; that air, or breath 
 of life, with which God at first inspired mankind, he, if he 
 wants it, dies presently, becomes a sad object to all that 
 loved and beheld him, and in an instant turns to 
 putrefaction. 
 
 Nay more ; the very birds of the air, those that be not 
 Hawks, are both so many and so useful and pleasant to 
 mankind, that I must not let them pass without some 
 observations. They both feed and refresh him ; feed him 
 with their choice bodies, and refresh him with their 
 heavenly voices : — I will not undertake to mention the 
 several kinds of Fowl by which this is done: and his 
 curious palate pleased by day, and which with their very 
 excrements afford him a soft lodging at night : — These I 
 will pass by, but not those little nimble musicians of the 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 15 
 
 air, that warble forth their curious ditties, with which 
 nature hath furnished them to the shame of art. 
 
 As first the Lark, when she means to rejoice, to cheer 
 herself and those that hear her ; she then quits the earth, 
 and sings as she ascends higher into the air, and having 
 ended her heavenly employment, grows then mute, and 
 sad, to think she must descend to the dull earth, which she 
 would not touch, but for necessity. 
 
 How do the Blackbird and Throstle with their 
 melodious voices bid welcome to the cheerful Spring, and 
 in their fixed months warble forth such ditties as no art 
 or instrument can reach to ! 
 
 Nay, the smaller birds also do the like in their particular 
 seasons, as namely the Laverock, the Tit-lark, the little 
 Linnet, and the honest Robin that love's mankind both 
 alive and dead. 
 
 But the Nightingale, another of my airy creatures, 
 breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instru- 
 mental throat, that it might make mankind to think 
 miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when 
 the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have 
 very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural 
 rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her 
 voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, ' Lord, 
 what musick hast thou provided for the Saints in Heaven, 
 when thou afFordest bad men such musick on Earth !' 
 
 And this makes me the less to wonder at the many 
 Aviaries in Italy, or at the great charge of Varro his Aviary, 
 the ruins of which are yet to be seen in Rome, and is still 
 so famous there, that it is reckoned for one of those 
 notables which men of foreign nations either record, or 
 lay up in their memories when they return from travel. 
 
 This for the birds of pleasure, of which very much more 
 might be said. My next shall be of birds of political use. 
 I think 'tis not to be doubted that Swallows have been 
 taught to carry letters betwixt two armies ; but 'tis certain 
 that when the Turjcs besieged Malta or Rhodes (I now 
 remember not which 'twas), Pigeons are then related to 
 carry and recarry letters : and Mr. G. Sandys, in his 
 
i6 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 'Travels, relates it to be done betwixt Aleppo and Babylon. 
 But if that be disbelieved, it is not to be doubted that the 
 Dove was sent out of the ark by Noah, to give him notice 
 of land, when to him all appeared to be sea; and the 
 Dove proved a faithful and comfortable messenger. And 
 for the Sacrifices of the Law, a pair of Turde-doves, or 
 young Pigeons, were as well accepted as costly Bulls and 
 Rams; and when God would feed the Prophet Elijah 
 (i Kings 17.) after a kind of miraculous manner, he did it 
 by Ravens, who brought him meat morning and evening. 
 Lastiy, the Holy Ghost, when he descended visibly upon 
 our Saviour, did it by assuming the shape of a Dove. And, 
 to conclude this part of my discourse, pray remember 
 these wonders were done by birds of the air, the element 
 in which they, and I, take so much pleasure. 
 
 There is also a litde contemptible winged creature, an 
 inhabitant of my aerial element, namely the laborious Bee, 
 of whose prudence, policy, and regular government of 
 their own commonwealth, I might say much, as also of 
 their several kinds, and how useful their honey and wax 
 are both for meat and medicines to mankind; but I will 
 leave them to their sweet labour, without the least dis- 
 turbance, believing them to be all very busy at this very 
 time amongst the herbs and flowers that we see nature 
 puts forth this May morning. 
 
 And now to return to my Hawks, from whom I have 
 made too long a digression. You are to note, that they 
 are usually distinguished into two kinds ; namely, the 
 long-winged, and the short-winged Hawk : of the first 
 kind, there be chiefly in use amongst us in this nation, 
 
 The Gerfalcon and Jerkin, 
 
 The Falcon and Tassel-gentle, 
 
 The Laner and Laneret, 
 
 The Bockerel and Bockeret, 
 
 The Saker and Sacaret, 
 
 The Merlin and Jack Merlin, 
 
 The Hobby and Jack : 
 There is the SteUetto of Spain, 
 
 The Blood-red Rook from Turkey, 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 17 
 
 The Waskite from Virginia : 
 And there is of short-winged Hawks, 
 
 The Eagle and Iron, 
 
 The Goshawk and Tercel, 
 
 The Sparhawk and Musket, 
 
 The French Pye of two sorts : 
 These are reckoned Hawks of note and worth; but we 
 have also of an inferior rank. 
 
 The Stanyel, the Ringtail, 
 
 The Raven, the Buzzard, 
 
 The Forked Kite, the Bald Buzzard, 
 
 The Hen-driver, and others that I forbear to name. 
 Gentlemen, if I should enlarge my discourse to the 
 observation of the Eires, the Brancher, the Ramish Hawk, 
 the Haggard, and the two sorts of Lentners, and then 
 treat of their several Ayries, their Mewings, rare order of 
 casting, and the renovation of their feathers : their reclaim- 
 ing, dieting, and then come to their rare stories of practice ; 
 I say, if I should enter into these, and many other observa- 
 tions that I could make, it would be much, very much 
 pleasure to me : but lest I should break the rules of civility 
 with you, by taking up more than the proportion of time 
 allotted to me, I will here break off, and entreat you, Mr. 
 Venator, to say what you are able in the commendation of 
 Hunting, to which you are so much affected ; and if time 
 will serve, I will beg your favour for a further enlargement 
 of some of those several heads of which I have spoken. 
 But no more at present. 
 
 Venator. Well, Sir, and I will now take my turn, and 
 will first begin with a commendation of the Earth, as you 
 have done most excellently of the Air; the Earth being 
 that element upon which I drive my pleasant, wholesome, 
 hungry trade. The Earth is a solid, settled element ; an 
 element most universally beneficial both to man and beast ; 
 to men who have their several recreations upon it, as 
 horse-races, hunting, sweet smells, pleasant walks: the 
 earth feeds man, and all those several beasts that both feed 
 him, and afford him recreation. What pleasure doth man 
 take in hunting the stately Stag, the generous Buck, the 
 
1 8 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 wild Boar, the cunning Otter, the crafty Fox, and the 
 fearful Hare! And if I may descend to a lower game, 
 what pleasure is it sometimes with gins to betray the very 
 vermin of the earth ; as namely, the Fichat, the Fulimart, 
 the Ferret, the Pole-cat, the Mouldwarp, and the like 
 creatures that live upon the face, and within the bowels 
 of the earth. How doth the earth bring forth herbs, 
 flowers, and fruits, both for physic and the pleasure of 
 mankind ! and above all, to me at least, the fruitful vine, 
 of which when I drink moderately, it clears my brain, 
 cheers my heart, and sharpens my wit. How could 
 Cleopatra have feasted Mark Antony with eight wild 
 Boars roasted whole at one supper, and other meat suit- 
 able, if the earth had not been a bountiflil mother ? But 
 to pass by the mighty Elephant, which the Earth breeds 
 and nourisheth, and descend to the least of creatures, how 
 doth the earth afford us a doctrinal example in the little 
 Pismire, who in the summer provides and lays up her 
 winter provision, and teaches man to do the like ! The 
 earth feeds and carries those horses that carry us. If I 
 would be prodigal of my jime and your patience, what 
 might not I say in commendations of the earth ? That 
 puts limits to the proud and raging sea, and by that means 
 preserves both man and beast, that it destroys them not, 
 as we see it daily doth those that venture upon the sea, 
 and are there shipwrecked, drowned, and left to feed 
 haddocks ; when we that are so wise as to keep ourselves 
 on earth, walk, and talk, and live, and eat, and drink, and 
 go a-hunting : of which recreation I will say a little, and 
 then leave Mr. Piscator to the commendation of Angling. 
 Hunting is a game for princes and noble persons; it 
 hath been highly prized in all ages; it was one of the 
 qualifications that Xenophon bestowed on his Cyrus, that 
 he was a hunter of wild beasts. Hunting trains up the 
 younger nobility to the use of manly exercises in their 
 riper age. What more manly exercise than hunting the 
 Wild Boar, the Stag, the Buck, the Fox, or the Hare.-^ 
 How doth it preserve health, and increase strength and 
 activity ! 
 
1 THE COMPLETE ANGLER 19 
 
 And for the dogs that we use, who can commend their 
 excellency to that height which they deserve? How 
 perfect is the hound at smelling, who never leaves or 
 forsakes his first scent, but follows it through so many 
 changes and varieties of other scents, even over, and in 
 the water, and into the earth ! What music doth a pack 
 of dogs then make to any man, whose heart and ears are 
 so happy as to be set to the tune of such instruments! 
 How will a right Greyhound fix his eye on the best Buck 
 in a herd, single him out, and follow him, and him only, 
 through a whole herd of rascal game, and still know and 
 then kill him ! For my hounds, I know the language of 
 them, and they know the language and meaning of one 
 another, as perfectly as we know the voices of those with 
 whom we discourse daily. 
 
 I might enlarge myself in the commendation of 
 Hunting, and of the noble Hound especially, as also of 
 the docibleness of dogs in general; and I might make 
 many observations of land-creatures, that for composition, 
 order, figure, and constitution, approach nearest to the 
 completeness and understanding of man; especially of 
 those creatures, which Moses in the Law permitted to the 
 Jews, (which have cloven hoofs, and chew the cud), which 
 I shall forbear to name, because I will not be so uncivil to 
 Mr. Piscator, as not to allow him a time for the commen- 
 dation of Angling, which he calls an art; but doubtless 
 'tis an easy one : and, Mr. Auceps, I doubt we shall hear a 
 watery discourse of it, but I hope 'twill not be a long one. 
 
 AucEPs. And I hope so too, though I fear it will. 
 
 Piscator. Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you. 
 I confess my discourse is like to prove suitable to my 
 recreation, calm and quiet; we seldom take the name of 
 God into our mouths, but it is either to praise Him, or 
 pray to him : if others use it vainly in the midst of their 
 recreations, so vainly as if they meant to conjure, I must 
 tell you, it is neither our fault nor our custom ; we protest 
 against it. But, pray remember, I accuse nobody ; for as 
 I would not make a 'watery discourse,' so I would not 
 put too much vinegar into it; nor would I raise the 
 
20 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 reputation of my own art, by the diminution or ruin of 
 another's. And so much for the prologue to what I 
 mean to say. 
 
 And now for the Water, the element that I trade in. 
 The water is the eldest daughter of the creation, the 
 element upon which the Spirit of God did first move, the 
 element which God commanded to bring forth living 
 creatures abundantly; and without which, those that 
 inhabit the land, even all creatures that have breath in 
 their nostrils, must suddenly return to putrefaction. 
 Moses, the great lawgiver and chief philosopher, skilled 
 in all the learning of the Egyptians, who was called the 
 friend of God, and knew the mind of the Almighty, 
 names this element the first in the creation : this is the 
 element upon which the Spirit of God did first move, and 
 is the chief ingredient in the creation : many philosophers 
 have made it to comprehend all the other elements, and 
 most allow it the chiefest in the mixtion of all living 
 creatures. 
 
 There be that protess to believe that all bodies are 
 made of water, and may be reduced back again to water 
 only ; they endeavour to demonstrate it thus : 
 
 Take a willow, or any like speedy growing plant, newly 
 rooted in a box or barrel full of earth, weigh them all 
 together exactly when the tree begins to grow, and then 
 weigh all together after the tree is increased from its first 
 rooting, to weigh a hundred pound weight more than 
 when it was first rooted and weighed ; and you shall find 
 this augment of the tree to be without the diminution of 
 one drachm weight of the earth. Hence they infer this 
 increase of wood to be from water of rain, or from dew, 
 and not to be from any other element ; and they affirm 
 also, the same may be done in any animal or vegetable. 
 And this I take to be a fair testimony of the excellency of 
 my element of water. 
 
 The water is more productive than the earth. Nay, 
 the earth hath no fruitfulness without showers or dew ; 
 for all the herbs, and flowers, and fruit, are produced and 
 thrive by the water; and the very minerals are fed by 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 21 
 
 streams that run under ground, whose natural course 
 carries them to the tops of many high mountains, as we 
 see by several springs breaking forth on the tops of the 
 highest hiUs ; and this is also witnessed by the daily trial 
 and testimony of several miners. 
 
 Nay, the increase of those creatures that are bred and 
 fed in the water are not only more and more miraculous, 
 but more advantageous to man, not only for the lengthen- 
 ing of his life, but for the preventing of sickness ; for it 
 is observed by the most learned physicians, that the 
 casting off of Lent, and other fish days, which hath not 
 only given the lie to so many learned, pious, wise founders 
 of colleges, for which we should be ashamed, hath doubt- 
 less been the chief cause of those many putrid, shaking 
 intermitting agues, unto which this nation of ours is now 
 more subject, than those wiser countries that feed on 
 herbs, salads, and plenty of fish ; of which it is observed in 
 story, that the greatest part of the world now do. And 
 it may be fit to remember that Moses (Lev. xi. 9, Deut. 
 xiv. 9) appointed fish to be the chief diet for the best 
 commonwealth that ever yet was. 
 
 And it is observable, not only that there are fish, as 
 namely the Whale, three times as big as the mighty 
 Elephant, that is so fierce in battle, but that the mightiest 
 feasts have been of fish. The Romans, in the height of 
 their glory, have made fish the mistress of all their enter- 
 tainments; they have had music to usher in their Stur- 
 geons, Larifpfeys, and Mullets, which they would purchase 
 at rates rather to be wondered at than believed. He that 
 shall view the writings of Macrobius, or Varro, may be 
 confirmed and informed of this, and of the incredible value 
 of their fish and fish-ponds. 
 
 But, Gentlemen, I have almost lost myself, which I 
 confess I may easily do in this philosophicd discourse ; I 
 met with most of it very lately, and, I hope, happily, in a 
 conference with a most learned physician. Dr. Wharton, 
 a dear friend, that loves both me and my art of Angling. 
 But, however, I will wade no deeper into these mysterious 
 arguments, but pass to such observations as I can manage 
 
22 
 
 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 with more pleasure, and less fear of running into error. 
 But I must not yet forsake the waters, by whose help we 
 have so many known advantages. 
 
 And first, to pass by the miraculous cures of our known 
 baths, how advantageous is the sea for our daily traffick, 
 without which we could not now subsist. How does it 
 not only furnish us with food and physic for the bodies, 
 but with such observations for the mind as ingenious 
 persons would not want ! 
 
 How ignorant had we been of the beauty of Florence, 
 of the monuments, urns, and rarities that yet remain in 
 and near unto old and new Rome, so many as it is said 
 will take up a year's time to view, and afford to each of 
 them but a convenient consideration ! And therefore it is 
 not to be wondered at, that so learned and devout a father 
 as St. Jerome, after his wish to have seen Christ in the 
 flesh, and to have heard St. Paul preach, makes his third 
 wish, to have seen Rome in her glory ; and that glory is 
 not yet all lost, for what pleasure is it to see the monu- 
 ments of Livy, the choicest of the historians ; of TuUy, 
 the best of orators; and to see the bay trees that now 
 grow out of the very tomb of VirgU ! These, to any that 
 love learning, must be pleasing. But what pleasure is it to 
 a devout Christian, to see there the humble house in which 
 St. Paul was content to dwell, and to view the many rich 
 statues that are made in honour of his memory! nay, to 
 see the very place in which St. Peter and he lie buried 
 together! These are in and near to Rome. And how 
 much more doth it please the pious curiosity of a Christian, 
 to see that place, on which the blessed Saviour of the world 
 was pleased to humble Himself, and to take our nature 
 upon Him, and to converse with men : to see Mount 
 Sion, Jerusalem, and the very sepulchre of our Lord Jesus ! 
 How may it beget and heighten the zeal of a Christian, to 
 see the devotions that are daily paid to him at that place ! 
 Gentlemen, lest I forget myself, I will stop here, and 
 remember you, that but for my element of water, the in- 
 habitants of this poor island must remain ignorant that such, 
 things ever were, or that any of them have yet a being. 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 23 
 
 Gentlemen, I might both enlarge and lose myself in 
 such like arguments. I might tell you that Almighty God 
 is said to have spoken to a fish, but never to a beast ; that 
 he hath made a whale a ship, to carry and set his prophet, 
 Jonah, safe on the appointed shore. Of these I might 
 speak, but I must in manners break ofF, for I see Theobalds 
 House. I cry you mercy for being so long, and thank 
 you for your patience. 
 
 AucEPs. Sir, my pardon is easily granted you : I except 
 against nothing that you have said : nevertheless, I must 
 part with you at this park-wall, for which I am very sorry ; 
 but I assure you, Mr. Piscator, I now part with you full of 
 good thoughts, not only of yourself, but your recreation. 
 And so, Gentlemen, God keep you both. 
 
 Piscator. Well, now, Mr. Venator, you shall neither 
 want time, nor my attention to hear you enlarge your 
 discourse concerning hunting. 
 
 Venator. Not I, Sir : I remember you said that Ang- 
 ling itself was of great antiquity, and a perfect art, and an 
 art not easily attained to ; and you have so won upon me 
 in your former discourse, that I am very desirous to hear 
 what you can say further concerning those particulars. 
 
 Piscator. Sir, I did say so : and I doubt not but if you 
 and I did converse together but a few hours, to leave you 
 possessed with the same high and happy thoughts that 
 now possess me of it ; not only of the antiquity of 
 Angling, but that it deserves commendations ; and that it 
 is an art, and an art worthy the knowledge and practice of 
 a wise man. 
 
 Venator. Pray, Sir, speak of them what you think fit, 
 for we have yet five miles to the Thatched House ; during 
 which walk, I dare promise you, my patience and diligent 
 attention shall not be wanting. And if you shall make 
 that to appear which you have undertaken, first, that it is 
 an art, and an art worth the learning, I shall beg that I may 
 attend you a day or two a-fishing, and that I may become 
 your scholar, and be instructed in the art itself which you 
 so much magnify. 
 
 Piscator. O, Sir, doubt not but that Angling is an 
 
24 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 art ; is it not an art to deceive a Trout with an artificial 
 Fly ? a Trout ! that is more sharp-sighted than any Hawk 
 you have named, and more watchful and timorous than 
 your high-mettled Merlin is bold ? and yet, I doubt not to 
 catch a brace or two to-morrow, for a friend's breakfast : 
 doubt not therefore. Sir, but that angling is an art, and an 
 art worth your learning. The question is rather, whether 
 you be capable of learning it ? for angling is somewhat like 
 poetry, men are to be born so ; I mean, with inclinations 
 to it, though both may be heightened by discourse and 
 practice : but he that hopes to be a good angler, must not 
 only bring an inquiring, searching, observing wit, but he 
 must bring a large measure of hope and patience, and a 
 love and propensity to the art itself ; but having once got 
 and practised it, then doubt not but angling will prove to 
 be so pleasant, that it will prove to be, like virtue, a reward 
 to itself 
 
 Venator. Sir, I am now become so full of expectation, 
 that I long much to have you proceed, and in the order 
 that you propose. 
 
 PiscATOR. Then first, for the antiquity of Angling, of 
 which I shall not say much, but only this ; some say it is 
 as ancient as Deucalion's flood : others, that Belus, who 
 was the first inventor of godly and virtuous recreations, 
 was the first inventor of Angling : and some others say 
 (for former times have had their disquisitions about the 
 antiquity of it), that Seth, one of the sons of Adam, taught 
 it to his sons, and .that by them it was derived to 
 posterity : others say that he left it engraven on those pillars 
 which he erected, and trusted to preserve the knowledge 
 of the mathematics, music, and the rest of that precious 
 knowledge, and those useful arts, which by God's appoint- 
 ment or allowance, and his noble industry, were thereby 
 preserved from perishing in Noah's flood. 
 
 These, Sir, have been the opinions of several men, that 
 have possibly endeavoured to make angling more ancient 
 than is needful, or may well be warranted ; but for my 
 part, I shall content myself in telling you, that angling is 
 much more ancient than the Incarnation of our Saviour ; 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 25 
 
 for in the Prophet Amos mention is made of fish-hooks ; 
 and in the Book of Job, which was long before the days of 
 Amos (for that book is said to have been written by 
 Moses), mention is made also of fish-hooks, which must 
 imply anglers in those times. 
 
 But, my worthy friend, as I would rather prove myself 
 a gentleman, by being learned and humble, valiant and 
 inoffensive, virtuous and communicable, than by any fond 
 ostentation of riches, or, wanting those virtues myself, 
 boast that these were in my ancestors ; and yet I grant, 
 that where a noble and ancient descent and such merit 
 meet in any man, it is a double dignification of that 
 person ; so if this antiquity of angling, which for my part 
 I have not forced, shall, like an ancient family, be either 
 an honour or an ornament to this virtuous art which I 
 profess to love and practise, I shall be the gladder that I 
 made an accidental mention of the antiquity of it, of which 
 I shall say no more, but proceed to that just commenda- 
 tion which I think it deserves. 
 
 And for that, I shall tell you, that in ancient times a 
 debate hath risen, and it remains yet unresolved, whether 
 the happiness of man in this world doth consist more in 
 Contemplation or Action ? Concerning which, some have 
 endeavoured to maintain their opinion of the first ; by 
 saying, that the nearer we mortals come to God by way of 
 imitation, the more happy we are. And they say, that 
 God enjoys himself only, by a contemplation of his own 
 infiniteness, eternity, power, and goodness, and the like. 
 And upon this ground, many cloisteral men of great 
 learning and devotion, prefer Contemplation before Action. 
 And many of the Fathers seem to approve this opinion, as 
 may appear in their commentaries upon the words of our 
 Saviour to Martha (Luke x. 41, 42). 
 
 And on the contrary, there want not men of equal 
 authority and credit, that prefer action to be the more 
 excellent ; as namely, experiments in physic, and the 
 application of it ; both for the ease and prolongation 
 of man's life ; by which each man is enabled to act and do 
 good to others, either to serve his country, or do good to 
 
26 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 particular persons : and they say also, that action is 
 doctrinal, and teaches both art and virtue, and is a main- 
 tainer of human society ; and for these, and other like 
 reasons, to be preferred before contemplation. 
 
 Concerning which two opinions I shall forbear to add a 
 third, by declaring my own ; and rest myself contented in 
 telUng you, my very worthy friend, that both these meet 
 together, and do most properly belong to the most honest, 
 ingenuous, quiet, and harmless art of angling. 
 
 And first, I shall tell you what some have observed, and 
 I have found it to be a real truth, that the very sitting by 
 the river's side is not only the quietest and fittest place for 
 contemplation, but wiU invite an angler to it : and this 
 seems to be maintained by the learned Peter du Moulin, 
 who, in his Discourse of the fulfilling of Prophecies, 
 observes, that when God intended to reveal any future 
 events or high notions to his prophets, he then carried 
 them either to the deserts, or the sea-shore, that having 
 so separated them from amidst the press of people and 
 business, and the cares of the world, he might settle 
 their mind in a quiet repose, and there make them fit 
 for Revelation. 
 
 And this seems also to be intimated by the children of 
 Israel (Psalm cxxxvii), who having in a sad condition 
 banished all mirth and musick from their pensive hearts, 
 and having hung up their then mute harps upon the willow- 
 trees growing by the rivers of Babylon, sat down upon 
 those banks, bemoaning the ruins of Sion, and contem- 
 plating their own sad condition. 
 
 And an ingenious Spaniard says, that * rivers and the 
 inhabitants of the watery element were made for wise men 
 to contemplate, and fools to pass by without considera- 
 tion.' And though I will not rank myself in the number 
 of the first, yet give me leave to free myself from the 
 last, by offering to you a short contemplation, first of 
 rivers, and then of fish ; concerning which I doubt not but 
 to give you many observations that will appear very con- 
 siderable : I am sure they have appeared so to me, and 
 made many an hour pass away more pleasantly, as I have 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 27 
 
 sat quietly on a flowery bank by a calm river, and contem- 
 plated what I shall now relate to you. 
 
 And first concerning rivers ; there be so many wonders 
 reported and written of them, and of the several creatures 
 that be bred and live in them, and those by authors of 
 so good credit, that we need not to deny them an historical 
 faith. 
 
 As namely of a river in Epirus that puts out any lighted 
 torch, and kindles any torch that was not lighted. Some 
 waters being drunk, cause madness, some drunkenness, 
 and some laughter to death. The river Belarus in a few 
 hours turns a rod or wand to stone : and our Camden 
 mentions the like in England, and the like in Lochmere in 
 Ireland. There is also a river in Arabia, of which all the 
 sheep that drink thereof have their wool turned into a 
 vermilion colour. And one of no less credit than 
 Aristotle, tells us of a merry river, the river Elusina, 
 that dances at the noise of music, for with music it 
 bubbles, dances, and grows sandy, and so continues till 
 the music ceases, but then it presently returns to its 
 wonted calmness and clearness. And Camden tells us of 
 a well near to Kirby, in Westmoreland, that ebbs and 
 flows several times every day : and he tells us of a river in 
 Surrey, it is called Mole, that after it has run several 
 miles, being opposed by hills, finds or makes itself a way 
 under ground, and breaks out again so far oiF, that the 
 inhabitants thereabout boast, as the Spaniards do of their 
 river Anus, that they feed divers flocks of sheep upon a 
 bridge. And lastly, for I would not tire your patience, 
 one of no less authority than Josephus, that learned Jew, 
 tells us of a river in Judea that runs swiftly all the six 
 days of the week, and stands still and rests all their 
 Sabbath. 
 
 But I will lay aside my discourse of rivers, and tell you 
 some things of the monsters, or fish, call them what you 
 wiU, that they breed and feed in them. Pliny the philo- 
 sopher says, in the third chapter of his ninth book, that in 
 the Indian Sea, the fish called the Balaena or Whirlpool, is 
 so long and broad, as to take up more in length and breadth 
 
28 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 than two acres of ground; and, of other fish of two 
 hundred cubits long ; and that In the river Ganges, there 
 be Eels of thirty foot long. He says there, that these 
 monsters appear in that sea, only when the tempestuous 
 winds oppose the torrents of water falling from the rocks 
 . into it, and so turning what lay at the bottom to be seen 
 on the water's top. And he says, that the people of 
 Cadara, an island near this place, make the timber for 
 their houses of those fish bones. He there tells us, that 
 there are somtimes a thousand of these great Eels found 
 wrapt or interwoven together. He tells us there, that it 
 appears that dolphins love music, and will come when 
 called for, by some men or boys that know, and use to 
 feed them; and that they can swim as swift as an arrow 
 can be shot out a bow; and much of this is spoken 
 concerning the dolphin, and other fish, as may be found 
 also in the learned Dr. Casaubon's Discourse of Credulity 
 and Incredulity, printed by him about the year 1670. 
 
 I know, we Islanders are averse to the belief of these 
 wonders ; but there be so many strange creatures to be 
 now seen (many collected by John Tradescant, and others 
 added by my friend Elias Ashmole, Esq., who now keeps 
 them carefully and methodically at his house near to 
 Lambeth, near London), as may get some belief of some of 
 the other wonders I mentioned. I will tell you some of 
 the wonders that you may now see, and not till then 
 believe, unless you think fit. 
 
 You may there see the Hog-fish, the Dog-fish, the 
 Dolphin, the Cony-fish, the Parrot-fish, the Shark, the 
 Poison-fish, Sword-fish, and not only other incredible fish, 
 but you may there see the Salamander, several sorts of 
 Barnacles, of Solan-Geese, the Bird of Paradise, such sorts 
 of Snakes, and such Birds'-nests, and of so various forms, 
 and so wonderfully made, as may beget wonder and 
 amusement in any beholder; and so many hundred of 
 other rarities in that collection, as will make the other 
 wonders I spake of, the less incredible ; for, you may 
 note, that the waters are Nature* stofe-house, in which 
 she locks up her wonders. 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 29 
 
 But, Sir, lest this discourse may seem tedious, I shall 
 give it a sweet conclusion out of that holy poet, Mr. George 
 Herbert, his divine ' Contemplation on God's Providence.' 
 
 Lord ! who hath praise enough, nay, who hath any ? 
 None can express thy works, but he that knows them ; 
 And none can know thy works, they are so many, 
 And So complete, but only he that owes them. 
 
 We all acknowledge both thy power and love 
 To be exact, transcendent, and divine; 
 Who dost so strangely and so sweetly move. 
 Whilst all things have their end, yet none but thine. 
 
 Wherefore, most sacred Spirit ! I here present, 
 For me, and all my fellows, praise to thee ; 
 And just it is, that I should pay the rent. 
 Because the benefit accrues to me. 
 
 And as concerjiing fish, in that psalm (Psalm civ.), 
 wherein, for height of poetry and wonders, the prophet 
 David seems even to exceed himself, how doth he there 
 express himself in choice metaphors, even to the amazement 
 of a contemplative reader, concerning the sea, the rivers, 
 and the fish therein contained ! And the great naturalist 
 Pliny says, 'That nature's great and wonderful power is 
 more demonstrated in the sea than on the land.' And this 
 may appear, by the numerous and various creatures inhabit- 
 ing both in and about that element ; as to the readers of 
 Gesner, Rondeletius, Pliny, Ausonius, Aristotle, and others, 
 may be demonstrated. But I will sweeten this discourse 
 also out of a contemplation in divine Du Bartas, who says : 
 
 God quickened in the sea, and in the rivers, 
 
 So many fishes of so many features. 
 
 That in the waters we may see all creatures, 
 
 Even all that on the earth are to be found, 
 
 As if the world were in deep waters drown'd. 
 
 For seas — as well as skies — have Sun, Moon, Stars; 
 
 As well as air — Swallows, Rooks, and Stares; 
 
 As well as earth — Vines, Roses, Nettles, Melons, 
 
 Mushrooms, Pinks, Gilliflowers, and many millions 
 
 Of other plants, more rare, more strange than these. 
 
 As very fishes, living in the seas ; 
 
30 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 As also Rams, Calves, Horses, Hares, and Hogs, 
 Wolves, Urchins, Lions, Elephants, and Dogs ; 
 Yea Men and Maids ; and, which I most admire, 
 The mitred Bishop and the cowled Friar : 
 Of which, examples, but a few years since. 
 Were shewn the Norway and Polonian prince. 
 
 (Dubartas in the Fifth Day). 
 
 These seem to be wonders; but have had so many- 
 confirmations from men of learning and credit, that you 
 need not doubt them. Nor are the number, nor the 
 various shapes, of fishes more strange, or more fit for 
 contemplation, than their different natures, inclinations, 
 and actions ; concerning which, I shall beg your patient 
 ear a litde longer. 
 
 The Cuttle-fish will cast a long gut out of her throat, 
 which, like as an Angler doth his line, she sendeth forth, 
 and puUeth in again at her pleasure, according as she sees 
 some little fish come near to her ; and the Cuttle-fish, 
 being then hid in the gravel, lets the smaller fish nibble 
 and bite the end of it ; at which time she, by little 
 and little, draws the smaller fish so near to her, that 
 she may leap upon her, and then catches and devours 
 her : and for this reason some have called this fish the 
 Sea-angler. And there is a fish called a Hermit, that at 
 a certain age gets into a dead fish's shell, and, like a hermit, 
 dwells there alone, studying the wind and weather; and so 
 turns her shell, that she makes it defend her from the 
 injuries that they would bring upon her. 
 
 There is also a fish called by iElian (in his 9. 
 book of Living Creatures, Chap, xvi.) the Adonis, or 
 Darling of the Sea ; so called, because it is a loving and 
 innocent fish, a fish that hurts nothing that hath life, and 
 is at peace with all the numerous inhabitants of that vast 
 watery element ; and truly, I think most Anglers are so 
 disposed to most of mankind. 
 
 And there are, also, lustful and chaste fishes ; of which 
 I shall give you examples. 
 
 And, first, what Du Bartas says of a fish called the 
 Sargus ; which, because none can express it better than he 
 does, I shall give you in his own words, supposing it shall 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 31 
 
 not have the less credit for being verse; for he hath 
 gathered this and other observations out of authors that 
 have been great and industrious searchers into the secrets 
 of nature. 
 
 The adult'rous Sargus doth not only change 
 Wives every day, in the deep streams, but, strange ! 
 As if the honey of sea-love delight 
 Could not suffice his ranging appetite, 
 Goes courting she-goats on the grassy shore, 
 Horning their husbands that had horns before. 
 
 And the same author writes concerning the Cantharus, 
 that which you shall also hear in his own words : 
 
 But, contrary, the constant Cantharus 
 Is ever constant to his faithful spouse ; 
 In nuptial duties, spending his chaste life; 
 Never loves any but his own dear wife. 
 
 Sir, but a little longer, and I have done. 
 
 Venator. Sir, take what liberty you think fit, for your 
 discourse seems to be music, and charms me to an 
 attention. 
 
 PiscATOR. Why then, Sir, I will take a little liberty to 
 tell, or rather to remember you what is said of Turtle- 
 doves; first, that they silently plight their troth, and 
 marry ; and that then the survivor scorns, as the Thracian 
 women are said to do, to outlive his or her mate; and 
 this is taken for a truth ; and if the survivor shall ever 
 couple with another, then, not only the living, but the 
 dead, be it either the he or the she, is denied the name 
 and honour of a true Turtle-dove. 
 
 And to parallel this land-rarity, and teach mankind 
 moral faithfulness, and to condemn those that talk of 
 religion, and yet come short of the moral faith of fish and 
 fowl, men that violate the law affirmed by St. Paul (Rom. ii. 
 14, 15) to be writ in their hearts, and which, he says, shall 
 at the Last Day condemn and leave them without excuse — 
 I pray hearken to what Du Bartas sings, for the hearing of 
 such conjugal faithfulness will be music to all chaste ears, 
 and therefore I pray hearken to what Du Bartas sings of 
 the Mullet. 
 
32 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 But for chaste love the Mullet hath no peer ; 
 For, if the fisher hath surpris'd her pheer, 
 As mad with wo, to shore she foUoweth, 
 Prest to consort him, both in life and death. 
 
 (Dubartas, Fifth Day). 
 
 On the contrary, what shall I say of the House-Cock, 
 which treads any hen ; and, then, contrary to the Swan, 
 the Partridge, and Pigeon, takes no care to hatch, to feed, 
 or cherish his own brood, but is senseless, though they 
 perish. And it is considerable, that the Hen (which, 
 because she also takes any Cock, expects it not), who is sure 
 the chickens be her own, hath by a moral impression her 
 care and affection to her own brood more than doubled, even 
 to such a height, that our Saviour, in expressing his love 
 to Jerusalem (Mat. xxiii. 37), quotes her, for an example of 
 tender affection, as his Father had done Job, for a pattern 
 of patience. 
 
 And to parallel this Cock, there be divers fishes that 
 cast their spawn on flags or stones, and then leave it 
 uncovered, and exposed to become a prey and be devoured 
 by vermin or other fishes. But other fishes, as namely 
 the Barbel, take such care for the preservation of their seed, 
 that, unlike to the Cock, or the Cuckoo, they mutually 
 labour, both the spawner and the melter, to cover their 
 spawn with sand, or watch it, or hide it in some secret place, 
 unfrequented by vermin or by any fish but themselves. 
 
 Sir, these examples may, to you and others, seem strange ; 
 but they are testified, some by Aristotle, some by Pliny, 
 some by Gesner, and by many others of credit ; and are 
 believed and known by divers, both of wisdom and 
 experience, to be a truth ; and indeed are, as I said at the 
 beginning, fit for the contemplation of a most serious and 
 a most -pious man. And, doubtless, this made the prophet 
 David say, ' They that occupy themselves in deep waters, 
 see the wonderful works of God ' : indeed such wonders, 
 and pleasures too, as the land affords not. 
 
 And that they be fit for the contemplation of the most 
 prudent, and pious, and peaceable men, seems to be testified 
 by the practice of so many devout and contemplative men, 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 33 
 
 as the Patriarchs and Prophets of old ; and of the Apostles 
 of our Saviour in our latter times, of which twelve, we 
 are sure, he chose four that were simple fishermen, whom 
 he inspired, and sent to publish his blessed will to the 
 Gentiles ; and inspired them also with a power to speak all 
 languages, and by their powerful eloquence to beget faith 
 in the unbelieving Jews ; and themselves to suffer for that 
 Saviour, whom their forefathers and they had crucified; 
 and, in their sufferings, to preach freedom from the incum- 
 brances of the law, and a new way to everlasting life : this 
 was the employment of these happy fishermen. Con- 
 cerning which choice, some have made these observations : 
 
 First, that he never reproved these, for their employ- 
 ment or calling, as he did the Scribes and the Money- 
 changers. And secondly, he found that the hearts of such 
 men, by nature, were fitted for contemplation and quietness ; 
 men of mild, and sweet, and peaceable spirits, as indeed 
 most Anglers are : these men our blessed Saviour, who is 
 observed to love to plant grace in good natures, though 
 indeed nothing be too hard for him, yet these men he chose 
 to call from their irreprovable employment of fishing, and 
 gave them grace to be his disciples, and to follow him, and 
 do wonders ; I say four of twelve. 
 
 And it is observable, that it was our Saviour's will that 
 these, our four fishermen, should have a priority of nomi- 
 nation in the catalogue of his twelve Apostles (Mat. x.), 
 as namely, first St. Peter, St. Andrew, St. James, and St. 
 John ; and, then, the rest in their order. 
 
 And it is yet more observable, that when our blessed 
 Saviour went up into the mount, when he left the rest of 
 his disciples, and chose only three to bear him company at 
 his Transfiguration, that those three were all fishermen. 
 And it is to be believed, that all the other Apostles, after 
 they betook themselves to follow Christ, betook themselves 
 to be fishermen too ; for it is certain, that the greater 
 number of them were found together, fishing, by Jesus 
 after his resurrection, as it is recorded in the twenty-first 
 chapter of St. John's gospel. 
 
 And since I have your promise to hear me with patience, 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 I will take a liberty to look back upon an observation that 
 hath been made by an ingenuous and learned man ; who 
 observes, that God hath been pleased to allow those whom 
 he himself hath appointed to write his holy will in holy 
 writ, yet to express his will in such metaphors as their 
 former affections or practice had inclined them to. And 
 he brings Solomon for an example, who, before his con- 
 version, was remarkably carnally amorous ; and after, by 
 God's appointment, wrote that spiritual dialogue, or holy 
 amorous love-song the Canticles, betwixt God and his 
 church : in which he says, ' his beloved had eyes like the 
 fish-pools of Heshbon.' 
 
 And if this hold in reason, as I see none to the con- 
 trary, then it may be probably concluded, that Moses, who 
 I told you before writ the book of Job, and the prophet 
 Amos, who was a shepherd, were both Anglers ; for you 
 shall, in all the Old Testament, find fish-hooks, I think 
 but twice mentioned, namely, by meek Moses the friend 
 of God, and by the humble prophet Amos. 
 
 Concerning which last, namely the prophet Amos, I 
 shall make but this observation, that he that shall read 
 the humble, lowly, plain style of that prophet, and com- 
 pare it with the high, glorious, eloquent style of the 
 prophet Isaiah, though they be both equally true, may 
 easily believe Amos to be, not only a shepherd, but a good- 
 natured plain fisherman. Which I do the rather believe, by 
 comparing the affectionate, loving, lowly, humble Epistles 
 of St. Peter, St. James, and St. John, who, we know, were 
 aU fishers, with the glorious language and high metaphors 
 of St. Paul, who, we may believe, was not. 
 
 And for the lawfulness of fishing : it may very well be 
 maintained by our Saviour's bidding St. Peter cast his hook 
 into the water and catch a fish, for money to pay tribute to 
 Caesar. And let me tell you, that Angling is of high 
 esteem, and of much use in other nations. He that reads 
 the Voyages of Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, shall find that 
 there he declares to have found a king and several priests 
 a-fishing. And he that reads Plutarch, shall find, that 
 Angling was not contemptible in the days of Mark Antony 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 35 
 
 and Cleopatra, and that they, in the midst of their wonder- 
 ful glory, used Angling as a principal recreation. And let 
 me tell you, that in the Scripture, Angling is always taken 
 in the best sense ; and that though hunting may be some- 
 times so taken, yet it is but seldom to be so understood. 
 And let me add this more : he that views the ancient 
 Ecclesiastical Canons, shall find hunting to be forbidden to 
 Churchmen, as being a turbulent, toilsome, perplexing 
 recreation ; and shall find Angling allowed to clergymen, 
 as being a harmless recreation, a recreation that invites 
 them to contemplation and quietness. 
 
 I might here enlarge myself, by telling you what com- 
 mendations our learned Perkins bestows on Angling : and 
 how dear a lover, and great a practiser of it our learned 
 Dr. Whitaker was; as indeed many others of great 
 learning have been. But I will content myself with two 
 memorable men, that lived near to our own time, whom I 
 also take to have been ornaments to the art of Angling. 
 
 The first is Dr. Nowel, sometime ^ dean of the cathedral 
 church of St. Paul, in London, where his monument stands 
 yet undefaced ; a man that, in the reformation of Queen 
 Elizabeth, not that of Henry VIIL, was so noted for his 
 meek spirit, deep learning, prudence, and piety, that the 
 then Parliament and Convocation, both, chose, enjoined, 
 and trusted him to be the man to make a Catechism 
 for public use, such a one as should stand as a rule for 
 faith and manners to their posterity. And the good old 
 man, though he was very learned, yet knowing that God 
 leads us not to heaven by many, nor by hard questions, like 
 an honest Angler, made that good, plain, unperplexed 
 Catechism which is printed with our good old Service- 
 book. I say, this good man was a dear lover and constant 
 practiser of Angling, as any age can produce : and his 
 custom was to spend besides his fixed hours of prayer, 
 those hours which, by command of the church, were 
 enjoined the clergy, and voluntarily dedicated to devotion 
 by many primitive Christians, 1 say, besides those hours, 
 this good man was observed to spend a tenth part of his 
 
 I1550 [1560]. 
 
36 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 time in Angling; and, also, for I have conversed with 
 those which have conversed with him, to bestow a tenth 
 part of his revenue, and usually all his fish, amongst 
 the poor that inhabited near to those rivers in 
 which it was caught; saying often, 'that charity gave 
 life to religion': and, at his return to his house, would 
 praise God he had spent that day free from worldly 
 trouble ; both harmlessly, and in a recreation that became 
 a churchman. And this good man was well content, if 
 not desirous, that posterity should know he was an 
 Angler; as may appear by his picture, now to be seen, 
 and. carefully kept, in Brazen-nose College, to which he 
 was a liberal benefactor. In which picture he is drawn, 
 leaning on a desk, with his Bible before him; and on 
 one hand of him, his lines, hooks, and other tackling, 
 lying in a round; and, on his other hand, are his 
 Angle-rods of several sorts ; and by them this is written, 
 'that he died 13 Feb. 1601, being aged ninety-five 
 years, forty-four of which he had been Dean of St. 
 Paul's church ; and that his age neither impaired his 
 hearing, nor dimmed his eyes, nor weakened his memory, 
 nor made any of the faculties of his mind weak or useless.' 
 It is said that Angling and temperance were great causes 
 of these blessings ; and I wish the like to all that imitate 
 him, and love the memory of so good a man. 
 
 My next and last example shall be that undervaluer of 
 money, the late provost of Eton College, Sir Henry 
 Wotton, a man with whom I have often fished and con- 
 versed, a man whose foreign employments in the service 
 of this nation, and whose experience, learning, wit, and 
 cheerfulness, made his company to be esteemed one of the 
 delights of mankind. This man, whose very approbation 
 of Angling were sufficient to convince any modest censurer 
 of it, this man was also a most dear lover, and a frequent 
 practiser of the art of Angling ; of which he would say, 
 'it was an employment for his idle time, which was then 
 not idly spent ' ; for Angling was, after tedious study, ' a 
 rest to his mind, a cheerer of his spirits, a diverter of 
 sadness, a calmer of unquiet thoughts, a moderator of 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 37 
 
 passions, a procurer of contentedness ; and that it begat 
 habits of peace and patience in those that professed and 
 practised it.' Indeed, my friend, you will find Angling to 
 be like the virtue of humility, which has a calmness of 
 spirit, and a world of other blessings attending upon it. 
 
 Sir, this was the saying of that learned man. And I do 
 easily believe, that peace, and patience, and a calm content, 
 did cohabit in the cheerful heart of Sir Henry Wotton, 
 because I know that when he was beyond seventy years of 
 age, he made this description of a part of the present 
 pleasure that possessed him, as he sat quietly, in a 
 summer's evening, on a bank a-fishing. It is a de- 
 scription of the spring; which, because it glided as soft 
 and sweetly from his pen. as that river does at this time, 
 by which it was then made, I shall repeat it unto you : 
 
 This day dame Nature seem'd in love ; 
 The lusty sap began to move ; 
 Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines; 
 And birds had drawn their valentines. 
 
 The jealous trout, that low did lie, 
 Rose at a well-dissembled fly ; 
 There stood my Friend, with patient skill, 
 Attending of his trembling quill. 
 
 Already were the eaves possest 
 With the swift pilgrim's daubed nest ; 
 The groves already did rejoice. 
 In Philomel's triumphing voice : 
 
 The showers were short, the weather mild. 
 The morning fresh, the evening smil'd. 
 Joan takes her neat-rubb'd pail, and now. 
 She trips to milk the sand-red cow ; 
 
 Where, for some sturdy foot-ball swain, 
 Joan strokes a syllabub or twain. 
 The fields and gardens were beset 
 With tulips, crocus, violet ; 
 
 And now, though late, the modest rose 
 Did more than half a blush disclose. 
 Thus all looks gay, and full of cheer, 
 To welcome the new-livery'd year. 
 
38 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 These were the thoughts that then possessed the un- 
 disturbed mind of Sir Henry Wotton. Will you hear the 
 wish of another Angler, and the commendation of his happy 
 life, which he also sings in verse : viz. Jo. Davors, Esq. ? 
 
 Let me live harmlessly, and near the brink 
 
 Of Trent or Avon have a dwelling-place ; 
 Where I may see my quill, or cork, down sink 
 
 With eager bite of Perch, or Bleak, or Dace ; 
 And on the world and my Creator think : 
 
 Whilst some men strive ill-gotten goods t' embrace ; 
 And others spend their time in base excess 
 Of wine, or worse, in war and wantonness. 
 
 Let them that list, these pastimes still pursue, 
 And on such pleasing fancies feed their fill ; 
 
 So I the fields and meadows green may view, 
 And daily by fresh rivers walk at will, 
 
 Among the daisies and the violets blue. 
 Red hyacinth, and yellow daffodil. 
 
 Purple Narcissus like the morning rays. 
 
 Pale gander-grass, and azure culver-keys. 
 
 I count it higher pleasure to behold 
 
 The stately compass of the lofty sky ; 
 And in the midst thereof like burning gold. 
 
 The flaming chariot of the world's great eye : 
 The watery clouds that in the air up-roU'd 
 
 With sundry kinds of painted colours fly; 
 And fair Aurora, lifting up her head. 
 Still blushing, rise from old Tithonus' bed. 
 
 The hills and mountains raised from the plains. 
 The plains extended level with the ground. 
 
 The grounds divided into sundry veins. 
 
 The veins enclos'd with rivers running round ; 
 
 These rivers making way through nature's chains, 
 With headlong course, into the sea profound ; 
 
 The raging sea, beneath the vallies low. 
 
 Where lakes, and rills, and rivulets do flow : 
 
 The lofty woods, the forests wide and long. 
 
 Adorned with leaves and branches fresh and green. 
 
 In whose cool bowers the birds with many a song, 
 Do welcome with their quire the Summer's Queen ; 
 
 The meadows fair, with Flora's gifts, among 
 Are intermixt, with verdant grass between ; 
 
 The silver-scaled fish that softly swim 
 
 Within the sweet-brook's crystal, watery stream. 
 
I THE COMPLETE ANGLER 39 
 
 All these, and many more of his creation 
 
 That made the heavens, the Angler oft doth see ; 
 
 Taking therein no little delectation. 
 
 To think how strange, how wonderful they be : 
 
 Framing thereof an inward contemplation 
 To set his heart from other fancies free ; 
 
 And whilst he looks on these with joyful eye, 
 
 His mind is rapt above the starry sky. 
 
 Sir, I am glad my memory has not lost these last 
 verses, because they are somewhat more pleasant and more 
 suitable to May-day than my harsh discourse. And I am 
 glad your patience hath held out so long as to hear them 
 and me, for both together have brought us within the 
 sight of the Thatched House. And I must be your 
 debtor, if you think it worth your attention, for the rest 
 of my promised discourse, tiU some other opportunity, 
 and a like time of leisure. 
 
 Venator. Sir, you have angled me on with much 
 pleasure to the Thatched House ; and I now find your 
 words true, ' that good company makes the way seem 
 short ' ; for trust me, Sir, I thought we had wanted three 
 miles of this house, till you showed it to me. But now 
 we are at it, we'll turn into it, and refresh ourselves with a 
 cup of drink, and a little rest. 
 
 PiscATOR. Most gladly, Sir, and we'll drink a civil cup 
 to all the Otter-hunters that are to meet you to-morrow. 
 
 Venator. That we will. Sir, and to aU the lovers of 
 Angling too, of which number I am now willing to be 
 one myself; for, by the help of your good discourse and 
 company, I have put on new thoughts, both of the art of 
 angling and of all that profess it ; and if you will but 
 meet me to-morrow at the time and place appointed, and 
 bestow one day with me and my friends, in hunting the 
 Otter, I wiU dedicate the next two days to wait upon you ; 
 and we two wiU, for that time, do nothing but angle, and 
 talk of fish and fishing. 
 
 PiscATOR. It is a match. Sir. I'U not faU you, God 
 willing, to be at Amwell HLU to-morrow morning before 
 sun-rising. 
 
40 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 [THE SECOND DAT'^ 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Observations of the Otter and Chub 
 
 Venator. My friend Piscator, you have kept time with 
 my thoughts ; for the sun is just rising, and I myself just 
 now come to this place, and the dogs have just now put 
 down an Otter. Look down at the bottom of the hill 
 there, in that meadow, chequered with water-lilies and 
 lady-smocks, there you may see what work they make; 
 look ! look ! you may see all busy ; men and dogs, dogs 
 and men, all busy. 
 
 Piscator. Sir, I am right glad to meet you, and glad 
 to have so fair an entrance into this day's sport, and glad 
 to see so many dogs, and more men, aU in pursuit of the 
 Otter. Let's compliment no longer, but join unto them. 
 Come, honest Venator, let's be gone, let us make haste ; 
 I long to be doing; no reasonable hedge or ditch shall 
 hold me. 
 
 Venator. Gentleman Huntsman, where found you 
 this Otter ? 
 
 Huntsman. Marry, Sir, we found her a mile from this 
 place a-fishing. She has this morning eaten the greatest 
 part of this Trout ; she has only left thus much of it as 
 you see, and was fishing for more; when we came we 
 found her just at it : but we were here very early, we 
 were here an hour before sunrise, and have given her no 
 rest since we came ; sure she will hardly escape all these 
 dogs and men. I am to have the skin if we kill her. 
 
 Venator. Why, Sir, what is the skin worth? 
 
 Huntsman. It is worth ten shillings to make gloves; 
 the gloves of an Otter are the best fortification for your 
 hands that can be thought on against wet weather. 
 
 Piscator. I pray, honest Huntsman, let me ask you a 
 pleasant question : do you hunt a beast or a fish ? 
 
II THE COMPLETE ANGLER 41 
 
 Huntsman. Sir, it is not in my power to resolve you ; 
 I leave it to be resolved by the college of Carthusians, 
 who have made vows never to eat flesh. But, I have 
 heard, the question hath been debated among many great 
 clerks, and they seem to difi^er about it; yet most agree 
 that her tail is fish : and if her body be fish too, then I 
 may say that a fish will walk upon land: for an Otter 
 does so, sometimes five or six or ten miles in a night, to 
 catch for her young ones, or to glut herself with fish. 
 And I can tell you that Pigeons will fly forty miles for a 
 breakfast : but. Sir, I am sure the Otter devours much 
 fish, and kills and spoils much more than he eats. And I 
 can tell you, that this dog-fisher, for so the Latins call 
 him, can smell a fish in the water a hundred yards from 
 him — Gesner says much farther — and that his stones are 
 good against the falling sickness; and that there is an 
 herb, Benione, which, being hung in a linen cloth near a 
 fish-pond, or any haunt that he uses, makes him to avoid 
 the place ; which proves he smells both by water and land. 
 And, I can tell you, there is brave hunting this water-dog 
 in Cornwall ; where there have been so many, that our 
 learned Camden says there is a river called Ottersey, 
 which was so named by reason of the abundance of Otters 
 that bred and fed in it. 
 
 And thus much for my knowledge of the Otter ; which 
 you may now see above water at vent, and the dogs close 
 with him ; I now see he will not last long. Follow, there- 
 fore, my masters, foUow ; for Sweetlips was like to have 
 him at this last vent. 
 
 Venator. Oh me ! all the horse are got over the river, 
 what shall we do now .'' shall we foUow them over the water ? 
 
 Huntsman. No, Sir, no ; be not so eager ; stay a 
 little, and follow me ; for both they and the dogs wiU be 
 suddenly on this side again, I warrant you, and the Otter 
 too, it may be. Now have at him with Kilbuck, for he 
 vents again. 
 
 Venator. Marry ! so he does ; for, look ! he vents in 
 that corner. Now, now, Ringwood has him : now, he is 
 gone again, and has bit the poor dog. Now Sweetlips has 
 
42 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 her ; hold her, Sweetlips ! now all the dogs have her ; 
 some above and some under water : but, now, now she is 
 tired, and past losing. Come, bring her to me, Sweetlips. 
 Look ! 'tis a Bitch-otter, and she has lately whelp'd. 
 Let's go to the place where she was put down ; and, not 
 far from it, you will find all her young oneSj I dare 
 warrant you, and kill them all too. 
 
 Huntsman. Come, Gentlemen ! come all ! let's go to 
 the place where we put down the Otter. Look you ! 
 hereabout it was that she kennelled ; look you ! here it 
 was indeed ; for here's her young ones, no less than five : 
 come, let us kill them all. 
 
 PiscATOR. No : I pray, Sir, save me one, and I'll try if 
 I can make her tame, as I know an ingenuous gentleman 
 in Leicestershire, Mr. Nich. Segrave, has done ; who hath 
 not only made her tame, but to catch fish, and do many 
 other things of much pleasure. 
 
 Huntsman. Take one with all my heart ; but let us 
 kill the rest. And now let's go to an honest ale-house, 
 where we may have a cup of good barley wine, and sing 
 ' Old Rose,' and all of us rejoice together. 
 
 Venator. Come, my friend Piscator, let me invite you 
 along with us. I'll bear your charges this night, and you 
 shall bear mine to-morrow; for my intention is to 
 accompany you a day or two in fishing. 
 
 Piscator. Sir, your request is granted ; and I shall be 
 right glad both to exchange such a courtesy, and also to 
 enjoy your company. 
 
 [THE THIRD DJT] 
 
 Venator. Well, now let's go to your sport of Angling. 
 
 Piscator. Let's be going, with all my heart. God 
 keep you all, Gentlemen ; and send you meet, this day, 
 with another Bitch-otter, and kill her merrily, and all her 
 young ones too. 
 
II THE COMPLETE ANGLER 43 
 
 Venator. Now, Piscator, where will you begin to fish ? 
 
 PiscATOR. We are not yet come to a likely place ; I 
 must walk a mile further yet before I begin. 
 
 Venator. Well then, I pray, as we walk, tell me 
 freely, how do you like your lodging, and mine host and 
 the company ? Is not mine host a witty man ? 
 
 Piscator. Sir, I will tell you, presently, what I think of 
 your host : but, first, I will tell you, I am glad these 
 Otters were killed ; and I am sorry there are no more 
 Otter-killers ; for I know that the want of Otter-killers, 
 and the not keeping the fence-months for the preservation 
 of fish, will, in time, prove the destruction of all rivers. 
 And those very few that are left, that make conscience of 
 the laws of the nation, and of keeping days of abstinence, 
 will be forced to eat flesh, or suffer more inconveniences 
 than are yet foreseen. 
 
 Venator. Why, Sir, what be those that you call the 
 fence-months ? 
 
 Piscator. Sir, they be principally three, namely, March, 
 April, and May : for these be the usual months that 
 Salmon come out of the sea to spawn in most fresh rivers. 
 And their fry would, about a certain time, return back to 
 the salt water, if they were not hindered by weirs and 
 unlawful gins, which the greedy fishermen set, and so 
 destroy them by thousands ; as they would, being so 
 taught by nature, change the fresh for salt water. He 
 that shall view the wise Statutes made in the 13 th of 
 Edward the First, and the like in Richard the Second, 
 may see several provisions made against the destruction of 
 fish : and though I profess no knowledge of the law, yet I 
 am sure the regulation of these defects might be easily 
 mended. But I remember that a wise friend of mine did 
 usually say, ' that which is everybody's business is nobody's 
 business ' : if it were otherwise, there could not be so 
 many nets and fish, that are under the statute size, sold 
 daily amongst us ; and of which the conservators of the 
 waters should be ashamed. 
 
 But, above all, the taking fish in spawning-time may be 
 said to be against nature : it is like taking the dam on the 
 
44 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 nest when she hatches her young, a sin so against nature, 
 that Almighty God hath in the Levitical law made a law 
 against it. 
 
 But the poor fish have enemies enough besides such 
 unnatural fishermen ; as namely, the Otters that I spake 
 of, the Cormorant, the Bittern, the Osprey, the Sea-guU, 
 the Hern, the Kingfisher, the Gorara, the Puet, the Swan, 
 Goose, Duck, and the Craber, which some call the Water- 
 rat : against all which any honest man may make a just 
 quarrel, but I will not ; I will leave them to be quarrelled 
 with and killed by others, for I am not of a cruel nature, I 
 love to kill nothing but fish. 
 
 And, now, to your question concerning your host. To 
 speak truly, he is not to me a good companion, for most 
 of his conceits were either Scripture jests, or lascivious 
 jests ; for which I count no man witty : for the devil will 
 help a man, that way inclined, to the first ; and his own 
 corrupt nature, which he always carries with him, to 
 the latter. But a companion that feasts the company with 
 wit and mirth, and leaves out the sin which is usually 
 mixed with them, he is the man ; and indeed such a 
 companion should have his charges borne ; and to such 
 company I hope to bring you this night ; for at Trout- 
 hall, not far from this place, where I purpose to lodge 
 to-night, there is usually an Angler that proves good 
 company. And let me tell you, good company and good 
 discourse are the very sinews of virtue. But for such 
 discourse as we heard last night, it infects others : the 
 very boys will learn to talk and swear, as they heard mine 
 host, and another of the company that shall be nameless. 
 I am sorry the other is a gentleman, for less religion will 
 not save their soul's than a beggar's : I think more will 
 be required at the last great day. Well ! you know what 
 example Is able to do ; and I know what the poet says in 
 the like case, which is worthy to be noted by all parents 
 
 and people of civility : 
 
 many a one 
 Owes to his country his religion ; 
 And in another, would as strongly grow, 
 Had but his nurse or mother taught him so. 
 
II THE COMPLETE ANGLER 45 
 
 This is reason put into verse, and worthy the considera- 
 tion of a wise man. But of this no more ; for though I 
 love civility, yet I hate severe censures. I'll to my own 
 art ; and I doubt not but at yonder tree I shall catch a 
 Chub : and then we'll turn to an honest cleanly hostess, 
 that I know right well ; rest ourselves there ; and dress it 
 for our dinner. 
 
 Venator. Oh, Sir! a Chub is the worst fish that 
 swims ; I hope for a Trout to my dinner. 
 
 PiscATOR. Trust me, Sir, there is not a likely place for 
 a Trout hereabout : and we staid so long to take our 
 leave of your huntsmen this morning, that the sun is got 
 so high, and shines so clear, that I will not undertake 
 the catching of a Trout till evening. And though a 
 Chub be, by you and many others, reckoned the worst 
 of fish, yet you shall see I'll make it a good fish by 
 dressing it. 
 
 Venator. Why, how will you dress him ? 
 
 PiscATOR. I'll tell you by-and-by, when I have caught 
 him. Look you here. Sir, do you see ? but you must 
 stand very close, there lie upon the top of the water, in 
 this very hole twenty Chubs I'U catch only one, and 
 that shall be the biggest of them all : and that I will do 
 so, I'll hold you twenty to one, and you shall see it done. 
 
 Venator. Ay, marry ! Sir, now you talk like an artist ; 
 and I'll say you are one, when I shall see you perform 
 what you say you can do : but I yet doubt it. 
 
 PiscATOR. You shall not doubt it long ; for you shall 
 see me do it presently. Look ! the biggest of these 
 Chubs has had some bruise upon his tail, by a Pike or 
 some other accident ; and that looks like a white spot. 
 That very Chub I mean to put into your hands presently ; 
 sit you but down in the shade, and stay but a little while ; 
 and I'll warrant you, I'll bring him to you. 
 
 Venator. I'll sit down ; and hope well, because you 
 seem to be so confident. 
 
 PiscATOR. Look you, Sir, there is a trial of my skill ; 
 there he is : that very Chub, that I showed you, with the 
 white spot on his tail. And I'll be as certain to make 
 
46 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 him a good dish of meat as I was to catch him : I'll now 
 lead you to an honest ale-house, where we shall find a 
 cleanly room, lavender in the windows, and twenty ballads 
 stuck about the wall. There my hostess, which I may 
 tell you is both cleanly, and handsome, and civil, hath 
 dressed many a one for me ; and shall now dress it after 
 my fashion, and I warrant it good meat. 
 
 Venator. Come, Sir, with all my heart, for I begin to 
 be hungry, and long to be at it, and indeed to rest myself 
 too; for though I have walked but four miles this 
 morning, yet I begin be weary ; yesterday's hunting hangs 
 still upon me. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, Sir, and you shall quickly be at rest, 
 for yonder is the house I mean to bring you to. 
 
 Come, hostess, how do you .■' Will you first give us a 
 cup of your best drink, and then dress this Chub, as you 
 dressed my last, when I and my friend were here about 
 eight or ten days ago ? But you must do me one 
 courtesy, it must be done instantly. 
 
 Hostess. I will do it, Mr. Piscator, and with all the 
 speed I can. 
 
 Piscator. Now, Sir, has not my hostess made haste ? 
 and does not the fish look lovely ? 
 
 Venator. Both, upon my word. Sir; and therefore 
 let's say grace and fall to eating of it. 
 
 Piscator. Well, Sir, how do you like it ? 
 
 Venator. Trust me, 'tis as good meat as I ever tasted. 
 Now let me thank you for it, drink to you and beg a 
 courtesy of you ; but it must not be denied me. 
 
 Piscator. What is it, I pray. Sir ? You are so modest, 
 that methinks I may promise to grant it before it is asked. 
 
 Venator. Why, Sir, it is, that from henceforth you 
 would allow me to call you Master, and that really I may 
 be your scholar ; for you are such a companion, and have 
 so quickly caught and so excellently cooked this fish, as 
 makes me ambitious to be your scholar. 
 
 Piscator. Give me your hand ; from this time forward 
 I will be your Master, and teach you as much of this art 
 as I am able ; and will, as you desire me, tell you some- 
 
n THE COMPLETE ANGLER 47 
 
 what of the nature of most of the fish that we are to angle 
 for, and I am sure I both can and will tell you more than 
 any common angler yet knows. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 How to fish for, and to dress, the Chavender or Chub 
 
 PiscATOR. The Chub, though he eat well, thus dressed, 
 yet as he is usually dressed, he does not. He is objected 
 against, not only for being full of small forked bones, 
 dispersed through all his body, but that he eats waterish, 
 and that the flesh of him is not firm, but short and taste- 
 less. The French esteem him so mean, as to call him Un 
 Villain ; nevertheless he may be so dressed as to make 
 him very good meat ; as, namely, if he be a large Chub, 
 then dress him thus : 
 
 First, scale him, and then wash him clean, and then 
 take out his guts ; and to that end make the hole as little, 
 and near to his gills, as you may convenlendy, and 
 especially make clean his throat from the grass and weeds 
 that are usually in it ; for if that be not very clean, it will 
 make him to taste very sour. Having so done, put some 
 sweet herbs into his belly ; and then tie him with two or 
 three splinters to a spit, and roast him, basted often with 
 vinegar, or rather verjuice and butter, with good store 
 of salt mixed with it. 
 
 Being thus dressed, you will find him a much better 
 dish of meat than you, or most folk, even than anglers 
 themselves, do imagine : for this dries up the fluid watery 
 humour with which all Chubs do abound. But take this 
 rule with you. That a Chub newly taken and newly 
 dressed, is so much better than a Chub of a day's keeping 
 after he is dead, that I can compare him to nothing so 
 fitly as to cherries newly gathered from a tree, and others 
 that have been bruised and lain a day or two in water. 
 
48 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 But the Chub being thus used, and dressed presently, 
 and not washed after he is gutted (for note, that lying 
 long in water, and washing the blood out of any fish after 
 they be gutted, abates much of their sweetness), you wiU 
 find the Chub, being dressed in the blood, and quickly, to 
 be such meat as will recompense your labour, and dis- 
 abuse your opinion. 
 
 Or you may dress the Chavender or Chub thus : 
 
 When you have scaled him, and cut off his tail and fins, 
 and washed him very clean, then chine or slit him through 
 the middle, as a salt-fish is usually cut; then give him 
 three or four cuts or scotches on the back with your 
 knife, and broil him on charcoal, or wood coal, that are 
 free from smoke ; and all the time he is a-broiling, baste 
 him with the best sweet butter, and good store of salt 
 mixed with it. And, to this, add a little thyme cut ex- 
 ceedingly small, or bruised into the butter. The Cheven 
 thus dressed hath the watery taste taken away, for which 
 so many except against him. Thus was the Cheven 
 dressed that you now liked so well, and commended so 
 much. But note again, that if this Chub that you eat 
 of had been kept till to-morrow, he had not been worth 
 a rush. And remember, that his throat be washed very 
 clean, I say very clean, and his body not washed after 
 he is gutted, as indeed no fish should be. 
 
 Well, scholar, you see what pains I have taken to 
 recover the lost credit of the poor despised Chub. And 
 now I will give you some rules how to catch him : and I 
 am glad to enter you into 'the art of fishing by catching a 
 Chub, for there is no fish better to enter a young Angler, 
 he is so easily caught, but then it must be this particular 
 way: 
 
 Go to the same hole in which I caught my Chub, 
 where, in most hot days, you will find a dozen or twenty 
 Chevens floating near the top of the water. Get two or 
 three grasshoppers, as you go over the meadow : and get 
 secretly behind the tree, and stand as free from motion as 
 is possible. Then put a grasshopper on your hook, and 
 let your hook hang a quarter of a yard short of the water, 
 
Ill THE COMPLETE ANGLER 49 
 
 to which end you must rest your rod on some bough of 
 the tree. But it is likely the Chubs will sink down 
 towards the bottom of the water, at the first shadow of 
 your rod ; for a Chub is the fearfullest of fishes, and wiU 
 do so if but a bird flies over him and makes the least 
 shadow on the water ; but they will presently rise up to the 
 top again, and there lie soaring till some shadow affrights 
 them again. I say, when they lie upon the top of the 
 water, look out the best Chub (which you, setting yourself 
 in a fit place, may very easily see), and move your rod, as 
 softly as a snail moves, to that Chub you intend to catch ; 
 let your bait fall gently upon the water three or four 
 inches before him, and he will infallibly take the bait. 
 And you will be as sure to catch him ; for he is one of the 
 leather-mouthed fishes, of which a hook does scarce ever 
 lose its hold ; and therefore give him play enough before 
 you offer to take him out of the water. Go your way 
 presently ; take my rod, and do as I bid you ; and I will 
 sit down and mend my tackling till you return back. 
 
 Venator. Truly, my loving master, you have offered 
 me as fair as I could wish. I'll go and observe your 
 directions. 
 
 Look you, master, what I have done, that which joys 
 my heart, caught just such another Chub as yours was. 
 
 PiscATOR. Marry, and I am glad of it : I am like to 
 have a towardly scholar of you. I now see, that with 
 advice and practice, you will make an Angler in a short 
 time. Have but a love to it ; and I'll warrant you. 
 
 Venator. But master ! what if I could not have found 
 a grasshopper ? 
 
 PiscATOR. Then I may tell you, that a black snail, 
 with his belly slit, to show his white, or a piece of soft 
 cheese, will usually do as well. Nay, sometimes a worm, or 
 any kind of fly, as the ant-fly, the flesh-fly, or wall-fly ; 
 or the dor or beetle, which you may find under a cow-turd ; 
 or a bob, which you will find in the same place, and in 
 time will be a bettle ; it is a short white worm, like to and 
 bigger than a gentle ; or a cod-worm ; or a case-worm ; 
 any of these will do very well to fish in such a manner. 
 
so IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 And after this manner you may catch a Trout in a 
 hot evening : when as you walk by a brook, and shall 
 see or hear him leap at flies, then, if you get a grasshopper, 
 put it on your hook, with your line about two yards long ; 
 standing behind a bush or tree where his hole is : and 
 make your bait stir up and down on the top of the water. 
 You may, if you stand close, be sure of a bite, but 
 not sure to catch him, for he is not a leather-mouthed 
 fish. And after this manner you may fish for him with 
 almost any kind of live fly, but especially with a 
 grasshopper. 
 
 Venator. But before you go further, I pray, good 
 master, what mean you by a leather-mouthed fish ? 
 
 PiscATOR. By a leather-mouthed fish, I mean such as 
 have their teeth in their throat, as the Chub or Cheven : 
 and so the Barbel, the Gudgeon, and Carp, and divers others 
 have. And the hook being stuck into the leather, or skin, 
 of the mouth of such fish, does very seldom or never lose 
 its hold : but on the contrary, a Pike, a Perch, or Trout, 
 and so some other fish, which have not their teeth in their 
 throats, but in their mouths, which you shall observe to 
 be very full of bones, and the skin very thin, and little of 
 it. I say, of these fish the hook never takes so sure hold, 
 but you often lose your fish, unless he have gorged it. 
 
 Venator. I thank you, good master, for this observa- 
 tion. But now what shall be done with my Chub or 
 Cheven that I have caught ? 
 
 PiscATOR. Marry, Sir, it shall be given away to some 
 poor body ; for I'll warrant you I'll give you a Trout for 
 your supper : and it is a good beginning of your art to 
 ofl^er your first-fruits to the poor, who will both thank 
 you and God for it, which I see by your silence you seem 
 to consent to. And for your willingness to part with it 
 so charitably, I will also teach more concerning Chub- 
 fishing. You are to note, that in March and April he is 
 usually taken with worms ; in May, June, and July, he 
 will bite at any fly, or at cherries, or at beetles with their 
 legs and wings cut off, or at any kind of snail, or at the 
 black bee that breeds in clay walls. And he never refuses 
 
Ill THE COMPLETE ANGLER 51 
 
 a grasshopper on the top of a swift stream, nor at the 
 bottom the young humble bee that breeds in long grass, 
 and is ordinarily found by the mower of it. In August, 
 and in the cooler months, a yellow paste, made of the 
 strongest cheese, and pounded in a mortar, with a little 
 butter and saffron, so much of it as, being beaten small, 
 will turn it to a lemon colour. And some make a paste for 
 the winter months, at which time the Chub is accounted 
 best (for then it is observed, that the forked bones are 
 lost, or turned into a kind of gristle, especially if he be 
 baked), of cheese and turpentine. He will bite also at a 
 minnow, or penk, as a Trout will : of which I shall tell 
 you more hereafter, and of divers other baits. But take 
 this for a rule, that, in hot weather, he is to be fished for 
 towards the mid-water, or near the top ; and in colder 
 weather, nearer the bottom ; and if you fish for him on 
 the top, with a beetle, or any fly, then be sure to let your 
 line be very long, and to keep out of sight. And having 
 told you, that his spawn is excellent meat, and that the 
 head of a large Cheven, the throat being well washed, is 
 the best part of him, I will say no more of this fish at 
 the present, but wish you may catch the next you fish for. 
 
 But, lest you may judge me too nice in urging to have 
 the Chub dressed so presently after he is taken, I will 
 commend to your consideration how curious former times 
 have been in the like kind. 
 
 You shall read in Seneca, his Natural ^estions (Lib. IIL, 
 cap. 17), that the ancients were so curious in the newness 
 of their fish, that that seemed not new enough that was not 
 put alive into the guest's hand ; and he says, that to that 
 end they did usually keep them living in glass bottles, in 
 their dining-rooms, and they did glory much in their enter- 
 taining of friends, to have that fish taken from under their 
 table alive that was instantly to be fed upon ; and he says, 
 they took great pleasure to see their Mullets change to 
 several colours when they were dying. But enough of 
 this ; for I doubt I have staid too long from giving you 
 some Observations of the Trout, and how to fish for him, 
 which shall take up the next of my spare time. 
 
52 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Observations of the Nature and Breeding of the Trout, and 
 how to fish for him, and the Milk-Maid^ s Song 
 
 PiscATOR. The Trout is a fish highly valued, both in 
 this and foreign nations. He may be justly said, as the 
 old poet said of wine, and we English say of venison, to 
 be a generous fish : a fish that is so like the buck, that he 
 also has his seasons; for it is observed, that he comes in 
 and goes out of season with the stag and buck. Gesner 
 says, his name is of a German offspring ; and says he is a 
 fish that feeds clean and purely, in the swiftest streams, 
 and on the hardest gravel ; and that he may justly contend 
 with all fresh water fish, as the Mullet may with all sea 
 fish, for precedency and daintiness of taste ; and that being 
 in right season, the most dainty palates have allowed 
 precedency to him. 
 
 And before I go farther in my discourse, let me tell 
 you, that you are to observe, that as there be some barren 
 does that are good in summer, so there be some barren 
 Trouts that are good in winter ; but there are not many 
 that are so ; for usually they be in their perfection in the 
 month of May, and decline with the buck. Now you are 
 to take notice, that in several countries, as in Germany, 
 and in other parts, compared to ours, fish do differ much 
 in their bigness, and shape, and other ways ; and so do 
 Trouts. It is well known that in the Lake Leman, the 
 Lake of Geneva, there are Trouts taken of three cubits 
 long; as is affirmed by Gesner, a writer of good credit; 
 and Mercator says, the Trouts that are taken in the Lake 
 of Geneva are a great part of the merchandize of that 
 famous city. And you are further to know, that there be 
 certain waters that breed Trouts remarkable, both for their 
 number and smallness. I know a little brook in Kent, 
 that breeds them to a number incredible, and you may 
 take them twenty or forty in an hour, but none greater 
 
IV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 53 
 
 than about the size of a Gudgeon. There are also, in 
 divers rivers, especially that relate to, or be near to the sea, 
 as Winchester, or the Thames about Windsor, a little 
 Trout called a Samlet, or Skegger Trout, in both which 
 places I have caught twenty or forty at a standing, that 
 will bite as tast and as freely as Minnows: these be by 
 some taken to be young Salmons ; but in those waters 
 they never grow to be bigger than a Herring. 
 
 There is also in Kent, near to Canterbury, a Trout 
 called there a Fordidge Trout, a Trout that bears the 
 name of the town where it is usually caught, that is 
 accounted the rarest of fish ; many of them near the 
 bigness of a Salmon, but known by their different colour ; 
 and in their best season they cut very white : and none of 
 these have been known to be caught with an angle, unless 
 it were one that was caught by Sir George Hastings, an 
 excellent angler, and now with God : and he hath told 
 me, he thought that Trout bit not for hunger but wanton- 
 ness ; and it is the rather to be believed, because both he, 
 then, and many others before him, have been curious to 
 search into their bellies, what the food was by which they 
 lived ; and have found out nothing by which they might 
 satisfy their curiosity. 
 
 Concerning which you are to take notice, that it is 
 reported by good authors, that grasshoppers and some 
 fish have no mouths, but are nourished and take breath 
 by the porousness of their gills, man knows not how : and 
 this may be believed, if we consider that when the raven 
 hath hatched her eggs, she takes no further care, but 
 leaves her young ones to the care of the God of nature, 
 who is said, in the Psalms, ' to feed the young ravens that 
 call upon him.' And they be kept alive and fed by a 
 dew ; or worms that breed in their nests ; or some other 
 ways that we mortals know not. And this may be 
 believed of the Fordidge Trout, which, as it is said of the 
 stork, that he knows his season, so he knows his times 
 (I think almost his day), of coming into that river out of the 
 sea ; where he lives, and, it is like, feeds, nine months in 
 the year, and fasts three in the river of Fordidge. And 
 
54 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 you are to note, that those townsmen are very punctual in 
 observing the time of beginning to fish for them ; and 
 boast much, that their river affords a Trout that exceeds 
 all others. And just so does Sussex boast of several fish ; 
 as, namely, a Shelsey Cockle, a Chichester Lobster, an 
 Arundel Mullet, and an Amerly Trout. 
 
 And, now, for some confirmation of the Fordidge 
 Trout : you are to know that this Trout is thought to eat 
 nothing in the fresh water ; and it may be the better 
 believed, because it is well known, that swallows, and bats, 
 and wagtails, which are called half-year birds, and not seen 
 to fly in England for six months in a year, but about 
 Michaelmas leave us for a hotter climate, yet some of 
 them that have been left behind their fellows, have been 
 found, many thousands at a time, in hollow trees, or clay 
 caves, where they have been observed to live, and sleep out 
 the whole winter, without meat.^ And so Albertus ob- 
 serves, That there is one kind of frog that hath her mouth 
 naturally shut up about the end of August, and that she 
 lives so all the winter : and though it be strange to some, 
 yet it is known to too many among us to be doubted.^ 
 
 And so much for these Fordidge Trouts, which never 
 afford an angler sport, but either Uve their time of being 
 in the fresh water, by their meat formerly gotten in the 
 sea, not unlike the swallow or frog ; or, by the virtue of 
 the fresh water only ; or, as the birds of Paradise and the 
 cameleon are said to live, by the sun and the air. 
 
 There is also in Northumberland a Trout called a Bull- 
 trout, of a much greater length and bigness than any in 
 these southern parts ; and there are, in many rivers that 
 relate to the sea, Salmon-trouts, as much different from 
 others, both in shape and in their spots, as we see sheep 
 in some countries differ one from another in their shape 
 and bigness, and in the fineness of the wool : and, certainly, 
 as some pastures breed larger sheep ; so do some rivers, 
 by reason of the ground over which they run, breed larger 
 Trouts. 
 
 ^ View Sir Francis Bacon, exper. 899. 
 2 See Topsel, Of Frogs. 
 
IV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 55 
 
 Now the next thing thafc I will commend to your 
 consideration is, that the Trout is of a more sudden 
 growth than other fish. Concerning which, you are also 
 to take notice, that he lives not so long as the Perch, and 
 divers other fishes do, as Sir Francis Bacon hath observed 
 in his History of Life and Death. 
 
 And next you are to take notice, that he is not like the 
 Crocodile, which if he lives never so long, yet always 
 thrives till his death : but 'tis not so with the Trout ; for 
 after he is come to his full growth, he declines in his body, 
 and keeps his bigness, or thrives only in his head till his 
 death. And you are to know, that he will, about 
 (especially before), the time of his spawning, get, almost 
 miraculously, through weirs and flood-gates, against the 
 stream ; even through such high and swift places as is 
 almost incredible. Next, that the Trout usually spawns 
 about October or November, but in some rivers a little 
 sooner or later ; which is the more observable, because 
 most other fish spawn in the spring or summer, when the 
 sun hath warmed both the earth and water, and made it fit 
 for generation. And you are to note, that he continues 
 many months out of season ; for it maybe observed of the 
 Trout, that he is like the Buck or the Ox, that will not be 
 fat in many months, though he go in the very same 
 pastures that horses do, which will be fat in one month : 
 and so you may observe, that most other fishes recover 
 strength, and grow sooner fat and in season than the 
 Trout doth. 
 
 And next you are to note, that till the sun gets to such 
 a height as to warm the earth and the water, the Trout is 
 sick, and lean, and lousy, and unwholesome ; for you shall, 
 in winter, find him to have a big head, and, then, to be 
 lank and thin and lean ; at which time many of them have 
 sticking on them Sugs, or Trout-lice ; which is a kind of 
 a worm, in shape like a clove, or pin with a big head, and 
 sticks close to him, and sucks his moisture ; those, I think, 
 the Trout breeds himself: and never thrives till he free 
 himself from them, which is when warm weather comes ; 
 and, then, as he grows stronger, he gets from the dead still 
 
S6 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 water into the sharp streams and the gravel, and, there, 
 rubs ofF these worms or lice ; and then, as he grows 
 stronger, so he gets him into swifter and swifter streams, 
 and there lies at the watch for any fly or minnow that 
 comes near to him ; and he especially loves the May-fly, 
 which is bred of the cod-worm, or cadis ; and these make 
 the Trout bold and lusty, and he is usually fatter and 
 better meat at the end of that month than at any time of 
 the year. Now you are to know that it is observed, that 
 usually the best Trouts are either red or yellow ; though 
 some, as the Fordidge Trout, be white and yet good ; but 
 that is not usual : and it is a note observable, that the 
 female Trout hath usually a less head, and a deeper body 
 than the male Trout, and is usually the better meat. And 
 note, that a hog back and a little head, to either Trout, 
 Salmon or any other fish, is a sign that that fish is in 
 season. 
 
 But yet you are to note, that as you see some willows 
 or palm-trees bud and blossom sooner than others do, so 
 some Trouts be, in rivers, sooner in season : and as some 
 hollies, or oaks, are longer before they cast their leaves, so 
 are some Trouts, in rivers, longer before they go out of 
 season. 
 
 And you are to note, that there are several kinds of 
 Trouts : but these several kinds are not considered but by 
 very few men ; for they go under the general name of 
 Trouts ; just as pigeons do, in most places ; though it 
 is certain, there are tame and wild pigeons ; and of the 
 tame, there be helmits and runts, and carriers and cropers, 
 and indeed too many to name. Nay, the Royal Society 
 have found and published lately, that there be thirty and 
 three kinds of spiders ; and yet all, for aught I know, go 
 under that one general name of spider. And it is so with 
 many kinds of fish, and of Trouts especially ; which difi^er 
 in their bigness, and shape, and spots, and colour. The 
 great Kentish hens may be an instance, compared to other 
 hens : and, doubtless, there is a kind of small Trout, 
 which will never thrive to be big ; that breeds very many 
 more than others do, that be of a larger size : which you 
 
IV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 57 
 
 may rather believe, if you consider that the little wren and 
 titmouse will have twenty young ones at a time, when, 
 usually, the noble hawk, or the musical thrassel or black- 
 bird, exceed not four or five. 
 
 And now you shall see me try my skill to catch a 
 Trout; and at my next walking, either this evening or 
 to-morrow morning, I will give you direction how you 
 yourself shall fish for him. 
 
 Venator. Trust me, master, I see now it is a harder 
 matter to catch a Trout than a Chub; for I have put 
 on patience, and followed you these two hours, and not 
 seen a fish stir, neither at your minnow nor your worm. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, scholar, you must endure worse luck 
 sometime, or you will never make a good angler. But 
 what say you now .'' there is a Trout now, and a good one 
 too, if I can but hold him ; and two or three turns more 
 will tire him. Now you see he lies still, and the sleight is 
 to land him : reach me that landing-net. So, Sir, now he 
 is mine own : what say you now, is not this worth all my 
 labour and your patience ? 
 
 Venator. On my word, master, this is a gallant Trout ; 
 what shall we do with him ? 
 
 PiscATOR. Marry, e'en eat him to supper: we'll go to 
 my hostess from whence we came; she told me, as I 
 was going out of door, that my brother Peter, a good 
 angler and a cheerful companion, had sent word he would 
 lodge there to-night, and bring a friend with him. My 
 hostess has two beds, and I know you and I may have the 
 best : we'll rejoice with my brother Peter and his friend, 
 tell tales, or sing ballads, or make a catch, or find some 
 harmless sport to content us, and pass away a little time 
 without offence to God or man. 
 
 Venator. A match, good master, let's go to that 
 house, for the linen looks white, and smells of lavender, 
 and I long to lie in a pair of sheets that smell so. Let's 
 be going, good master, for I , am hungry again with 
 fishing. 
 
 Piscator. Nay, stay a little, good scholar. I caught 
 my last Trout with a worm ; now I will put on a minnow. 
 
5 8 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 and try a quarter of an hour about yonder trees for 
 another ; and, so, walk towards our lodging. Look you, 
 scholar, thereabout we shall have a bite presently, or not 
 at all. Have with you, Sir : o' my word I have hold of 
 him. Oh ! it is a great logger-headed Chub ; come, hang 
 him upon that willow twig, and let's be going. But turn 
 out of the way a little, good scholar ! toward yonder high 
 honeysuckle hedge ; there we'll sit and sing, whilst this 
 shower falls so gently upon the teeming earth, and gives 
 yet a sweeter smell to the lovely flowers that adorn these 
 verdant meadows. 
 
 Look ! under that broad beech-tree I sat down, when I 
 was last this way a-fishing ; and the birds in the adjoining 
 grove seemed to have a friendly contention with an echo, 
 whose dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tree near to 
 the brow of that primrose-hill. There I sat viewing the 
 silver streams glide silently towards their centre, the 
 tempestuous sea; yet sometimes opposed by rugged roots 
 and pebble-stones, which broke their waves, and turned 
 them into foam ; and sometimes I beguiled time by viewing 
 the harmless lambs ; some leaping securely in the cool 
 shade, whilst others sported themselves in the cheerful sun ; 
 and saw others craving comfort from the swollen udders of 
 their bleating dams. As I thus sat, these and other sights 
 had so fully possest my soul with content, that I thought, 
 as the poet has happily exprest it, 
 
 I was for that time lifted above earth ; 
 And possest joys not promis'd in my birth. 
 
 As I left this place, and entered into the next field, a 
 second pleasure entertained me ; 'twas a handsome milk- 
 maid, that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom 
 as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will 
 never be, as too many men too often do ; but she cast 
 away all care, and sung like a nightingale. Her voice was 
 good, and the ditty fitted for it ; it was that smooth song 
 which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years 
 ago ; and the milk-maid's mother sung an answer to it, 
 which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh, in his younger 
 
IV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 59 
 
 days. They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good ; 
 I think much better than the strong lines that are now in 
 fashion in this critical age. Look yonder ! on my word, 
 yonder, they both be a-milking again. I will give her 
 the Chub, and persuade them to sing those two songs 
 to us. 
 
 God speed you, good woman ! I have been a-fishing ; 
 and am going to Bleak-Hall to my bed ; and having 
 caught more fish than wiU sup myself and my friend, I will 
 bestow this upon you and your daughter, for I use to sell 
 none. 
 
 MiLK-woMAN. Marry ! God requite you. Sir, and we'll 
 eat it cheerfully. And if you come this way a-fishing two 
 months hence, a grace of God ! I'll give you a syllabub of 
 new verjuice, in a new-made haycock, for it. And my 
 Maudlin shall sing you one of her best ballads ; for she and 
 I both love all anglers, they be such honest, civil, quiet 
 men. In the meantime will you drink a draught of red 
 cow's milk ? you shall have it freely. 
 
 PiscATOR. No, I thank you; but, I pray, do us a 
 courtesy that shall stand you and your daughter in nothing, 
 and yet we will think ourselves still something in your 
 debt : it is but to sing us a song that was sung by your 
 daughter when I la,st passed over this meadow, about 
 eight or nine days since. 
 
 Milk-woman. What song was it, I pray."" Was it, 
 ' Come, Shepherds, deck your herds ' ? or, ' As at noon 
 Dulcina rested ' ? or, ' Phillida flouts me ' ? or, ' Chevy 
 Chace ' ? or, ' Johnny Armstrong ' ? or, ' Troy Town ' ? 
 
 PiscATOR. No, it is none of those; it is a Song that 
 your daughter sung the first part, and you sung the 
 answer to it. 
 
 Milk-woman. O, I know it now. I learned the first 
 part in my golden age, when I was about the age of my 
 poor daughter ; and the latter part, which indeed fits me 
 best now, but two or three years ago, when the cares of 
 the world began to take hold of me: but you shall, 
 God willing, hear them both; and sung as well as we 
 can, for we both love anglers. Come, Maudlin, sing 
 
6o IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 the first part to the gentlemen, with a merry heart; 
 and I'll sing the second when you have done. 
 
 THE MILKMAID'S SONG 
 
 Come, live with me, and be my love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove, 
 That valleys, groves, or hills, or fields, 
 Or woods, and steepy mountains yields; 
 
 Where we will sit upon the rocks. 
 And see the shepherds feed our flocks, 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 And I will make thee beds of roses ; 
 And, then, a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle. 
 Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; 
 
 A gown made of the finest wool. 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull; 
 Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold, 
 With buckles of the purest gold ; 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy-buds, 
 With coral clasps, and amber studs. 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Come, live with me, and be my love. 
 
 Thy silver dishes, for thy meat. 
 As precious as the Gods do eat. 
 Shall, on an ivory table, be 
 Prepared each day for thee and me. 
 
 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
 For thy delight each May morning. 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me, and be my love. 
 
 Venator. Trust me, master, it is a choice song, and 
 sweetly sung by honest Maudlin. I now see it was not 
 without cause that our good Queen Elizabeth did so often 
 wish herself a milk-maid all the month of May, because 
 they are not troubled with fears and cares, but sing 
 sweetly all the day, and sleep securely all the night: 
 
IV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 6i 
 
 and without doubt, honest, innocent, pretty Maudlin does 
 so. I'll bestow Sir Thomas Overbury's milk-maid's wish 
 upon her, 'that she may die in the Spring; and, being 
 dead, may have good store of flowers stuck round about 
 her winding-sheet.' 
 
 THE MILK-MAID'S MOTHER'S ANSWER 
 
 If all the world and love were young, 
 And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
 These pretty pleasures might me move 
 To live with thee, and be thy love. 
 
 But time drives flocks from field to fold ; 
 When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold ; 
 Then Philomel becometh dumb ; 
 And age complains of cares to come. 
 
 The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
 To wayward winter reckoning yields. 
 A honey tongue, a heart of gall. 
 Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 
 
 Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
 Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies. 
 Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten ; 
 In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 
 
 Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds. 
 Thy coral clasps, and amber studs. 
 All these in me no means can move 
 To come to thee, and be thy love. 
 
 What should we talk of dainties, then. 
 Of better meat than's fit for men i 
 These are but vain : that's only good 
 Which God hath blessed, and sent for food. 
 
 But could youth last, and love still breed ; 
 Had joys no date, nor age no need; 
 Then those delights my mind might move 
 To live with thee, and be thy love. 
 
 Mother. Well! I have done my song. But stay 
 honest anglers; for I will make Maudlin sing you one 
 short song more. Maudlin! sing that song that you 
 
62 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 sung last night, when young Coridon the shepherd played 
 so purely on his oaten pipe to you and your cousin 
 Betty. 
 
 Maudlin. I will, mother. 
 
 I married a wife of late, 
 
 The more's my unhappy fate : 
 
 I married her for love, 
 
 As my fancy did me move, 
 
 And not for a worldly estate : 
 
 But oh ! the green sickness 
 
 Soon changed her likeness; 
 And all her beauty did fail. 
 
 But 'tis not so 
 
 With those that go 
 
 Thro' frost and snow. 
 
 As all men know. 
 And carry the milking-pail. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well sung, good woman ; I thank you. 
 I'll give you another dish of fish one of these days ; 
 and then beg another song of you. Come, scholar ! let 
 Maudlin alone : do not you offer to spoil her voice. 
 Look ! yonder comes mine hostess, to call us to supper. 
 How now ! is my brother Peter come .'' 
 
 Hostess. Yes, and a friend with him. They are both 
 glad to hear that you are in these parts ; and long to see 
 you ; and long to be at supper, for they be very hungry. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 More Directions how to fish for, and how to make for the 
 "Trout an Artificial Minnow and Flies, with some Merriment 
 
 PiscATOR. Well met, brother Peter ! I heard you and a 
 friend would lodge here to-night ; and that hath made me 
 to bring my friend to lodge here too. My friend is one 
 that would fain be a brother of the angle : he hath been an 
 angler but this day ; and I have taught him how to catch 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 63 
 
 a Chub, by dapping with a grasshopper ; and the Chub he 
 caught was a lusty one of nineteen inches long. But pray, 
 brother Peter, who is your companion ? 
 
 Peter. Brother Piscator, my friend is an honest 
 countryman, and his name is Coridon ; and he is a down- 
 right witty companion, that met me here purposely to be 
 pleasant and eat a Trout ; and I have not yet wetted my 
 line since we met together ; but I hope to fit him with a 
 Trout for his breakfast ; for I'll be early up. 
 
 Piscator. Nay, brother, you shall not stay so long ; 
 for, look you ! here is a Trout will fill six reasonable 
 bellies. 
 
 Come, hostess, dress it presently ; and get us what 
 other meat the house will afford ; and give us some of 
 your best barley-wine, the good liquor that our honest 
 forefathers did use to drink of ; the drink which preserved 
 their health, and made them live so long, and to do so 
 many good deeds. 
 
 Peter. O' my word, this Trout is perfect in season. 
 Come, I thank you, and here is a hearty draught to you, 
 and to all the brothers of the angle wheresoever they be, 
 and to my young brother's good fortune to-morrow. I 
 will furnish him with a rod, if you will furnish him with 
 the rest of the tackling : we will set him up, and make 
 him a fisher. And I wUl tell him one thing for his 
 encouragement, that his fortune hath made him happy to 
 be scholar to such a master ; a master that knows as 
 much, both of the nature and breeding of fish, as any 
 man ; and can also tell him as well how to catch and cook 
 them, from the Minnow to the Salmon, as any that I 
 ever met withal. 
 
 Piscator. Trust me, brother Peter, I find my scholar 
 to be so suitable to my own humour, which is to be free 
 and pleasant and civilly merry, that my resolution is to 
 hide nothing that I know from him. BeUeve me, scholar, 
 this is my resolution ; and so here's to you a hearty 
 draught, and to all that love us and the honest art of 
 Angling. 
 
 Venator. Trust me, good master, you shall not sow 
 
64 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 your seed in barren ground ; for I hope to return you 
 an increase answerable to your hopes : but, however, 
 you shall find me obedient, and thankful, and serviceable 
 to my best ability. 
 
 PiscATOR. 'Tis enough, honest scholar ! come, let's to 
 supper. Come, my friend Coridon, this Trout looks 
 lovely ; it was twenty-two inches when it was taken ; 
 and the belly of it looked, some part of it, as yellow as 
 a marigold, and part of it as white as a lily ; and yet, 
 methinks, it looks better in this good sauce. 
 
 Coridon. Indeed, honest friend, it looks well, and 
 tastes well : I thank you for it, and so doth my friend 
 Peter, or else he is to blame. 
 
 Peter. Yes, and so I do : we all thank you : and 
 when we have supped, I will get my friend Coridon to 
 sing you a song for requital. 
 
 Coridon. I will sing a song, if anybody will sing 
 
 another, else, to be plain with you, I will sing none. I 
 
 am none of those that sing for meat, but for company : 
 
 I say, ,_,. . , „ 
 
 ' ' Tis merry in hall, 
 
 When men sing all.' 
 
 PiscATOR. I'll promise you I'll sing a song that was 
 lately made, at my request, by Mr. William Basse ; one 
 that hath made the choice songs of the 'Hunter in his 
 Career,' and of ' Tom of Bedlam,' and many others of 
 note ; and this, that I will sing, is in praise of Angling. 
 
 Coridon. And then mine shall be the praise of a 
 Countryman's life. What will the rest sing of? 
 
 Peter. I will promise you, I will sing another song in 
 praise of Angling to-morrow night ; for we will not part 
 till then ; but fish to-morrow, and sup together : and the 
 next day every man leave fishing, and fall to his business. 
 
 Venator. 'Tis a match ; and I will provide you a song 
 or a catch against then, too, which shall give some 
 addition of mirth to the company; for we will be civil 
 and as merry as beggars. 
 
 Piscator. 'Tis a match, my masters. Let's e'en say 
 grace, and turn to the fire, drink the other cup to whet 
 
THE COMPLETE ANGLER 
 
 6S 
 
 our whistles, and so sing away all sad thoughts. Come 
 on, my masters, who begins ? I think it is best to draw 
 cuts, and avoid contention, 
 
 Peter. It is a match. Look, the shortest cut falls to 
 Coridon. 
 
 Well, then, I will begin, for I hate con- 
 
 CORIDON 
 
 tention. 
 
 CORIDON'S SONG 
 
 Oh the sweet contentment 
 The countryman doth find ! 
 
 Heigh troloUie lollie loe, 
 
 Heigh troloUie lee. 
 That quiet contemplation 
 Possesseth all my mind : 
 
 Then care away, 
 
 And wend along with me. 
 
 For Courts are full of flattery, 
 As hath too oft been tried ; 
 
 Heigh troloUie loUie loe, etc, 
 The City full of wantonness, 
 And both are full of pride : 
 
 Then care away, etc. 
 
 But oh, the honest countryman 
 Speaks truly from his heart. 
 
 Heigh troloUie lollie loe, etc. 
 His pride is in his tillage. 
 His horses, and his cart : 
 
 Then care away, etc. 
 
 Our clothing is good sheep-skins, 
 Grey russet for our wives ; 
 
 Heigh troloUie lollie loe, etc. 
 'Tis warmth and not gay clothing 
 That doth prolong our lives : 
 
 Then care away, etc. 
 
 The ploughman, tho' he labour hard, 
 Yet on the holy-day. 
 
 Heigh troloUie lollie loe, etc. 
 No emperor so merrily 
 Does pass his time away : 
 
 Then care away, etc. 
 
 To recompense our tillage, 
 The heavens afford us showers ; 
 Heigh troloUie lollie loe, etc. 
 
66 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 And for our sweet refreshments 
 The earth affords us bowers : 
 Then care away, etc. 
 
 The cuckow and the nightingale 
 Full merrily do sing, 
 
 Heigh trolollie loUie loe, etc. 
 And with their pleasant roundelays 
 Bid welcome to the Spring : 
 
 Then care away, etc. 
 
 This is not half the happiness 
 The countryman enjoys; 
 
 Heigh trolollie lollie loe, etc. 
 Though others think they have as much. 
 Yet he that says so lies : 
 
 Then come away. 
 
 Turn countrymen with me. 
 
 Jo. Chalkhill. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well sung, Coridon, this song was sung;^with 
 metde ; and it was choicely fitted to the occasion : I shall 
 love you for it as long as I know you. I would you were 
 a brother of the angle ; for a companion that is cheerful, 
 and free from swearing and scurrilous discourse, is worth 
 gold. I love such mirth as does not make friends ashamed 
 to look upon one another next morning ; nor men, that 
 cannot well bear it, to repent the money they spend when 
 they be warmed with drink. And take this for a rule: 
 you may pick out such times and such companies, that you 
 make yourselves merrier for a little than a great deal of 
 money ; for ' 'Tis the company and not the charge that 
 makes the feast ' ; and such a companion you prove : I 
 thank you for it. 
 
 But I will not compliment you out of the debt that I 
 owe you, and therefore I will begin my song, and wish it 
 may be so well liked. 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SONG 
 
 As inward love breeds outward talk, 
 The hound some praise, and some the hawk, 
 Some, better pleas'd with private sport. 
 Use tennis, some a mistress court : 
 
 But these delights I neither wish, 
 
 Nor envy, while I freely fish. 
 
THE COMPLETE ANGLER 6j 
 
 Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride ; 
 Who hawks, lures oft both far and wide ; 
 Who uses games shall often prove 
 A loser ; but who falls in love, 
 
 Is fetter'd in fond Cupid's snare : 
 
 My angle breeds me no such care. 
 
 Of recreation there is none 
 So free as fishing is alone ; 
 All other pastimes do no less 
 Than mind and body both possess: 
 
 My hand alone my work can do, 
 
 So I can fish and study too. 
 
 I care not, I, to fish in seas, 
 Fresh rivers best my mind do please, 
 Whose sweet calm course I contemplate^ 
 And seek in life to imitate : 
 
 In civil bounds I fain would keep. 
 
 And for my past offences weep. 
 
 And when the timorous Trout I wait 
 To take, and he devours my bait. 
 How poor a thing, sometimes I find. 
 Will captivate a greedy mind : 
 
 And when none bite, I praise the wise 
 
 Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise. 
 
 But yet, though while I fish, I fast, 
 I make good fortune my repast ; 
 And thereunto my friend invite, 
 In whom I more than that delight: 
 
 Who is more welcome to my dish 
 
 Than to my angle was my fish. 
 
 As well content no prize to take. 
 As use of taken prize to make: 
 For so our Lord was pleased, when 
 He fishers made fishers of men ; 
 
 Where, which is in no other game, 
 
 A man may fish and praise his name 
 
 The first men that our Saviour dear 
 Did choose to wait upon him here, 
 Blest fishers were, and fish the last 
 Food was that he on earth did taste : 
 
 I therefore strive to follow those 
 
 Whom he to follow him hath chose. 
 
 W.B. 
 
68 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 CoRiDON. Well sung, brother, you have paid your debt 
 in good coin. We anglers are all beholden to the good 
 man that made this song. Come, hostess, give us more ale, 
 and let's drink to him. And now let's every one go to 
 bed, that we may rise early: but first let's pay our 
 reckoning, for I will have nothing to hinder me in the 
 morning ; for my purpose is to prevent the sun-rising. 
 
 Peter. A match. Come, Coridon, you are to be my 
 bed-fellow. I know, brother, you and your scholar will 
 lie together. But where shall we meet to-morrow night ? 
 for my friend Coridon and I will go up the water towards 
 Ware. 
 
 PiscATOR. And my scholar and I will go down towards 
 Waltham. 
 
 Coridon. Then let's meet here, for here are fresh 
 sheets that smell of lavender ; and I am sure we cannot 
 expect better meat, or better usage in any place. 
 
 Peter. 'Tis a match. Good-night to everybody. 
 
 PiscATOR. And so say I. 
 
 Venator. And so say I. 
 
 [THE FOURTH DJT] 
 
 Piscator. Good-morrow, good hostess, I see my 
 brother Peter is still in bed. Come, give my scholar 
 and me a morning drink, and a bit of meat to breakfast : 
 and be sure to get a dish of meat or two against supper, 
 for we shall come home as hungry as hawks. Come, 
 scholar, let's be going. 
 
 Venator. Well now, good master, as we walk towards 
 the river, give me direction, according to your promise, 
 how I shall fish for a Trout. 
 
 Piscator. My honest scholar, I will take this very 
 convenient opportunity to do it. 
 
 The Trout is usually caught with a worm, or a minnow, 
 which some call a penk, or with a fly, viz. either a natural 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 69 
 
 or an artificial fly : concerning which three, I will give you 
 some observations and directions. 
 
 And, first, for worms. Of these there be very many 
 sorts : some breed only in the earth, as the earth-worm ; 
 others of, or amongst plants, as the dug-worm ; and 
 others breed either out of excrements, or in the bodies of 
 living creatures, as in the horns of sheep or deer ; or some 
 of dead flesh, as the maggot or gentle, and others. 
 
 Now these be most of them particularly good for 
 particular fishes. But for the Trout, the dew-worm, 
 which some also call the lob-worm, and the brandling, 
 are the chief; and especially the first for a great Trout, 
 and the latter for a less. There be also of lob-worms, 
 some called squirrel-tails, a worm that has a red head, 
 a streak down the back, and a broad tail, which are noted 
 to be the best, because they are the toughest and most 
 lively, and live longest in the water ; for you are to know 
 that a dead worm is but a dead bait, and like to catch 
 nothing, compared to a lively, quick, stirring worm. 
 And for a brandling, he is usually found in an old dung- 
 hill, or some very rotten place near to it, but most usually 
 in cow-dung, or hog's-dung, rather than horse-dung, 
 which is somewhat too hot and dry for that worm. But 
 the best of them are to be found in the bark of the 
 tanners, which they cast up in heaps after they have used 
 it about their leather. 
 
 There are also divers other kinds of worms, which, for 
 colour and shape, alter even as the ground out of which 
 they are got ; as the marsh-worm, the tag-tail, the flag- 
 worm, the dock-worm, the oak-worm, the gilt-tail, the 
 twachel or lob-worm, which of all others is the most 
 excellent bait for a salmon, and too many to name, even as 
 many sorts as some think there be of several herbs or 
 shrubs, or of several kinds of birds in the air : of which I 
 shall say no more, but tell you, that what, worms soever 
 you fish with, are the better for being well scoured, 
 that is, long kept before they be used : and in case you 
 have not been so provident, then the way to cleanse and 
 scour them quickly, is, to put them all night in water, if 
 
70 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 they be lob-worms, and then put them into your bag with 
 fennel. But you must not put your brandlings above an 
 hour in water, and then put them into fennel, for sudden 
 use: but if you have time, and purpose to keep them long, 
 then they be best preserved in an earthen pot, with good 
 store of moss, which is to be fresh every three or four 
 days in summer, and every week or eight days in winter ; 
 or, at least, the moss taken from them, and clean washed, 
 and wrung betwixt your hands till it be dry, and then put 
 it to them again. And when your worms, especially the 
 brandling, begins to be sick and lose of his bigness, then 
 you may recover him, by putting a little milk or cream, 
 about a spoonful in a day, into them, by drops on the 
 moss ; and if there be added to the cream an egg beaten 
 and boiled in it, then it will both fatten and preserve them 
 long. And note, that when the knot, which is near to 
 the middle of the brandling, begins to swell, then he is 
 sick ; and, if he be not well looked to, is near dying. 
 And for moss, you are to note, that there be divers kinds 
 of it, which I could name to you, but I wiU only tell you 
 that that which is likest a buck's-horn is the best, except it 
 be soft white moss, which grows on some heaths, and is 
 hard to be found. And note, that in a very dry time, 
 when you are put to an extremity for worms, walnut-tree 
 leaves squeezed into water, or salt in water, to make it 
 bitter or salt, and then that water poured on the ground 
 where you shall see worms are used to rise in the night, 
 will make them to appear above ground presently. And 
 you may take notice, some say that camphire put into your 
 bag with your moss and worms gives them a strong and so 
 tempting a smell, that the fish fare the worse and you the 
 better for it. 
 
 And now, I shall shew you how to bait your hook with 
 a worm so as shall prevent you from much trouble, and 
 the loss of many a hook, too, when you fish for a Trout 
 with a running line ; that is to say, when you fish for him 
 by hand at the ground. I will direct you in this as plainly 
 as I can, that you may not mistake. 
 
 Suppose it be a big lob-worm : put your hook into him 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 71 
 
 somewhat above the middle, and out again a little below 
 the middle : having so done, draw your worm above the 
 arming of your hook ; but note, that, at the entering of 
 your hook, it must not be at the head-end of the worm, 
 but at the tail-end of him, that the point of your hook 
 may come out toward the head-end ; and, having drawn 
 him above the arming of your hook, then put the point of 
 your hook again into the very head of your worm, till it 
 come near to the place where the point of the hook first 
 came out, and then draw back that part of the worm that 
 was above the shank or arming of your hook, and so fish 
 with it. And if you mean to fish with two worms, then 
 put the second on before you turn back the hook's-head 
 of the first worm. You cannot lose above two or three 
 worms before you attain to what I direct you ; and having 
 attained it, you will find it very useful, and thank me for 
 it : for you will run on the ground without tangling. 
 
 Now for the Minnow or Penk : he is not easily found 
 and caught till March, or in April, for then he appears 
 first in the river ; nature having taught him to shelter and 
 hide himself, in the winter, in ditches that be near to the 
 river ; and there both to hide, and keep himself warm, in 
 the mud, or in the weeds, which rot not so soon as in a 
 running river, in which place if he were in winter, the 
 distempered floods that are usually in that season would 
 sufFer him to take no rest, but carry him headlong to 
 mills and weirs, to his confusion. And of these Minnows : 
 first, you are to know, that the biggest size is not the 
 best; and next, that the middle size and the whitest are 
 the best ; and then you are to know, that your minnow 
 must be so put on your hook, that it must turn round 
 when 'tis drawn against the stream ; and, that it may turn 
 nimbly, you must put it on a big-sized hook, as I shall 
 now direct you, which is thus : Put your hook in at his 
 mouth, and out at his gill ; then, having drawn your hook 
 two or three inches beyond or through his gill, put it again 
 into his mouth, and the point and beard out at his taQ ; 
 and then tie the hook and his tail about, very neatly, with 
 a white thread, which wUl make it the apter to turn quick 
 
72 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 in the water ; that done, pull back that part of your line 
 which was slack when you did put your hook into the 
 minnow the second time; I say, pull that part of your 
 line back, so that it shall fasten the head, so that the body 
 of the minnow shall be almost straight on your hook : this 
 done, try how it will turn, by drawing it across the water 
 or against the stream ; and if it do not turn nimbly, theK 
 turn the tail a little to the right or left hand, and try 
 again, tiU it turn quick ; for if not, you are in danger to 
 catch nothing : for know, that it is impossible that it 
 should turn too quick. And you are yet to know, that in 
 case you want a minnow, then a small loach, or a stickle- 
 bag, or any other small fish that will turn quick, will serve 
 as well. And you are yet to know that you may salt 
 them, and by that means keep them ready and fit for use 
 three or four days, or longer ; and that, of salt, bay-salt 
 is the best. 
 
 And here let me tell you, what many old anglers know 
 right well, that at some times, and in some waters, a 
 minnow is not to be got ; and therefore, let me tell you, 
 I have, which I will shew to you, an artificial minnow, that 
 will catch a Trout as well as an artificial fly : and it was 
 made by a handsome woman that had a fine hand, and a 
 live minnow lying by her : the mould or body of the 
 minnow was cloth, and wrought upon, or over it, thus, 
 with a needle ; the back of it with very sad French green 
 silk, and paler green sQk towards the belly, shadowed as 
 perfectly as you can imagine, just as you see a minnow : 
 the belly was wrought also with a needle, and it was, a 
 part of it, white silk ; and another part of it with silver 
 thread : the tail and fins were of a quill, which was shaven 
 thin : the eyes were of two little black beads : and the 
 head was so shadowed, and all of it so curiously wrought, 
 and so exactly dissembled, that it would beguile any sharp- 
 sighted Trout in a swift stream. And this minnow I will 
 now shew you ; look, here it is, and, if you like it, lend it 
 you, to have two or three made by it ; for they be easily 
 carried about an angler, and be of excellent use : for note, 
 that a large Trout wiU come as fiercely at a minnow as the 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 73 
 
 highest-metded hawk doth seize on a partridge, or a 
 greyhound on a hare. I have been told that one hundred 
 and sixty minnows have been found in a Trout's belly : 
 either the Trout had devoured so many, or the miller 
 that gave it a friend of mine had forced them down his 
 throat after he had taken him. 
 
 Now for Flies ; which is the third bait wherewith 
 Trouts are usually taken. You are to know, that there 
 are so many sorts of flies as there be of fruits : I will name 
 you but some of them ; as the dun-fly, the stone-fly, the 
 red-fly, the moor-fly, the tawny-fly, the shell-fly, the 
 cloudy or blackish-fly, the flag-fly, the vine-fly ; there be 
 of flies, caterpillars, and canker-flies, and bear-flies ; and 
 indeed too many either for me to name, or for you to 
 remember. And their breeding is so various and wonder- 
 ful, that I might easily amaze myself, and tire you in a 
 relation of them. 
 
 And, yet, I will exercise your promised patience by 
 saying a litde of the caterpillar, or the palmer-fly or worm ; 
 that by them you may guess what a work it were, in 
 a discourse, but to run over those very many flies, worms, 
 and little living creatures, with which the sun and summer 
 adorn and beautify the river-banks and meadows, both for 
 the recreation and contemplation of us anglers ; pleasures 
 which, I think, myself enjoy more than any other man 
 that is not of my profession. 
 
 Pliny holds an opinion, that many have their birth or 
 being, from a dew that in the spring falls upon the leaves 
 of trees ; and that some kinds of them are from a dew left 
 upon herbs or flowers ; and others from a dew left upon 
 coleworts or cabbages : all which kinds of dews being 
 thickened and condensed, are by t"" ; sun's generative heat, 
 most of them, hatched, and in three days made living 
 creatures : and these of several shapes and colours ; some 
 being hard and tough, some smooth and soft ; some are 
 horned in their head, some in their tail, some have none ; 
 some have hair, some none : some have sixteen feet, some 
 less, and some have none : but, as our Topsel hath with 
 great diligence observed, those which have none, move 
 
74 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 upon the earth, or upon broad leaves, their motion being 
 not unlike to the waves of the sea. Some of them he also 
 observes to be bred of the eggs of other caterpillars, and 
 that those in their time turn to be butterflies ; and again, 
 that their eggs turn the following year to be caterpillars. 
 And some affirm, that every plant has its particular fly or 
 caterpillar, which it breeds and feeds. I have seen, and 
 may therefore affirm it, a green caterpillar, or worm, as 
 big as a small peascod, which had fourteen legs, eight on 
 the belly, four under the neck, and two near the tail. It 
 was found on a hedge of privet ; and was taken thence, 
 and put into a large box, and a little branch or two of 
 privet put to it, on which I saw it feed as sharply as a 
 dog gnaws a bone : it lived thus, five or six days, and 
 thrived, and changed the colour two or three times, but 
 by some neglect in the keeper of it, it then died, and did 
 not turn to a fly: but if it had lived, it had doubtless 
 turned to one of those flies that some call Flies of prey, 
 which those that walk by the rivers may, in summer, see 
 fasten on smaller flies, and, I think, make them their food. 
 And 'tis observable, that as there be these flies of prey, 
 which be very large ; so there be others, very little, 
 created, I think, only to feed them, and breed out of 
 I know not what ; whose life, they say, nature intended 
 not to exceed an hour; and yet that life is thus made 
 shorter by other flies, or accident. 
 
 'Tis endless to tell you what the curious searchers into 
 nature's productions have observed of these worms and 
 flies : but yet I shall tell you what Aldrovandus, our 
 Topsel, and others, say of the I'almer-worm, or Cater- 
 pillar : that whereas others content themselves to feed on 
 particular herbs or leaves (for most think, those very 
 leaves that gave them life and shape, give them a parti- 
 cular feeding and nourishment, and that upon them they 
 usually abide), yet he observes, that this is called a 
 pilgrim, or palmer-worm, for his very wandering life, and 
 various food ; not contenting himself, as others do, with 
 any one certain place for his abode, nor any certain kind 
 of herb or flower for his feeding, but will boldly and 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 75 
 
 disorderly wander up and down, and not endure to be 
 kept to a diet, or fixt to a particular place. 
 
 Nay, the very colours of caterpillars are, as one has 
 observed, very elegant and beautiful. I shall, for a 
 taste of the rest, describe one of them ; which I 
 will, some time the next month, shew you feeding 
 on a wiUow tree ; and you shall find him punctually 
 to answer this very description : his lips and mouth 
 somewhat yellow ; his eyes black as jet ; his forehead 
 purple ; his feet and hinder parts green ; his tail 
 two-forked and black ; the whole body stained with a 
 kind of red spots, which run along the neck and shoulder- 
 blade, not unlike the form of St Andrew's cross, or the 
 letter X, made thus crosswise, and a white line drawn 
 down his back to his tail ; all which add much beauty 
 to his whole body. And it is to me observable, that at a 
 fixed age this caterpillar gives over to eat, and towards 
 winter comes to be covered over with a strange shell or 
 crust, called an aurelia ; and so lives a kind of dead life, 
 without eating, all the winter. And as others of several 
 kinds turn to be several kinds of flies and vermin, the 
 Spring following, so this caterpillar then turns to be a 
 painted butterfly^. 
 
 Come, come, my scholar, you see the river stops our 
 morning walk : and I will also here stop my discourse : 
 only as we sit down under this honeysuckle hedge, whilst 
 I look a line to fit the rod that our brother Peter hath 
 lent you, I shall, for a little confirmation of what I have 
 said, repeat the observation of Du Bartas : 
 
 God, not contented to each kind to give 
 And to infuse the virtue generative, 
 Made, by his wisdom, many creatures breed 
 Of lifeless bodies, w^ithout Venus' deed. 
 
 So, the cold humour breeds the Salamander, 
 Who, in effect, like to her birth's commander, 
 With child with hundred winters, with her touch 
 Quencheth the fire, tho' glowing ne'er so much. 
 
 1 View Sir Francis Bacon, exper. 728 and 90 in his Natural History. 
 
76 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 So of the fire, in burning furnace, springs 
 The fly Pyrausta with the flaming wings : 
 Without the fire, it dies: within it joys, 
 Living in that which each thing else destroys. 
 
 So, slow Bo6tes underneath him sees,i 
 In th' icy islands, goslings hatfch'd of trees ; 
 Whose fruitful leaves, falling into the water. 
 Are turned, 'tis known, to living fowls soon after. 
 
 So, rotten planks of broken ships do change 
 To barnacles. O transformation strange ! 
 'Twas first a green tree ; then, a broken hull ; 
 Lately a mushroom ; now, a flying gull. 
 
 [Sixth Day of Du Bartas.] 
 
 Venator. O my good master, this morning walk has 
 been spent to my great pleasure and wonder : but, I pray, 
 when shall I have your direction how to make artificial 
 flies, like to those that the Trout loves best ; and, also, 
 how to use them ? 
 
 PiscATOR. My honest scholar, it is now past five of the 
 clock : we will fish till nine ; and then go to breakfast. 
 Go you to yonder sycamore-tree, and hide your bottle of 
 drink under the hollow root of it ; for about that time, 
 and in that place, we will make a brave breakfast with a 
 piece of powdered beef, and a radish or two, that I have 
 in my fish-bag : we shall, I warrant you, make a good, 
 honest, wholesome hungry breakfast. And I will then give 
 you direction for the making and using of your flies : and 
 in the meantime, there is your rod and line ; and my 
 advice is, that you fish as you see me do, and let's try 
 which can catch the first fish. 
 
 Venator. I thank you, master. I will observe and 
 practise your direction as far as I am able. 
 
 PiscATOR. Look you, scholar ; you see I have hold of 
 a good fish : I now see it is a Trout. I pray, put that 
 net under him ; and touch not my line, for if you do, 
 then we break all. Well done, scholar : I thank you. 
 
 Now for another. Trust me, I have another bite. 
 Come, scholar, come lay down your rod, and help me to 
 land this as you did the other. So now we shall be sure 
 to have a good dish of fish for supper. 
 
 1 View Gerard's Herbal and Camden, 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER jj 
 
 Venator. I am glad of that : but I have no fortune : 
 sure, master, yours is a better rod and better tackling. 
 
 PiscATOR. Nay, then, take mine ; and I will fish with 
 yours. Look you, scholar, I have another. Come, do as 
 you did before. And now I have a bite at another. Oh 
 me ! he has broke all : there's half a line and a good 
 hook lost. 
 
 Venator. Ay, and a good Trout too. 
 
 PiscATOR. Nay, the Trout is not lost ; for pray take 
 notice, no man can lose what he never had. 
 
 Venator. Master, I can neither catch with the first nor 
 second angle : I have no fortune. 
 
 PiscATOR. Look you, scholar, I have yet another. 
 And now, having caught three brace of Trouts, I will tell 
 you a short tale as we walk towards our breakfast. A 
 scholar, a preacher I should say, that was to preach to 
 procure the approbation of a parish that he might be their 
 lecturer, had got from his fellow-pupil the copy of a 
 sermon that was first preached with great commendation 
 by him that composed it : and though the borrower of it 
 preached it, word for word, as it was at first, yet it was 
 utterly disliked as it was preached by the second to his 
 congregation, which the sermon-borrower complained of 
 to the lender of it : and was thus answered : * I lent you, 
 indeed, my fiddle, but not my fiddle-stick ; for you are to 
 know, that every one cannot make musick with my words, 
 which are fitted for my own mouth.' And so, my scholar, 
 you are to know, that as the ill pronunciation or ill accent- 
 ing of words in a sermon spoils it, so the ill carriage of 
 your line, or not fishing even to a foot in a right place, 
 makes you lose your labour : and you are to know, that 
 though you have my fiddle, that is, my very rod and 
 tacklings with which you see I catch fish, yet you have not 
 my fiddle-stick, that is, you yet have not skill to know 
 how to carry your hand and line, nor how to guide it to a 
 right place : and this must be taught you ; for you are to 
 remember, I told you Angling is an art, either by practice 
 or a long observation, or both. But take this for a rule, 
 When you fish for a Trout with a worm, let your line 
 
78 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 have so much, and not more lead than will fit the stream 
 in which you fish ; that is to say, more in a great trouble- 
 some stream than in a smaller that is quieter ; as near 
 as may be, so much as will sink the bait to the bottom, 
 and keep it still in motion, and not more. 
 
 But now, let's say grace, and fall to breakfast. What 
 say you, scholar, to the providence of an old angler? 
 Does not this meat taste well ? and was not this place well 
 chosen to eat it .'' for this sycamore-tree will shade us from 
 the sun's heat. 
 
 Venator. All excellent good; and my stomach ex- 
 cellent good, too. And I now remember, and find that 
 true which devout Lessius says, ' that poor men, and those 
 that fast often, have much more pleasure in eating than 
 rich men, and gluttons, that always feed before their 
 stomachs are empty of their last meat and call for more ; 
 for by that means they rob themselves of that pleasure 
 that hunger brings to poor men.' And I do seriously 
 approve of that saying of yours, ' that you had rather be a 
 civil, well-governed, well-grounded, temperate, poor angler, 
 than a drunken lord ' : but I hope there is none such. 
 However, I am certain of this, that I have been at many 
 very costly dinners that have not afforded me half the 
 content that this has done; for which I thank God and 
 you. 
 
 And now, good master, proceed to your promised 
 direction for making and ordering my artificial fly. 
 
 PiscATOR. My honest scholar, I will do it ; for it is 
 a debt due unto you by my promise. And because 
 you shall not think yourself more engaged to me than 
 indeed you really are, I will freely give you such direc- 
 tions as were lately given to me by an ingenuous brother 
 of the angle, an honest man, and a most excellent fly- 
 fisher. 
 
 You are to note, that there are twelve kinds of 
 artificial made Flies, to angle with upon the top of the 
 water. Note, by the way, that the fittest season of 
 using these is in a blustering windy day, when the waters 
 are so troubled that the natural fly cannot be seen, or rest 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 79 
 
 upon them. The first is the dun-fly, in March : the body 
 is made of dun wool; the wings, of the partridge's 
 feathers. The second is another dun-fly: the body, of 
 black, wool ; and the wings made of the black drake's 
 feathers, and of the feathers under his tail. The third 
 is the stone-fly, in April: the body is made of black 
 wool ; made yellow under the wings and under the taU, 
 and so made with wings of the drake. The fourth is the 
 ruddy-fly, in the beginning of May ; the body made of 
 red wool, wrapt about with black silk ; and the feathers 
 are the wings of the drake ; with the feathers of a red 
 capon also, which hang dangling on his sides next to 
 the tail. The fifth is the yellow or greenish fly, in May 
 likewise : the body made of yellow wool ; and the wings 
 made of the red cock's hackle or tail. The sixth is the 
 black-fly, in May also : the body made of black wool, and 
 lapt about with the herle of a peacock's tail : the wings 
 are made of the wings of a brown capon, with his blue 
 feathers in his head. The seventh is the sad yellow-fly in 
 June: the body is made of black wool, with a yellow 
 list on either side; and the wings taken oflF the wings 
 of a buzzard, bound with black braked hemp. The 
 eighth is the moorish-fly ; made, with the body, of duskish 
 wool ; and the wings made of the blackish mail of the 
 drake. The ninth is the tawny-fly, good until the middle 
 of June : the body made of tawny wool ; the wings made 
 contrary one against the other, made of the whitish mail 
 of the wild drake. The tenth is the wasp-fly in July ; the 
 body made of black wool, lapt about with yellow silk ; the 
 wings made of the feathers of the drake, or of the buzzard. 
 The eleventh is the sheU-fly, good in mid-July ; the body 
 made of greenish wool, lapt about with the herle of a 
 peacock's tail ; and the wings made of the wings of the 
 buzzard. The twelfth is the dark drake-fly, good in 
 August : the body made with black wool, lapt about with 
 black silk ; his wings are made with the mail of the black 
 drake, with a black head. Thus have you a jury of flies, 
 likely to betray and condemn all the Trouts in the river. 
 I shall next give you some other directions for fly- 
 
8o IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 fishing, such as are given by Mr. Thomas Barker, a 
 gentleman that hath spent much time in fishing: but I 
 shall do it with a little variation. 
 
 First, let your rod be light, and very gentle : I take the 
 best to be of two pieces. And let not your line exceed, 
 especially for three or four links next to the hook, I 
 say, not exceed three or four hairs at the most, though 
 you may fish a little stronger above, in the upper part of 
 your line : but if you can attain to angle with one hair, 
 you shall have more rises, and catch more fish. Now 
 you must be sure not to cumber yourself with too long a 
 line, as most do. And before you begin to angle, cast to 
 have the wind on your back ; and the sun, if it shines, to 
 be before you ; and to fish down the stream ; and carry 
 the point or top of your rod downward, by which means 
 the shadow of yourself, and rod too, will be the least 
 offensive to the fish ; for the sight of any shade amazes 
 the fish, and spoils your sport, of which you must take 
 great care. 
 
 In the middle of March, till which time a man should 
 not in honesty catch a Trout ; or in April, if the weather 
 be dark, or a little windy or cloudy ; the best fishing is 
 with the palmer-worm, of which I last spoke to you ; but 
 of these there be divers kinds, or at least of divers colours : 
 these and the May-fly are the ground of all fly-angling : 
 which are to be thus made : 
 
 First, you must arm your hook with the line, in the 
 inside of it : then take your scissors, and cut so much of 
 a brown mallard's feather as, in your own reason, will 
 make the wings of it, you having, withal, regard to the 
 bigness or littleness of your hook ; then lay the outmost 
 part of your feather next to your hook ; then the point of 
 your feather next the shank of your hook, and, having so 
 done, whip it three or four times about the hook with the 
 same silk with which your hook was armed ; and having 
 made the silk fast, take the hackle of a cock or capon's 
 neck, or a plover's top, which is usually better : take off 
 the one side of the feather, and then take the hackle, silk 
 or crewel, gold or silver thread ; make these fast at the 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 8i 
 
 bent of the hook, that is to say, below your arming ; then 
 you must take the hackle, the silver or gold thread, and 
 work it up to the wings, shifting or still removing your 
 finger as you turn the silk about the hook, and still looking, 
 at every stop or turn, that your gold, or what materials 
 soever you make your fly of, do lie right and neatly ; and 
 if you find they do so, then when you have made the head, 
 make all fast ; and then work your hackle up to the head, 
 and mak« that fast : and then, with a needle, or pin, divide 
 the wing into two ; and then, with the arming sUk, whip 
 it about cross-ways betwixt the wings : and then with your 
 thumb you must turn the point of the feather towards the 
 bent of the hook ; and then work three or four times about 
 the shank of the hook ; and then view the proportion ; and 
 if all be neat, and to your liking, fasten. 
 
 I confess, no direction can be given to make a man of 
 a dull capacity able to make a fly well : and yet I know 
 this, with a litde practice, will help an ingenious angler in 
 a good degree. But to see a fly made by an artist in that 
 kind, is the best teaching to make it. And, then, an 
 ingenious angler may walk by the river, and mark what 
 flies fall on the water that day ; and catch one of them, if 
 he sees the Trouts leap at a fly of that kind : and then 
 having always hooks ready-hung with him, and having 
 a bag always with him, with bear's hair, or the hair of a 
 brown or sad-coloured heifer, hackles of a cock or capon, 
 several coloured silk and crewel to make the body of the 
 fly, the feathers of a drake's head, black or brown sheep's 
 wool, or hog's wool, or hair, thread of gold and of silver ; 
 silk of several colours, especially sad-coloured, to make the 
 fly's head : and there be also other coloured feathers, both 
 of litde birds and of speckled fowl : I say, having those 
 with him in a bag, and trying to make a fly, though he 
 miss at first, yet shall he at last hit it better, even to such 
 a perfection as none can well teach him. And if he hit to 
 make his fly right, and have the luck to hit, also, where 
 there is store of Trouts, a dark day, and a right wind, he 
 will catch such store of them, as will encourage him to 
 grow more and more in love with the art of fly-making. 
 
82 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Venator. But, my loving master, if any wind will not 
 serve, then I wish I were in Lapland, to buy a good wind 
 of one of the honest witches, that sell so many winds 
 there, and so cheap. 
 
 PiscATOR. Marry, scholar, but I would not be there, 
 nor indeed from under this tree ; for look how it begins 
 to rain, and by the clouds, if I mistake not, we shall 
 presently have a smoking shower, and therefore sit close ; 
 this sycamore-tree will shelter us : and I wUl tell you, as 
 they shall come into my mind, more observations of fly- 
 fishing for a Trout. 
 
 But first for the wind : you are to take notice that of the 
 winds the south wind is said to be best. One observes, that 
 
 when the wind is south. 
 It blows your bait into a fish's mouth. 
 
 Next to that, the west wind is believed to be the best : 
 and having told you that the east wind is the worst, I need 
 not tell you which wind is the best in the third degree : 
 and yet, as Solomon observes, that ' he that considers the 
 wind shall never sow ' ; so he that busies his head too 
 much about them, if the weather be not made extreme 
 cold by an east wind, shall be a little superstitious : for as 
 it is observed by some, that ' there is no good horse of a 
 bad colour ' ; so I have observed, that if it be a cloudy 
 day, and not extreme cold, let the wind sit in what corner 
 it will and do its worst, I heed it not. And yet take 
 this for a rule, that I wovild willingly fish, standing 
 on the lee-shore: and you are to take notice, that the 
 fish lies or swims nearer the bottom, and in deeper water, 
 in winter than in summer ; and also nearer the bottom 
 in any cold day, and then gets nearest the lee-side of the 
 water. 
 
 But I promised to tell you more of the Fly-fishing for a 
 Trout ; which I may have time enough to do, for you see 
 it rains May-butter. First for a May-fly : you may make 
 his body with greenish-coloured crewel, or wQlowish 
 colour ; darkening it in most places with waxed silk ; or 
 ribbed with black hair; or, some of them, ribbed with 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 83 
 
 silver thread ; and such wings, for the colour, as you see 
 the fly to have at that season, nay, at that very day on the 
 water. Or you may make the Oak-fly : with an orange, 
 tawny, and black ground ; and the brown of a mallard's 
 feather for the wings. And you are to know, that these 
 two are most excellent flies, that is, the May-fly and the 
 Oak-fly. 
 
 And let me again tell you, that you keep as far from 
 the water as you can possibly, whether you fish with 
 a fly or worm; and fish down the stream. And when 
 you fish with a fly, if it be possible, let no part of your 
 line touch the water, but your fly only; and be still 
 moving your fly upon the water, or casting it into the 
 water, you yourself being also always moving down the 
 stream. 
 
 Mr. Barker commends several sorts of the Palmer-flies; 
 not only those ribbed with silver and gold, but others 
 that have their bodies all made of black ; or some with 
 red, and a red hackle. You may also make the Haw- 
 thorn-fly : which is all black, and not big, but very small, 
 the smaller the better. Or the oak-fly, the body of which 
 is orange colour and black crewel, with a brown wing. 
 Or a fly made with a peacock's feather is excellent in a 
 bright day: you must be sure you want not in your 
 magazine-bag the peacock's feather ; and grounds of such 
 wool and crewel as will make the grasshopper. And 
 note, that usually the smallest flies are the best ; and note 
 also, that the light fly does usually make most sport in a 
 dark day, and the darkest and least fly in a bright or clear 
 day : and lastly note, that you are to repair upon any 
 occasion to your magazine-bag : and upon any occasion, 
 vary and make them lighter or sadder, according to your 
 fancy, or the day. 
 
 And now I shall tell you, that the fishing with a 
 natural-fly is excellent, and afi^ords much pleasure. They 
 may be found thus : the May-fly, usually in and about 
 that month, near to the river-side, especially against rain : 
 the Oak-fly, on the butt or body of an oak or ash, from 
 the beginning of May to the end of August; it is a 
 
84 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 brownish fly and easy to be so found, and stands usually 
 with his head downward, that is to say, towards the root 
 of the tree : the small black-fly, or Hawthorn-fly, is to be 
 had on any hawthorn bush after the leaves be come forth. 
 With these and a short line, as I shewed to angle for a 
 Chub, you may dape or dop, and also with a grasshopper, 
 behind a tree, or in any deep hole; still making it to 
 move on the top of the water as if it were alive, and still 
 keeping yourself out of sight, you shall certainly have 
 sport if there be Trouts ; yea, in a hot day, but especially 
 in the evening of a hot day, you will have sport. 
 
 And now, scholar, my direction for fly-fishing is ended 
 with this shower, for it has done raining. And now look 
 about you, and see how pleasantly that meadow looks; 
 nay, and the earth smells so sweetly too. Come let me 
 tell you what holy Mr. Herbert says of such days and 
 flowers as these, and then we will thank God that we 
 enjoy them, and walk to the river and sit down quietly, 
 and try to catch the other brace of Trouts. 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright. 
 The bridal of the earth and sky, 
 Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night, 
 For thou must die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave. 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye. 
 Thy root is ever in its grave. 
 
 And thou must die. 
 
 Sweet spring, ftill of sweet days and roses, 
 A box where sweets compacted lie; 
 My music shews you have your closes, 
 And all must die. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 
 Like season'd timber, never gives, 
 But when the whole world turns to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 Venator. I thank you, good master, for your good 
 direction for fly-fishing, and for the sweet enjoyment of 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 85 
 
 the pleasant day, which is so far spent without ofFence 
 to God or man : and I thank you for the sweet close 
 of your discourse with Mr. Herbert's verses ; who, I have 
 heard, loved angling; and I do the rather believe it, 
 because he had a spirit suitable to anglers, and to those 
 primitive Christians that you love, and have so much 
 commended. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, my loving scholar, and I am pleased 
 to know that you are so well pleased with my direction 
 and discourse. 
 
 And since you like these verses of Mr. Herbert's so 
 well, let me tell you what a reverend and learned divine 
 that professes to imitate him, and has indeed done so most 
 excellendy, hath writ of our book of Common Prayer ; 
 which I know you will like the better, because he is a 
 friend of mine, and I am sure no enemy to angling. 
 
 What ! Prayer by the book ? and Common ? Yes ; Why not i 
 The spirit of grace 
 And supplication 
 Is not left free alone 
 For time and place. 
 But manner too : to read, or speak, by rote. 
 Is all alike to him that prays, 
 In 's heart, what with his mouth he says. 
 
 They that in private, by themselves alone. 
 Do pray, may take 
 What liberty they please. 
 In choosing of the ways 
 Wherein to make 
 Their soul's most intimate affections known 
 To him that sees in secret, when 
 They are most conceal'd from other men. 
 
 But he, that unto others leads the way 
 In public prayer. 
 Should do it so, 
 As all, that hear, may know 
 They need not fear 
 To tune their hearts unto his tongue, and say 
 Amen ; not doubt they were betray'd 
 To blaspheme, when they meant to have pray'd. 
 
86 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Devotion will add life unto the letter : 
 
 And why should not 
 That, which authority 
 Prescribes, esteemed be 
 Advantage got ? 
 If the prayer be good, the commoner the better, 
 Prayer in the Church's words, as well 
 As sense, of all prayers bears the bell. 
 
 Ch. Harvie. 
 
 And now, scholar, I think it will be time to repair to 
 our angle-rods, which we left in the water to fish for 
 themselves ; and you shall choose which shall be yours ; 
 and it is an even lay, one of them catches. 
 
 And, let me tell you, this kind of fishing with a dead 
 rod, and laying night-hooks, are like putting money to 
 use ; for they both work for the owners when they do 
 nothing but sleep, or eat, or rejoice, as you know we have 
 done this last hour, and sat as quietly and as free from 
 cares under this sycamore, as Virgil's Tityrus and his 
 Meliboeus did under their broad beech-tree. No life, my 
 honest scholar, no life so happy and so pleasant as the life 
 of a well-governed angler ; for when the lawyer is swal- 
 lowed up with business, and the statesman is preventing 
 or contriving plots, then we sit on cowslip-banks, hear the 
 birds sing, and possess ourselves in as much quietness as 
 these silent silver streams, which we now see glide so 
 quietly by us. Indeed, my good scholar, we may say 
 of angling, as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, ' Doubtless 
 God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God 
 never did ' ; and so, if I might be judge, God never did 
 make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than 
 angling. 
 
 I'll tell you, scholar ; when I sat last on this primrose- 
 bank, and looked down these meadows, I thought of them 
 as Charles the emperor did of the city of Florence : ' That 
 they were too pleasant to be looked on, but only on holy- 
 days.' As I then sat on this very grass, I turned my 
 present thoughts into verse : 'twas a Wish, which I'll 
 repeat to you : 
 
1 V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 87 
 
 THE ANGLER'S WISH 
 
 I in these flowery meads would be : 
 These crystal streams should solace me ; 
 To whose harmonious bubbling noise 
 I with my Angle would rejoice ; 
 Sit here, and see the turtle-dove 
 Court his chaste mate to acts of love : 
 
 Or, on that bank, feel the west wind 
 Breathe health and plenty : please my mind. 
 To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, 
 And then washed off by April showers : 
 Here hear my Kenna sing^ a song ; 
 There, see a blackbird feed her young, 
 
 Or a leverock build her nest : 
 
 Here, give my weary spirits rest, 
 
 And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above 
 
 Earth, or what poor mortals love : 
 
 Thus, free from law-suits, and the noise 
 Of princes' courts, I would rejoice : 
 
 Or, with my Bryan, and a book, 
 
 Loiter long days near Shawford-brook ; 
 
 There sit by him, and eat my meat. 
 
 There see the sun both rise and set : 
 
 There bid good morning to next day ; 
 
 There meditate my time away. 
 
 And Angle on ; and beg to have 
 A quiet passage to a welcome grave. 
 
 When I had ended this composure, I left this place, 
 and saw a brother of the angle sit under that honey- 
 suckle hedge, one that will prove worth your acquaint- 
 ance. I sat down by him, and presently we met with 
 an accidental piece of merriment, which I will relate to 
 you, for it rains still. 
 
 On the other side of this very hedge sat a gang or 
 gypsies ; and near to them sat a gang of beggars. The 
 gypsies were then to divide all the money that had been 
 got that week, either by stealing linen or poultry, or by 
 fortune-telling or legerdemain, or, indeed, by any other 
 
 1 Like Hermit poor. 
 
88 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 sleights and secrets belonging to their mysterious govern- 
 ment. And the sum that was got that week proved to be 
 but twenty and some odd shillings. The odd money was 
 agreed to be distributed amongst the poor of their own 
 corporation : and for the remaining twenty shillings, that 
 was to be divided unto four gentlemen gypsies, according 
 to their several degrees in their commonwealth. And the 
 first or chiefest gypsy was, by consent, to have a third 
 part of the twenty shillings, which all men know is 6s. 8d. 
 The second was to have a fourth part of the 20s., which 
 all men know to be 5s. The third was to have a fifth 
 part of the 20s., which all men know to be 4s. The 
 fourth and last gypsy was to have a sixth part of the 20s., 
 which all men know to be 3 s. 4d. 
 
 As, for example, 
 
 3 times 6s. 8 d. are - - - 20s. 
 
 And so is 4 times 5s. - - - 20s. 
 
 And so is 5 times 4s. - - - 20s. 
 
 And so is 6 times 3s. 4d. - - - 20s. 
 
 And yet he that divided the money was so very a gypsy, 
 that though he gave to every one these said sums, yet he 
 kept one shilling of it for himself. 
 
 As, for example. 
 
 s. 
 6 
 
 d. 
 8 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 make but 
 
 19 
 
 
 
 But now you shall know, that when the four gypsies 
 saw that he got one shilling by dividing the money, though 
 not one of them knew any reason to demand more, yet, 
 like lords and courtiers, every gypsy envied him that was 
 the gainer ; and wrangled with him ; and every one said 
 the remaining shilling belonged to him ; and so they fell 
 to so high a contest about it, as none that knows the faith- 
 fulness of one gypsy to another will easily believe ; only 
 we that have lived these last twenty years are certain that 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 89 
 
 money has been able to do much mischief. However, the 
 gypsies were too wise to go to law, and did therefore choose 
 their choice friends Rook and Shark, and our late English 
 Gusman, to be their arbitrators and umpires. And so they 
 left this honeysuckle hedge ; and went to tell fortunes 
 and cheat, and get more money and lodging in the 
 next village. 
 
 When these were gone, we heard as high a contention 
 amongst the beggars, whether it was easiest to rip a cloak, 
 or to unrip a cloak ? One beggar affirmed it was all one : 
 but that was denied, by asking her. If doing and undoing 
 were all one ? Then another said, 'twas easiest to unrip 
 a cloak ; for that was to let it alone : but she was 
 answered, by asking her, how she unript it if she let it 
 alone ? and she confest herself mistaken. These and 
 twenty such like questions were proposed and answered, 
 with as much beggarly logick and earnestness as was ever 
 heard to proceed from the mouth of the most pertinacious 
 schismatic ; and sometimes all the beggars, whose number 
 was neither more nor less than the poets' nine Muses, 
 talked all together about this ripping and unripping ; and 
 so loud, that not one heard what the other said : but, at 
 last, one beggar craved audience ; and told them that 
 old father Clause, whom Ben Jonson, in his Beggar's 
 Bush, created King of their corporation, was to lodge 
 at an ale-house, called ' Catch-her-by-the-way,' not far 
 from Waltham Cross, and in the high road towards 
 London ; and he therefore desired them to spend no 
 more time about that and such like questions, but refer 
 all to father Clause at night, for he was an upright judge, 
 and in the meantime draw cuts, what song should be next 
 sung, and who should sing it. They all agreed to the 
 motion ; and the lot fell to her that was the youngest, and 
 veriest virgin of the company. And she sung Frank 
 Davison's song, which he made forty years ago ; and 
 all the others of the company joined to sing the burthen 
 with her. The ditty was this ; but first the burthen : 
 
 Bright shines the sun ; play, Beggars, play; 
 Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
go IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 What noise of viols is so sweet, 
 
 As when our merry clappers ring ? 
 What mirth doth want where beggars meet J 
 
 A Beggar's life is for a King. 
 Eat, drink, and play ; sleep when we list ; 
 Go where we will, so stocks be mist. 
 
 Bright shines the sun ; play. Beggars, play ; 
 
 Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
 The world is ours, and ours alone ; 
 
 For we alone have world at will; 
 We purchase not; all is our own; 
 
 Both fields and streets we Beggars fill. 
 Nor care to get, nor fear to keep, 
 Did ever break a beggar's sleep. 
 
 Play, Beggars, play ; play. Beggars, play ; 
 
 Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
 A hundred herds of black and white 
 
 Upon our govims securely feed; 
 And yet if any dare us bite, 
 
 He dies therefore, as sure as creed. 
 Thus Beggars lord it as they please ; 
 And only Beggars live at ease. 
 
 Bright shines the sun; play. Beggars, play; 
 
 Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
 Venator. I thank you, good master, for this piece of 
 merriment, and this song, which was well humoured by 
 the maker, and well remembered by you. 
 
 PiscATOR. But, I pray, forget not the catch which you 
 promised to make against night; for our countryman, 
 honest Coridon, will expect your catch, and my song, 
 which I must be forced to patch up, for it is so long since 
 I learnt it, that I have forgot a part of it. But, come, 
 now it hath done raining, let's stretch our legs a little in a 
 gentle walk to the river, and try what interest our angles 
 will pay us for lending them so long to be used by the 
 Trouts ; lent them indeed, like usurers, for our profit and 
 their destruction. 
 
 Venator. Oh me ! look you, master, a fish ! a fish ! 
 Oh, alas, master, I have lost her. 
 
 PiscATOR. Ay, marry, Sir, that was a good fish indeed : 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 91 
 
 if I had had the luck, to have taken up that rod, then 'tis 
 twenty to one he should not have broke my line by 
 running to the rod's end, as you suffered him. I would 
 have held him within the bent of my rod, unless he had 
 been fellow to the great Trout that is near an ell long, 
 which was of such a length and depth, that he had his 
 picture drawn, and now is to be seen at mine host 
 Rickabie's, at the George in Ware, and it may be, by 
 giving that very great Trout the rod, that is, by casting 
 it to him into the water, I might have caught him at the 
 long run, for so I use always to do when I meet with an 
 overgrown fish ; and you will learn to do so too, hereafter, 
 for I tell you, scholar, fishing is an art, or, at least, it is an 
 art to catch fish. 
 
 Venator. But, master, I have heard that the great Trout 
 that you speak of is a Salmon. 
 
 PiscATOR. Trust me, scholar, I know not what to say to 
 it. There are many country people that believe hares 
 change sexes every year : and there be very many learned 
 men think so too, for in their dissecting them they find 
 many reasons to incline them to that belief. And to make 
 the wonder seem yet less, that hares change sexes, note 
 that Dr. Mer. Casaubon affirms, in his book, ' Of credible 
 and incredible things,' that Gasper Peucerus, a learned 
 physician, tells us of a people that once a year turn wolves, 
 partly in shape, and pardy in conditions. And so, 
 whether this were a Salmon when he came into fresh 
 water, and his not returning into the sea hath altered him 
 to another colour or kind, I am not able to say ; but I am 
 certain he hath all the signs of being a Trout, both for his 
 shape, colour, and spots ; and yet many think he is not. 
 
 Venator. But, master, will this Trout which I had hold 
 of die .'' for it is like he hath the hook in his belly. 
 
 PiscATOR. I will tell you, scholar, that unless the hook 
 be fast in his very gorge, 'tis more than probable he will 
 live, and a little time, with the help of the water, will rust 
 the hook, and it will in time wear away, as the gravel doth 
 in the horse-hoof, which only leaves a false quarter. 
 
 And now, scholar, let's go to my rod. Look you, 
 
92 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 scholar, I have a fish too, but it proves a logger-headed 
 Chub : and this is not much amiss, for this will pleasure 
 some poor body, as we go to our lodging to meet our 
 brother Peter and honest Coridon. Come, now bait your 
 hook again, and lay it into the water, for it rains again ; and 
 we will even retire to the Sycamore-tree, and there I will 
 give you more directions concerning fishing, for I would 
 fain make you an artist. 
 
 Venator. Yes, good master, I pray let it be so. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, scholar, now we are sate down and are 
 at ease, I shall tell you a little more of Trout-fishing, before 
 I speak of the Salmon, which I purpose shall be next, and 
 then of the Pike or Luce. 
 
 You are to know, there is night as well as day fishing for 
 a Trout ; and that, in the night, the best Trouts come out 
 of their holes. And the manner of taking them is on the 
 top of the water with a great lob or garden-worm, or rather 
 two, which you are to fish with in a stream where the 
 waters run somewhat quiedy, for in a stream the bait will 
 not be so well discerned. I say, in a quiet or dead place, 
 near to some swift, there draw your bait over the top of the 
 water, to and fro, and if there be a good Trout in the hole, 
 he win take it, especially if the night be dark, for then he 
 is bold, and lies near the top of the water, watching the 
 motion of any frog or water-rat, or mouse, that swims 
 betwixt him and the sky ; these he hunts after, if he sees 
 the water but wrinkle or move in one of these dead holes, 
 where these great old Trouts usually lie, near to their holds ; 
 for you are to note, that the great old Trout is both subde 
 and fearful, and lies close all day, and does not usually stir 
 out of his hold, but lies in it as close in the day as the 
 timorous hare does in her form ; for the chief feeding 
 of either is seldom in the day, but usually in the night, 
 and then the great Trout feeds very boldly. 
 
 And you must fish for him with a strong line, and not 
 a little hook ; and let him have time to gorge your hook, 
 for he does not usually forsake it, as he oft will in the 
 day-fishing. And if the night be not dark, then fish so 
 with an artificial fly of a light colour, and at the snap : nay. 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 93 
 
 he will sometimes rise at a dead mouse, or a piece of cloth, 
 or anything that seems to swim across the water, or to be 
 in motion. This is a choice way, but I have not oft used 
 it, because it is void of the pleasures that such days as 
 these, that we two now enjoy, afford an angler. 
 
 And you are to know, that in Hampshire, which I 
 think exceeds all England for swift, shallow, clear, pleasant 
 brooks, and store of Trouts, they use to catch Trouts in 
 the night, by the light of a torch or straw, which, when 
 they have discovered, they strike with a Trout-spear, or 
 other ways. This kind of way they catch very many : but 
 I would not believe it till I was an eye-witness of it, nor do 
 I like it now I have seen it. 
 
 Venator. But, master, do not Trouts see us in the 
 night .'' 
 
 PiscATOR. Yes, and hear, and smell too, both then and 
 ^n the day-time : for Gesner observes, the Otter smells a 
 fish forty furlongs off him in the water : and that it may 
 be true, seems to be affirmed by Sir Francis Bacon, in the 
 eighth century of his Natural History, who there proves 
 that waters may be the medium of sounds, by demon- 
 strating it thus : ' That if you knock two stones together 
 very deep under the water, those that stand on a bank 
 near to that place may hear the noise without any diminu- 
 tion of it by the water.' He also offers the like experiment 
 concerning the letting an anchor fall, by a very long cable 
 or rope, on a rock, or the sand, within the sea. And this 
 being so well observed and demonstrated as it is by that 
 learned man, has made me to believe that Eels unbed 
 themselves and stir at the noise of thunder, and not only, 
 as some think, by the motion or stirring of the earth 
 which is occasioned by that thunder. 
 
 And this reason of Sir Francis Bacon (Exper. 792) 
 has made me crave pardon of one that I laughed at for 
 affirming that he knew Carps came to a certain place, in a 
 pond, to be fed at the ringing of a bell or the beating of a 
 drum. And, however, it shall be a rule for me to make as 
 little noise as I can when I am fishing, until Sir Francis 
 Bacon be confuted, which I shall give any man leave to do. 
 
94 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 And lest you may think him singular in this opinion, I 
 wiU tell you, this seems to be believed by our learned Doctor 
 Hakewill, who in his Apology of God's power and provi- 
 dence (f. 360), quotes Pliny to report that one of the 
 emperors had particular fish-ponds, and, in them, several 
 fish that appeared and came when they were called by 
 their particular names. And St. James tells us (chap, i 
 and 7), that all things in the sea have been tamed by 
 mankind. And Pliny (lib. ix. 35) tells us, that Antonia, 
 the wife of Drusus, had a Lamprey at whose gills she hung 
 jewels or ear-rings ; and that others have been so tender- 
 hearted as to shed tears at the death of fishes which they 
 have kept and loved. And these observations, which will 
 to most hearers seem wonderful, seem to have a further 
 confirmation from Martial (lib. iv. epigr. 30), who writes 
 thus: 
 
 Piscator, fuge ; ne nocens, etc. 
 
 Angler ! would'st thou be guiltless ? then forbear ; 
 For these are sacred fishes that swim here, 
 Who know their sovereign, and will lick his hand, 
 Than which none's greater in the world's command j 
 Nay more, they've names, and, when they called are. 
 Do to their several owner's call repair. 
 
 All the further use that I shall make of this shall be, 
 to advise anglers to be patient, and forbear swearing, lest 
 they be heard, and catch no fish. 
 
 And so I shall proceed next to tell you, it is certain that 
 certain fields near Leominster, a town in Herefordshire, 
 are observed to make the sheep that graze upon them more 
 fat than the next, and also to bear finer wool; that is to 
 say, that that year in which they feed in such a particular 
 pasture, they shall yield finer wool than they did that year 
 before they came to feed in it ; and coarser, again, if they 
 shall return to their former pasture ; and, again, return to 
 a finer wool, being fed in the fine wool ground : which 
 I tell you, that you may the better believe that I am 
 certain, if I catch a Trout in one meadow, he shall be white 
 and faint, and very like to be lousy ; and, as certainly, if I 
 catch a Trout in the next meadow, he shall be strong, and 
 
V THE COMPLETE ANGLER 95 
 
 red, and lusty, and much better meat. Trust me, scholar, 
 I have caught many a Trout in a particular meadow, that 
 the very shape and the enamelled colour of him hath been 
 such as hath joyed me to look on him : and I have then, 
 with much pleasure, concluded with Solomon, ' Everything 
 is beautiful in his season.' 
 
 I should, by promise, speak next of the Salmon ; 
 but I wiU, by your favour, say a little of the Umber 
 or Grayling ; which is so like a Trout for his shape 
 and feeding, that I desire I may exercise your patience 
 with a short discourse of him ; and then, the next 
 shall be of the Salmon. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Observations of the Umber or Grayling and Directions how to 
 fish for them 
 
 PiscATOR. The Umber and Grayling are thought by 
 some to differ as the Herring and Pilchard do. But 
 though they may do so in other nations, I think those in 
 England differ nothing but in their names. Aldrovandus 
 says, they be of a Trout kind; and Gesner says, that 
 in his country, which is Switzerland, he is accounted the 
 choicest of all fish. And in Italy, he is, in the month 
 of May, so highly valued, that he is sold there at a much 
 higher rate than any other fish. The French, which call 
 the Chub Un Villain, call the Umber of the lake Leman 
 Un Umble Chevalier; and they value the Umber or 
 Grayling so highly, that they say he feeds on gold ; and 
 say, that many have been caught out of their famous river 
 of Loire, out of whose bellies grains of gold have been 
 often taken. And some think that he feeds on water- 
 thyme, and smells of it at his first taking out of the water ; 
 and they may think so with as good reason as we do that 
 our Smelts smell like violets at their being first caught, 
 
96 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 which I think is a truth. Aldrovandus says, the Salmon, 
 the Grayling, and Trout, and all fish that live in clear and 
 sharp streams, are made by their mother Nature of such 
 exact shape and pleasant colours purposely to invite us to 
 a joy and contentedness in feasting with her. Whether this 
 is a truth or not, is not my purpose to dispute : but 'tis 
 certain, all that write of the Umber declare him to be very 
 medicinable. And Gesner says, that the fat of an Umber 
 or Grayling, being set, with a little honey, a day or two in 
 the sun, in a little glass, is very excellent against redness or 
 swarthiness, or anything that breeds in the eyes. Salvian 
 takes him to be called Umber from his swift swimming, or 
 gliding out of sight more like a shadow or a ghost than a 
 fish. Much more might be said both of his smell and 
 taste: but I shall only tell you that St. Ambrose, the 
 glorious bishop of Milan, who lived when the church kept 
 fasting-days, calls him the flower-fish, or flower of fishes ; 
 and that he was so far in love with him, that he would not 
 let him pass without the honour of a long discourse ; but 
 I must ; and pass on to tell you how to take this dainty 
 fish. 
 
 First note, that he grows not to the bigness of a Trout ; 
 for the biggest of them do not usually exceed eighteen 
 inches. He lives in such rivers as the Trout does ; and is 
 usually taken with the same baits as the Trout is, and after 
 the same manner ; for he will bite both at the minnow, or 
 worm, or fly, though he bites not often at the minnow, 
 and is very gamesome at the fly ; and much simpler, and 
 therefore bolder than a Trout ; for he will rise twenty 
 times at a fly, if you miss him, and yet rise again. He has 
 been taken with a fly made of the red feathers of a paroquet, 
 a strange outlandish bird ; and he will rise at a fly not 
 unlike a gnat, or a small moth, or, indeed, at most flies 
 that are not too big. He is a fish that lurks close all 
 Winter, but is very pleasant and jolly after mid-April, and 
 in May, and in the hot months. He is of a very fine 
 shape, his flesh is white, his teeth, those little ones that he 
 has, are in his throat, yet he has so tender a mouth, that 
 he is oftener lost after an angler has hooked him than any 
 
VI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 97 
 
 other fish. Though there be many of these fishes in the 
 delicate river Dove, and in Trent, and some other 
 smaller rivers, as that which runs by Salisbury, yet he 
 is not so general a fish as the Trout, nor to me so good 
 to eat or to angle for. And so I shall take my leave of 
 him : and now come to some observations of the 
 Salmon, and how to catch him. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Observations of the Salmon, with Directions how to fish 
 
 for him 
 
 PiscATOR. The Salmon is accounted the King of fresh- 
 water fish ; and is ever bred in rivers relating to the sea, 
 yet so high, or far from it, as admits of no tincture of 
 salt, or brackishness. He is said to breed or cast his 
 spawn, in most rivers, in the month of August : some 
 say, that then they dig a hole or grave in a safe place in 
 the gravel, and there place their eggs or spawn, after the 
 melter has done his natural office, and then hide it most 
 cunningly, and cover it over with gravel and stones ; and 
 then leave it to their Creator's protection, who, by a 
 gentle heat which he infuses into that cold element, makes 
 it brood, and beget life in the spawn, and to become 
 Samlets early in the spring next following. 
 
 The Salmons having spent their appointed time, and 
 done this natural duty in the fresh waters, they then haste 
 to the sea before winter, both the melter and spawner ; 
 but if they be stopt by flood-gates or weirs, or lost in 
 the fresh waters, then those so left behind by degrees 
 grow sick and lean, and unseasonable, and kipper, that is 
 to say, have bony gristles grow out of their lower chaps, 
 not unlike a hawk's beak, which hinders their feeding ; 
 and, in time, such fish so left behind pine away and die. 
 'Tis observed, that he may live thus one year from the 
 
98 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 sea ; but he then grows insipid and tasteless, and loses 
 both his blood and strength, and pines and dies the second 
 year. And 'tis noted, that those little Salmons called 
 Skeggers, which abound in many rivers relating to the 
 sea, are bred by such sick Salmons that might not go to the 
 sea, and that though they abound, yet they never thrive 
 to any considerable bigness. 
 
 But if the old Salmon gets to the sea, then that gristle 
 which shews him to be kipper, wears away, or is cast off, 
 as the eagle is said to cast his bill, and he recovers his 
 strength, and comes next summer to the same river, if it 
 be possible, to enjoy the former pleasures that there 
 possest him ; for, as one has wittily observed, he has, 
 like some persons of honour and riches which have both 
 their winter and summer houses, the fresh rivers for 
 summer, and the salt water for winter, to spend his life 
 in ; which is not, as Sir Francis Bacon hath observed in 
 his History of Life and Death, above ten years. And it 
 is to be observed, that though the Salmon does grow big 
 in the Sea, yet he grows not fat but in fresh rivers ; and 
 it is observed, that the farther they get from the sea, 
 they be both the fatter and better. 
 
 Next, I shall tell you, that though they make very 
 hard shift to get out of the fresh rivers into the sea, yet 
 they will make harder shift to get out of the salt into the 
 fresh rivers, to spawn, or possess the pleasures that they 
 have formerly found in them : to which end, they will 
 force themselves through floodgates, or over weirs, or 
 hedges, or stops in the water, even to a height beyond 
 common belief. Gesner speaks of such places as are 
 known to be above eight feet high above water. And 
 our Camden mentions in his Britannia, the like wonder 
 to be in Pembrokeshire, where the river Tivy falls into 
 the sea; and that the fall is so downright, and so high, 
 that the people stand and wonder at the strength and 
 sleight by which they see the Salmon use to get out of 
 the sea into the said river ; and the manner and height of 
 the place is so notable, that it is known, far, by the name 
 of the Salmon-leap. Concerning which, take this also out 
 
VII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 99 
 
 of Michael Drayton, my honest old friend ; as he tells it 
 you, in his Polyolbion : 
 
 And when the Salmon seeks a firesher stream to find ; 
 (Which hither from the sea comes, yearly, by his kind) 
 As he towards season grows, and stems the watry tract 
 Where Tivy, falling down, makes an high cataract, 
 Forc'd by the rising rocks that there her course oppose. 
 As tho' within her bounds they meant her to inclose ; 
 Here when the labouring fish does at the foot arrive, 
 And finds that by his strength he does but vainly strive ; 
 His tail takes in his mouth, and, bending like a bow 
 That's to full compass drawn, aloft himself doth throw. 
 Then springing at his height, as doth a little wand 
 That bended end to end, and started from man's hand, 
 Far off itself doth cast ; so does the Salmon vault : 
 And if, at first, he fail, his second summersault 
 He instantly essays, and, from his nimble ring 
 Still yerking, never leaves until himself he fling 
 Above the opposing stream. 
 
 This Michael Drayton tells you, of this leap or sum- 
 mersault of the Salmon. 
 
 And, next, I shall tell you, that it is observed by 
 Gesner and others, that there is no better Salmon than in 
 England ; and that though some of our northern counties 
 have as fat, and as large, as the river Thames, yet none 
 are of so excellent a taste. 
 
 And as I have told you that Sir Francis Bacon observes, 
 the age of a Salmon exceeds not ten years; so let me 
 next tell you, that his growth is very sudden : it is said, 
 that after he is got into the sea, he becomes, from a 
 Samlet not so big as a Gudgeon, to be a Salmon, in as 
 short a time as a gosling becomes to be a goose. Much 
 of this has been observed, by tying a riband, or some 
 known tape or thread, in the tail of some young Salmons 
 which have been taken in weirs as they have swimmed 
 towards the salt water; and then by taking a part of 
 them again, with the known mark, at the same place, at 
 their return from sea, which is usually about six months 
 after; and the like experiment hath been tried upon young 
 swallows, who have, aftet six months' absence, been 
 observed to return to the same chimney, there to make 
 
100 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 their nests and habitations for the summer following; 
 which has inclined many to think, that every Salmon 
 usually returns to the same river in which it was bred, as 
 young pigeons taken out of the same dovecote have also 
 been observed to do. 
 
 And you are yet to observe further, that the He-salmon 
 is usually bigger than the Spawner ; and that he is more 
 kipper, and less able to endure a winter in the fresh water 
 than the She is : yet she is, at that time of looking less 
 kipper and better, as watry, and as bad meat. 
 
 And yet you are to observe, that as there is no general 
 rule without an exception, so there are some few rivers 
 in this nation that have Trouts and Salmon in season 
 in winter, as 'tis certain there be in the river Wye in 
 Monmouthshire, where they be in season, as Camden 
 observes, from September till April. But, my scholar, 
 the observation of this and many other things I must 
 in manners omit, because they will prove too large for 
 our narrow compass of time, and, therefore, I shall 
 next fall upon my directions how to fish for this 
 Salmon. 
 
 And, for that: First you shall observe, that usually 
 he stays not long in a place, as Trouts will, but, as I 
 ' said, covets stiU to go nearer the spring-head : and that 
 he does not, as the Trout and many other fish, lie near 
 the water-side or bank, or roots of trees, but swims in 
 the deep and broad parts of the water, and usually in 
 the middle, and near the ground, and that there you 
 are to fish for him, and that he is to be caught, as the 
 Trout is, with a worm, a minnow, which some call a 
 penk, or with a fly. 
 
 And you are to observe, that he is very seldom observed 
 to bite at a minnow, yet sometimes he will, and not usually 
 at a fly, but more usually at a worm, and then most 
 usually at a lob or garden-worm, which should be well 
 scoured, that is to say, kept seven or eight days in moss 
 before you fish with them : and if you double your time 
 of eight into sixteen, twenty, or more days, it is still the 
 better ; for the worms will still be clearer, tougher, and 
 
VII THE COMPLETE ANGLER loi 
 
 more lively, and continue so longer upon your hook. 
 And they may be kept longer by keeping them cool, and 
 in fresh moss ; and some advise to put camphire into it. 
 
 Note also, that many used to fish for a Salmon with a 
 ring of wire on the top of their rod, through which the 
 line may run to as great a length as is needful, when he is 
 hooked. And to that end, some use a wheel about the 
 middle of their rod, or near their hand, which is to be 
 observed better by seeing one of them than by a large 
 demonstration of words. 
 
 And now I shall tell you that which may be called a 
 secret. I have been a-fishing with old Oliver Henly, 
 now with God, a noted fisher both for Trout and 
 Salmon ; and have observed, that he would usually take 
 three or four worms out of his bag, and put them into 
 a little box in his pocket, where he would usually let 
 them continue half an hour or more, before he would 
 bait his hook with them. I have asked him his reason, 
 and he has replied, ' He did but pick the best out to 
 be in readiness against he baited his hook the next 
 time ' : but he has been observed, both by others and 
 myself, to catch more fish than I, or any other body 
 that has ever gone a-fishing with him, could do, and 
 especially Salmons. And I have been told lately, by 
 one of his most intimate and secret friends, that the 
 box in which he put those worms was anointed with a 
 drop, or two or three, of the oil of ivy-berries, made 
 by expression or infusion ; and told, that by the worms 
 remaining in that box an hour, or a like time, they had 
 incorporated a kind of smell that was irresistibly attrac- 
 tive, enough to force any fish within the smell of them 
 to bite. This I heard not long since from a friend, 
 but have not tried it ; yet I grant it probable, and refer 
 my reader to Sir Francis Bacon's Natural History, where 
 he proves fishes may hear, and, doubtless, can more pro- 
 bably smell : and I am certain Gesner says, the Otter can 
 smell in the water ; and I know not but that fish may do 
 so too. 'Tis left for a lover of angling, or any that desires 
 to improve that art, to try this conclusion. 
 
I02 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 I shall also impart two other experiments, but not tried 
 by myself, which I will deliver in the same words that they 
 were given me by an excellent angler and a very friend, in 
 writing : he told me the latter was too good to be told, 
 but in a learned language, lest it should be made common. 
 
 ' Take the stinking oil drawn out of polypody of the 
 oak by a retort, mixed with turpentine and hive-honey, 
 and anoint your bait therewith, and it will doubtless draw 
 the fish to it.' The other is this : ' Vulnera hederae grandis- 
 simae inflicta sudant balsamum oleo gelato, albicantique 
 persimile, odoris vero longe suavissimi.' ' 'Tis supremely 
 sweet to any fish, and yet assa foetida may do the like.' 
 
 But in these I have no great faith ; yet grant it 
 probable ; and have had from some chymical men, namely, 
 from Sir George Hastings and others, an affirmation of 
 them to be very advantageous. But no more of these ; 
 especially not in this place. 
 
 I might here, before I take my leave of the Salmon, tell 
 you, that there is more than one sort of them, as namely, 
 a Tecon, and another called in some places a Samlet, or by 
 some a Skegger ; but these, and others which I forbear to 
 name, may be fish of another kind, and differ as we know 
 a Herring and a Pilchard do, which, I think, are as different 
 as the rivers in which they breed, and must, by me, be 
 left to the disquisitions of men of more leisure, and of 
 greater abilities than I profess myself to have. 
 
 And lastly, I am to borrow so much of your promised 
 patience, as to tell you, that the trout, or Salmon, being in 
 season, have, at their first taking out of the water, which 
 continues during life, their bodies adorned, the one with 
 such red spots, and the other with such black or blackish 
 spots, as give them such an addition of natural beauty as, 
 I think, was never given to any woman by the artificial 
 paint or patches in which they so much pride themselves 
 in this age. And so I shall leave them both ; and proceed 
 to some observations of the Pike. 
 
Vin THE COMPLETE ANGLER 103 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Observations of the Luce or Pike, with Directions how to 
 fish for him 
 
 PiscATOR. The mighty Luce or Pike is taken to be 
 the tyrant, as the Salmon is the king, of the fresh waters. 
 'Tis not to be doubted, but that they are bred, some by 
 generation, and some not ; as namely, of a weed called 
 pickerel-weed, unless learned Gesner be much mistaken, 
 for he says, this weed and other glutinous matter, with 
 the help of the sun's heat, in some particular months, 
 and some ponds, apted for it by nature, do become 
 Pikes. But, doubtless, divers Pikes are bred after this 
 manner, or are brought into some ponds some such 
 other ways as is past man's finding out, of which we 
 have daily testimonies. 
 
 Sir Francis Bacon, in his History of Life and Death, 
 observes the Pike to be the longest lived of any fresh- 
 water fish ; and yet he computes it to be not usually 
 above forty years ; and others think it to be not above 
 ten years : and yet Gesner mentions a Pike taken in 
 Swedeland, in the year 1449, with a ring about his 
 neck, declaring he was put into that pond by Frederick 
 the Second, more than two hundred years before he 
 was last taken, as by the inscription in that ring, being 
 Greek, was interpreted by the then Bishop of Worms. 
 But of this no more ; but that it is observed, that the 
 old or very great Pikes have in them more of state 
 than goodness ; the smaller or middle-sized Pikes being, 
 by the most and choicest palates observed to be the 
 best meat : and, contrary, the Eel is observed to be the 
 better for age and bigness. 
 
 All Pikes that live long prove chargeable to their 
 keepers, because their life is maintained by the death 
 of so many other fish, even those of their own kind ; 
 which has made him by some writers to be called the 
 
104 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Tyrant of the Rivers, or the Fresh-water Wolf, by reason 
 of his bold, greedy, devouring disposition ; which is so 
 keen, as Gesner relates, A man going to a pond, where 
 it seems a Pike had devoured all the fish, to water his 
 mule, had a Pike bit his mule by the lips; to which 
 the Pike hung so fast, that the mule drew him out of 
 the water ; and by that accident, the owner of the mule 
 angled out the Pike. And the same Gesner observes, 
 that a maid in Poland had a Pike bit her by the foot, 
 as she was washing clothes in a pond. And I have 
 heard the like of a woman in Killingworth pond, not 
 far from Coventry. But I have been assured by my 
 friend Mr. Segrave, of whom I spake to you formerly, 
 that keeps tame Otters, that he hath known a Pike, in 
 extreme hunger, fight with one of his Otters for a 
 Carp that the Otter had caught, and was then bringing 
 out of the water. I have told you who relate these 
 things ; and tell you they are persons of credit ; and 
 shall conclude this observation, by telling you, what a 
 wise man has observed, ' It is a hard thing to persuade 
 the belly, because it has no ears.' 
 
 But if these relations be disbelieved, it is too evident 
 to be doubted, that a Pike will devour a fish of his 
 own kind that shall be bigger than his belly or throat 
 will receive, and swallow a part of him, and let the 
 other part remain in his mouth till the swallowed part 
 be digested, and then swallow that other part that was 
 in his mouth, and so put it over by degrees ; which is 
 not unlike the Ox, and some other beasts taking their 
 meat, not out of their mouth immediately into their 
 belly, but first into some place betwixt, and then chew 
 it, or digest it by degrees after, which is called chew- 
 ing the cud. And, doubtless. Pikes will bite when they 
 are not hungry ; but, as some think, even for very anger, 
 when a tempting bait comes near to them. 
 
 And it is observed, that the Pike will eat venomous 
 things, as some kind of frogs are, and yet live without 
 being harmed by them ; for, as some say, he has in him a 
 natural balsam, or antidote against all poison. And he 
 
VIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 105 
 
 has a strange heat, that though it appear to us to be cold, 
 can yet digest or put over any fish-flesh, by degrees, with- 
 out being sick. And others observe, that he never eats 
 the venomous frog till he have first killed her, and then as 
 ducks are observed to do to frogs in spawning-time, at 
 which time some frogs are observed to be venomous, 
 so thoroughly washed her, by tumbling her up and down 
 in the water, that he may devour her without danger. 
 And Gesner affirms, that a Polonian gentleman did faith- 
 fully assure him, he had seen two young geese at one time 
 in the belly of a Pike. And doubtless a Pike in his height 
 of hunger will bite at and devour a dog that swims in 
 a pond ; and there have been examples of it, or the like ; 
 for as I told you, 'The belly has no ears when hunger 
 comes upon it.' 
 
 The Pike is also observed to be a solitary, melancholy, 
 and a bold fish ; melancholy, because he always swims or 
 rests himself alone, and never swims in shoals or with 
 company, as Roach and Dace, and most other fish do : 
 and bold, because he fears not a shadow, or to see or 
 be seen of anybody, as the Trout and Chub, and all other 
 fish do. 
 
 And it is observed by Gesner, that the jaw-bones, and 
 hearts, and galls of Pikes, are very medicinable for several 
 diseases, or to stop blood, to abate fevers, to cure agues, to 
 oppose or expel the infection of the plague, and to be 
 many ways medicinable and useful for the good of man- 
 kind : but he observes, that the biting of a Pike is 
 venomous, and hard to be cured. 
 
 And it is observed, that the Pike is a fish that breeds 
 but once a year ; and that other fish, as namely Loaches, 
 do breed oftener: as we are certain tame Pigeons do 
 almost every month ; and yet the Hawk, a bird of prey, 
 as the Pike is a fish, breeds but once in twelve months. 
 And you are to note, that his time of breeding, or spawn- 
 ing, is usually about the end of February, or, somewhat 
 later, in March, as the weather proves colder or warmer : 
 and to note, that his manner of breeding is thus : a he and 
 a she Pike will usually go together out of a river into some 
 
io6 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 ditch or creek ; and that there the spawner casts her eggs, 
 and the melter hovers over her all that time that she is 
 casting her spawn, but touches her not. 
 
 I might say more of this, but it might be thought 
 curiosity or worse, and shall therefore forbear it ; and take 
 up so much of your attention as to tell you that the best 
 of Pikes are noted to be in rivers ; next, those in great 
 ponds or meres ; and the worst, in small ponds. 
 
 But before I proceed further, I am to tell you, that 
 there is a great antipathy betwixt the Pike and some froj^s : 
 and this may appear to the reader of Dubravius, a bishop 
 in Bohemia, who, in his book Of Fish and Fish-ponds, 
 relates what he says he saw with his own eyes, and could 
 not forbear to tell the reader. Which was : 
 
 ' As he and the bishop Thurzo were walking by a large 
 pond in Bohemia, they saw a frog, when the Pike lay very 
 sleepily and quiet by the shore side, leap upon his head ; 
 and the frog having expressed malice or anger by his 
 swoln cheeks and staring eyes, did stretch out his legs and 
 embrace the Pike's head, and presendy reached them to 
 his eyes, tearing with them, and his teeth, those tender 
 parts : the Pike, moved with anguish, moves up and 
 down the water, and rubs himself against weeds, and what- 
 ever he thought might quit him of his enemy ; but aU in 
 vain, for the frog did continue to ride triumphantly, and 
 to bite and torment the Pike tiU his strength failed ; and 
 then the frog sunk with the Pike to the bottom of the 
 water : then presently the frog appeared again at the top, 
 and croaked, and seemed to rejoice like a conqueror, after 
 which he presently retired to his secret hole. The bishop, 
 that had beheld the battle, called his fisherman to fetch his 
 nets, and by all means to get the Pike that they might 
 declare what had happened : and the Pike was drawn 
 forth, and both his eyes eaten out ; at which when they 
 began to wonder, the fisherman wished them to forbear, 
 and assured them he was certain that Pikes were often so 
 served.' 
 
 I told this, which is to be read in the sixth chapter of 
 the book of Dubravius, unto a friend, who replied, ' It 
 
VIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 107 
 
 was as improbable as to have the mouse scratch out the 
 cat's eyes.' But he did not consider, that there be Fishing- 
 frogs, which the Dalmatians call the Water-devil, of which 
 I might tell you as wonderful a story : but I shall tell you 
 that 'tis not to be doubted but that there be some frogs so 
 fearful of the water-snake, that when they swim in a place 
 in which they fear to meet with him, they then get a reed 
 across into their mouths ; which, if they two meet by 
 accident, secures the frog from the strength and malice of 
 the snake ; and note, that the frog usually swims the 
 fastest of the two. 
 
 And let me tell you, that as there be water and land-frogs, 
 so there be land and water-snakes. Concerning which take 
 this observation, that the land-snake breeds and hatches 
 her eggs, which become young snakes, in some old dung- 
 hill, or a like hot place : but the water-snake, which is not 
 venomous, and as I have been assured by a great observer 
 of such secrets, does not hatch, but breed her young alive, 
 which she does not then forsake, but bides with them, and 
 in case of danger will take them all into her mouth and 
 swim away from any apprehended danger, and then let 
 them out again when she thinks all danger to be past : 
 these be accidents that we Anglers sometimes see, and 
 often talk of. 
 
 But whither am I going .'' I had almost lost myself, by 
 remembering the discourse of Dubravius. I will therefore 
 stop here ; and tell you, according to my promise, how to 
 catch this Pike. 
 
 His feeding is usually of fish or frogs ; and sometimes 
 a weed of his own, called pickerel-weed, of which I told 
 you some think Pikes are bred ; for they have observed, 
 that where none have been put into ponds, yet they have 
 there found many ; and that there has been plenty of that 
 weed in those ponds, and that that weed both breeds and 
 feeds them : but whether those Pikes, so bred, will ever 
 breed by generation as the others do, I shall leave to the 
 disquisitions of men of more curiosity and leisure than I 
 profess myself to have : and shall proceed to tell you, that 
 you may fish for a Pike, either with a ledger or a walking- 
 
io8 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 bait ; and you are to note, that I call that a Ledger-bait, 
 which is fixed or made to rest in one certain place when 
 you shall be absent from it ; and I call that a Walking- 
 bait, which you take with you, and have ever in motion. 
 Concerning which two, I shall give you this direction; 
 that your ledger-bait is best to be a living bait (though a 
 dead one may catch), whether it be a fish or a frog : and 
 that you may make them live the longer, you may, or 
 indeed you must, take this course : 
 
 First, for your Live-bait. Of fish, a roach or dace is, 
 I think, best and most tempting ; and a perch is the longest 
 lived on a hook, and having cut ofi^ his fin on his back, 
 which may be done without hurting him, you must take 
 your knife, which cannot be too sharp, and betwixt the 
 head and the fin on the back, cut or make an incision, 
 or such a scar, as you may put the arming-wire of your 
 hook into it, with as little bruising or hurting the fish as 
 art and diligence will enable you to do ; and so carrying 
 your arming-wire along his back, unto or near the tail of 
 your fish, betwixt the skin and the body of it, draw out that 
 wire or arming of your hook at another scar near to his 
 tail : then tie him about it with thread, but no harder than 
 of necessity, to prevent hurting the fish ; and the better to 
 avoid hurting the fish, some have a kind of probe to open 
 the way for the more easy entrance and passage of your 
 wire or arming : but as for these, time and a little experi- 
 ence will teach you better than I can by words. Therefore 
 I will for the present say no more of this ; but come next 
 to give you some directions how to bait your hook with a 
 frog. 
 
 Venator. But, good master, did you not say even now, 
 that some frogs were venomous ; and is it not dangerous 
 to touch them ? 
 
 PiscATOR. Yes, but I will give you some rules or 
 cautions concerning them. And first you are to note, that 
 there are two kinds of frogs, that is to say, if I may so 
 express myself, a flesh and a fish-frog. By flesh-frogs, I 
 mean frogs that breed and live on the land ; and of these 
 there be several sorts also, and of several colours, some 
 
VIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 109 
 
 being speckled, some greenish, some blackish, or brown : 
 the green frog, which is a small one, is, by Topsel, taken to 
 be venomous ; and so is the paddock, or frog-paddock, 
 which usually keeps or breeds on the land, and is very 
 large and bony, and big, especially the she-frog of that 
 kind : yet these will sometimes come into the water, but it 
 is not often : and the land-frogs are some of them observed 
 by him, to breed by laying eggs ; and others to breed of 
 the slime and dust of the earth, and that in winter they 
 turn to slime again, and that the next summer that very 
 slime returns to be a living creature ; this is the opinion of 
 Pliny. And Cardanus undertakes to give a reason for the 
 raining of frogs : but if it were in my power, it should 
 rain none but water-frogs ; for those I think are not 
 venomous, especially the right water-frog, which, about 
 February and March, breeds in ditches, by slime, and 
 blackish eggs in that slime : about which time of breeding, 
 the he and she frogs are observed to use divers summer- 
 saults, and to croak and make a noise, which the land-frog, 
 or paddock-frog, never does. 
 
 Now of these water-frogs, if you intend to fish with a 
 frog for a Pike, you are to choose the yellowest that you 
 can get, for that the Pike ever likes best. And thus use 
 your frog, that he may continue long alive : 
 
 Put your hook into his mouth, which you may easily 
 do from the middle of April till August; and then the 
 frog's mouth grows up, and he continues so for at least 
 six months without eating, but is sustained, none but He 
 whose name is Wonderful knows how : I say, put your 
 hook, I mean the arming-wire, through his mouth, and 
 out at his gills ; and then with a fine needle and silk sew 
 the upper part of his leg, with only one stitch, to the 
 arming-wire of your hook; or tie the frog's leg, above 
 the upper joint, to the armed-wire ; and, in so doing, use 
 him as though you loved him, that is, harm him as little 
 as you may possibly, that he may live the longer. 
 
 And now, having given you this direction for the 
 baiting your ledger-hook with a live fish or frog, my next 
 must be to tell you, how your hook thus baited must or 
 
uo IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 may be used ; and it is thus : having fastened your hook 
 to a line, which if it be not fourteen yards long should not 
 be less than twelve, you are to fasten that line to any 
 bough near to a hole where a Pike is, or is likely to lie, or 
 to have a haunt ; and then wind your line on any forked 
 stick, all your line, except half a yard of it or rather more; 
 and split that forked stick, with such a nick or notch at 
 one end of it as may keep the line from any more of it 
 ravelling from about the stick than so much of it as you 
 intend. And choose your forked stick to be of that 
 bigness as may keep the fish or frog from pulling the 
 forked stick under the water till the Pike bites ; and then 
 the Pike having pulled the line forth of the cleft or nick 
 of that stick in which it was gently fastened, he will have 
 line enough to go to his hold and pouch the bait. And if 
 you would have this ledger-bait to keep at a fixt place 
 undisturbed by wind or other accident, which may drive it 
 to the shore-side (for you are to note, that it is likeliest to 
 catch a Pike in the midst of the water), then hang a small 
 plummet of lead, a stone, or piece of tile, or a turf, in a 
 string, and cast it into the water with the forked stick to 
 hang upon the ground, to be a kind of anchor to keep the 
 forked stick from moving out of your intended place till 
 the Pike come : this I take to be a very good way to use 
 so many ledger-baits as you intend to make trial of. 
 
 Or if you bait your hooks thus with live fish or frogs, 
 and in a windy day, fasten them thus to a bough or bundle 
 of straw, and by the help of that wind can get them to 
 move across a pond or mere, you are like to stand still on 
 the shore and see sport presently, if there be any store 
 of Pikes. Or these live baits may make sport, being tied 
 about the body or wings of a goose or duck, and she 
 chased over a pond. And the like may be done with 
 turning three or four live baits, thus fastened to bladders, 
 or boughs, or botdes of hay or flags, to swim down a 
 river, whilst you walk quietly alone on the shore, and are 
 still in expectation of sport. The rest must be taught you 
 by practice; for time will not allow me to say more of 
 this kind of fishing with live baits. 
 
VIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER in 
 
 And for your Dead-bait for a Pike : for that you may 
 be taught by one day's going a-fishing with me, or any 
 other body that fishes for him ; for the baiting your hook 
 with a dead gudgeon or a roach, and moving it up and 
 down the water, is too easy a thing to take up any time to 
 direct you to do it. And yet, because I cut you short in 
 that, I will commute for it by telling you that that was 
 told me for a secret : it is this : Dissolve gum of ivy in oil 
 of spike, and therewith anoint your dead bait for a Pike ; 
 and then cast it into a likely place ; and when it has lain a 
 short time at the bottom, draw it towards the top of the 
 water, and so up the stream ; and it is more than likely 
 that you have a Pike follow with more than common 
 eagerness. And some affirm, that any bait anointed with 
 the marrow of the thigh-bone of a heron is a great temp- 
 tation to any fish. 
 
 These have not been tried by me, but told me by a 
 friend of note, that pretended to do me a courtesy. But 
 if this direction to catch a Pike thus do you no good, yet 
 I am certain this direction how to roast him when he is 
 caught is choicely good; for I have tried it, and it is 
 somewhat the better for not being common. But with 
 my direction you must take this caution, that your Pike 
 must not be a small one, that is, it must be more than half 
 a yard, and should be bigger. 
 
 ' First, open your Pike at the gills, and if need be, cut 
 also a little slit towards the belly. Out of these, take his 
 guts; and keep his liver, which you are to shred very 
 small, with thyme, sweet marjoram, and a Uttle winter- 
 savoury ; to these put some pickled oysters, and some 
 anchovies, two or three ; both these last whole, for the 
 anchovies will melt, and the oysters should not ; to these, 
 you must add also a pound of sweet butter, which you are 
 to mix with the herbs that are shred, and let them all be 
 well salted. If the Pike be more than a yard long, then 
 you may put into these herbs more than a pound, or if he 
 be less, then less butter will suffice : These, being thus 
 mixt, with a blade or two of mace, must be put into the 
 Pike's beUy ; and then his belly so sewed up as to keep all 
 
112 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 the butter in his belly if it be possible ; if not, then as 
 much of it as you possibly can. But take not ofF the 
 scales. Then you are to thrust the spit through his mouth, 
 out at his tail. And then take four or five or six split 
 sticks, or very thin laths, and a convenient quantity of tape 
 or filleting ; these laths are to be tied round about the 
 Pike's body, from his head to his tail, and the tape tied 
 somewhat thick, to prevent his breaking or falling off from 
 the spit. Let him be roasted very leisurely ; and often 
 basted with claret wine, and anchovies, and butter, mixt 
 together ; and also with what moisture falls from him into 
 the pan. When you have roasted him sufficiently, you are 
 to hold under him, when you unwind or cut the tape that 
 ties him, such a dish as you purpose to eat him out of; and 
 let him fall into it with the sauce that is roasted in his 
 belly ; and by this means the Pike will be kept unbroken 
 and complete. Then, to the sauce which was within, and 
 also that sauce in the pan, you are to add a fit quantity of 
 the best butter, and to squeeze the juice of three or four 
 oranges. Lastly, you may either put it into the Pike, 
 with the oysters, two cloves of garlick, and take it whole 
 out, when the Pike is cut off the spit ; or, to give the sauce 
 a haut gout, let the dish into which you let the Pike fall 
 be rubbed with it : The using or not using of this garlick 
 is left to your discretion. M. B. 
 
 This dish of meat is too good for any but anglers, or 
 very honest men ; and I trust you will prove both, and 
 therefore I have trusted you with this secret. 
 
 Let me next tell you, that Gesner tells us, there are no 
 Pikes in Spain, and that the largest are in the lake 
 Thrasymene in Italy ; and the next, if not equal to them, 
 are the Pikes of England ; and that in England, Lincoln- 
 shire boasteth to have the biggest. Just so doth Sussex 
 boast of four sorts of fish, namely, an Arundel Mullet, a 
 Chichester Lobster, a Shelsey Cockle, and an Amerly Trout. 
 
 But I will take up no more of your time with this 
 relation, but proceed to give you some Observations of 
 the Carp, and how to angle for him ; and to dress him, 
 but not till he is caught. 
 
IX THE COMPLETE ANGLER 113 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Observations of the Carp, with Directions how to fish for him 
 
 The Carp is the queen of rivers ; a stately, a good, and 
 
 a very subtile fish ; that was not at first bred, nor hath 
 
 been long in England, but is now naturalized. It is said, 
 
 they were brought hither by one Mr. Mascal, a gentleman 
 
 that then lived at Plumsted in Sussex, a county that 
 
 abounds more with this fish than any in this nation. 
 
 You may remember that I told you Gesner says there 
 
 are no Pikes in Spain ; and doubdess there was a time, 
 
 about a hundred or a few more years ago, when there 
 
 were no Carps in England, as may seem to be affirmed by 
 
 Sir Richard Baker, in whose Chronicle you may find these 
 
 verses : 
 
 Hops and turkeys, carps and beer, 
 
 Came into England all in a year. 
 
 And doubtless, as of sea-fish the Herring dies soonest 
 out of water, and of fresh-water fish the Trout, so, except 
 the Eel, the Carp endures most hardness, and lives longest 
 out of its own proper element ; and, therefore, the report 
 of the Carp's being brought out of a foreign country into 
 this nation is the more probable. 
 
 Carps and Loaches are observed to breed several 
 months in one year, which Pikes and most other fish do 
 not ; and this is partly proved by tame and wild rabbits ; 
 as also by some ducks, which will lay eggs nine of the 
 twelve months ; and yet there be other ducks that lay not 
 longer than about one month. And it is the rather to be 
 believed, because you shall scarce or never take a male 
 Carp without a melt, or a female without a roe or spawn, 
 and for the most part very much, and especially all the 
 summer season ; and it is observed, that they breed more 
 naturally in ponds than in running waters, if they breed 
 there at all ; and that those that live in rivers are taken by 
 men of the best palates to be much the better meat. 
 
 H 
 
114 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 And it is observed that in some ponds Carps will not 
 breed, especially in cold ponds ; but where they will breed, 
 they breed innumerably : Aristotle and Pliny say, six times 
 in a year, if there be no Pikes nor Perch to devour their 
 spawn, when it is cast upon grass or flags, or weeds, where 
 it lies ten or twelve days before it be enlivened. 
 
 The Carp, if he have water-room and good feed, will 
 grow to a very great bigness and length ; I have heard, to 
 be much above a yard long. It is said by Jovius, who 
 hath writ of fishes, that in the lake Lurian in Italy, carps 
 have thriven to be more than fifty pounds weight : which 
 is the more probable, for as the bear is conceived and born 
 suddenly, and being born is but short lived ; so, on the 
 contrary, the elephant is said to be two years in his dam's 
 belly, some think he is ten years in it, and being born, 
 grows in bigness twenty years: and it is observed too, 
 that he lives to the age of a hundred years. And 'tis also 
 observed, that the crocodile is very long-lived ; and more 
 than that, that all that long life he thrives in bigness ; and 
 so I think some Carps do, especially in some places, though 
 I never saw one above twenty-three inches, which was 
 a great and goodly fish ; but have been assured there are 
 of a far greater size, and in England too. 
 
 Now, as the increase of Carps is wonderful for their 
 number, so there is not a reason found out, I think, 
 by any, why they should breed in some ponds, and not in 
 others, of the same nature for soil and all other circum- 
 stances. And as their breeding, so are their decays also 
 very mysterious : I have both read it, and been told by a 
 gentleman of tried honesty, that he has known sixty or 
 more large Carps put into several ponds near to a house, 
 where, by reason of the stakes in the ponds, and the 
 owner's constant being near to them, it was impossible 
 they should be stole away from him ; and that when he 
 has, after three or four years, emptied the pond, and 
 expected an increase from them by breeding young ones 
 (for that they might do so he had, as the rule is, put in 
 three melters for one spawner), he has, I say, after three or 
 four years, found neither a young nor old Carp remaining. 
 
IX THE COMPLETE ANGLER 115 
 
 And the like I have known of one that had almost watched 
 the pond, and, at a like distance of time, at the fishing of 
 a pond, found, of seventy or eighty large Carps, not above 
 five or six: and that he had forborne longer to fish the 
 said pond, but that he saw, in a hot day in summer, a large 
 Carp swim near the top of the water with a frog upon his 
 head ; and that he, upon that occasion, caused his pond 
 to be let dry : and I say, of seventy or eighty Carps, only 
 found five or six in the said pond, and those very sick and 
 lean, and with every one a frog sticking so fast on the 
 head of the said Carps, that the frog would not be got 
 off without extreme force or killing. And the gentleman 
 that did affirm this to me, told me he saw it ; and did 
 declare his belief to be, and I also believe the same, that 
 he thought the other Carps, that were so strangely lost, 
 were so killed by the frogs, and then devoured. 
 
 And a person of honour, now living in Worcestershire,^ 
 assured me he had seen a necklace, or collar of tadpoles, 
 hang like a chain or necklace of beads about a Pike's 
 neck, and to kill him : Whether it were for meat or 
 malice, must be, to me, a question. 
 
 But I am fallen into this discourse by accident; of 
 which I might say more, but it has proved longer than I 
 intended, and possibly may not to you be considerable : I 
 shall therefore give you three or four more short observa- 
 tions of the Carp, and then fall upon some directions how 
 you shall fish for him. 
 
 The age of Carps is by Sir Francis Bacon, in his 
 History of Life and Death, observed to be but ten years ; 
 yet others think they live longer. Gesner says, a Carp 
 has been known to live in the Palatine above a hundred 
 years. But most conclude, that, contrary to the Pike or 
 Luce, all Carps are the better for age and bigness. The 
 tongues of Carps are noted to be choice and costly meat, 
 especially to them that buy them : but Gesner says, Carps 
 have no tongue like other fish, but a piece of fleshlike fish 
 in their mouth like to a tongue, and should be called a 
 palate : but it is certain it is choicely good, and that the 
 
 iMr. Fr. Ru. 
 
ii6 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Carp is to be reckoned amongst those leather-mouthed 
 fish which, I told you, have their teeth in their throat ; 
 and for that reason he is very seldom lost by breaking his 
 hold, if your hook be once stuck into his chaps. 
 
 I told you that Sir Francis Bacon thinks that the Carp 
 lives but ten years : but Janus Dubravius has writ a book 
 Of fish and fish-ponds in which he says, that Carps begin 
 to spawn at the age of three years, and continue to do so 
 till thirty : he says also, that in the time of their breeding, 
 which is in summer, when the sun hath warmed both the 
 earth and water, and so apted them also for generation, 
 that then three or four male Carps will follow a female ; 
 and that then, she putting on a seeming coyness, they 
 force her through weeds and flags, where she lets fall her 
 eggs or spawn, which sticks fast to the weeds ; and then 
 they let fall their melt upon it, and so it becomes in a 
 short time to be a living fish : and, as I told you, it is 
 thought that the Carp does this several months in the 
 year ; and most believe, that most fish breed after this 
 manner, except the Eel. And it has been observed, that 
 when the spawner has weakened herself by doing that 
 natural ofKce, that two or three melters have helped her 
 from off the weeds, by bearing her up on both sides, and 
 guarding her into the deep. And you may note, that 
 though this may seem a curiosity not worth observing, yet 
 others have judged it worth their time and costs to make 
 glass hives, and order them in such a manner as to see how 
 bees have bred and made their honeycombs, and how they 
 have obeyed their king, and governed their commonwealth. 
 But it is thought that all Carps are not bred by genera- 
 tion ; but that some breed other ways, as some Pikes do. 
 
 The physicians make the galls and stones in the heads 
 of Carps to be very medicinable. But it is not to be 
 doubted but that in Italy they make great profit of the 
 spawn of Carps, by selling it to the Jews, who make it 
 into red caviare ; the Jews not being by their law admitted 
 to eat of caviare made of the Sturgeon, that being a fish 
 that wants scales, and, as may appear in Leviticus xi., by 
 them reputed to be unclean. 
 
IX THE COMPLETE ANGLER 117 
 
 Much more might be said out of him, and out of 
 Aristotle, which Dubravius often quotes in his Discourse 
 of Fishes : but it might rather perplex than satisfy you ; 
 and therefore I shall rather choose to direct you how to 
 catch, than spend more time in discoursing either of 
 the nature or the breeding of this Carp, or of any 
 more circumstances concerning him. But yet I shall 
 remember you of what I told you before, that he is a 
 very subtle fish, and hard to be caught. 
 
 And my first direction is, that if you will fish for a 
 Carp, you must put on a very large measure of patience, 
 especially to fish for a River Carp : I have known a very 
 good fisher angle diligently four or six hours in a day, 
 for three or four days together, for a River Carp, and not 
 have a bite. And you are to note, that, in some ponds, 
 it is as hard to catch a Carp as in a river ; that is to 
 say, where they have store of feed, and the water is of 
 a clayish colour. But you are to remember that I have 
 told you there is no rule without an exception; and 
 therefore being possest with that hope and patience 
 which I wish to all fishers, especially to the Carp- 
 angler, I shall tell you with what bait to fish for him. 
 But first you are to know, that it must be either early, 
 or late; and let me tell you, that in hot weather, for 
 he will seldom bite in cold, you cannot be too early, 
 or too late at it. And some have been so curious as 
 to say, the tenth of April is a fatal day for Carps. 
 
 The Carp bites either at worms, or at paste: and of 
 worms I think the bluish marsh or meadow worm is 
 best; but possibly another worm, not too big, may do 
 as well, and so may a green gende : and as for pastes, 
 there are almost as many sorts as there are medicines 
 for the toothache ; but doubtless sweet pastes are 
 best ; I mean, pastes made with honey or with sugar : 
 which, that you may the better beguile this crafty fish, 
 should be thrown into the pond or place in which you 
 fish for him, some hours, or longer, before you under- 
 take your trial of skill with the angle-rod ; and doubtless, 
 if it be thrown into the water a day or two before, at 
 
Ii8 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 several times, and in small pellets, you are the likelier, 
 when you fish for the Carp, to obtain your desired 
 sport. Or, in a large pond, to draw them to any certain 
 place, that they may the better and with more hope be 
 fished for, you are to throw into it, in some certain 
 place, either grains, or blood mixed with cow-dung or 
 with bran ; or any garbage, as chicken's guts or the like ; 
 and then, some of your small sweet pellets with which you 
 propose to angle : and these small pellets being a few 
 of them also thrown in as you are angling, wUl be the 
 better. 
 
 And your paste must be thus made : take the flesh of a 
 rabbit, or cat, cut small ; and bean-flour ; and if that may 
 not be easily got, get other flour; and then, mix these 
 together, and put to them either sugar, or honey, which I 
 think better : and then beat these together in a mortar, or 
 sometimes work them in you hands, your hands being 
 very clean ; and then make it into a ball, or two, or three, 
 as you like best, for your use: but you must work or 
 pound it so long in the mortar, as to make it so tough as 
 to hang upon your hook without washing from it, yet not 
 too hard: or, that you may the better keep it on your 
 hook, you may knead with your paste a little, and not too 
 much, white or yellowish wool. 
 
 And if you would have this paste keep all the year, for 
 any other fish, then mix with it virgin-wax and clarified 
 honey, and work them together with your hands, before 
 the fire ; then make these into balls, and they will keep all 
 the year. 
 
 And if you fish for a Carp with gentles, then put upon 
 your hook a small piece of scarlet about this bigness ^, it 
 being soaked in or anointed with oil of petre, called by 
 some, oil of the rock : and if your gentles be put, two or 
 three days before, into a box or horn anointed with honey, 
 and so put upon your hook as to preserve them to be 
 living, you are as like to kill this crafty fish this way as 
 any other : but still, as you are fishing, chew a little white 
 or brown bread in your mouth', and cast it into the pond 
 about the place where your float swims. Other baits there 
 
IX THE COMPLETE ANGLER 119 
 
 be ; but these, with diligence and patient watchfulness, 
 will do better than any that I have ever practised or heard 
 of. And yet I shall tell you, that the crumbs of white 
 bread and honey made into a paste is a good bait for a Carp; 
 and you know, it is more easily made. And having said 
 thus much of the Carp, my next discourse shall be of the 
 Bream, which shall not prove so tedious; and therefore 
 I desire the continuance of your attention. 
 
 But, first, I will tell you how tO' make this Carp, that is 
 so curious to be caught, so curious a dish of meat as shall 
 make him worth all your labour and patience. And 
 though it is not without some trouble and charges, yet it 
 will recompense both. 
 
 Take a Carp, alive if possible ; scour him, and rub him 
 clean with water and salt, but scale him not; then open 
 him ; and put him, with his blood and his liver, which 
 you must save when you open him, into a small pot or 
 kettle : then take sweet marjoram, thyme, and parsley, of 
 each half a handful ; a sprig of rosemary, and another 
 of savoury ; bind them into two or three small bundles, 
 and put them into your Carp, with four or five whole 
 onions, twenty pickled oysters, and three anchovies. 
 Then pour upon your Carp as much claret wine as will 
 only cover him; and season your claret well with salt, 
 cloves, and mace, and the rinds of oranges and lemons. 
 That done, cover your pot and set it on a quick fire till it 
 be sufficiently boiled. Then take out the Carp ; and lay 
 it, with the broth, into the dish; and pour upon it a 
 quarter of a pound of the best fresh butter, melted, and 
 beaten with half a dozen spoonfuls of the broth, the yolks 
 of two or three eggs, and some of the herbs shred : garnish 
 your dish with lemons, and so serve it up. And much 
 good do you! Dr. T. 
 
120 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Observations of the Bream and Directions to catch him 
 
 PiscATOR. The Bream, being at a full growth, is a large 
 and stately fish. He will breed both in rivers and ponds : 
 but loves best to live in ponds, and where, if he likes the 
 water and air, he will grow not only to be very large, but 
 as fat as a hog. He is by Gesner taken to be more 
 pleasant, or sweet, than wholesome. This fish is long in 
 growing ; but breeds exceedingly in a water that pleases 
 him ; yea, in many ponds so fast, as to overstore them, 
 and starve the other fish. 
 
 He is very broad, with a forked tail, and his scales set 
 in excellent order ; he hath large eyes, and a narrow 
 sucking mouth ; he hath two sets of teeth, and a lozenge- 
 like bone, a bone to help his grinding. The melter is 
 observed to have two large melts ; and the female, two 
 large bags of eggs or spawn. 
 
 Gesner reports, that in Poland a certain and a great 
 number of large breams were put into a pond, which in 
 the next following winter were frozen up into one entire 
 ice, and not one drop of water remaining, nor one 
 of these fish to be found, though they were diligently 
 searched for ; and yet the next spring, when the ice was 
 thawed, and the weather warm, and fresh water got 
 into the pond, he affirms they all appeared again. This 
 Gesner affirms ; and I quote my author, because it seems 
 almost as incredible as the Resurrection to an atheist : 
 but it may win something, in point of believing it, to him 
 that considers the breeding or renovation of the silk- 
 worm, and of many insects. And that is considerable, 
 which Sir Francis Bacon observes in his History of Life and 
 Death (fol. 20), that there be some herbs that die and 
 spring every year, and some endure longer. 
 
 But though some do not, yet the French esteem this 
 fish highly ; and to that end have this proverb, ' He that 
 
X THE COMPLETE ANGLER 121 
 
 hath Breams in his pond, is able to bid his friend 
 welcome ' ; and it is noted, that the best part of a Bream 
 is his belly and head. 
 
 Some say, that Breams and Roaches will mix their eggs 
 and melt together; and so there is in many places a 
 bastard breed of Breams, that never come to be either 
 large or good, but very numerous. 
 
 The baits good to catch this Bream are many. First, 
 paste made of brown bread and honey ; gentles ; or the 
 brood of wasps that be young (and then not unlike gentles), 
 and should he hardened in an oven, or dried on a tile 
 before the fire to make them tough. Or, there is, at the 
 root of docks or flags or rushes, in watery places, a worm 
 not unlike a maggot, at which Tench will bite freely. 
 Or he will bite at a grasshopper with his legs nipt off, in 
 June and July ; or at several flies, under water, which 
 may be found on flags that grow near to the water-side. 
 I doubt not but that there be many other baits that are 
 good; but I will turn them all into this most excellent 
 one, either for a Carp or Bream, in any river or mere : 
 it was given to me by a most honest and excellent angler ; 
 and hoping you will prove both, I will impart it to you. 
 
 1. Let your bait be as big a red worm as you can find, 
 without a knot : get a pint or quart of them in an evening, 
 in garden-walks, or chalky commons, after a shower of 
 rain ; and put them with clean moss well washed and 
 picked, and the water squeezed out of the moss as dry as 
 you can, into an earthen pot or pipkin set dry ; and 
 change the moss fresh every three or four days, for three 
 weeks or a month together ; then your bait will be at the 
 best, for it will be clear and lively. 
 
 2. Having thus prepared your baits, get your tackling 
 ready and fitted for this sport. Take three long angling- 
 rods ; and as many and more silk, or silk and hair, lines ; 
 and as many large swan or goose-quill floats, ^^^^h 
 Then take a piece of lead made after this manner, P^Hl 
 and fasten them to the low ends of your lines : then 
 fasten your link-hook also to the lead; and let there 
 be about a foot or ten inches between the lead and the 
 
122 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 hook : but be sure the lead be heavy enough to sink the 
 float or quill, a little under the water ; and not the quill 
 to bear up the lead, for the lead must lie on the ground. 
 Note, that your link next the hook may be smaller than 
 the rest of your line, if you dare adventure, for fear of 
 taking the Pike or Perch, who will assuredly visit your 
 hooks, till they be taken out, as I will show you after- 
 wards, before either Carp or Bream wiU come near to bite. 
 Note also, that when the worm is well baited, it wUl crawl 
 up and down as far as the lead will give leave, which 
 much enticeth the fish to bite without suspicion. 
 
 3. Having thus prepared your baits, and fitted your 
 tackling, repair to the river, where you have seen them 
 swim in skulls or shoals, in the summer-time, in a hot 
 afternoon, about three or four of the clock ; and watch 
 their going forth of their deep holes, and returning, which 
 you may well discern, for they return about four of the 
 clock, most of them seeking food at the bottom, yet one 
 or two will lie on the top of the water, rolling and 
 tumbling themselves, whilst the rest are under him at the 
 bottom ; and so you shall perceive him to keep sentinel : 
 then mark where he plays most and stays longest, which 
 commonly is in the broadest and deepest place of the 
 river ; and there, or near thereabouts, at a clear bottom 
 and a convenient landing-place, take one of your angles 
 ready fitted as aforesaid, and sound the bottom, which 
 should be about eight or ten feet deep ; two yards from 
 the bank is best. Then consider with yourself, whether 
 that water will rise or fall by the next morning, by reason 
 of any water-mills near; and, according to your discretion, 
 take the depth of the place, where you mean after to 
 cast your ground-bait, and to fish, to half an inch ; that 
 the lead lying on or near the ground-bait, the top of the 
 float may only appear upright half an inch above the 
 water. 
 
 Thus you having found and fitted for the place and 
 depth thereof, then go home and prepare your ground- 
 bait, which is, next to the fruit or your labours, to be 
 regarded. 
 
THE COMPLETE ANGLER 123 
 
 THE GROUND-BAIT 
 
 You shall take a peck, or a peck and a half, according 
 to the greatness of the stream and deepness of the water, 
 where you mean to angle, of sweet gross-ground barley- 
 malt ; and boil it in a kettle (one or two warms is enough) : 
 then strain it through a bag into a tub (the liquor whereof 
 hath often done my horse much good) ; and when the bag 
 and malt is near cold, take it down to the water-side, 
 about eight or nine of the clock in the evening, and 
 not before : cast in two parts of your ground-bait, squeezed 
 hard between both your hands ; it will sink presently to 
 the bottom; and be sure it may rest in the very place 
 where you mean to angle : if the stream run hard, or move 
 a little, cast your malt in handfuls a little the higher, 
 upwards the stream. You may, between your hands, 
 close the malt so fast in handfuls, that the water will 
 hardly part it with the fall. 
 
 Your ground thus baited, and tackling fitted, leave your 
 bag, with the rest of your tackling and ground-bait, 
 near the sporting-place all night ; and in the morning, 
 about three or four of the clock, visit the water-side, 
 but not too near, for they have a cunning watchman, 
 and are watchful themselves too. 
 
 Then, gently take one of your three rods, and bait your 
 hook ; casting it over your ground-bait, and gently and 
 secretly draw it to you till the lead rest about the middle 
 of the ground-bait. 
 
 Then take a second rod, and cast in about a yard 
 above, and your third a yard below the first rod ; and 
 stay the rods in the ground : but go yourself so far from 
 the water-side, that you perceive nothing but the top of 
 the floats, which you must watch most diligently. Then 
 when you have a bite, you shall perceive the top of 
 your float to sink suddenly into the water : yet, neverthe- 
 less, be not too hasty to run to your rods, until you 
 see that the line goes clear away ; then creep to the water- 
 side, and give as much line as possibly you can : if it be a 
 good Carp or Bream, they will go to the farther side of 
 
124 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 the river : then strike gently, and hold your rod at a bent, 
 a little while ; but if you both pull together, you are sure 
 to lose your game, for either your line, or hook, or hold, 
 will break : and after you have overcome them, they will 
 make noble sport, and are very shy to be landed. The 
 Carp is far stronger and more mettlesome than the Bream. 
 
 Much more is to be observed in this kind of fish and 
 fishing, but it is far fitter for experience and discourse than 
 paper. Only, thus much is necessary for you to know, 
 and to be mindful and careful of, that if the Pike or 
 Perch do breed in that river, they will be sure to bite first, 
 and must first be taken. And for the most part they are 
 very large ; and will repair to your ground-bait, not that 
 they will eat of it, but will feed and sport themselves 
 among the young fry that gather about and hover over 
 the bait. 
 
 The way to discern the Pike and to take him, if you 
 mistrust your Bream hook (for I have taken a Pike a yard 
 long several times at my Bream hooks, and sometimes 
 he hath had the luck to share my line), may be thus : 
 
 Take a small Bleak, or Roach, or Gudgeon, and bait it ; 
 and set it, alive, among your rods, two feet deep from the 
 cork, with a little red worm on the point of the hook : 
 then take a few crumbs of white bread, or some of the 
 ground-bait, and sprinkle it gently amongst your rods. 
 If Mr. Pike be there, then the little fish will skip out of 
 the water at his appearance, but the live-set bait is sure to 
 be taken. 
 
 Thus continue your sport from four in the morning till 
 eight, and if it be a gloomy windy day, they will bite all 
 day long : but this is too long to stand to your rods, at 
 one place ; and it will spoil your evening sport that day, 
 which is this. 
 
 About four of the clock in the afternoon repair to your 
 baited place ; and as soon as you come to the water-side, 
 cast in one-half of the rest of your ground-bait, and stand 
 off ; then whilst the fish are gathering together, for there 
 they will most certainly come for their supper, you may 
 take a pipe of tobacco : and then, in with your three 
 
X THE COMPLETE ANGLER 125 
 
 rods, as in the morning. You will find excellent sport 
 that evening, till eight of the clock : then cast in the 
 residue of your ground-bait, and next morning, by four of 
 the clock, visit them again for four hours, which is the 
 best sport of all ; and after that, let them rest till you and 
 your friends have a mind to more sport. 
 
 From St. James' s-tide until Bartholomew-tide is the 
 best ; when they have had all the summer's food, they are 
 the fattest. 
 
 Observe, lastly, that after three or four days' fishing 
 together, your game will be very shy and wary, and you 
 shall hardly get above a bite or two at a baiting : then your 
 only way is to desist from your sport, about two or three 
 days : and in the meantime, on the place you last baited, 
 and again intend to bait, you shall take a turf of green but 
 short grass, as big or bigger than a round trencher ; to 
 the top of this turf, on the green side, you shall, with 
 a needle and green thread, fasten one by one, as many 
 little red worms as will near cover all the turf : then take 
 a round board or trencher, make a hole in the middle 
 thereof, and through the turf placed on the board or 
 trencher, with a string or cord as long as is fitting, tied to 
 a pole, let it down to the bottom of the water, for the fish 
 to feed upon without disturbance about two or three 
 days ; and after that you have drawn it away you may 
 fall to, and enjoy your former recreation. B. A. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Observations of the Tench and Advice how to angle for him 
 
 PiscATOR. The Tench, the physician of fishes, is 
 observed to love ponds better than rivers, and to love 
 pits better than either: yet Camden observes, there is a 
 river in Dorsetshire that abounds with Tenches, but doubt- 
 less they retire to the most deep and quiet places in it. 
 
126 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 This fish hath very large fins, very small and smooth 
 scales, a red circle about his eyes, which are big and of a 
 gold colour, and from either angle of his mouth there hangs 
 down a little barb. In every Tench's head there are two 
 little stones which foreign physicians make great use of, but 
 he is not commended for wholesome meat, though there 
 be very much use made of them for outward applica- 
 tions. Rondeletius says, that at his being at Rome, he saw 
 a great cure done by applying a Tench to the feet of a very 
 sick man. This, he says, was done after an unusual 
 manner, by certain Jews. And it is observed that many 
 of those people have many secrets yet unknown to 
 Christians ; secrets that have never yet been written, but 
 have been since the days of their Solomon (who knew the 
 nature of aU things, even from the cedar to the shrub), 
 delivered by tradition, from the father to the son, and so 
 from generation to generation, without writing ; or, unless 
 it were casually, without the least communicating them to 
 any other nation or tribe ; for to do that they account a 
 profanation. And, yet, it is thought that they, or some 
 spirit worse than they, first told us, that lice, swallowed 
 alive, were a certain cure for the yellow-jaundice. This, 
 and many other medicines, were discovered by them, or by 
 revelation ; for, doubdess, we attained them not by study. 
 
 Well, this fish, besides his eating, is very useful, both 
 dead and alive, for the good of mankind. But I will 
 meddle no more with that, my honest, humble art teaches 
 no such boldness : there are too many foolish meddlers in 
 physic and divinity that think themselves fit to meddle 
 with hidden secrets, and so bring destruction to their 
 followers. But I'll not meddle with them, any farther 
 than to wish them wiser ; and shall tell you next, for I 
 hope I may be so bold, that the Tench is the physician of 
 fishes, for the Pike especially, and that the Pike, being 
 either sick or hurt, is cured by the touch of the Tench. 
 And it is observed that the tyrant Pike will not be a wolf 
 to his physician, but forbears to devour him, though he be 
 never so hungry. 
 
 This fish, that carries a natural balsam in him to cure 
 
XI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 127 
 
 both himself and others, loves yet to feed in very foul 
 water, and amongst weeds. And yet, I am sure, he eats 
 pleasantly, and, doubtless, you will think so too, if you 
 taste him. And I shall therefore proceed to give you 
 some few, and but a few, directions how to catch this 
 Tench, of which I have given you these observations. 
 
 He will bite at a paste, made of brown bread and honey, 
 or at a marsh-worm, or a lob-worm ; he inclines very 
 much to any paste with which tar is mixed, and he will 
 bite also at a smaller worm with his head nipped off, and a 
 cod-worm put on the hook before that worm. And I 
 doubt not but that he will also, in the three hot months 
 (for in the nine colder he stirs not much), bite at a flag-worm 
 or at a green gentle ; but can positively say no more of 
 the Tench, he being a fish I have not often angled for ; 
 but I wish my honest scholar may, and be ever fortunate 
 when he fishes. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Observations of the Perch and Directions how to fish for him 
 
 PiscATOR. The Perch is a very good, and a very bold 
 biting fish. He is one of the fishes of prey that, like the 
 Pike and Trout, carries his teeth in his mouth, which is 
 very large : and he dare venture to kill and devour several 
 other kinds of fish. He has a hooked or hog back, which 
 is armed with sharp and stifle bristles, and all his skin 
 armed, or covered over with thick, dry, hard scales, and 
 hath, which few other fish have, two fins on his back. 
 He is so bold that he will invade one of his own kind, 
 which the Pike wUl not do so willingly; and you may, 
 therefore, easily believe him to be a bold biter. 
 
 The Perch is of great esteem in Italy, saith Aldrovandus: 
 and especially the least are there esteemed a dainty dish. 
 And Gesner prefers the Perch and Pike above the Trout, 
 or any fresh-water fish : he says the Germans have this 
 
128 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 proverb, ' More wholesome than a Perch of Rhine ' : and 
 he says the River-Perch is so wholesome, that physicians 
 allow him to be eaten by wounded men, or by men in 
 fevers, or by women in child-bed. 
 
 He spawns but once a year ; and is, by physicians, held 
 very nutritive ; yet, by many, to be hard of digestion. 
 They abound more in the river Po, and in England, says 
 Rondeletius, than other parts : and have in their brain a 
 stone, which is, in foreign parts, sold by apothecaries, 
 being there noted to be very medicinable against the stone 
 in the reins. These be a part of the commendations 
 which some philosophical brains have bestowed upon the 
 fresh-water Perch : yet they commend the Sea-Perch, 
 which is known by having but one fin on his back, of 
 which they say we English see but a few, to be a much 
 better fish. 
 
 The Perch grows slowly, yet will grow, as I have been 
 credibly informed, to be almost two feet long; for an 
 honest informer told me, such a one was not long since 
 taken by Sir Abraham Williams, a gentleman of worth, 
 and a brother of the angle, that yet lives, and I wish he 
 may : this was a deep-bodied fish, and doubtless durst 
 have devoured a Pike of half his own length. For I have 
 told you, he is a bold fish ; such a one as but for extreme 
 hunger the Pike will not devour. For to affright the 
 Pike, and save himself, the Perch will set up his fins, 
 much like as a turkey-cock will sometimes set up his tail. 
 
 But, my scholar, the Perch is not only valiant to defend 
 himself, but he is, as I said, a bold-biting fish : yet he will 
 not bite at all seasons of the year ; he is very abstemious 
 in winter, yet will bite then in the midst of the day, if it 
 be warm : and note, that all fish bite best about the midst 
 of a warm day in winter. And he hath been observed, by 
 some, not usually to bite till the mulberry-tree buds ; that 
 is to say, till extreme frosts be past the spring ; for, when 
 the mulberry-tree blossoms, many gardeners observe their 
 forward fruit to be past the danger of frosts; and some 
 have made the like observation of the Perch's biting. 
 
 But bite the Perch will, and that very boldly. And as, 
 
XII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 129 
 
 one has wittily observed, if there be twenty or forty in a 
 hole, they may be, at one standing, aU catched one after 
 another ; they being, as he says, like the wicked of the 
 world, not afraid, though their fellows and companions 
 perish in their sight. And you may observe, that they are 
 not like the solitary Pike, but love to accompany one 
 another, and march together in troops. 
 
 And the baits for this bold fish are not many : I mean, 
 he will bite as well at some, or at any of these three, as at 
 any or all others whatsoever : a worm, a minnow, or a 
 little frog, of which you may find many in hay-time. And 
 of worms ; the dunghill worm called a brandling I take to 
 be best, being well scoured in moss or fennel ; or he will 
 bite at a worm that lies under cow-dung, with a bluish 
 head. And if you rove for a Perch with a minnow, then 
 it is best to be alive ; you sticking your hook through his 
 back fin ; or a minnow with the hook in his upper lip, and 
 letting him swim up and down, about mid-water, or a 
 little lower, and you still keeping him to about that depth 
 by a cork, which ought not to be a very little one : and 
 the like way you are to fish for the Perch with a small 
 frog, your hook being fastened through the skin of his 
 leg, towards the upper part of it : and, lastly, I will give 
 you but this advice, that you give the Perch time enough 
 when he bites ; for there was scarce ever any angler that 
 has given him too much. And now I think best to rest 
 myself ; for I have almost spent my spirits with talking so 
 long. 
 
 Venator. Nay, good master, one fish more, for you 
 see it rains still : and you know our angles are like money 
 put to usury ; they may thrive, though we sit still, and do 
 nothing but talk and enjoy one another. Come, come, 
 the other fish, good master. 
 
 PiscATOR. But, scholar, have you nothing to mix with 
 this discourse, which now grows both tedious and tire- 
 some ? Shall I have nothing from you, that seem to have 
 both a good memory and a cheerful spirit .'' 
 
 Venator. Yes, master, I will speak you a copy of 
 verses that were made by Doctor Donne, and made to 
 
 I 
 
I30 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 shew the world that he could make soft and smooth verses, 
 when he thought smoothness worth his labour : and I love 
 them the better, because they allude to Rivers, and Fish 
 and Fishing. They be these : 
 
 Come, live with me, and be my love, 
 And we will some new pleasures prove. 
 Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, 
 With silken lines, and silver hooks. 
 
 There will the river whisp'ring run, 
 Warm'd by thy eyes more than the sun ; 
 And there the enamel'd fish will stay. 
 Begging themselves they may betray. 
 
 When thou wilt swim in that live bath. 
 Each fish, which every channel hath. 
 Most amorously to thee will swim. 
 Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. 
 
 If thou, to be so seen, beest loath 
 By sun or moon thou dark'nest both ; 
 And if mine eyes have leave to see, 
 I need not their light, having thee. 
 
 Let others freeze with angling reeds, 
 And cut their legs with shells and weeds, 
 Or treacherously poor fish beset 
 With strangling snares or windowy net; 
 
 Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest. 
 The bedded fish in banks outwrest ; 
 Let curious traitors sleave silk flies. 
 To 'witch poor wand'ring fishes' eyes. 
 
 For thee, thou need'st no such deceit, 
 For thou thyself art thine own bait; 
 That fish that is not catcht thereby, 
 Is wiser afar, alas, than I. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well remembered, honest scholar. I thank 
 you for these choice verses ; which I have heard formerly, 
 but had quite forgot, till they were recovered by your 
 happy memory. Well, being I have now rested myself a 
 little, I will make you some requital, by telling you some 
 
XII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 131 
 
 observations of the Eel ; for it rains still : and because, as 
 you say, our angles are as money put to use, that thrives 
 when we play, therefore we'U sit stiU, and enjoy ourselves 
 a little longer under this honeysuckle hedge. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Observations of the Eel, and other Fish that want Scales, 
 and how to fish for them 
 
 PiscATOR. It is agreed by most men, that the Eel is a 
 most dainty fish: the Romans have esteemed her the 
 Helena of their feasts; and some the queen of palate- 
 pleasure. But most men differ about their breeding: 
 some say they breed by generation, as other fish do ; and 
 others, that they breed, as some worms do, of mud ; as 
 rats and mice, and many other living creatures, are bred in 
 Egypt, by the Siun's heat when it shines upon the over- 
 flowing of the river Nilus ; or out of the putrefaction of 
 the earth, and divers other ways. Those that deny them 
 to breed by generation, as other fish do, ask. If any man 
 ever saw an eel to have a spawn or melt } And they are 
 answered. That they may be as certain of their breeding as 
 if they had seen spawn ; for they say, that they are certain 
 that Eels have all parts fit for generation, like other fish, 
 but so small as not to be easily discerned, by reason of 
 their fatness ; but that discerned they may be ; and that 
 the He and the She Eel may be distinguished by their 
 fins. And Rondeletius says, he has seen Eels cling 
 together like dew-worms. 
 
 And others say, that Eels, growing old, breed other 
 Eels out of the corruption of their own age ; which, Sir 
 Francis Bacon says, exceeds not ten years. And others 
 say, that as pearls are made of glutinous dewdrops, which 
 are condensed by the sun's heat in those countries, so Eels 
 are bred of a particular dew, falling in the months of May 
 
132 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 or June on the banks of some particular ponds or rivers, 
 apted by nature for that end ; which in a few days are, by 
 the sun's heat, turned into Eels : and some of the ancients 
 have called the Eels that are thus bred, the offspring of 
 Jove. I have seen, in the beginning of July, in a river not 
 far from Canterbury, some parts of it covered over with 
 young Eels, about the thickness of a straw ; and these 
 Eels did lie on the top of that water, as thick as motes are 
 said to be in the sun : and I have heard the like of other 
 rivers, as namely, in Severn, where they are called Yelvers ; 
 and in a pond, or mere near unto Staffordshire, where, 
 about a set time in summer, such small Eels abound so 
 much, that many of the poorer sort of people that inhabit 
 near to it, take such Eels out of this mere with sieves or 
 sheets ; and make a kind of Eel-cake of them, and eat it 
 like as bread. And Gesner quotes Venerable Bede, to 
 say, that in England there is an island called Ely, by 
 reason of the innumerable number of Eels that breed in it. 
 But that Eels may be bred as some worms, and some kind 
 of bees and wasps are, either of dew, or out of the cor- 
 ruption of the earth, seems to be made probable by the 
 barnacles and young goslings bred by the sun's heat and 
 the rotten planks of an old ship, and hatched of trees ; 
 both which are related for truths by Du Bartas and Lobel, 
 and also by our learned Camden, and laborious Gerhard in 
 his Herbal. 
 
 It is said by Rondeletius, that those Eels that are bred 
 in rivers that relate to or be nearer to the sea, never return 
 to the fresh waters (as the Salmon does always desire to do), 
 when they have once tasted the salt water ; and I do the 
 more easily believe this, because I am certain that powdered 
 beef is a most excellent bait to catch an Eel. And though 
 Sir Francis Bacon will allow the Eel's life to be but ten 
 years, yet he, in his History of Life and Death, mentions a 
 Lamprey, belonging to the Roman emperor, to be made 
 tame, and so kept for almost threescore years ; and that 
 such useful and pleasant observations were made of this 
 Lamprey, that Crassus the orator, who kept her, lamented 
 her death ; and we read in Doctor Hakewill, that Horten- 
 
XIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 133 
 
 sius was seen to weep at the death of a Lamprey that he 
 had kept long, and loved exceedingly. 
 
 It is granted by all, or most men, that Eels, for about 
 six months, that is to say, the six cold months of the year, 
 stir not up or down, neither in the rivers, nor in the pools 
 in which they usually are, but get into the soft earth or 
 mud ; and there many of them together bed themselves, 
 and live without feeding upon anything, as I have told 
 you some swallows have been observed to do in hollow 
 trees, for those six cold months. And this the Eel and 
 Swallow do, as not being able to endure winter weather : 
 for Gesner quotes Albertus to say, that in the year 1125, 
 that year's winter being more cold than usually, Eels did, 
 by nature's instinct, get out of the water into a stack of 
 hay in a meadow upon dry ground ; and there bedded 
 themselves: but yet, at last, a frost killed them. And 
 our Camden relates, that, in Lancashire, fishes were digged 
 out of the earth with spades, where no water was near to 
 the place. I shall say litde more of the Eel, but that, as 
 it is observed he is impatient of cold, so it hath been 
 observed, that, in warm weather, an Eel has been known 
 to live five days out of the water. 
 
 And lastly, let me tell you, that some curious searchers 
 into the natures of fish observe, that there be several sorts 
 or kinds of Eels ; as the silver Eel, and green or greenish 
 Eel, with which the river of Thames abounds, and those 
 are called Grigs ; and a blackish Eel, whose head is more 
 flat and bigger than ordinary Eels ; and also an Eel whose 
 fins are reddish, and but seldom taken in this nation, and 
 yet taken sometimes. These several kind of Eels are, say 
 some, diversely bred ; as, namely, out of the corruption 
 of the earth ; and some by dew, and other ways, as I have 
 said to you : and yet it is affirmed by some for a certain, 
 that the silver Eel is bred by generation, but not by 
 spawning as other fish do ; but that her brood come alive 
 from her, being then little live Eels no bigger nor longer 
 than a pin ; and I have had too many testimonies of this, 
 to doubt the truth of it myself; and if I thought it 
 needful I might prove it, but I think it is needless. 
 
134 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 And this Eel, of which I have said so much to you, 
 may be caught with divers kinds of baits : as namely, with 
 powdered beef; with a lob or garden worm ; with a 
 minnow ; or gut of a hen, chicken, or the guts of any 
 fish, or with almost anything, for he is a greedy fish. But 
 the Eel may be caught, especially, with a litde, a very 
 little Lamprey, which some call a Pride, and may, in the 
 hot months, be found many of them in the river Thames, 
 and in many mud-heaps in other rivers; yea, almost as 
 usually as one finds worms in a dunghill. 
 
 Next note, that the Eel seldom stirs in the day, but 
 then hides himself; and therefore he is usually caught by 
 night, with one of these baits of which I have spoken; 
 and may be then caught by laying hooks, which you are to 
 fasten to the bank, or twigs of a tree ; or by throwing a 
 string across the stream, with many hooks at it, and those 
 baited with the aforesaid baits ; and a clod, or plummet, 
 or stone, thrown into the river with this line, that so you 
 may in the morning find it near to some fixed place ; and 
 then take it up with a drag-hook, or otherwise. But 
 these things are, indeed, too common to be spoken of; 
 and an hour's fishing with any angler will teach you better, 
 both for these and many other common things in the 
 practical part of angling, than a week's discourse. I shall 
 therefore conclude this direction for taking the Eel, by 
 telling you, that in a warm day in summer, I have taken 
 many a good Eel by Snigling, and have been much pleased 
 with that sport. 
 
 And because you, that are but a young angler, know 
 not what Snigling is, I will now teach it to you. You 
 remember I told you that Eels do not usually stir in the 
 day-time; for then they hide themselves under some covert, 
 or under boards or planks about flood-gates, or weirs, or 
 mills, or in holes on the river banks ; so that you, 
 observing your time in a warm day, when the water is 
 lowest, may take a strong small hook, tied to a strong line, 
 or to a string about a yard long ; and then into one of 
 these holes, or between any boards about a mUl, or under 
 any great stone or plank, or any place where you think an 
 
XIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 135 
 
 Eel may hide or shelter herself, you may, with the help of 
 a short stick, put in your bait, but leisurely, and as far as 
 you may conveniently ; and it is scarce to be doubted, but 
 if there be an Eel within the sight of it, the Eel will bite 
 instantly, and as certainly gorge it; and you need not 
 doubt to have him if you pull him not out of the 
 hole too quickly, but pull him out by degrees; for he, 
 lying folded double in his hole, will, with the help of his 
 tail, break all, unless you give him time to be wearied with 
 pulling, and so get him out by degrees, not pulling too 
 hard. 
 
 And to commute for your patient hearing this long 
 direction, I shall next teU you. How to make this Eel a 
 most excellent dish of meat. 
 
 First, wash him in water and salt ; then pull off his skin 
 below his vent or navel, and not much further : having 
 done that, take out his guts as clean as you can, but wash 
 him not : then give him three or four scotches with a 
 knife; and then put into his belly and those scotches, 
 sweet herbs, an anchovy, and a little nutmeg grated or cut 
 very small ; and your herbs and anchovies must also be cut 
 very small, and mixt with good butter and salt : having 
 done this, then pull his skin over him, all but his head, 
 which you are to cut off, to the end you may tie his skin 
 about that part where his head grew, and it must be so 
 tied as to keep all his moisture within his skin : and having 
 done this, tie him with tape or pack-thread to a spit, and 
 roast him leisurely ; and baste him with water and salt till 
 his skin breaks, and then with butter ; and having roasted 
 him enough, let what was put into his belly, and what he 
 drips, be his sauce. S. F. 
 
 When I go to dress an Eel thus, I wish he were as long 
 and as big as that which was caught in Peterborough river, 
 in the year 1667; which was a yard and three quarters 
 long. If you will not believe me, then go and see at one 
 of the coffee-houses in King Street in Westminster. 
 
 But now let me tell you, that though the Eel, thus 
 drest, be not only excellent good, but more harmless than 
 any other way, yet it is certain that physicians account the 
 
136 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Eel dangerous meat ; I will advise you therefore, as Solo- 
 mon says of honey (Prov. 25), 'Hast thou found it, eat no 
 more than is sufficient, lest thou surfeit, for it is not good to 
 eat much honey.' And let me add this, that the uncharitable 
 Italian bids us ' give Eels and no wine to our enemies.' 
 
 And I will beg a little more of your attention, to tell 
 you, that Aldrovandus, and divers physicians, commend 
 the Eel very much for medicine, though not for meat. 
 But let me tell you one observation, that the Eel is never 
 out of season ; as Trouts, and most other fish, are at set 
 times ; at least, most Eels are not. 
 
 I might here speak of many other fish, whose shape and 
 nature are much like the Eel, and frequent both the sea 
 and fresh rivers ; as, namely, the Lamprel, the Lamprey, 
 and the Lamperne : as also of the mighty Conger, taken 
 often in Severn, about Gloucester : and might also tell in 
 what high esteem many of them are for the curiosity of 
 their taste. But these are not so proper to be talked of 
 by me, because they make us anglers no sport ; therefore I 
 wiU let them alone, as the Jews do, to whom they are 
 forbidden by their law. 
 
 And, scholar, there is also a Flounder, a sea-fish which 
 will wander very far into fresh rivers, and there lose him- 
 self and dwell : and thrive to a hand's breadth, and almost 
 twice so long : a fish without scales, and most excellent 
 meat : and a fish that affords much sport to the angler^ 
 with any small worm, but especially a little bluish worm, 
 gotten out of marsh-ground, or meadows, which should 
 be well scoured. But this, though it be most excellent 
 meat, yet it wants scales, and is, as I told you, therefore 
 an abomination to the Jews. 
 
 But, scholar, there is a fish that they in Lancashire 
 boast very much of, called a Char; taken there, and I 
 think there only, in a mere called Winander Mere ; a 
 mere, says Camden, that is the largest in this nation, being 
 ten miles in length, and some say as smooth in the bottom 
 as if it were paved with polished marble. This fish never 
 exceeds fifteen or sixteen inches in length ; and is spotted 
 like a Trout; and has scarce a bone, but on the back. 
 
XIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 137 
 
 But this, though I do not know whether it make the 
 angler sport, yet I would have you take notice of it, 
 because it is a rarity, and of so high esteem with persons 
 of great note. 
 
 Nor would I have you ignorant of a rare fish called a 
 Guiniad; of which I shall tell you what Camden and 
 others speak. The river Dee, which runs by Chester, 
 springs in Merionethshire ; and, as it runs towards 
 Chester, it runs through Pemble Mere, which is a large 
 water : and it is observed, that though the river Dee 
 abounds with Salmon, and Pemble Mere with the Guiniad, 
 yet there is never any Salmon caught in the mere, nor a 
 Guiniad in the river. And now my next observation 
 shall be of the Barbel. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Observations of the Barbel and Directions how to fish 
 for him 
 
 PiscATOR. The Barbel is so called, says Gesner, by- 
 reason of his barb or wattles at his mouth, which are 
 under his nose or chaps. He is one of those leather- 
 mouthed fishes that I told you of, that does very seldom 
 break his hold if he be once hooked : but he is so 
 strong, that he will often break both rod and line, if he 
 proves to be a big one. 
 
 But the Barbel, though he be of a fine shape, and looks 
 big, yet he is not accounted the best fish to eat, neither 
 for his wholesomeness nor his taste ; but the male is 
 reputed much better than the female, whose spawn is 
 very hurtful, as I will presently declare to you. 
 
 They flock together like sheep, and are at the worst in 
 April, about which time they spawn ; but quickly grow 
 to be in season. He is able to live in the strongest 
 swifts of the water: and, in summer, they love the 
 
138 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 shallowest and sharpest streams : and love to lurk under 
 weeds, and to feed on gravel, against a rising groun^ ; 
 and will root and dig in the sands with his nose like a 
 hog, and there nests himself: yet sometimes he retires to 
 deep and swift bridges, or flood-gates, or weirs ; where he 
 will nest himself amongst piles, or in hollow places ; and 
 take such hold of moss or weeds, that be the water never 
 so swift, it is not able to force him from the place that he 
 contends for. This is his constant custom in summer, 
 when he and most living creatures sport themselves in the 
 sun : but at the approach of winter, then he forsakes the 
 swift streams and shallow waters, and, by degrees, retires 
 to those parts of the river that are quiet and deeper ; in 
 which places, and I think about that time he spawns, 
 and, as I have formerly told you, with the help of the 
 melter, hides his spawn or eggs in holes, which they both 
 dig in the gravel ; and then they mutually labour to cover 
 it with the same sand, to prevent it from being devoured 
 by other fish. 
 
 There be such store of this fish in the river Danube, 
 that Rondeletius says they may, in some places of it, 
 and in some months of the year, be taken, by those who 
 dwell near to the river, with their hands, eight or ten load 
 at a time. He says, they begin to be good in May, and 
 that they cease to be so in August : but it is found to be 
 otherwise in this nation. But thus far we agree with him, 
 that the spawn of a Barbel, if it be not poison, as he says, 
 yet that it is dangerous meat, and especially in the month 
 of May; which is so certain, that Gesner and Gasius 
 declare it had an ill effect upon them, even to the 
 endangering of their lives. 
 
 The fish is of a fine cast and handsome shape, with 
 small scales, which are placed after a most exact and 
 curious manner, and, as I told you, may be rather said 
 not to be ill, than to be good meat. The Chub and he 
 have, I think, both lost part of their credit by ill cookery ; 
 they being reputed the worst, or coarsest, of fresh-water 
 fish. But the Barbel affords an angler choice sport, being 
 a lusty and a cunning fish ; so lusty and cunning as to 
 
XIV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 139 
 
 endanger the breaking of the angler's line, by running his 
 head forcibly towards any covert, or hole, or bank, and 
 then striking at the line, to break it off, with his tail; 
 as is observed by Plutarch, in his book De Industrid 
 Animalium : and also so cunning, to nibble and suck 
 off your worm close to the hook, and yet avoid the letting 
 the hook come into his mouth. 
 
 The Barbel is also curious for his baits ; that is to say, 
 that they be clean and sweet ; that is to say, to have your 
 worms well scoured, and not kept in sour and musty 
 moss, for he is a curious feeder: but at a well-scoured 
 lob-worm he will bite as boldly as at any bait, and specially 
 if, the night or two before you fish for him, you shall 
 bait the places where you intend to fish for him, with big 
 worms cut into pieces. And note, that none did ever over- 
 bait the place, nor fish too early or too late for a Barbel. 
 And the Barbel will bite also at gentles, which, not being 
 too much scoured, but green, are a choice bait for him : 
 and so is cheese, which is not to be too hard, but kept 
 a day or two in a wet linen cloth, to make it tough ; with 
 this you may also bait the water a day or two before 
 you fish for the Barbel, and be much the likelier to catch 
 store ; and if the cheese were laid in clarified honey a short 
 time before, as namely, an hour or two, you were still the 
 likelier to catch fish. Some have directed to cut the cheese 
 into thin pieces, and toast it ; and then tie it on the hook 
 with fine silk. And some advise to fish for the Barbel 
 with sheep's tallow and soft cheese, beaten or worked into 
 a paste ; and that it is choicely good in August : and I 
 believe it. But, doubtless, the lob-worm well scoured, and 
 the gentle not too much scoured, and cheese ordered as I 
 have directed, are baits enough, and I think wUl serve in 
 any month : though I shall commend any angler that tries 
 conclusions, and is industrious to improve the art. And 
 now, my honest scholar, the long shower and my tedious 
 discourse are both ended together : and I shall give you 
 but this observation, that when you fish for a Barbel, your 
 rod and line be both long and of good strength ; for, as I 
 told you, you will find lum a heavy and a dogged fish to 
 
HO IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 be dealt withal ; yet he seldom or never breaks his hold, if 
 he be once strucken. And if you would know more of 
 fishing for the Umber or Barbel, get into favour with Dr 
 Sheldon, whose skill is above others ; and of that, the poor 
 that dwell about him have a comfortable experience. 
 
 And now let's go and see what interest the Trouts will 
 pay us, for letting our angle-rods lie so long and so quietly 
 in the water for their use. Come, scholar, which will you 
 take up ? 
 
 Venator. Which you think fit, master. 
 
 PiscATOR. Why, you shall take up that ; for I am 
 certain, by viewing the line, it has a fish at it. Look you,, 
 scholar ! well done ! Come, now take up the other too : 
 well ! now you may tell my brother Peter, at night, that 
 you have caught a leash of Trouts this day. And now 
 let's move towards our lodging, and drink a draught of 
 red-cow's milk as we go ; and give pretty Maudlin and 
 her honest mother a brace of Trouts for their supper. 
 
 Venator. Master, I like your motion very well : and I 
 think it is now about milking-time ; and yonder they be 
 at it. 
 
 Piscator. Good speed you, good woman ! I thank you 
 both for our songs last night : I and my companion have 
 had such fortune a-fishing this day, that we resolve to give 
 you and Maudlin a brace of Trouts for supper ; and we 
 will now taste a draught of your red-cow's milk. 
 
 Milk-woman. Marry, and that you shall with all my 
 heart ; and I will be still your debtor when you come this 
 way. If you will but speak the word, I will make you a 
 good syllabub of new verjuice ; and then you may sit 
 down in a haycock, and eat it ; and Maudlin shall sit by 
 and sing you the good old song of the ' Hunting in Chevy 
 Chase,' or some other good ballad, for she hath store of 
 them : Maudlin, my honest Maudlin, hath a notable 
 memory, and she thinks nothing too good for you,, 
 because you be such honest men. 
 
 Venator. We thank you ; and intend, once in a month, 
 to call upon you again, and give you a little warning ; and 
 so, good-night. Good-night, Maudlin. And now, good 
 
XIV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 141 
 
 master, let's lose no time : but tell me somewhat more of 
 fishing ; and if you please, first, something of fishing for a 
 -Gudgeon. 
 
 PiscATOR. I will, honest scholar. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Observations of the Gudgeon, the Ruffe, and the Bleak, 
 and how to fish for them 
 
 The Gudgeon is reputed a fish of excellent taste, and to 
 be very wholesome. He is of a fine shape, of a silver 
 colour, and beautified with black spots both on his body 
 and tail. He breeds two or three times in the year ; and 
 always in summer. He is commended for a fish of ex- 
 cellent nourishment. The Germans call him Groundling, 
 by reason of his feeding on the ground; and he there 
 feasts himself, in sharp streams and on the gravel. He 
 and the Barbel both feed so : and do not hunt for flies at 
 any time, as most other fishes do. He is an excellent fish 
 to enter a young angler, being easy to be taken with a 
 small red worm, on or very near to the ground. He is 
 one of those leather-mouthed fish that has his teeth in his 
 throat, and will hardly be lost off from the hook if he be 
 once strucken. 
 
 They be usually scattered up and down every river in 
 the shallows, in the heat of summer : but in autumn, when 
 the weeds begin to grow sour and rot, and the weather 
 colder, then they gather together, and get into the deeper 
 parts of the water ; and are to be fished for there, with 
 your hook always touching the ground, if you fish for him 
 with a float or with a cork. But many will fish for the 
 Gudgeon by hand, with a running line upon the ground, 
 without a cork, as a Trout is fished for: and it is an 
 «xcellent way, if you have a gentle rod, and as gentle a 
 liand. 
 
142 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 There is also another fish called a Pope, and hy some a 
 RufFe ; a fish that is not known to be in some rivers : he 
 is much like the Perch for his shape, and taken to be 
 better than the Perch, but will not grow to be bigger than 
 a Gudgeon. He is an excellent fish ; no fish that swims 
 is of a pleasanter taste. And he is also excellent to enter 
 a young angler, for he is a greedy biter : and they will 
 usually lie, abundance of them together, in one reserved 
 place, where the water is deep and runs quietly ; and an 
 easy angler, if he has found where they lie, may catch forty 
 or fifty, or sometimes twice so many, at a standing. 
 
 You must fish for him with a small red worm ; and if 
 you bait the ground with earth, it is excellent. 
 
 There is dso a Bleak or fresh-water Sprat ; a fish that 
 is ever in motion, and therefore called by some the river- 
 swallow ; for just as you shall observe the swallow to be, 
 most evenings in summer, ever in motion, making short 
 and quick turns when he flies to catch flies, in the air, by 
 which he lives ; so does the Bleak at the top of the water. 
 Ausonius would have called him Bleak from his whitish 
 colour : his back is of a pleasant sad or sea-water-green 'y 
 his belly, white and shining as the mountain snow. And 
 doubdess, though we have the fortune, which virtue has. 
 in poor people, to be neglected, yet the Bleak ought to be 
 much vdued, though we want AJlamot sauce, and the skiU 
 that the Italians have, to turn them into anchovies. This 
 fish may be caught with a Pater-noster line ; that is, six or 
 eight very small hooks tied along the line, one half a foot 
 above the other : I have seen five caught thus at one time ; 
 and the bait has been gentles, than which none is better. 
 
 Or this fish may be caught with a fine small artificial' 
 fly, which is to be of a very sad brown colour, and very 
 small, and the hook answerable. There is no better sport 
 than whipping for Bleaks in a boat, or on a bank, in the 
 swift water, in a summer's evening, with a hazel top 
 about five or six foot long, and a line twice the length of 
 the rod. I have heard Sir Henry Wotton say, that there 
 be many that in Italy wdl catch swallows so, or especially 
 martins ; this bird-angler standing on the top of a steeple 
 
XV THE COMPLETE ANGLER 143 
 
 to do it, and with a line twice so long as I have spoken of. 
 And let me tell you, scholar, that both Martins and Bleaks 
 be most excellent meat. 
 
 And let me tell you, that I have known a Heron, that 
 did constantly frequent one place, caught with a hook 
 baited with a big minnow or a small gudgeon. The line 
 and hook must be strong : and tied to some loose staff, so 
 big as she cannot fly away with it : a line not exceeding; 
 two yards. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Is of nothing, or that which is nothing worth 
 
 My purpose was to give you some directions concerning 
 Roach and Dace, and some other inferior fish which make 
 the angler excellent sport ; for you know there is more 
 pleasure in hunting the hare than in eating her : but I will 
 forbear, at this time, to say any more, because you see 
 yonder come ovu- brother Peter and honest Coridon. But 
 I will promise you, that as you and I fish and walk to- 
 morrow towards London, if I have now forgotten anything 
 that I can then remember, I wiU not keep it from you. 
 
 Well met, gentlemen ; this is lucky that we meet so just 
 together at this very door. Come, hostess, where are you ? 
 is supper ready ? Come, first give us a drink ; and be as 
 quick as you can, for I believe we are all very hungry. 
 Well, brother Peter and Coridon, to you both ! Come, 
 drink : and then tell me what luck of fish : we two have 
 caught but ten trouts, of which my scholar caught three. 
 Look ! here's eight, and a brace we gave away. We 
 have had a most pleasant day for fishing and talking, and 
 are returned home both weary and hungry ; and now 
 meat and rest will be pleasant. 
 
 Peter. And Coridon and I have not had an unpleasant 
 day : and yet I have caught but five trouts ; for, indeed,. 
 we went to a good honest ale-house, and there we played 
 
144 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 at shovel-board half the day ; all the time that it rained we 
 were there, and as merry as they that fished. And I am 
 gla.d we are now with a dry house over our heads ; for, 
 hark ! how it rains and blows. Come, hostess, give us 
 more ale, and our supper with what haste you may : and 
 when we have supped, let us have your song, Piscator ; 
 and the catch that your scholar promised us ; or else, 
 Coridon will be dogged. 
 
 Piscator. Nay, I will not be worse than my word ; 
 you shall not want my song, and I hope I shall be 
 perfect in it. 
 
 Venator. And I hope the like for my catch, which I 
 have ready too : and therefore let's go merrily to supper, 
 and then have a gentle touch at singing and drinking; 
 but the last with moderation. 
 
 Coridon. Come, now for your song ; for we have fed 
 heartily. Come, hostess, lay a few more sticks on the 
 fire. And now, sing when you will. 
 
 Piscator. Well then, here's to you, Coridon ; and now 
 for my song. 
 
 O the gallant Fisher's life, 
 
 It is the best of any; 
 'Tis fiill of pleasure, void of strife, 
 And 'tis beloved of many : 
 
 Other joys 
 
 Are but toys : 
 
 Only this 
 
 Lavcful is; 
 
 For our skill 
 
 Breeds no ill, 
 But content and pleasure. 
 
 In a morning up we rise, 
 Ere Aurora's peeping ; 
 Drink a cup to wash our eyes ; 
 Leave the sluggard sleeping: 
 
 Then we go 
 
 To and fro, 
 
 With our knacks 
 
 At our backs, 
 
 To such streams 
 
 As the Thames, 
 If we have the leisure. 
 
XVI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 145 
 
 When we please to walk abroad 
 
 For our recreation, 
 In the fields is our abode. 
 Full of delectation : 
 
 Where in a brook 
 With a hook. 
 Or a lake. 
 Fish we take : 
 There we sit. 
 For a bit. 
 Till we fish entangle. 
 
 We have gentles in a horn, 
 
 We have paste and worms too ; 
 We can watch both night and mom, 
 Suffer rain and storms too; 
 
 None do here 
 
 Use to swear ; 
 
 Oaths do fray 
 
 Fish away ; 
 
 We sit still. 
 
 And watch our quill ; 
 Fishers must not wrangle. 
 
 If the sun's excessive heat 
 
 Make our bodies swelter, 
 To an osier hedge we get 
 For a friendly shelter ; 
 
 Where, in a dike. 
 
 Perch or Pike, 
 
 Roach or Dace, 
 
 We do chase; 
 
 Bleak or Gudgeon, 
 
 Without grudging ; 
 We are still contented. 
 
 Or we sometimes pass an hour 
 
 Under a green willow. 
 That defends us from a shower. 
 Making earth our pillow ; 
 Where we may 
 Think and pray 
 Before death 
 Stops our breath. 
 Other joys 
 Are but toys, 
 And to be lamented. 
 
 Jo. Chalkhill. 
 
146 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Venator. Well sung, master ; this day's fortune and 
 pleasure, and this night's company and song, do all make 
 me more and more in love with angling. Gentlemen, my 
 master left me alone for an hour this day ; and I verily 
 believe he retired himself from talking with me that he 
 might be so perfect in this song ; was it not, master ? 
 
 PiscATOR. Yes indeed, for it is many years since I 
 learned it ; and having forgotten a part of it, I was forced 
 to patch it up with the help of mine own invention, who 
 am not excellent at poetry, as my part of the song may 
 testify ; but of that I will say no more, lest you should 
 think I mean, by discommending it, to beg your com- 
 mendations of it. And therefore, without replications, 
 let's hear your catch, scholar ; which I hope will be a good 
 one, for you are both musical and have a good fancy to 
 boot. 
 
 Venator. Marry, and that you shall ; and as freely as 
 I would have my honest master tell me some more secrets 
 of fish and fishing, as we walk and fish towards London 
 to-morrow. But, master, first let me tell you, that very 
 hour which you were absent from me, I sat down under a 
 willow-tree by the water-side, and considered what you had 
 told me of the owner of that pleasant meadow in which 
 you then left me ; that he had a plentiful estate, and not a 
 heart to think so ; that he had at this time many law-suits 
 depending ; and that they both damped his mirth, and took 
 up so much of his time and thoughts, that he himself had 
 not leisure to take the sweet content that I, who pretended 
 no title to them, took in his fields : for I could there sit 
 quietly ; and looking on the water, see some fishes sport 
 themselves in the silver streams, others leaping at flies of 
 several shapes and colours ; looking on the hills, I could 
 behold them spotted with woods and groves; looking 
 down the meadows, could see, here a boy gathering lilies 
 and lady-smocks, and there a girl cropping culverkeys and 
 cowslips, all to make garlands suitable to this present 
 month of May: these, and many other field flowers, so 
 perfumed the air, that I thought that very meadow like 
 that field in Sicily of which Diodorus speaks, where the 
 
XVI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 147 
 
 perfumes arising from the place make all dogs that hunt in 
 it to fall off, and to lose their hottest scent. I say, as I 
 thus sat, joying in my own happy condition, and pitying 
 this poor rich man that owned this and many other 
 pleasant groves and meadows about me, I did thankflilly 
 remember what my Saviour said, that the meek possess 
 the earth ; or rather, they enjoy what the others possess, 
 and enjoy not ; for anglers and meek quiet-spirited men 
 are free from those high, those restless thoughts, which 
 corrode the sweets of life ; and they, and they only, can 
 say, as the poet has happily exprest it. 
 
 Hail ! blest estate of lowliness; 
 
 Happy enjoyments of such minds 
 As, rich in self-contentedness, 
 
 Can, like the reeds, in roughest winds, 
 By yielding make that blow but small 
 At which proud oaks and cedars fall. 
 
 There came also into my mind at that time, certain 
 verses in praise of a mean estate and humble mind : they 
 were written by Phineas Fletcher, an excellent divine, and 
 an excellent angler ; and the author of excellent Piscatory 
 Eclogues, in which you shall see the picture of this good 
 man's mind : and I wish mine to be like it. 
 
 No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright; 
 No begging wants his middle fortune bite : 
 But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. 
 
 His certain life, that never can deceive him. 
 Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; 
 
 The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive him, 
 With coolest shade, till noon-tide's heat be spent. 
 
 His life is neither tost in boisterous seas, 
 
 Or the vexations world, or lost in slothful ease; 
 Heas'd and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. 
 
 His bed, more safe than soft, yields quiet sleeps, 
 
 While by his side his faithful spouse has place; 
 His little son into his bosom creeps, 
 
 The lively picture of his father's face. 
 His humble house or poor state ne'er torment him: 
 Less he could like, if less his God had lent him ; 
 And when he dies, green turfs do for a tomb content him. 
 
148 
 
 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Chap. 
 
 Gendemen, these were a part of the thoughts that then 
 possessed me. And I there made a conversion of a piece 
 of an old catch, and added more to it, fitting them to be 
 sung by us anglers. Come, Master, you can sing well: 
 you must sing a part of it, as it is in this paper. 
 
 Man's life is but vain; for 'tis subject to pain, 
 
 And sorrow, and short as a bubble ; 
 'Tis a hodge-podge of business, and money, and care, 
 
 And care, and money, and trouble. 
 
 But we'll take no care when the weather proves fair; 
 
 Nor will we vex now though it rain ; 
 We'll banish all sorrow, and sing till to-morrow, 
 
 And angle, and angle again. 
 
 A. 2 Voc. 
 
 Cantus, 
 
 '•$ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SONG. 
 
 Set by Mr. H. Lawes. 
 
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 ?^tE 
 
 Man's life is but vain; for 'tis sub-ject to pain, And 
 
 m 
 
 1=^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
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 sor - row, and short as a bub-ble ; 'Tis a hodge podge of bus'ness, and 
 
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 ^t=x 
 
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 d \ d M 
 
 $ 
 
 mon - ey, and care, And care, and mon - ey, and trou - ble. 
 
 -I 1 
 
 t=:^ 
 
 ^- 
 
 i^ 
 
 But we'll take no care when the wea ther proves fair ; Nor 
 
 i 
 
 m 
 
 -•--p- 
 
 ^ 
 
 Id 
 
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 will we vex now though it rain; We'll ban-ish all sor -row, and 
 
 -i -\ 
 
 4r 
 
 tlzsi 
 
 sing till to mor-row. And an gle, and an gle a - gain. 
 
XVI 
 
 THE COMPLETE ANGLER 
 
 149 
 
 A. 2 Vac. 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SONG. 
 
 Set by Mr. H. Lawes. 
 
 Bonus. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^ ^ tfr^ 
 
 Man's life is but vain; For 'tis sub-ject to pain, And 
 
 s 
 
 s 
 
 n7~p3: 
 
 f' -* — *- 
 
 sor - row, and short as a bub-ble ; 'Tis a hodge podge of bus-'ness, and 
 
 ^^H— P p e -Iv, J- -m A J^ — 
 
 k:i^_.| p i J_ jpl i 4.4 _1 
 
 mon - ey, and care. And care, and mon - ey, and trou - ble. 
 
 m 
 
 A J J =^ 
 
 4- 
 
 But we'll take no care when the wea ther proves fair ; Nor 
 
 Wi 
 
 id= 
 
 -• — p- 
 
 will we vex now though it rain ; We'll ban - ish all sor - row, and 
 
 "^^ 
 
 ± 
 
 sing till to mor-row. And an - gle, and an - gle a - gain. 
 
 Peter. Aye marry, Sir, this is music indeed ; this has 
 cheer'd my heart, and made me remember six verses in 
 praise of musick, which I will speak to you instantly. 
 
 Music ! miraculous rhetorick, that speak'st sense 
 
 Without a tongue, excelling eloquence ; 
 
 With what ease might thy errors be excus'd, 
 
 Wert thou as truly lov'd as th' art abus'd ! 
 
 But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee. 
 
 I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee. 
 
 Venator. And the repetition of these last verses of 
 music has called to my memory what Mr. Edmund 
 Waller, a lover of the angle, says of love and musick. 
 
 Whilst I listen to thy voice, 
 
 Chloris ! I feel my heart decay ; 
 
ISO IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 That powerful voice 
 
 Calls my fleeting soul away : 
 Oh ! suppress that magic sound, 
 Which destroys without a wound. 
 
 Peace, Chloris ! peace, or singing di^ 
 That together you and I 
 To heaven may go ; 
 For all we know 
 Of what the bless6d do above. 
 Is, that they sing, and that they love. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well remembered, brother Peter ; these 
 verses came seasonably, and we thank you heartily. 
 Come, we will all join together, my host and aU, and sing 
 my scholar's catch over again ; and then each man drink 
 the tother cup, and to bed ; and thank God we have a dry 
 house over our heads. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, now, good-night to everybody. 
 
 Peter. And so say I. 
 
 Venator. And so say I. 
 
 Coridon. Good-night to you all ; and I thank you. 
 
 {THE FIFTH DJT} 
 
 Piscator. Good-morrow, brother Peter, and the like 
 to you, honest Coridon. 
 
 Come, my hostess says there is seven shillings to pay : 
 let's each man drink a pot for his morning's draught, and 
 lay down his two shillings, so that my hostess may not 
 have occasion to repent herself of being so diligent, and 
 using us so kindly. 
 
 Peter. The motion is liked by everybody, and so, 
 hostess, here's your money : we anglers are all beholding 
 to you ; it will not be long ere I'll see you again ; and 
 now, brother Piscator, I wish you, and my brother your 
 scholar, a fair day and good fortune. Come, Coridon, 
 this is our way. 
 
XVII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 151 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 Of Roach and Dace, and how to fish for them, and of Cadis 
 
 Venator. Good master, as we go now towards London, 
 be still so courteous as to give me more instructions ; for 
 I have several boxes in my memory, in which I will keep 
 them all very safe, there shall not one of them be lost. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, scholar, that I will : and I will hide 
 nothing from you that I can remember, and can think 
 may help you forward towards a perfection in this art. 
 And because we have so much time, and I have said so 
 litde of Roach and Dace, I will give you some directions 
 concerning them. 
 
 Some say the Roach is so called from rutilus, which they 
 say signifies red fins. He is a fish of no great reputation 
 for his dainty taste ; and his spawn is accounted much 
 better than any other part of him. And you may take 
 notice, that as the Carp is accounted the water-fox, for his 
 cunning ; so the Roach is accounted the water-sheep, for 
 his simplicity or foolishness. It is noted, that the Roach 
 and Dace recover strength, and grow in season in a fort- 
 night after spawning ; the Barbel and Chub in a month ; 
 the Trout in four months ; and the Salmon in the like 
 time, if he gets into the sea, and after into fresh water. 
 
 Roaches be accounted much better in the river than in a 
 pond, though ponds usually breed the biggest. But there 
 is a kind of bastard small Roach, that breeds in ponds, 
 with a very forked tail, and of a very small size ; which 
 some say is bred by the Bream and right Roach ; and 
 some ponds are stored with these beyond belief; and 
 knowing-men, that know their difference, call them Ruds : 
 they differ from the true Roach, as much as a Herring 
 from a Pilchard. And these bastard breed of Roach are 
 now scattered in many rivers : but I think not in the 
 Thames, which I believe affords the largest and fattest 
 in this nation, especially below London Bridge. The 
 
152 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Roach is a leather-mouthed fish, and has a kind of saw- 
 like teeth in his throat. And lastly, let me tell you, 
 the Roach makes an angler excellent sport, especially the 
 great Roaches about London, where I think there be the 
 best Roach-anglers. And I think the best Trout-anglers 
 be in Derbyshire ; for the waters there are clear to an 
 extremity. 
 
 Next, let me tell you, you shall fish for this Roach in 
 Winter, with paste or gendes ; in April, with worms or 
 cadis ; in the very hot months, with little white snails ; or 
 with flies under water, for he seldom takes them at the 
 top, though the Dace will. In many of the hot months, 
 Roaches may also be caught thus : take a May-fly, or ant- 
 fly, sink him with a little lead to the bottom, near to 
 the piles or posts of a bridge, or near to any posts of 
 a weir, I mean any deep place where Roaches lie quietly, 
 and then pull your fly up very leisurely, and usually a 
 Roach will follow your bait up to the very top of the 
 water, and gaze on it there, and run at it, and take it, lest 
 the fly should fly away from him. 
 
 I have seen this done at Windsor and Henley Bridge, 
 and a great store of Roach taken ; and sometimes, a Dace 
 or Chub. And in August you may fish for them with a^ 
 paste made only of the crumbs of bread, which should 
 be of pure fine manchet ; and that paste must be so 
 tempered betwixt your hands till it be both soft and 
 tough too : a very litde water, and time, and labour, and 
 clean hands, will make it a most excellent paste. But 
 when you fish with it, you must have a small hook, a 
 quick eye, and a nimble hand, or the bait is lost, and 
 the fish too ; if one may loose that which he never had. 
 With this paste you may, as I said, take both the Roach 
 and the Dace or Dare ; for they be much of a kind, 
 in manner of feeding, cunning, goodness, and usually in 
 size. And therefore take this general direction, for some 
 other baits which may concern you to take notice of: they 
 will bite almost at any fly, but especially at ant-flies ; 
 concerning which take this direction, for it is very 
 good. 
 
XVII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 153 
 
 Take the blackish ant-fly out of the mole-hill or ant- 
 hill, in which place you shall find them in the month 
 of June ; or if that be too early in the year, then, doubtless, 
 you may find them in July, August, and most of Sep- 
 tember. Gather them alive, with both their wings: and 
 then put them into a glass that will hold a quart or a 
 pottle ; but first put into the glass a handful, or more, 
 of the moist earth out of which you gather them, and 
 as miKh of the roots of the grass of the said hillock ; and 
 then put in the flies gently, that they loose not their 
 wings : lay a clod of earth over it ; and then so many as 
 are put into the glass, without bruising, wiU live there a 
 month or more, and be always in a readiness for you to 
 fish with: but if you would have them keep longer, 
 then get any great earthen pot, or barrel of three or four 
 gallons, which is better, then wash your barrel with water 
 and honey ; and having put into it a quantity of earth and 
 grass roots, then put in your flies, and cover it, and they 
 will live a quarter of a year. These, in any stream and 
 clear water, are a deadly bait for Roach or Dace, or for a 
 Chub : and your rule is to fish not less than a handful 
 from the bottom. 
 
 I shall next tell you a winter-bait for a Roach, a Dace, 
 or Chub ; and it is choicely good. About AU-hallantide, 
 and so till frost comes, when you see men ploughing up 
 heath ground, or sandy ground, or greenswards, then 
 follow the plough, and you shall find a white worm, as big 
 as two maggots, and it hath a red head : you may observe 
 in what ground most are, for there the crows will be very 
 watchful and follow the plough very close : it is all soft, 
 and full of whitish guts ; a worm that is, in Norfolk and 
 some other counties, called a grub ; and is bred of the 
 spawn or eggs of a beetle, which she leaves in holes that 
 she digs in the ground under cow or horse dung, and there 
 rests dl winter, and in March or April comes to be first a 
 red and then a black beetle. Gather a thousand or two 
 of these, and put them, with a peck or two of their own 
 earth, into some tub or firkin, and cover and keep them so 
 warm that the frost or cold air, or winds, kill them not : 
 
154 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 these you may keep all winter, and kill fish with them at 
 any time ; and if you put some of them into a little earth 
 and honey, a day before you use them, you will find them 
 an excellent bait for Bream, Carp, or indeed for almost 
 any fish. 
 
 And after this manner you may also keep gentles all 
 winter ; which are a good bait then, and much the better 
 for being lively and tough. Or you may breed and keep 
 gentles thus : take a piece of beast's liver, and, with a 
 cross stick, hang it in some corner, over a pot or barrel 
 half full of dry clay ; and as the gentles grow big, they 
 will fall into the barrel and scour themselves, and be 
 always ready for use whensoever you incline to fish ; and 
 these gentles may be thus created till after Michaelmas. 
 But if you desire to keep gentles to fish with all the year, 
 then get a dead cat or a kite, and let it be fly-blown ; and 
 when the gentles begin to be alive and to stir, then bury it 
 and them in soft moist earth, but as free from frost as you 
 can ; and these you may dig up at any time when you 
 intend to use them : these will last till March, and about 
 that time turn to be flies. 
 
 But if you be nice to foul your fingers, which good 
 anglers seldom are, then take this bait : get a handful of 
 well-made malt, and put it into a dish of water : and then 
 wash and rub it betwixt your hands till you make it clean, 
 and as free from husks as you can ; then put that water 
 from it, and put a small quantity of fresh water to it, and 
 set it in something that is fit for that purpose, over the fire, 
 where it is not to boil apace, but leisurely and very sofdy, 
 until it become somewhat soft, which you may try by feel- 
 ing it betwixt your finger and thumb ; and when it is soft, 
 then put your water from it : and then take a sharp knife, 
 and turning the sprout end of the corn upward with the 
 point of your knife, take the back part of the husk off 
 from it, and yet leaving a kind of inward husk on the 
 corn, or else it is marr'd ; and then cut off that sprouted 
 end, I mean a little of it that the white may appear ; and 
 so pull off the husk on the cloven side, as I directed you ; 
 and then cutting off a very little of the other end, that so 
 
XVII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 155 
 
 your hook, may enter ; and if your hook be small and good, 
 you will find this to be a very choice bait, either for winter 
 or summer, you sometimes casting a little of it into the 
 place where your float swims. 
 
 And to take the Roach and Dace, a good bait is the 
 young brood of wasps or bees, if you dip their heads in 
 blood; especially good for Bream, if they be baked, or 
 hardened in their husks in an oven, after the bread is 
 taken out of it ; or hardened on a fire-shovel : and so also 
 is the thick blood of sheep, being half dried on a trencher, 
 that so you may cut into such pieces as may best fit the 
 size of your hook ; and a little salt keeps it from growing 
 black, and makes it not the worse, but better : this is taken 
 to be a choice bait, if rightly ordered. 
 
 There be several oils of a strong smell that I have been 
 told of, and to be excellent to tempt fish to bite, of which 
 I could say much. But I remember I once carried a small 
 bottle from Sir George Hastings to Sir Henry Wotton, 
 they were both chemical men, as a great present : it was 
 sent, and receiv'd, and us'd, with great confidence; and 
 yet, upon inquiry, I found it did not answer the expecta- 
 tion of Sir Henry ; which, with the help of this and other 
 circumstances, makes me have little belief in such things as 
 many men talk of. Not but that I think that fishes both 
 smell and hear, as I have exprest in my former discourse : 
 but there is a mysterious knack, which though it be much 
 easier than the philosopher's stone, yet is not attainable by 
 common capacities, or else lies locked up in the brain or 
 breast of some chemical man, that, like the Rosicrucians, 
 will not yet reveal it. But let me nevertheless tell you, 
 that camphire, put with moss into your worm-bag with 
 your worms, makes them, if many anglers be not very 
 much mistaken, a tempting bait, and the angler more 
 fortunate. But I stepped by chance into this discourse of 
 oils, and fishes smelling ; and though there might be more 
 said, both of it and of baits for Roach and Dace and other 
 float-fish, yet I will forbear it at this time, and tell you, in 
 the next place, how you are to prepare your tackling: 
 concerning which, I will, for sport sake, give you an old 
 
156 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 rhyme out of an old fish book ; which will prove a part, and 
 but a part, of what you are to provide. 
 
 My rod and my line, my float and my lead. 
 
 My hook and my plummet, my whetstone and knife, 
 
 My basket, my baits, both living and dead, 
 My net, and my meat, for that is the chief: 
 
 Then I must have thread, and hairs green and small. 
 
 With mine angling purse: and so you have all. 
 
 But you must have all these tackling, and twice so many 
 more, with which, if you mean to be a fisher, you must 
 store yourself; and to that purpose I will go with you, 
 either to Mr. Margrave, who dwells amongst the book- 
 sellers in St. Paul's Churchyard, or to Mr. John Stubs, near 
 to the Swan in Golding Lane : they be both honest men, 
 and will fit an angler with what tackling he lacks. 
 
 Venator. Then, good master, let it be at for he 
 
 is nearest to my dwelling. And I pray let's meet there 
 the ninth of May next, about two of the clock ; and I'll 
 want nothing that a fisher should be furnished with. 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, and I'll not fail you, God willing, at 
 the time and place appointed. 
 
 Venator. I thank you, good master, and I will not 
 fail you. And, good master, tell me what Baits more you 
 remember ; for it will not now be long ere we shall be at 
 Tottenham-High-Cross ; and when we come thither I will 
 make you some requital of your pains, by repeating as 
 choice a copy of Verses as any we have heard since we met 
 together; and that is a proud word, for we have heard 
 very good ones. 
 
 Piscator. Well, scholar, and I shall be then right glad 
 to hear them. And I will, as we walk, tell you whatsoever 
 comes in my mind, that I think may be worth your hear- 
 ing. You may make another choice bait thus : take a 
 handful or two of the best and biggest wheat you can get ; 
 boil it in a little milk, like as frumity is boiled ; boil it so 
 till it be soft ; and then fry it, very leisurely, with honey, 
 and a little beaten saffron dissolved in milk ; and you will 
 find this a choice bait, and good, I think, for any fish, 
 especially for Roach, Dace, Chub, or Grayling : I know not 
 
XVII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 157 
 
 but that it may be as good for a river Carp, and especially 
 if the ground be a little baited with it. 
 
 And you may also note, that the Spawn of most fish is 
 a very tempting bait, being a little hardened on a warm 
 tUe and cut into fit pieces. Nay, mulberries, and those 
 blackberries which grow upon briars, be good baits for 
 Chubs or Carps: with these many have been taken in 
 ponds, and in some rivers where such trees have grown 
 near the water, and the fruit customarily dropt into it. 
 And there be a hundred other baits, more than can be well 
 named, which, by constant baiting the water, will become 
 a tempting bait for any fish in it. 
 
 You are also to know, that there be divers kinds of Cadis, 
 or Case-worms, that are to be found in this nation, 
 in several distinct counties, and in several little brooks 
 that relate to bigger rivers ; as namely, one cadis called a 
 piper, whose husk, or case, is a piece of reed about an inch 
 long, or longer, and as big about as the compass of a two- 
 pence. These worms being kept three or four days in a 
 woollen bag, with sand at the bottom of it, and the bag 
 wet once a day, will in three or four days turn to be yellow ; 
 and these be a choice bait for the Chub or Chavender, or 
 indeed for any great fish, for it is a large bait. 
 
 There is also a lesser cadis-worm, called a Cock-spur, 
 being in fashion like the spur of a cock, sharp at one end ; 
 and the case, or house, in which this dwells, is made of 
 small husks, and gravel, and slime, most curiously made of 
 these, even so as to be wondered at, but not to be made 
 by man, no more than a king-fisher's nest can, which is 
 made of little fishes' bones and have such a geometrical 
 interweaving and connection as the like is not to be done 
 by the art of man. This kind of cadis is a choice bait for 
 any float-fish ; it is much less than the piper-cadis, and to 
 be so ordered : and these may be so preserved, ten, fifteen, 
 or twenty days, or it may be longer. 
 
 There is also another cadis, called by some a Straw- 
 worm, and by some a RufF-coat, whose house, or case, is 
 made of little pieces of bents, and rushes, and straws, and 
 water-weeds, and I know not what ; which are so knit 
 
iS8 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 together with condensed slime, that they stick about her 
 husk or case, not unlike the bristles of a hedge-hog. These 
 three cadises are commonly taken in the beginning of 
 summer ; and are good, indeed, to take any kind of fish, 
 with float or otherwise. I might tell you of many more, 
 which as these do early, so those have their time also of 
 turning to be flies later in summer ; but I might lose 
 myself, and tire you, by such a discourse : I shall there- 
 fore but remember you, that to know these, and their 
 several kinds, and to what flies every particular cadis 
 turns, and then how to use them, first, as they be cadis, 
 and after as they be flies, is an art, and an art that every- 
 one that professes to be an angler has not leisure to search 
 after, and, if he had, is not capable of learning. 
 
 rU tell you, scholar; several countries have several 
 kinds of cadises, that indeed differ as much as dogs do ; 
 that is to say, as much as a very cur and a greyhound 
 do. These be usually bred in the very little rills, or 
 ditches, that run into bigger rivers ; and I think a more 
 proper bait for those very rivers than any other. I know 
 not how, or of what, this cadis receives life, or what 
 coloured fly it turns to ; but doubtless they are the death 
 of many Trouts : and this is one killing way : 
 
 Take one, or more if need be, of these large yellow 
 cadis : pull ofi^ his head, and with it pull out his black 
 gut ; put the body, as litde bruised as is possible, on a 
 very little hook, armed on with a red hair, which will 
 show like the cadis-head ; and a very little thin lead, 
 so put upon the shank of the hook that it may sink 
 presently. Throw this bait, thus ordered, which will look 
 very yellow, into any great still hole where a Trout is, 
 and he will presendy venture his life for it, 'tis not to be 
 doubted, if you be not espied ; and that the bait first 
 touch the water before the line. And this wiU do best in 
 the deepest stillest water. 
 
 Next, let me tell you, I have been much pleased to 
 walk quiedy by a brook, with a little stick in my hand, 
 with which I might easily take these, and consider the 
 curiosity of their composure : and if you shall ever like 
 
XVII THE COMPLETE ANGLER 159 
 
 to do so, then note, that your stick must be a little hazel, 
 or willow, cleft, or have a nick at one end of it, by which 
 means you may, with ease, take many of them in that 
 nick out of the water, before you have any occasion to 
 use them. These, my honest scholar, are some observa- 
 tions, told to you as they now come suddenly into my 
 memory, of which you may make some use : but for the 
 practical part, it is that that makes an angler : it is 
 diligence, and observation, and practice, and an ambition 
 to be the best in the art, that must do it. I will tell 
 you, scholar, I once heard one say, ' I envy not him that 
 eats better meat than I do ; nor him that is richer, or that 
 wears better clothes than I do : I envy nobody but him, 
 and him only, that catches more fish than I do.' And 
 such a man is like to prove an angler ; and this noble 
 emulation I wish to you, and all young anglers. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Of the Minnow or Penk, of the Loach, and of the Bull-Heady 
 or Miller' s-Thumb 
 
 PiscATOR. There be also three or four other little fish 
 that I had almost forgot ; that are all without scales ; 
 and may for excellency of meat, be compared to any fish 
 of greatest value and largest size. They be usually full 
 of eggs or spawn, aU the months of summer ; for they 
 breed often, as 'tis observed mice and many of the smaller 
 four-footed creatures of the earth do ; and as those, so 
 these come quickly to their full growth and perfection. 
 And it is needful that they breed both often and numer- 
 ously ; for they be, besides other accidents of ruin, both a 
 prey and baits for other fish. And first I shall teU you of 
 the Minnow or Penk. 
 
 The Minnow hath, when he is in perfect season, and 
 not sick, which is only presently after spawning, a kind of 
 dappled or waved colour, like to a panther, on his sides. 
 
i6o IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 inclining to a greenish and sky-colour ; his belly being milk 
 white; and his back almost black or blackish. He is a 
 sharp biter at a small worm, and in hot weather makes 
 excellent sport for young anglers, or boys, or women that 
 love that recreation. And in the spring they make of 
 them excellent Minnow-tansies ; for being washed well in 
 salt, and their heads and tails cut off, and their guts taken 
 out, and not washed after, they prove excellent for that 
 use ; that is, being fried with yolk of eggs, the flowers of 
 cowslips and of primroses, and a little tansy ; thus used 
 they make a dainty dish of meat. 
 
 The Loach is, as I told you, a most dainty fish : he 
 breeds and feeds in little and clear swift brooks or rills, 
 and lives there upon the gravel, and in the sharpest 
 streams : he grows not to be zbnve a finger long, and no 
 thicker than is suitable to that length. This Loach is not 
 unlike the shape of the Eel : he has a beard or wattles like 
 a barbel. He has two fins at his sides, four at his belly, 
 and one at his tail; he is dappled with many black or 
 brown spots; his mouth is barbel-like under his nose. 
 This fish is usually full of eggs or spawn ; and is by 
 Gesner, and other learned physicians, commended for great 
 nourishment, and to be very grateful both to the palate 
 and stomach of sick persons. He is to be fished for with 
 a very small worm, at the bottom ; for he very seldom, 
 or never, rises above the gravel, on which I told you 
 he usually gets his living. 
 
 The MiUer's-thumb, or Bull-head, is a fish of no 
 pleasing shape. He is by Gesner compared to the Sea- 
 toad-fish, for his similitude and shape. It has a head big 
 and flat, much greater than suitable to his body ; a mouth 
 very wide, and usually gaping; he is without teeth, but 
 his lips are very rough, much like to a file. He hath two 
 fins near to his gills, which be roundish or crested ; two 
 fins also under the belly ; two on the back ; one below 
 the vent ; and the fin of his tail is round. Nature hath 
 painted the body of this fish with whitish, blackish, brownish 
 spots. They be usually fuU of eggs or spawn all the 
 summer, I mean the females ; and those eggs swell their 
 
XVIII THE COMPLETE ANGLER i6i 
 
 vents almost into the form of a dug. They begin to 
 spawn about April, and, as I told you, spawn several 
 months in the summer. And in the winter, the Minnow, 
 and Loach, and Bull-head dwell in the mud, as the Eel 
 doth ; or we know not where, no more than we know 
 where the cuckoo and swallow, and other half-year birds, 
 which first appear to us in April, spend their six cold, 
 winter, melancholy months. This Bull-head does usually 
 dwell, and hide himself, in holes, or amongst stones in clear 
 water ; and in very hot days will lie a long time very still, 
 and sun himself, and wiU be easy to be seen upon any flat 
 stone, or any gravel ; at which time he will suffer an angler 
 to put a hook, baited with a small worm, very near unto 
 his very mouth : and he never refuses to bite, nor indeed 
 to be caught with the worst of anglers. Matthiolus com- 
 mends him much more for his taste and nourishment, than 
 for his shape or beauty. 
 
 There is also a little fish called a Sticklebag, a fish with- 
 out scales, but hath his body fenced with several prickles. 
 I know not where he dwells in winter ; nor what he is good 
 for in summer, but only to make sport for boys and 
 women-anglers, and to feed other fish that be fish of prey, 
 as Trouts in particular, who will bite at him as at a Penk ; 
 and better, if your hook be rightly baited with him, for he 
 may be so baited as, his tail turning like the sail of a 
 windmill, will make him turn more quick than any Penk 
 or Minnow can. For note, that the nimble turning of 
 that, or the Minnow, is the perfection of Minnow-fishing. 
 To which end, if you put your hook into his mouth, and 
 out at his tail ; and then, having first tied him with white 
 thread a little above his tail, and placed him after such a 
 manner on your hook as he is like to turn, then sew up 
 his mouth to your line, and he is like to turn quick, and 
 tempt any Trout : but if he does not turn quick, then turn 
 his tail, a little more or less, towards the inner part, or 
 towards the side of the hook ; or put the Minnow or 
 Sticklebag a little more crooked or more straight on your 
 hook, until it will turn both true and fast ; and then doubt 
 not but to tempt any great Trout that lies in a swift stream. 
 
l62 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 And the Loach that I told you of will do the like : no bait 
 is more tempting, provided the Loach be not too big. 
 
 And now, scholar, with the help of this fine morning, 
 and your patient attention, I have said all that my present 
 memory will afford me, concerning most of the several fish 
 that are usually fished for in fresh waters. 
 
 Venator. But, master, you have by your former civility 
 made me hope that you will make good your promise, and 
 say something of the several rivers that be of most note in 
 this nation ; and also of fish-ponds, and the ordering of 
 them : and do it I pray, good master ; for I love any dis- 
 course of rivers, and fish and fishing ; the time spent in 
 such discourse passes away very pleasantly. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Of several Rivers, and some Observations of Fish 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, scholar, since the ways and weather do 
 both favour us, and that we yet see not Tottenham-Cross, 
 you shall see my willingness to satisfy your desire. And, 
 first, for the rivers of this nation : there be, as you may 
 note out of Dr. Heylin's Geography, and others, in number 
 three hundred and twenty-five ; but those of chiefest note 
 he reckons and describes as foUoweth. 
 
 The chief is Thamisis, compounded of two rivers, 
 Thame and Isis ; whereof the former, rising somewhat 
 beyond Thame in Buckinghamshire, and the latter near 
 Cirencester in Gloucestershire, meet together about Dor- 
 chester in Oxfordshire ; the issue of which happy con- 
 junction is Thamisis, or Thames ; hence it flieth betwixt 
 Berks, Buckinghamshire, Middlesex, Surrey, Kent, and 
 Essex : and so weddeth itself to the Kentish Medway, in 
 the very jaws of the ocean. This glorious river feeleth 
 the violence and benefit of the sea more than any river in 
 Europe ; ebbing and flowing, twice a day, more than sixty 
 
XIX THE COMPLETE ANGLER 163 
 
 miles; about whose banks are so many fair towns and 
 princely palaces, that a German poet thus truly spake : 
 
 Tot campos, i^c. 
 We saw so many woods and princely bowers, 
 Sweet fields, brave palaces, and stately towers; 
 So many gardens drest with curious care. 
 That Thames with royal Tiber may compare. 
 
 2. The second river of note is Sabrina or Severn : it 
 hath its beginning in Plinilimmonhill, in Montgomeryshire; 
 and his end seven miles from Bristol; washing, in the 
 mean space, the walls of Shrewsbury, Worcester, and 
 Gloucester, and divers other places and palaces of 
 note. 
 
 3. Trent, so called from thirty kind of fishes that are 
 found in it, or for that it receiveth thirty lesser rivers ; 
 who having his fountain in Staffordshire, and gliding 
 through the counties of Nottingham, Lincoln, Leicester, 
 and York, augmenteth the turbulent current of Humber, 
 the most violent stream of all the isle. This Humber is 
 not, to say truth, a distinct river having a spring-head of 
 his own, but it is rather the mouth or aestuarium of divers 
 rivers here confluent and meeting together, namely, your 
 Derwent, and especially of Ouse and Trent ; and, as the 
 Danow, having received into its channel the river Dravus, 
 Savus, Tibiscus, and divers others, changeth his name into 
 this of Humberabus, as the old geographers call it. 
 
 4. Medway, a Kentish river, famous for harbouring 
 the royal navy. 
 
 5. Tweed, the north-east bound of England ; on whose 
 northern banks is seated the strong and impregnable town 
 of Berwick. 
 
 6. Tyne, famous for Newcastle, and her inexhaustible 
 coal-pits. These, and the rest of principal note, are thus 
 comprehended in one of Mr. Drayton's Sonnets : 
 
 The floods' queen, Thames, for ships and swans is crown'd ; 
 
 And stately Severn for her shore is prais'd ; 
 The crystal Trent, for fords and fish renown'd ; 
 
 And Avon's fame to Albion's cliffs is raised. 
 
i64 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee ; 
 
 York many wonders of her Ouse can tell ; 
 The Peak, her Dove, whose banks so fertile be. 
 
 And Kent will say her Medway doth excel : 
 
 Cotswold commends her Isis to the Tame ; 
 
 Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood ; 
 Our Western parts extol their Willy's fame. 
 
 And the old Lea brags of the Danish blood. 
 
 These observations are out of learned Dr. Heylin, and 
 my old deceased friend, Michael Drayton ; and because 
 you say you love such discourses as these, of rivers, and 
 fish, and fishing, I love you the better, and love the more 
 to impart them to you. Nevertheless, scholar, if I should 
 begin but to name the several sorts of strange fish that are 
 usually taken in many of those rivers that run into the 
 sea, I might beget wonder in you, or unbelief, or both : 
 and yet I will venture to tell you a real truth concerning 
 one lately dissected by Dr. Wharton, a man of great 
 learning and experience, and of equal freedom to com- 
 municate it ; one that loves me and my art ; one to whom 
 I have been beholding for many of the choicest observations 
 that I have imparted to you. This good man, that <iares 
 do any thing rather than tell an untruth, did, I say, tell me 
 he had lately dissected one strange fish, and he thus de- 
 scribed it to me : 
 
 ' This fish was almost a yard broad, and twice that 
 length ; his mouth wide enough to receive, or take into it, 
 the head of a man ; his stomach, seven or eight inches 
 broad. He is of a slow motion ; and usually lies or lurks 
 close in the mud ; and has a moveable string on his head, 
 about a span or near unto a quarter of a yard long ; by the 
 moving of which, which is his natural bait, when he lies 
 close and unseen in the mud, he draws other smaller fish 
 so close to him, than he can suck them into his mouth, and 
 so devours and digests them.' 
 
 And, scholar, do not wonder at this ; for besides the 
 credit of the relator, you are to note, many of these, 
 and fishes which are of the like and more unusual shapes, 
 are very often taken on the mouths of our sea rivers, and 
 
XIX THE COMPLETE ANGLER 165 
 
 on the sea shore. And this will be no wonder to any 
 that have travelled Egypt ; where, 'tis known, the famous 
 river Nilus does not only breed fishes that yet waht 
 names, but, by the overflowing of that river, and the help 
 of the sun's heat on the fat slime which that river leaves on 
 the banks when it falls back into its natural channel, such 
 strange fish and beasts are also bred, that no man can give 
 a name to ; as Grotius in his Sopham, and others, have 
 observed. 
 
 But whither am I strayed in this discourse. I will end 
 it by telling you, that at the mouth of some of these rivers 
 of ours, Herrings are so plentiful, as namely, near to Yar- 
 mouth in Norfolk, and in the west country Pilchers so 
 very plentiful, as you will wonder to read what our learned 
 Camden relates of them in his Britannia (p. 178, 186). 
 
 Well, scholar, I will stop here, and tell you what by 
 reading and conference I have observed concerning fish- 
 ponds. 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Of Fish-Ponds and how to order them 
 
 Doctor Lebault, the learned Frenchman, in his large 
 discourse of Maison Rustique, gives this direction for 
 making of fish-ponds. I shall refer you to him, to read 
 it at large : but I think I shall contract it, and yet make 
 it as useful. 
 
 He adviseth, that when you have drained the ground, 
 and made the earth firm, where the head of the pond must 
 be, that you must then, in that place, drive in two or three 
 rows of oak or elm piles, which should be scorched in the 
 fire, or half-burnt, before they be driven into the earth ; 
 for being thus used, it preserves them much longer from 
 rotting. And having done so, lay faggots or bavins 
 of smaller wood betwixt them : and then earth betwixt 
 and above them : and then, having first very well rammed 
 
i66 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 them and the earth, use another pile in like manner as the 
 first were : and note, that the second pile is to be of 
 or about the height that you intend to make your 
 sluice or flood-gate, or the vent that you intend shall 
 convey the overflowings of your pond in any flood that 
 shall endanger the breaking of your pond-dam. 
 
 Then he advises, that you plant willows or owlers, about 
 it, or both : and then cast in bavins, in some places not 
 far from the side, and in the most sandy places, for fish 
 both to spawn upon, and to defend them and the young 
 fry from the many fish, and also from vermin, that lie at 
 watch to destroy them, especially the spawn of the Carp 
 and Tench, when 'tis left to the mercy of ducks or 
 vermin. 
 
 He, and Dubravius, and all others advise, that you 
 make choice of such a place for your pond, that it may be 
 refreshed with a little rill, or with rain water, running 
 or falling into it ; by which fish are more inclined both to 
 breed, and are also refreshed and fed the better, and 
 do prove to be of a much sweeter and more pleasant 
 taste. 
 
 To which end it is observed, that such pools as be large 
 and have most gravel, and shallows where fish may sport 
 themselves, do afibrd fish of the purest taste. And note, 
 that in all pools it is best for fish to have some retiring 
 place ; as namely, hollow banks, or shelves, or roots 
 of trees, to keep them from danger, and, when they think 
 fit, from the extreme heat of summer ; as also from the 
 extremity of cold in winter. And note, that if many trees 
 be growing about your pond, the leaves thereof falling 
 into the water, make it nauseous to the fish, and the fish 
 to be so to the eater of it. 
 
 'Tis noted, that the Tench and Eel love mud ; and the 
 Carp loves gravelly ground, and in the hot months to feed 
 on grass. You are to cleanse your pond, if you intend 
 either profit or pleasure, once every three or four years, 
 especiaUy some ponds, and then let it lie dry six or twelve 
 months, both to kill the water-weeds, as water-lilies, can- 
 docks, reate, and bulrushes, that breed there; and also 
 
XX THE COMPLETE ANGLER 167 
 
 that as these die for want of water, so grass may grow in 
 the pond's bottom, which Carps will eat greedily in all the 
 hot months, if the pond be clean. The letting your pond 
 dry and sowing oats in the bottom is also good, for the 
 fish feed the faster; and being sometimes let dry, you 
 may observe what kind of fish either increases or thrives 
 best in that water; for they differ much, both in their 
 breeding and feeding. 
 
 Lebault also advises, that if your ponds be not very 
 large and roomy, that you often feed your fish, by throw- 
 ing into them chippings of bread, curds, grains, or the 
 entrails of chickens or of any fowl or beast that you kill 
 to feed yourselves; for these afford fish a great relief. 
 He says, that frogs and ducks do much harm, and devour 
 both the spawn and the young fry of all fish, especially of 
 the Carp ; and I have, besides experience, many testi- 
 monies of it. But Lebault allows water-frogs to be good 
 meat, especially in some months, if they be fat : but you 
 are to note, that he is a Frenchman ; and we English will 
 hardly believe him, though we know frogs are usually 
 eaten in his country : however he advises to destroy them 
 and king-fishers out of your ponds. And he advises not 
 to suffer much shooting at wild fowl ; for that, he says, 
 afFrightens, and harms, and destroys the fish. 
 
 Note, that Carps and Tench thrive and breed best when 
 no other fish is put with them into the same pond ; for all 
 other fish devour their spawn, or at least the greatest part 
 of it. And note, that clods of grass thrown into any 
 pond feed any Carps in summer ; and that garden-earth 
 and parsley thrown into a pond recovers and refreshes the 
 sick fish. And note, that when you store your pond, you 
 are to put into it two or three melters for one spawner, if 
 you put them into a breeding-pond ; but if into a nurse- 
 pond, or feeding-pond, in which they will not breed, then 
 no care is to be taken whether there be most male or 
 female Carps. 
 
 It is observed that the best ponds to breed Carps are 
 those that be stony or sandy, and are warm, and free from 
 wind ; and that are not deep, but have willow-trees and 
 
1 68 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 grass on their sides, over which the water does sometimes 
 flow : and note, that Carps do more usually breed in 
 marle-pits, or pits that have clean clay bottoms; or in 
 new ponds, or ponds that lie dry a winter season, than 
 in old ponds that be full of mud and weeds. 
 
 Well, Scholar, I have told you the substance of all that 
 either observation or discourse, or a diligent survey of 
 Dubravius and Lebault hath told me : not that they, in 
 their long discourses, have not said more ; but the most 
 of the rest are so common observations, as if a man should 
 tell a good arithmetician that twice two is four. I will 
 therefore put an end to this discourse ; and we will here 
 sit down and rest us. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Directions for making of a Line, and for the colouring of both 
 Rod and Line 
 
 PiscATOR. Well, Scholar, I have held you too long 
 about these cadis, and smaller fish, and rivers, and fish- 
 ponds ; and my spirits are almost spent, and so I doubt is 
 your patience ; but being we are now almost at Totten- 
 ham where I first met you, and where we are to part, I 
 will lose no time, but give you a little direction how to 
 make and order your lines, and to colour the hair of which 
 you make your lines, for that is very needful to be known 
 of an angler ; and also how to paint your rod, especially 
 your top ; for a right-grown top is a choice commodity, 
 and should be preserved from the water soaking into it, 
 which makes it in wet weather to be heavy and fish ill- 
 favouredly, and not true ; and also it rots quickly for 
 want of painting : and I think a good top is worth pre- 
 serving, or I had not taken care to keep a top above 
 twenty years. 
 
 But first for your Line. First note, that you are to 
 
XXI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 169 
 
 take care that your hair be round and clear, and free from 
 galls, or scabs, or frets : for a well-chosen, even, clear, 
 round hair, of a kind of glass-colour, will prove as strong 
 as three uneven scabby hairs that are ill-chosen, and full 
 of galls or unevenness. You shall seldom find a black 
 hair but it is round, but many white are flat and uneven ; 
 therefore, if you get a lock of right, round, clear, glass- 
 colour hair, make much of it. 
 
 And for making your line, observe this rule : first, let 
 your hair be clean washed ere you go about to twist it ; 
 and then choose not only the clearest hair for it, but hairs 
 that be of an equal bigness, for such do usually stretch all 
 together, and break altogether, which hairs of an unequal 
 bigness never do, but break singly, and so deceive the 
 angler that trusts to them. 
 
 When you have twisted your links, lay them in water 
 for a quarter of an hour at least, and then twist them 
 over again before you tie them into a line : for those that 
 do not so shall usually find their line to have a hair or two 
 shrink, and be shorter than the rest, at the first fishing 
 with it, which is so much of the strength of the line lost 
 for want of first watering it, and then retwisting it ; and 
 this is most visible in a seven-hair line, one of those which 
 hath always a black hair in the middle. 
 
 And for dyeing of your hairs, do it thus : take a pint 
 of strong ale, half a pound of soot, and a little quantity of 
 the juice of walnut-tree leaves, and an equal quantity of 
 alum : put these together into a pot, pan, or pipkin, and 
 boil them half an hour ; and having so done, let it cool ; 
 and being cold, put your hair into it, and there let it lie ; it 
 will turn your hair to be a kind of water or glass colour, 
 or greenish ; and the longer you let it lie, the deeper 
 coloured it will be. You might be taught to make many 
 other colours, but it is to little purpose ; for doubtless the 
 water-colour or glass-coloured hair is the most choice and 
 most useful for an angler, but let it not be too green. 
 
 But if you desire to colour hair greener, then do it 
 thus : take a quart of small ale, half a pound of alum ; 
 then put these into a pan or pipkin, and your hair into 
 
I70 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 it with them ; then put it upon a fire, and let it boil softly 
 for half an hour ; and then take out your hair, and let it 
 dry ; and having so done, then take a pottle of water, and 
 put into it two handfuls of marigolds, and cover it with a 
 tile or what you think fit, and set it again on the fire, 
 where it is to boil again softly for half an hour, about 
 which time the scum will turn yellow; then put into it 
 half a pound of copperas, beaten small, and with it the 
 hair that you intend to colour ; then let the hair be boiled 
 softly till half the liquor be wasted, and then let it cool 
 three or four hours, with your hair in it ; and you are to 
 observe that the more copperas you put into it, the greener 
 it will be ; but doubtless the pale green is best. But if 
 you desire yellow hair, which is only good when the weeds 
 rot, then put in more marigolds ; and abate most of the 
 copperas, or leave it quite out, and take a little verdigris 
 instead of it. 
 
 This for colouring your hair. 
 
 And as for painting your Rod, which must be in oil, 
 you must first make a size with glue and water, boiled 
 together until the glue be dissolved, and the size of a lye- 
 colour : then strike your size upon the wood with a bristle, 
 or a brush or pencil, whilst it is hot : that being quite dry, 
 take white-lead, and a little red-lead, and a little coal-black, 
 so much as altogether wUl make an ash-colour : grind these 
 altogether with linseed-oil ; let it be thick, and lay it thin 
 upon the wood with a brush or pencil : this do for the 
 ground of any colour to lie upon wood. 
 
 For a green, take pink and verdigris, and grind them 
 together in linseed oil, as thin as you can well grind it : 
 then lay it smoothly on with your brush, and drive it thin ; 
 once doing, for the most part, will serve, if you lay it well ; 
 and if twice, be sure your first colour be thoroughly dry 
 before you lay on a second. 
 
 Well, Scholar, having now taught you to paint your 
 rod, and we having still a mile to Tottenham High-Cross, 
 I will, as we walk towards it in the cool shade of this 
 sweet honeysuckle hedge, mention to you some of the 
 thoughts and joys that have possessed my soul since we 
 
XXI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 171 
 
 two met together. And these thoughts shall be told you, 
 that you also may join with me in thankfulness to the 
 Giver of every good and perfect gift, for our happiness. 
 And that our present happiness may appear to be the 
 greater, and we the more thankful for it, I will beg you to 
 consider with me how many do, even at this very time, lie 
 under the torment of the stone, the gout, and tooth-ache ; 
 and this we are free from. And every misery that I miss 
 is a new mercy ; and therefore let us be thankful. There 
 have been, since we met, others that have met disasters or 
 broken limbs; some have been blasted, others thunder- 
 strucken : and we have been freed from these, and all 
 those many other miseries that threaten human nature ; 
 let us therefore rejoice and be thankfiil. Nay, which is a 
 far greater mercy, we are free from the insupportable 
 burthen of an accusing tormenting conscience ; a misery 
 that none can bear : and therefore let us praise Him for 
 His preventing grace, and say. Every misery that I miss is 
 a new mercy. Nay, let me tell you, there be many that 
 have forty times our estates, that would give the greatest 
 part of it to be healthful and cheerful like us, who, with 
 the expense of a little money, have eat and drunk, and 
 laughed, and angled, and sung, and slept securely ; and 
 rose next day and cast away care, and sung, and laughed, 
 and angled again ; which are blessings rich men cannot 
 purchase with all their money. Let me tell you. Scholar, 
 I have a rich neighbour that is always so busy that he has 
 no leisure to laugh ; the whole business of his life is to get 
 money, and more money, that he may still get more and 
 more money; he is still drudging on, and says, that 
 Solomon says, ' The diligent hand maketh rich ' ; and 'tis 
 true indeed: but he considers not that 'tis not in the 
 power of riches to make a man happy ; for it was wisely 
 said, by a man of great observation, ' That there be as 
 many miseries beyond riches as on this side of them.' And 
 yet God deliver us from pinching poverty ; and grant, that 
 having a competency, we may be content and thankful. 
 Let not us repine, or so much as think the gifts of God 
 unequally dealt, if we see another abound with riches ; 
 
172 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 when, as God knows, the cares that are the keys that keep 
 those riches hang often so heavily at the rich man's girdle, 
 that they clog him with weary days and restless nights, 
 even when others sleep quietly. We see but the outside 
 of the rich man's happiness : few consider him to be like 
 the silk-worm, that, when she seems to play, is, at the very 
 same time, spinning her own bowels, and consuming herself ; 
 and this many rich men do, loading themselves with 
 corroding cares, to keep what they have, probably, uncon- 
 scionably got. Let us, therefore, be thankful for health 
 and a competence ; and above all, for a quiet conscience. 
 
 Let me tell you. Scholar, that Diogenes walked on a day, 
 with his friend, to see a country fair ; where he saw ribbons, 
 and looking-glasses, and nut-crackers, and fiddles, and 
 hobby-horses, and many other gimcracks ; and, having 
 observed them, and all the other finnimbruns that make a 
 complete country-fair, he said to his friend, ' Lord, how 
 many things are there in this world of which Diogenes 
 hath no need ! ' And truly it is so, or might be so, with 
 very many who vex and toil themselves to get what they 
 have no need of. Can any man charge God, that he hath 
 not given him enough to make his life happy? No, 
 doubtless ; for nature is content with a little. And yet 
 you shall hardly meet with a man that complains not of 
 some want ; though he, indeed, wants nothing but his 
 wUl ; it may be, nothing but his will of his poor neighbour, 
 for not worshipping, or not flattering him : and thus, when 
 we might be happy and quiet, we create trouble to our- 
 selves. I have heard of a man that was angry with him- 
 self because he was no taller ; and of a woman that broke 
 her looking-glass because it would not show her face to be 
 as young and handsome as her next neighbour's was. 
 And I knew another to whom God had given health and 
 plenty ; but a wife that nature had made peevish, and her 
 husband's riches had made purse-proud ; and must, because 
 she was rich, and for no other virtue, sit in the highest pew 
 in the church ; which being denied her, she engaged her 
 husband into a contention for it, and at last into a law-suit 
 with a dogged neighbour who was as rich as he, and had a 
 
XXI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 173 
 
 wife as peevish and purse-proud as the other: and this 
 law-suit begot higher oppositions, and actionable words, 
 and more vexations and law-suits ; for you must remember 
 that both were rich, and must therefore have their wills. 
 Well ! this wilful, purse-proud law-suit lasted during the 
 life of the first husband ; after which his wife vext and 
 chid, and chid and vext, till she also chid and vext herself 
 into her grave : and so the wealth of these poor rich 
 people was curst into a punishment, because they wanted 
 meek and thankful hearts ; for those only can make 
 us happy. I knew a man that had health and riches ; and 
 several houses, all beautiful, and ready furnished ; and 
 would often trouble himself and family to be removing 
 from one house to another : and being asked by a friend 
 why he removed so often from one house to another, 
 replied, ' It was to find content in some one of them.' 
 But his friend, knowing his temper, told him, ' If he 
 would find content in any of his houses, he must leave 
 himself behind him ; for content will never dwell but in a 
 meek and quiet soul.' And this may appear, if we read 
 and consider what our Saviour says in St. Matthew's 
 Gospel ; for He there says, — ' Blessed be the merciful, 
 for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed be the pure in heart, 
 for they shall see God. Blessed be the poor in spirit, for 
 theirs is the kingdom of heaven. And, Blessed be the 
 meek, for they shall possess the earth.' Not that the meek 
 shall not also obtain mercy, and see God, and be com- 
 forted, and at last come to the kingdom of heaven : 
 but in the meantime, he, and he only, possesses the earth, 
 as he goes towards that kingdom of heaven, by being 
 humble and cheerful, and content with what his good 
 God has allotted him. He has no turbulent, repining, 
 vexatious thoughts that he deserves better ; nor is vext 
 when he sees others possest of more honour or more 
 riches than his wise God has allotted for his share : but he 
 possesses what he has with a meek and contented quietness, 
 such a quietness as makes his very dreams pleasing, both 
 to God and himself. 
 
 My honest Scholar, all this is told to incline you to 
 
174 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 thankfulness ; and to incline you the more, let me tell 
 you, and though the prophet David was guilty of murder 
 and adultery, and many other of the most deadly sins, 
 yet he was said to be a man after God's own heart, 
 because he abounded more with thankfulness than any 
 other that is mentioned in holy scripture, as may appear 
 in his book of Psalms ; where there is such a commixture, 
 of his confessing of his sins and unworthiness, and such 
 thankfulness for God's pardon and mercies, as did make 
 him to be accounted, even by God himself, to be a man 
 after his own heart: and let us, in that, labour to be 
 as like him as we can ; let not the blessings we receive 
 daily from God make us not to value, or not praise him, 
 because they be common ; let us not forget to praise him 
 for the innocent mirth and pleasure we have met with 
 since we met together. What would a blind man give to 
 see the pleasant rivers, and meadows, and flowers, and 
 fountains, that we have met with since we met together ? 
 I have been told, that if a man that was born blind 
 could obtain to have his sight for but only one hour 
 during his whole life, and should, at the first opening 
 of his eyes, fix his sight upon the sun when it was in 
 its fuU glory, either at the rising or setting of it, he would 
 be so transported and amazed, and so admire the glory of 
 it, that he would not willingly turn his eyes from that 
 first ravishing object, to behold all the other various 
 beauties this world could present to him. And this, and 
 many other like blessings, we enjoy daily. And for most 
 of them, because they be so common, most men forget to 
 pay their praises : but let not us ; because it is a sacrifice 
 so pleasing to Him that made that sun and us, and stUl 
 protects us, and gives us flowers, and showers, and 
 stomachs, and meat, and content, and leisure to go 
 a-fishing. 
 
 Well, Scholar, I have almost tired myself, and, I fear, 
 more than almost tired you. But I now see Tottenham 
 High-Cross ; and our short walk thither shall put a 
 period to my too long discourse ; in which my meaning 
 was, and is, to plant that in your mind with which I labour 
 
XXI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 175 
 
 to possess my own soul ; that is, a meek and thankful 
 heart. And to that end I have shewed you, that riches 
 without them, do not make any man happy. But let me 
 tell you, that riches with them remove many fears and 
 cares. And therefore my advice is, that you endeavour to 
 be honestly rich, or contentedly poor : but be sure that 
 your riches be justly got, or you spoil all. For it is well 
 said by Caussin, ' He that loses his conscience has nothing 
 left that is worth keeping,' Therefore be sure you look to 
 that. And, in the next place, look to your health : and 
 if you have it, praise God, and value it next to a good 
 conscience ; for health is the second blessing that we 
 mortals are capable of; a blessing that money cannot 
 buy ; and therefore value it, and be thankful for it. As 
 for money, which may be said to be the third blessing, 
 neglect it not : but note, that there is no necessity of 
 being rich; for I told you, there be as many miseries 
 beyond riches as on this side them : and if you have 
 a competence, enjoy it with a meek, cheerful, thankful 
 heart. I will tell you. Scholar, I have heard a grave 
 Divine say, that God has two dwellings ; one in heaven, 
 and the other in a meek and thankful heart ; which 
 Almighty God grant to me, and to my honest Scholar. 
 And so you are welcome to Tottenham High-Cross. 
 
 Venator. Well, Master, I thank you for all your good 
 directions ; but for none more than this last, of thankful- 
 ness, which I hope I shall never forget. And pray let's 
 now rest ourselves in this sweet shady arbour, which 
 nature herself has woven with her own fine fingers ; 'tis 
 such a contexture of woodbines, sweetbriar, jasmine, and 
 myrtle ; and so interwoven, as will secure us both from 
 the sun's violent heat, and from the approaching shower. 
 And being set down, I will requite a part of your 
 courtesies with a bottle of sack, milk, oranges, and sugar, 
 which, all put together, make a drink like nectar ; indeed, 
 too good for anybody but us Anglers. And so. Master, 
 here is a full glass to you of that liquor : and when you have 
 pledged me, I will repeat the Verses which I promised 
 you : it is a Copy printed among some of Sir Henry 
 
1/6 IZAAK WALTON Chap. 
 
 Wotton's, and doubtless made either by him, or by a 
 lover of angling. Come, Master, now drink a glass to me, 
 and then I will pledge you, and fall to my repetition ; it is 
 a description of such country recreations as I have enjoyed 
 since I had the happiness to fall into your company. 
 
 Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares, 
 Anxious sights, untimely tears, 
 
 Fly, fly to courts. 
 
 Fly to fond wordlings' sports, 
 Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glosing still. 
 And Grief is forc'd to laugh against her will : 
 
 Where mirth's but mummery. 
 
 And sorrows only real be. 
 
 Fly from our country pastimes, fly. 
 Sad troops of human misery. 
 
 Come, serene looks, 
 
 Clear as the crystal brooks, 
 Or the pure azur'd heaven that smiles to see 
 The rich attendance of our poverty : 
 
 Peace and a secure mind. 
 
 Which all men seek, we only find, 
 
 Abus6d mortals ! did you know 
 
 Where joy, heart's-ease, and comforts grow. 
 
 You'd scorn proud towers, 
 
 And seek them in these bowers ; 
 Where winds, sometimes, our woods perhaps may shake, 
 But blust'ring care could never tempest make. 
 
 Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 
 
 Saving of fountains that glide by us. 
 
 Here's no fantastick mask, nor dance. 
 But of our kids that frisk and prance; 
 
 Nor wars are seen 
 
 Unless upon the green 
 Two harmless lambs are butting one the other, 
 Which done, both bleating run, each to his mother; 
 
 And wounds are never found, 
 
 Save what the plough-share gives the ground. 
 
 Here are no false entrapping baits, 
 To hasten too, too hasty Fates, 
 
 Unless it be, 
 
 The fond credulity 
 
XXI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 177 
 
 Of silly fish, which worldling like, still look 
 Upon the bait, but never on the hook ; 
 
 Nor envy, unless among 
 
 The birds, for prize of their sweet song. 
 
 Go, let the diving negro seek 
 
 For gems, hid in some forlorn creek : 
 
 We all pearls scorn. 
 
 Save what the dewy morn 
 Congeals upon each little spire of grass. 
 Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass : 
 
 And gold ne'er here appears, 
 
 Save what the yellow Ceres bears. 
 
 Blest silent groves, oh may you be, 
 For ever, mirth's best nursery ! 
 
 May pure contents 
 
 For ever pitch their tents 
 Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains. 
 And peace still slumber by these purling fountains : 
 
 Which we may, every year, 
 
 Meet when we come a-fishing here. 
 
 PiscATOR. Trust me, Scholar, I thank you heartily for 
 these Verses : they be choicely good, and doubtless made 
 by a lover of angling. Come, now, drink a glass to me, 
 and I will requite you with another very good copy : it is 
 a farewell to the vanities of the world, and some say 
 written by Sir Harry Wotton, who I told you was an 
 excellent angler. But let them be writ by whom they 
 will, he that writ them had a brave soul, and must needs 
 be possest with happy thoughts at the time of their 
 composure. 
 
 Farewell, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles; 
 Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles ; 
 Fame's but a hollow echo ; Gold, pure clay ; 
 Honour the darling but of one short day ; 
 Beauty, th' eye's idol, but a damask'd skinj 
 State, but a golden prison, to live in 
 And torture free-born minds ; Embroider'd Trains, 
 Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins ; 
 And Blood allied to greatness is alone 
 Inherited, not purchas'd, nor our own. 
 
 Fame, Honour, Beauty, State, Train,, Blood and Birth, 
 
 Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. 
 M 
 
178 IZAAK WALTON Chap 
 
 I would be great, but that the sun doth still 
 
 Level his rays against the rising hill : 
 
 I would be high, but see the proudest oak 
 
 Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke: 
 
 I would be rich, but see men, too unkind, 
 
 Dig in the bowels of the richest mind : 
 
 I would be wise, but that I often see 
 
 The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free; 
 
 I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, 
 
 Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud : 
 
 I would be poor, but know the humble grass 
 
 Still trampled on by each unworthy ass : 
 
 Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; 
 
 Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envy'd more. 
 I have wish'd all ; but now 1 wish for neither. 
 Great, high, rich, wise, nor fiiir : poor I'll be ratlier. 
 
 Would the World now adopt me for her heir ; 
 
 Would beauty's Queen entitle me the fair ; 
 
 Fame speak me fortune's minion ; could I ' vie 
 
 Angels ' with India ; with a speaking eye 
 
 Command bare heads, bow'd knees; strike justice dumb. 
 
 As well as blind and lame ; or give a tongue 
 
 To stones by epitaphs ; be call'd 'great master' 
 
 In the loose rhymes of every poetaster ? 
 
 Could I be more than any man that liv6s. 
 
 Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives ; ' 
 
 Yet I more freely would these gifts resign. 
 
 Than ever fortune would have made them mine ; 
 
 And hold one minute of this holy leisure 
 
 Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. 
 
 Welcome, pure thoughts ; welcome, ye silent groves ; 
 
 These guests, these courts, ray soul most dearly loves. 
 
 Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing 
 
 My cheerftil anthems to the gladsome spring : 
 
 A prayer-book, now, shall be my looking-glass, 
 
 In which I will adore sweet virtue's face. 
 
 Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace-cares, 
 
 No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-fac'd fears ; 
 
 Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly. 
 
 And learn to affect an holy melancholy: 
 And if contentment be a stranger then, 
 I'll ne'er look for it, but in heaven, again. 
 
 Venator. Well, Master, these verses be worthy to keep 
 a room in every man's memory. I thank you for them ; 
 
XXI THE COMPLETE ANGLER 179 
 
 and I thank you for your many instructions, which, God 
 willing, I will not forget. And as St. Austin, in his 
 Confessions (book 4, chap. 3), commemorates the kind- 
 ness of his friend Verecundus, for lending him and 
 his companion a country house, because there they rested 
 and enjoyed themselves, free from the troubles of the 
 world, so, having had the like advantage, both by your 
 conversation and the art you have taught me, I ought 
 ever to do the like ; for, indeed, your company and dis- 
 course have been so useful and pleasant, that, I may 
 truly say, I have only lived since I enjoyed them and 
 turned angler, and not before. Nevertheless, here I must 
 part with you ; here in this now sad place, where I 
 was so happy as first to meet you : but I shall long 
 for the ninth of May ; for then I hope again to enjoy 
 your beloved company, at the appointed time and place. 
 And now I wish for some somniferous potion, that might 
 force me to sleep away the intermitted time, which will 
 pass away with me as tediously as it does with men in 
 sorrow ; nevertheless I will make it as short as I can, by 
 my hopes and wishes : and, my good Master, I will not 
 forget the doctrine which you told me Socrates taught his 
 scholars, that they should not think to be honoured so 
 much for being philosophers, as to honour philosophy by 
 their virtuous lives. You advised me to the like con- 
 cerning Angling, and I wUl endeavour to do so ; and to 
 live like those many worthy men, of which you made 
 mention in the former part of your discourse. This is my 
 firm resolution. And as a pious man advised his friend, 
 that, to beget mortification, he should frequent churches, 
 and view monuments, and charnel-houses, and then and 
 there consider how many dead bodies Time had piled up at 
 the gates of death, so when I would beget content, and 
 increase confidence in the power, and wisdom, and provi- 
 dence of Almighty God, I will walk the meadows, by some 
 gliding stream, and there contemplate the lilies that take 
 no care, and those very many other various little living 
 creatures that are not only created, but fed, man knows 
 not how, by the goodness of the God of Nature, and 
 
i8o IZAAK WALTON Chap. XXI 
 
 therefore trust in Him. This is my purpose ; and so, let 
 everything that hath breath praise the Lord : and let the 
 blessing of St. Peter's Master be with mine. 
 
 PiscATOR. And upon all that are lovers of virtue ; and 
 dare trust in His providence ; and be quiet ; and go a 
 Angling. 
 
 ' Study to be quiet.' — I Thess. iv. 1 1. 
 
 PINTS 
 
THE LIVES OF DR. JOHN DONNE 
 
 SIR HENRY WOTTON, MR. RICHARD HOOKER 
 
 MR. GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 WRITTEN BY IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Eccles. xliv. 7 — These were honourable men in their generation! 
 
To the Right Honourable and Reverend Father in God, 
 
 George, Lord Bishop of Winchester, 
 
 And Prelate of the most noble Order of the Garter 
 
 My Lord, 
 I DID some years past, present you with a plain relation of 
 the Life of Mr. Richard Hooker, that humble man, to 
 whose memory. Princes and the most learned of this 
 nation, have paid a reverence at the mention of his name. 
 And now, with Mr. Hooker's, I present you also, the 
 Life of that pattern of primitive piety, Mr. George 
 Herbert ; and with his the Life of Dr. Donne, and your 
 friend Sir Henry Wotton, all reprinted. The two first 
 were written under your roof: for which reason, if they 
 were worth it, you might justly challenge a Dedication. 
 And indeed, so you might of Dr. Donne's, and Sir Henry 
 Wotton's : because, if I had been fit for this undertaking, 
 it would not have been by acquired learning or study, but 
 by the advantage of forty years' friendship, and thereby, 
 with hearing and discoursing with your Lordship, that 
 hath enabled me to make the relation of these Lives 
 passable — if they prove so — ^in an eloquent and captious 
 age. 
 
 And indeed, my Lord, though these relations be well- 
 meant sacrifices to the memory of these worthy men ; yet 
 I have so little confidence in my performance, that I beg 
 pardon for superscribing your name to them : and desire 
 all that know your Lordship, to apprehend this not as a 
 Dedication, — at least by which you receive any addition 
 of honour; — but rather as an humble, and more public 
 acknowledgment, of your long-continued, and your now 
 daily favours to. My Lord, your most affectionate, and 
 most humble servant, 
 
 IzAAK Walton. 
 
 «83 
 
TO THE READER 
 
 Though the several Introductions to these several Lives 
 have partly declared the reasons how, and why I undertook 
 them, yet since they are come to be reviewed, and aug- 
 mented, and reprinted, and the four are now become one 
 book, I desire leave to inform you that shall become my 
 Reader, that when I sometimes look back upon my educa- 
 tion and mean abilities, it is not without some little 
 wonder at myself, that I am come to be publicly in print. 
 And though I have in those introductions declared some 
 of the accidental reasons that occasioned me to be so, yet 
 let me add this to what is there said, that by my under- 
 taking to collect some notes for Sir Henry Wotton's 
 writing the Life of Dr. Donne, and by Sir Henry "Wotton's 
 dying before he performed it, I became like those men 
 that enter easily into a lawsuit or a quarrel, and having 
 begun, cannot make a fair retreat and be quiet, when they 
 desire it. — And reaUy, after such a manner, I became 
 engaged into a necessity of writing the Life of Dr. Donne, 
 contrary to my first intentions ; and that begot a like 
 necessity of writing the Life of his and my ever-honoured 
 friend. Sir Henry Wotton. 
 
 And having writ these two Lives, I lay quiet twenty 
 years, without a thought of either troubling myself or 
 others, by any new engagement in this kind ; for I 
 thought I knew my unfitness. But, about that time. Dr. 
 Gauden (then Lord Bishop of Exeter) published the Life 
 of Mr. Richard Hooker (so he called it), with so many 
 
 184 
 
EPISTLE TO THE READER 185 
 
 dangerous mistakes, both of him and his books, that 
 discoursing of them with his Grace Gilbert, that now is 
 Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, he enjoined me to ex- 
 amine some circumstances, and then rectify the Bishop's 
 mistakes, by giving the world a fuUer and truer account of 
 Mr. Hooker and his books than that Bishop had done ; 
 and I know I have done so. And let me tell the Reader, 
 that till his Grace had laid this injunction upon me, I could 
 not admit a thought of any fitness in me to undertake it ; 
 but when he twice had enjoined me to it, I then declined 
 my own, and trusted his judgment, and submitted to his 
 commands; concluding, that if I did not, I could not 
 forbear accusing myself of disobedience, and indeed of 
 ingratitude, for his many favours. Thus I became 
 engaged into the third life. 
 
 For the life of that great example of holiness, Mr. 
 George Herbert, I profess it to be so far a free-will 
 oiFering, that it was writ chiefly to please myself, but yet 
 not without some respect to posterity : For though he 
 was not a man that the next age can forget, yet many of 
 his particular acts and virtues might have been neglected, 
 or lost, if I had not collected and presented them to the 
 imitation of those that shall succeed us : For I humbly 
 conceive writing to be both a safer and truer preserver of 
 men's virtuous actions than tradition ; especially as it is 
 managed in this age. And I am also to tell the Reader, 
 that though this life of Mr. Herbert was not by me writ 
 in haste, yet I intended it a review before it should be 
 made public ; but that was not allowed me, by reason of 
 my absence from London when 'twas printing ; so that 
 the Reader may find in it some mistakes, some double 
 expressions, and some not very proper, and some that 
 might have been contracted, and some faults that are not 
 justly chargeable upon me, but the printer ; and yet I 
 hope none so great, as may not, by this confession, pur- 
 chase pardon from a good-natured Reader. 
 
 And now I wish, that as that learned Jew, Josephus, 
 and others, so these men had also writ their own lives ; 
 but since 'tis not the fashion of these times, I wish their 
 
1 86 EPISTLE TO THE READER 
 
 relations or friends would do it for them, before delays 
 make it too difficult. And I desire this the more, because 
 it is an honour due to the dead, and a generous debt due 
 to those that shall live and succeed us, and would to them 
 prove both a content and satisfaction. For when the next 
 age shall (as this does) admire the learning and clear 
 reason which that excellent casuist Dr. Sanderson (the late 
 Bishop of Lincoln) hath demonstrated in his sermons and 
 other writings ; who, if they love virtue, would not rejoice 
 to know, that this good man was as remarkable for the 
 meekness and innocence of his life, as for his great and 
 useful learning ; and indeed as remarkable for his fortitude 
 in his long and patient suffering (under them that then 
 called themselves the godly party) for that doctrine which 
 he had preached and printed in the happy days of the 
 nation's and the Church's peace ? And who would not be 
 content to have the like account of Dr. Field, that great 
 schoolman, and others of noted learning ? And though I 
 cannot hope that my example or reason can persuade to 
 this undertaking, yet I please myself, that I shall conclude 
 my Preface with wishing that it were so. 
 
 I. W. 
 
THE LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE 
 
 Late Dean of St. Paul's Church, London 
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 
 
 If the great master of language and art, Sir Henry 
 Wotton, the late Provost of Eton College, had lived to 
 see the publication of these Sermons, he had presented the 
 world with the Author's life exactly written ; and 'twas 
 pity he did not, for it was a work worthy his undertaking, 
 and he fit to undertake it : betwixt whom and the Author 
 there was so mutual a knowledge, and such a friendship 
 contracted in their youth, as nothing but death could force 
 a separation. And though their bodies were divided, their 
 affections were not ; for that learned Knight's love followed 
 his friend's fame beyond death and the forgetful grave ; 
 which he testified by entreating me, whom he acquainted 
 with his design, to enquire of some particulars that con- 
 cerned it, not doubting but my knowledge of the Author, 
 and love to his memory, might make my diligence useful : 
 I did most gladly undertake the employment, and con- 
 tinued it with great content, tiU I had made my collection 
 ready to be augmented and completed by his matchless 
 pen : but then death prevented his intentions. 
 
 When I heard that sad news, and heard also that these 
 Sermons were to be printed, and want the Author's life, 
 which I thought to be very remarkable; indignation or 
 grief — indeed I know not which — transported me so far, 
 
 187 
 
i88 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that I reviewed my forsaken collections, and resolved the 
 world should see the best plain picture of the Author's life, 
 that my artless pencil, guided by the hand of truth, could 
 present to it. 
 
 And if I shall now be demanded, as once Pompey's poor 
 bondman was,^ ' the gratefiil wretch had been left alone on 
 the seashore with the forsaken dead body of his once glori- 
 ous lord and master ; and was then gathering the scattered 
 pieces of an old broken boat, to make a funeral pile to 
 burn it ; which was the custom of the Romans — Who art 
 thou, that alone hast the honour to bury the body of 
 Pompey the Great?' So, who am I, that do thus 
 officiously set the Author's memory on fire ? I hope the 
 question will prove to have in it more of wonder than dis- 
 dain ; but wonder indeed the reader may, that I, who 
 profess myself artless, should presume with my faint light 
 to shew forth his life, whose very name makes it illus- 
 trious! But, be this to the disadvantage of the person 
 represented : certain I am, it is to the advantage of the 
 beholder, who shall here see the Author's picture in a 
 natural dress, which ought to beget faith in what is spoken : 
 for he that wants skill to deceive, may safely be trusted. 
 
 And if the Author's glorious spirit, which now is in 
 heaven, can have the leisure to look down and see me, 
 the poorest, the meanest of all his friends, in the midst of 
 his officious duty, confident I am, that he will not disdain 
 this well-meant sacrifice to his memory : for, whilst his 
 conversation made me and many others happy below, I 
 know his humility and gentleness were then eminent ; 
 and, I have heard divines say, those virtues that were but 
 sparks upon earth, become great and glorious flames in 
 heaven. 
 
 Before I proceed further, I am to entreat the reader to 
 take notice, that when Doctor Donne's Sermons were 
 first printed, this was then my excuse for daring to write 
 his life ; and I dare not now appear without it. 
 
 1 Plutarch. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 189 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 Master John Donne was born in London, in the year 
 1573, of good ahd 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 
 
190 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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 ;^3000.) 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 mathe- 
 matics, 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 reli- 
 gion, 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 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 191 
 
 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 ^ — 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 indif- 
 ferent affection to both parties ; and indeed. Truth had 
 too much light about her to be hid from so sharp an 
 enquirer ; and he had too much ingenuity, not to acknow- 
 ledge 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 con- 
 science: he therefore proceeded in this search with all 
 moderate haste, and about the twentieth year of his age, 
 did shew 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 un- 
 happy 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, aiid 
 
 1 In his Preface to Pseudo-Martyr. 
 ^ Cadiz. 
 
192 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 for viewing Jerusalem and the Sepulchre of our Savour. 
 But at his being in the furthest parts of Italy, the dis- 
 appointment 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 friends. 
 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 inter- 
 changeably 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 copl their affections to each other : 
 but in vain ; for love is a flattering mischief, that hath 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 193 
 
 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 presendy engaged his sister, the Lady EUesmere, 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 Secre- 
 tary 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 
 
194 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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 tOl Mr. 
 Donne and his sometime com-pupil 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-feUow 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 enlarge- 
 ment 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 an 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 trouble- 
 some 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 sub- 
 mission 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 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 195 
 
 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 un- 
 feignedly sorry for what he had done, yet it was incon- 
 sistent with his place and credit, to discharge and re-admit 
 servants at the request of passionate petitioners.' 
 
 Sir George's endeavour for Mr. Donne's re-admission 
 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 Pyrford in Surrey, who entreated 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. 
 
196 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 It hath been observed by wise and considering men, 
 that wealth has seldom been the portion, and never the 
 mark to discover good people ; but that Almighty God, 
 who disposeth aU things wisely, hath of his abundant 
 goodness denied it — he only knows why — to many, whose 
 minds he hath enriched with the greater blessings of 
 knowledge and virtue, as the fairer testimonies of his love 
 to mankind : and this was the present condition of this 
 man of so excellent erudition and endowments ; whose 
 necessary and daily expences, were hardly reconcileable with 
 his uncertain and narrow estate. Which I mention, for 
 that at this time, there was a most generous offer made 
 him for the moderating of his worldly cares 7- the declara- 
 tion of which shall be the next employment of my pen. 
 
 God has been so good to his Church, as to afford it in 
 every age, some such men to serve at his altar, as have 
 been piously ambitious of doing good to mankind ; a 
 disposition, that is so like to God himself, that it owes 
 itself only to Him, who takes a pleasure to behold it 
 in his creatures. These times ^ he did bless with many 
 such ; some of which still live to be patterns of apostolical 
 charity, and of more than human patience. I have said 
 this, because I have occasion to mention one of them 
 in my following discourse ; namely, Dr. Morton, the most 
 laborious and learned Bishop of Durham, one that God 
 hath blessed with perfect intellectuals and a cheerful heart 
 at the age of 94 years — and is yet living : — one, that 
 in his days of plenty had so large a heart, as to use 
 his large revenue to the encouragement of learning and 
 virtue, and is now — be it spoken with sorrow — reduced to 
 a narrow estate, which he embraces without repining ; and 
 still shews the beauty of his mind by so liberal a hand, as 
 if this were an age in which to-morrow were to care for 
 itself. I have taken a pleasure in giving the reader a 
 short, but true character of this good man, my friend, 
 from whom I received this following relation. — He sent 
 to Mr. Donne, and intreated to borrow an hour of his 
 time for a conference the next day. After their meeting, 
 ' 1648 [an erroneous date : Donne took orders in 1614..] 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 197 
 
 there was not many minutes passed before he spake to 
 Mr. Donne to this purpose : ' Mr. Donne, the occasion 
 of sending for you, is to propose to you what I have often 
 revolved in my own thought since I last saw you : which 
 nevertheless, I will not declare but upon this condition, 
 that you shall not return me a present answer, but forbear 
 three days, and bestow some part of that time in fasting 
 and prayer ; and after a serious consideration of what I 
 shall propose, then return to me with your answer. Deny 
 me not, Mr. Donne ; for, it is the effect of a true love, 
 which I would gladly pay as a debt due for yours to me.' 
 
 This request being granted, the Doctor expressed him- 
 self thus : 
 
 ' Mr. Donne, I know your education and abilities ; 
 I know your expectation of a state-employment ; and 
 I know your fitness for it ; and I know too the many 
 delays and contingencies that attend court-promises : and 
 let me tell you, that my love, begot by our long friendship 
 and your merits, hath prompted me to such an inquisition 
 after your present temporal estate, as makes me no 
 stranger to your necessities ; which I know to be such as 
 your generous spirit could not bear, if it were not sup- 
 ported with a pious patience. You know I have formerly 
 persuaded you to waive your court-hopes, and enter into 
 holy orders ; which I now again persuade you to embrace, 
 with this reason added to my former request : The King 
 hath yesterday made me Dean of Gloucester, and I am 
 also possessed of a benefice, the profits of which are equal 
 to those of my deanery ; I will think my deanery enough 
 for my maintenance, — who am, and resolved to die, a 
 single man — and will quit my benefice, and estate you in 
 it, — which the Patron is willing I shall do — if God shall 
 incline your heart to embrace this motion. Remember, 
 Mr. Donne, no man's education or parts make him too 
 good for this employment, which is to be an ambassador 
 for the God of glory; that God, who by a vile death 
 opened the gates of life to mankind. Make me no 
 present answer ; but remember your promise, and return 
 to me the third day with your resolution.' 
 
198 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 At the hearing of this, Mr. Donne's faint breath and 
 perplexed countenance, gave a visible testimony of an 
 inward conflict : but he performed his promise, and de- 
 parted without returning an answer till the third day, and 
 then his answer was to this effect : 
 
 ' My most worthy and most dear friend, since I saw 
 you, I have been faithful to my promise, and have also 
 meditated much of your great kindness, which hath been 
 such as would exceed even my gratitude ; but that it 
 cannot do ; and more I cannot return you ; and I do that 
 with an heart full of humility and thanks, though I may 
 not accept of your offer : but. Sir, my refusal is not for 
 that I think myself too good for that calling, for which 
 Kings, if they think so, are not good enough : nor for 
 that my education and learning, though not eminent, may 
 not, being assisted with God's grace and humility, render 
 me in some measure fit for it : but I dare make so dear a 
 friend as you are, my confessor : some irregularities of my 
 life have been so visible to some men, that though I have, 
 I thank God, made my peace with him by penitential 
 resolutions against them, and by the assistance of his 
 grace banished them my affections ; yet this, which God 
 knows to be so, is not so visible to man, as to free me 
 from their censures, and it may be that sacred calling from 
 a dishonour. And besides, whereas it is determined by 
 the best of casuists, that God's glory should be the first 
 end, and a maintenance the second motive to embrace that 
 calling ; and though each man may propose to himself 
 both together, yet the first may not be put last without a 
 violation of conscience, which he that searches the heart 
 will judge. And truly my present condition is such, that 
 if I ask my own conscience, whether it be reconcileable to 
 that rule, it is at this time so perplexed about it, that I can 
 neither give myself nor you an answer. You know. Sir, 
 who says, " Happy is that man whose conscience doth not 
 accuse him for that thing which he does." To these I 
 might add other reasons that dissuade me; but I crave 
 your favour that I may forbear to express them, and 
 thankfully decline your offer.' 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 199 
 
 This was his present resolution, but the heart of man is 
 not in his own keeping; and he was destined to this 
 sacred service by an higher hand; a hand so powerful, 
 as at last forced him to a compliance : of which I shall 
 give the reader an account, before I shall give a rest to 
 my pen. 
 
 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 
 betwixt Sir George, and his forsaken son and daughter; 
 Sir George conditioning by bond, to pay to Mr. Donne 
 ^TSoo at a certain day, as a portion with his wife, or ;£20 
 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 Hfe. 
 
 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. 
 
 He was much importuned by many friends to make his 
 constant residence in London ; but he still denied it, 
 having settled his dear wife and children at Mitcham, and 
 near some friends that were bountiful to them and him ; 
 for they, God knows, needed it: and that you may the 
 
200 I2AAK WALTON 
 
 better now judge of the then present condition of his 
 mind and fortune, I shall present you with an extract 
 collected out of some few of his many letters. 
 
 ' And the reason why I did not send an answer to 
 
 your last week's letter, was, because it then found me 
 under too great a sadness ; and at present 'tis thus with 
 me : There is not one person, but myself, well of my 
 family : I have already lost half a child, and, with that 
 mischance of hers, my wife has fallen into such a discom- 
 posure, as would afflict her too extremely, but that the 
 sickness of all her other children stupifies her : of one 
 of which, in good faith, I have not much hope : and these 
 meet with a fortune so ill-provided for physic, and such 
 relief, that if God should ease us with burials, I know not 
 how to perform even that : but I flatter myself with this 
 hope, that I am dying too ; for I cannot waste faster than 
 
 by such griefs. As for, 
 
 From my Hospital at Mitcham, 
 
 John Donne.' 
 
 Aug. lo. 
 
 Thus he did bemoan himself : and thus in other letters. 
 
 ' For, we hardly discover a sin, when it is but an 
 
 omission of some good, and no accusing act : with this or 
 the former, I have often suspected myself to be overtaken ; 
 which is, with an over-earnest desire of the next life : and, 
 though I know it is not merely a weariness of this, because 
 I had the same desire when I went with the tide, and 
 enjoyed fairer hopes than I now do ; yet I doubt wordly 
 troubles have increased it : 'tis now Spring, and all the 
 pleasures of it displease me ; every other tree blossoms, 
 and I wither : I grow older, and not better ; my strength 
 diminisheth, and my load grows heavier ; and yet, I would 
 fain be or do something ; but that I cannot tell what, is no 
 wonder in this time of my sadness ; for to choose is to do ; 
 but to be no part of any body, is as to be nothing : and so 
 I am, and shall so judge myself, unless I could be so 
 incorporated into a part of the world, as my business 
 to contribute some sustentation to the whole. This I 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 201 
 
 made account ; I began early, when I understood the 
 study of our Laws ; but was diverted by leaving that, 
 and embracing the worst voluptuousness, an hydroptic 
 immoderate desire of human learning and languages : 
 beautiful ornaments indeed to men of great fortunes, but 
 mine was grown so low as to need an occupation ; which I 
 thought I entered well into, when I subjected myself to 
 such a service as I thought might exercise my poor 
 abilities : and there I stumbled, and fell too ; and now I 
 am become so little, or such a nothing, that I am not a 
 subject good enough for one of my own letters. — Sir, 
 I fear my present discontent, does not proceed from a 
 good root, that I am so well content to be nothing, 
 that is, dead. But, Sir, though my fortune hath made me 
 such, as that I am rather a sickness or a disease of the 
 world, than any part of it, and therefore neither love it, 
 nor life ; yet I would gladly live to become some such 
 thing as you should not repent loving me : Sir, your own 
 soul cannot be more zealous for your good, than I am ; 
 and God, who loves that zeal in me, wQl not suffer you 
 to doubt it : You would pity me now, if you saw me 
 write, for my pain hath drawn my head so much awry, 
 and holds it so, that my eye cannot follow my pen. I 
 therefore receive you into my prayers with mine own 
 weary soul, and commend myself to yours. I doubt not 
 but next week will bring you good news, for I have either 
 mending or dying on my side : but, if I do continue 
 longer thus, I shall have comfort in this, that my blessed 
 Saviour in exercising his justice upon my two worldly 
 parts, my fortune and my body, reserves all his mercy for 
 that which most needs it, my soul ! which is, I doubt, too 
 like a porter, that is very often near the gate, and yet 
 goes not out. Sir, I profess to you truly, that my loath- 
 ness to give over writing now, seems to myself a sign 
 
 that I shall write no more. 
 
 Your poor friend, and 
 
 God's poor patient, 
 
 John Donne.' 
 Sept. 7. 
 
202 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 By this you have seen a part of the picture of his 
 narrow fortune, and the perplexities of his generous mind ; 
 and 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 
 sympathised 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 as sudden 
 a 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 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 203 
 
 this resolve, the Ambassador, Sir Robert, a;nd Mr. Donne, 
 left London; and were the twelfth day got aU 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 con- 
 fidence, 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. 
 
204 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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 
 Caesar did appear to Brutus, and that both St. Austin, and 
 Monica his mother, had visions in order to his con- 
 version. 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, ^ 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 :" ' 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 liim 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,' 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 
 
 'l Sam. xxviii. 14. *Job. iv. 13-16. 
 
 'Acts xii. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 205 
 
 mother of John, and Rhode, the maidservant, being sur- 
 prised 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 relater, 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 
 Uving : 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 forbear the Reader's further trouble, as to the relation, 
 and what concerns it ; and will conclude mine, with com- 
 mending to his view a copy of verses given by Mr. Donne 
 to his wife at the time he then parted from her. And I 
 beg leave to tell, that I have heard some critics, learned 
 both in languages and poetry, say, that none of the Greek 
 or Latin poets did ever equal them. 
 
 A VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING TO MOURN 
 
 As virtuous men pass mildly away, 
 
 And whisper to their souls, to go, 
 Whilst some of their sad friends do say, 
 
 The breath goes now, and some say, No : 
 
 So let us melt, and make no noise. 
 
 No wind-sighs, or tear-floods us move ; 
 
 'Twere profanation of our joys, 
 To tell the laity our love. 
 
2o6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Movings of th' earth, cause harms and fears : 
 
 Men reckon what they did or meant ; 
 But trepidation of the spheres, 
 
 Though greater far, is innocent. 
 
 Dull sublunary lovers' love — 
 
 Whose soul is sense-^ — cannot admit 
 Absence, because that doth remove 
 
 Those things which elemented it. 
 
 But we, by a love so far refin'd. 
 
 That our souls know not what it is, 
 Inter-assured of the mind, 
 
 Care not hands, eyes, or lips to miss. 
 
 Our two souls therefore, which are one, — 
 
 Though I must go, — endure not yet 
 A breach, but an expansion, 
 
 Like gold to airy thinness beat. 
 
 If we be two? we are two so 
 
 As stiff twin-compasses are two : 
 Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show 
 
 To move, but does if th' other do. 
 
 And though thine in the centre sit, 
 
 Yet, when my other far does roam. 
 Thine leans and hearkens after it. 
 
 And grows erect as mine comes home. 
 
 Such wilt thou be to me, who must. 
 
 Like th' other foot, obliquely run : 
 Thy firmness makes my circle just. 
 
 And me to end where I begun. 
 
 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 em- 
 ployment 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 dis- 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 207 
 
 courses 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 con- 
 cerned 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 hand writing, as they be now 
 printed ; the book bearing the name of Pseudo-Martyr, 
 printed anno 1 6 1 o. 
 
 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 mistaking modesty — to be 
 too weighty for his abilities : and though his Majesty had 
 promised him a favour, and many persons of worth 
 mediated with his Majesty for some secular employment 
 for him, — 'to which his education had apted him — and 
 particularly the Earl of Somerset, when in his greatest 
 height of favour ; who being then at Theobalds with the 
 King, where one of the Clerks of the Council died that 
 night, the Earl posted a messenger for Mr. Donne to come 
 to him immediately, and at Mr. Donne's coming, said, 
 ' Mr. Donne, to testify the reality of my affection, and my 
 purpose to prefer you, stay in this garden till I go up to 
 
208 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 the King, and bring you word that you are Clerk of the 
 Council : doubt not my doing this, for I know the King 
 loves you, and know the King will not deny me.' But the 
 King gave a positive denial to all requests, and, having a 
 discerning spirit, replied, ' I know Mr. Donne is a learned 
 man, has the abilities of a learned Divine, and will prove a 
 powerful preacher ; and my desire is to prefer him that 
 way, and in that way I will deny you nothing for him.' 
 
 After that time, as he professeth,^ ' the King descended 
 to a persuasion, almost to a solicitation, of him to enter 
 into sacred Orders ' : which, though he then denied not, 
 yet he deferred it for almost three years. All which 
 time he applied himself to an incessant study of Textual 
 Divinity, and to the attainment of a greater perfection 
 in the learned languages, Greek and Hebrew. 
 
 In the first and most blessed times of Christianity, when 
 the Clergy were looked upon with reverence, and deserved 
 it, when they overcame their opposers by high examples of 
 virtue, by a blessed patience and long suffering, those only 
 were then judged worthy the Ministry, whose quiet and 
 meek spirits did make them look upon that sacred calling 
 with an humble adoration and fear to undertake it ; which 
 indeed requires such great degrees of humility, and labour, 
 and care, that none but such were then thought worthy of 
 that celestial dignity. And such only were then sought 
 out, and solicited to undertake it. This I have mentioned, 
 because forwardness and inconsideration, could not, in 
 Mr. Donne, as in many others, be an argument of in- 
 sufficiency or unfitness ; for he had considered long, and 
 had many strifes within himself concerning the strictness 
 of life, and competency of learning, required in such as 
 enter into sacred Orders ; and doubtless, considering his 
 own demerits, did humbly ask God with St. Paul, ' Lord, 
 who is sufficient for these things.?' and with meek Moses, 
 • Lord, who am I ? ' And sure, if he had consulted with 
 flesh and blood, he had not for these reasons put his hand 
 to that holy plough. But God, who is able to prevail, 
 wrestled with him, as the Angel did with Jacob, and 
 ^ In his Book of Devotions. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 209 
 
 marked him ; marked him for his own ; marked him with 
 a blessing, a blessing of obedience to the motions of his 
 blessed Spirit. And then, as he had formerly asked God 
 with Moses, ' Who am I ? ' so now, being inspired with an 
 apprehension of God's particular mercy to him, in the 
 King's and others' solicitations of him, he came to ask 
 King David's thankful question, ' Lord, who am I, that 
 thou art so mindful of me ? ' So mindful of me, as to lead 
 me for more than forty years through this wilderness of the 
 many temptations and various turnings of a dangerous life : 
 so merciful to me, as to move the learnedest of Kings to 
 descend to move me to serve at the altar ! So merciful 
 to me, as at last to move my heart to embrace this holy 
 motion ! Thy motions I will and do embrace : and I now 
 say with the blessed Virgin, ' Be it with thy servant as 
 seemeth best in thy sight ' : and so. Blessed Jesus, I do take 
 the Cup of Salvation, and will call upon thy Name, and 
 will preach thy Gospel. 
 
 Such strifes as these 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 con- 
 venient speed to ordain him first Deacon, and then Priest 
 not long after. 
 
 Now the Enghsh Church had gained a second St. 
 Austin ; for I think none was so like him before his 
 conversion, none so like St. Ambrose after it ! and if his 
 youth had the infirmities of the one, his age had the 
 excellencies of the other ; the learning and holiness of both. 
 
 And now all his studies, which had been occasionally 
 diffused, were all concentered in Divinity. Now he had a 
 
2IO IZAAK WALTON 
 
 new Galling, new thoughts, and a new employment for his 
 wit and eloquence. Now, all his earthly affections were 
 changed into Divine love ; and all the faculties of his own 
 soul were engaged in the conversion of others ; in preach- 
 ing the glad tidings of remission to repenting sinners, and 
 peace to each troubled soul. To these he applied himself 
 with all care and diligence : and now such a change was 
 wrought in him, that he could say with David, ' O how 
 amiable are thy Tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts!' 
 Now he declared openly, ' that when he required a 
 temporal, God gave him a spiritual blessing.' And that 
 ' he was now gladder to be a door-keeper in the House of 
 God, than he could be to enjoy the noblest of all temporal 
 employments.' 
 
 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 White- 
 hall ; 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 ^ith 
 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 him- 
 self, 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 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 211 
 
 a most particular grace and an unexpressible addition of 
 comeliness. 
 
 There may be some that may incline to think — such 
 indeed as have not heard him — that my affection to my 
 friend hath transported me to an immoderate commenda- 
 tion of his preaching. If this meets with any such, let me 
 entreat, though I will omit many, yet that they will receive 
 a double witness for what I say ; it being attested by a 
 gentleman of worth, — Mr. Chidley, a frequent hearer of 
 his Sermons — in part of a Funeral Elegy writ by him on 
 Dr. Donne ; and is a known truth, though it be in verse. 
 
 Each altar had his fire 
 
 He kept his love, but not his object ; wit 
 
 He did not banish, but transplanted it ; 
 
 Taught it both time and place, and brought it home 
 
 To piety which it doth best become. 
 
 For say, had ever pleasure such a dress ? 
 Have you seen crimes so shap'd, or loveliness 
 Such as his lips did clothe Religion in ? 
 Had not Reproof a beauty passing Sin ? 
 Corrupted Nature sorrow'd that she stood 
 So near the danger of becoming good. 
 
 And when he preach'd, she wish'd her ears exempt 
 From piety, that had such pow'r to tempt 
 How did his sacred flattery beguile 
 Men to amend ? 
 
 IVIore of this, and more witnesses, might be brought ; but 
 I forbear and return. 
 
 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 en- 
 treated 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 
 
212 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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 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, aU 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. Nor is it hard to think — being, passions 
 may be both changed and heightened by accidents — but 
 that that abundant affection which once was betwixt him 
 and her, who had long been the delight of his eyes, and the 
 companion of his youth ; her, with whom he had divided 
 so many pleasant sorrows and contented fears, as common 
 people are not capable of; — not hard to think but that 
 she being now removed by death, a commeasurable grief 
 took as full a possession of him as joy had done ; and so 
 indeed it did ; for now his very soul was elemented of 
 nothing but sadness ; now grief took so full a possession 
 of his heart, as to leave no place for joy : If it did, it was 
 a joy to be alone, where, like a pelican in the wilderness, 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 213 
 
 he might bemoan himself without witness or restraint, and 
 pour forth his passions like Job in the days of his affliction : 
 ' Oh that I might have the desire of my heart ! Oh that 
 God would grant the thing that I long for !' For then, 
 as the grave is become her house, so I would hasten to 
 make it mine also; that we two might there make our 
 beds together in the dark. Thus, as the Israelites sat 
 mourning by the rivers of Babylon, when they remembered 
 Sion ; so he gave some ease to his oppressed heart by thus 
 venting his sorrows : thus he began the day, and ended 
 the night ; ended the restless night and began the weary 
 day in lamentations. And thus he continued, till a con- 
 sideration of his new engagements to God, and St. Paul's 
 ' Woe is me, if I preach not the Gospel ! ' dispersed those 
 sad clouds that had then benighted his hopes, and now 
 forced him to behold the light. 
 
 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.' 
 
 And indeed his very words and looks testified him to 
 be truly such a man ; and they, with the addition of his 
 sighs and tears, expressed in his Sermon, did so work 
 upon the affections of his hearers, as melted and moulded 
 them into a companionable sadness : and so they left the 
 congregation ; but then their houses presented them with 
 objects of diversion, and his presented him with nothing 
 but fresh objects of sorrow, in beholding many helpless 
 children, a narrow fortune, and a consideration of the 
 many cares and casualties that attend their education. 
 
 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 
 
214 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 neglect the visible practice of it, — there to become a Paul, 
 and preach salvation to his beloved brethren. 
 
 And now his life was a shining light among his old 
 friends ; now he gave an ocular testimony of the strictness 
 and regularity of it ; now he might say, as St. Paul adviseth 
 his Corinthians, ' Be ye followers of me, as I follow Christ, 
 and walk as ye have me for an example ' ; not the example 
 of a busy body, but of a contemplative, a harmless, an 
 humble and an holy life and conversation. 
 
 The love of that noble Society was expressed to him 
 many ways ; for, besides fair lodgings that were set apart, 
 and newly furnished for him with all necessaries, other 
 courtesies were also daily added ; indeed so many, and so 
 freely, as if they meant their gratitude should exceed his 
 merits : and in this love-strife of desert and liberality, they 
 continued for the space of two years, he preaching faith- 
 fully and constantly to them, and they liberally requiting 
 him. 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 discom- 
 posed 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 conversa- 
 tion 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. 
 
 At his going, he left his friends of Lincoln's Inn, and 
 they him, with many reluctations : for, though he could 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 215 
 
 not say as St. Paul to his Ephesians, ' Behold, you, to 
 whom I have preached the Kingdom of God, shall from 
 henceforth see my face no more' ; yet he, believing him- 
 self to be in a consumption, questioned, and they feared it : 
 all concluding that his troubled mind, with the help of his 
 unintermitted studies, hastened the decays of his weak body. 
 But God, who is the God of all wisdom and goodness, 
 turned it to the best ; for this employment — to say nothing 
 of the event of it — did not only divert him from those 
 too serious studies and sad thoughts, but seemed to give 
 him a new life, by a true occasion of joy, to be an 
 eye-witness of the health of his most dear and most 
 honoured mistress, the Queen of Bohemia, in a foreign 
 nation ; and to be a witness of that gladness which she 
 expressed to see him : who, having formerly known him a 
 courtier, was much joyed to see him in a canonical habit, 
 and more glad to be an ear-witness of his excellent and 
 powerful preaching. 
 
 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.* 
 
2i6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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 
 5ie evening Lectures into Catechising, and expounding the 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 217 
 
 Prayer of our Lord, and of the Belief, and Command- 
 ments. 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. 
 
2i8 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 In this distemper of body, his dear friend, Dr. Henry 
 King, — ^then chief Residentiary of that church, and late 
 Bishop of Chichester — a man generally known by the 
 Clergy of this nation, and as generally noted for his 
 obliging nature, visited him daily ; and observing that his 
 sickness rendered his recovery doubtful, he chose a 
 seasonable time to speak to him to this purpose. 
 
 ' Mr. Dean, I am, by your favour, no stranger to your 
 temporal estate, and you are no stranger to the offer lately 
 made us, for the renewing a lease of the best Prebend's 
 corps belonging to our church ; and you know 'twas 
 denied, for that our tenant being very rich, offered to 
 fine at so low a rate as held not proportion with his 
 advantages : but I will either raise him to an higher sum, 
 or procure that the other Residentiaries shall join to 
 accept of what was offered ; one of these, I can and will 
 by your favour do without delay ; and without any trouble 
 either to your body or mind : I beseech you to accept of 
 my offer, for I know it will be a considerable addition to 
 your present estate, which I know needs it.' 
 
 To this, after a short pause, and raising himself upon 
 his bed, he made this reply : 
 
 ' My most dear friend, I most humbly thank you for 
 your many favours, and this in particular ; but in my 
 present condition I shall not accept of your proposal ; for 
 doubtless there is such a sin as sacrilege ; if there were not, 
 it could not have a name in scripture : and the primitive 
 clergy were watchful against all appearances of that evil ; 
 and indeed then all christians looked upon it with horror 
 and detestation, judging it to be even an open defiance of 
 the power and providence of Almighty God, and a sad 
 presage of a declining religion. But instead of such chris- 
 tians, who had selected times set apart to fast and pray to 
 God, for a pious clergy, which they then did obey, our 
 times abound with men that are busy and litigious about 
 trifles and church-ceremonies, and yet so far from scrupling 
 sacrilege, that they make not so much as a quaere what it 
 is : but I thank God I have ; and dare not now upon my 
 sick-bed, when Almighty God hath made me useless to the 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 219 
 
 service of the church, make any advantages out of it. But 
 if he shall again restore me to such a degree of health, as 
 again to serve at his altar, I shall then gladly take the 
 reward which the bountiful benefactors of this church have 
 designed me; for God knows my children and relations 
 will need it. In which number, my mother, — whose 
 credulity and charity has contracted a very plentiful to a 
 very narrow estate — must not be forgotten. But Dr. 
 King, if I recover not, that little wordly estate that I shall 
 leave behind me — that very little, when divided into eight 
 parts — must, if you deny me not so charitable a favour, 
 fall into your hands, as my most faithful friend and 
 executor; of whose care and justice I make no more 
 doubt, than of God's blessing, on that which I have con- 
 scientiously collected for them ; but it shall not be 
 augmented on my sick-bed ; and this I declare to be 
 my unalterable resolution.' 
 
 The reply to this was only a promise to observe his 
 request. 
 
 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 readei- 
 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 appliable to the emergencies of that sick- 
 ness ; 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 buUd 
 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 
 
220 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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 weaken- 
 ing, 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 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 221 
 
 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 1 
 
 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 f 
 
 Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun 
 A year or two j — 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 Choristers 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 1 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 willing- 
 ness to leave the world.' 
 
222 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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, 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 Helio- 
 tropium 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 were such a com- 
 mixture 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. 
 
 11656. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 223 
 
 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. A Sheaf of 
 Snakes used heretofore to be my Seal, which is the Crest of our 
 poor family. 
 
 Qui pritis assuetus serpentum fake tabellas 
 
 Signare, haec nostrae symbola paiva domfls, 
 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. 
 
224 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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 prayers, pawns and fruits of a friend. 
 
 ! may that Saint that rides on our Great Seal, 
 To you that bear his name, large bounty deal. 
 
 John Donnb. 
 
 In Sacram Anchoram Piscatoris 
 
 GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 Qu6d Crux nequibat fixa clavique addita, — 
 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 aiater and the earti both unto thee 
 
 Do owe the symbol of their certainty. 
 
 Let the world reel, we and all our's 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 
 
 1 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. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 225 
 
 Since my Physicians by their loves are grown 
 Cosmographers ; and I their map, who lee 
 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 con tinued 
 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 wovdd 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 the morning ; and it was 
 no common business that drew him out of his chamber till 
 
226 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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, aU written with his own 
 hand ; also an exact and laborious Treatise concerning self- 
 murder, daUed Biathanatos ; wherein all the Laws violated 
 by that act are diligently surveyed, and judiciously cen- 
 sured : 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 argu- 
 ments, 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 usefizl 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 WiU when no faculty of his soxil 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 fidy and 
 discreedy 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 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 227 
 
 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 fiill 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 therefor — 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 
 
228 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 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, etc. — 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 thence, 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 them- 
 selves 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 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 229 
 
 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 anything 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 her 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 : 
 
 So all is that remains this year — ; 
 
 Deo Opt. Max. benigno largitori, k me, et ab iis quibus 
 haec k me reservantur, Gloria et gratia in aeternum. 
 Amen. 
 
 So that this year God hath blessed me and mine with — : 
 
 Multiplicatae sunt super nos misericordiae tuae, Domine. 
 
 Da, Domine, ut quae ex immensa bonitate tua nobis 
 elargiri dignatus sis, in quorumcunque manus devenerint, 
 in tuam semper cedant gloriam. Amen. 
 
230 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 In fine horum sex annorum manet — : 
 
 Quid habeo quod non accept k Domino ? Largitur 
 etiam ut quae largitus est sua iterum fiant, bono eorum 
 usu ; ut quemadmodum nee ofEciis hujus mundi, nee loci 
 in quo me posuit dignitati, nee servis, nee egenis, in toto 
 hujus anni curriculo mihi consclus sum me defuisse ; ita et 
 liberi, quibus quae supersunt, supersunt, grato animo ea 
 accipiant, et beneficum authorem recognoscant. Amen. 
 
 But I return from my long digression. 
 
 We left the Author sick in Essex, where he was forced 
 to spend much of that Winter, by reason of his disability 
 to remove from that place ; and having never, for almost 
 twenty years, omitted his personal attendance on his 
 Majesty in that month, in which he was to attend and 
 preach to him ; nor having ever been left out of the 
 roU and number of Lent Preachers, and there being then 
 — in January, 1630, — a report brought in London, or 
 raised there, that Dr. Donne was dead ; that report gave 
 him occasion to write the following letter to a dear 
 friend : 
 
 'Sir, 
 ' This advantage you and my other friends have by my 
 frequent fevers, that I am so much the often er at the 
 gates of Heaven ; and this advantage by the solitude and 
 close imprisonment that they reduce me to after, that I am 
 so much the oftener at my prayers, in which I shall never 
 leave out your happiness ; and I doubt not, among his other 
 blessings, God will add some one to you for my prayers. 
 A man would almost be content to die, — if there were 
 no other benefit in death, — to hear of so much sorrow, 
 and so much good testimony from good men, as I, — 
 God be blessed for it — did upon the report of my death : 
 yet I perceive it went not through all ; for one writ to me, 
 that some, — and he said of my friends, — conceived I was 
 not so iU as I pretended, but withdrew myself to live 
 at ease, discharged of preaching. It is an unfriendly, 
 and, God knows, an ill-grounded interpretation ; for I 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 231 
 
 have always been sorrier when I could not preach, than 
 any could be they could not hear me. It hath been 
 my desire, and God may be pleased to grant it, that 1 
 might die in the pulpit ; if not that, yet that I might 
 take my death in the pidpit ; that is, die the sooner by 
 occasion of those labours. Sir, I hope to see you presently 
 after Candlemas ; about which time wiU fall my Lent 
 Sermon at Court, except my Lord Chamberlain believe 
 me to be dead, and so leave me out of the roll: but 
 as long as I live, and am not speechless, I would not 
 willingly decline that service. I have better leisure to 
 write, than you to read ; yet I would not willingly oppress 
 you with too much letter. God so bless you and your 
 son, as I wish, to 
 
 Your poor friend, and Servant 
 In Christ Jesus, 
 
 J. Donne. 
 
 Before that month ended, he was appointed to preash 
 upon his old constant day, the first Friday in Lent: 
 he had notice of it, and had in his sickness so prepared for 
 that employment, that as he had long thirsted for it, so he 
 resolved his weakness should not hinder his journey ; he 
 came therefore to London some few days before his ap- 
 pointed day of preaching. At his coming thither, many 
 of his friends — who with sorrow saw his sickness had left 
 him but so much flesh as did only cover his bones — 
 doubted his strength to perform that task, and did there- 
 fore dissuade him from undertaking it, assuring him 
 however, it was like to shorten his life : but he passionately 
 denied their requests, saying 'he would not doubt 
 that that God, who in so ,many weaknesses had assisted 
 him with an unexpected strength, would now withdraw it 
 in his last employment; professing an holy ambition to 
 perform that sacred work.' And when, to the amazement 
 of some beholders, he appeared in the pulpit, many or 
 them thought he presented himself not to preach mortifica- 
 tion by a living voice, but mortality by a decayed body, 
 and a dying face. And doubtless many did secretly ask 
 
232 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that question in Ezekiehi 'Do these bones live? or, 
 can that soul organize that tongue, to speak so long time 
 as the sand in that glass will move towards its centre, and 
 measure out an hour of this dying man's unspent life? 
 Doubtless it cannot.' And yet, after some faint pauses in 
 his zealous prayer, his strong desires enabled his weak body 
 to discharge his memory of his preconceived meditations, 
 which were of dying ; the text being, ' To God the Lord 
 belong the issues from death,' many that then saw his 
 tears, and heard his faint and hollow voice, professing they 
 thought the text prophetically chosen, and that Dr. 
 Donne had preached his own Funeral Sermon. 
 
 Being full of joy that God had enabled him to perform 
 this desired duty, he hastened to his house ; out of which 
 he never moved, till, like St. Stephen, 'he was carried by 
 devout men to his grave.' 
 
 The next day after his sermon, his strength being much 
 wasted, and his spirits so spent as indisposed him to business 
 or to talk, a friend that had often been a witness of his free 
 and facetious discourse asked him, 'Why are you sad?' 
 To whom he replied, with a countenance so full of cheerful 
 gravity, as gave testimony of an inward tranquillity of 
 mind, and of a soul willing to take a farewell of this world ; 
 and said, 
 
 ' I am not sad ; but most of the night past I have enter- 
 tained myself with many thoughts of several friends that 
 have left me here, and are gone to that place from which 
 they shall not return ; and that within a few days I also 
 shall go hence, and be no more seen. And my prepara- 
 tion for this change is become my nightly meditation upon 
 my bed, which my infirmities have now made restless to 
 me. But at this present time, I was in a serious contempla- 
 tion of the providence and goodness of God to me ; to me, 
 who am less than the least of his mercies : and looking 
 back upon my life past, I now plainly see it was his hand 
 that prevented me from all temporal employment; and 
 that it was his wiU I should never settle nor thrive till I 
 entered into the ministry; in which I have now lived 
 
 *Ezek. xxxvii, 3. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 233 
 
 almost twenty years — I hope to his glory, — and by which, 
 I most humbly thank him, I have been enabled to requite 
 most of those friends which shewed me kindness when my 
 fortune was very low, as God knows it was : and, — as it 
 hath occasioned the expression of my gratitude — I thank 
 God most of them have stood in need of my requital. I 
 have lived to be useful and comfortable to my good 
 father-in-law. Sir George More, whose patience God 
 hath been pleased to exercise with many temporal crosses ; 
 I have maintained my own mother, whom it hath pleased 
 God, after a plentifid fortune in her younger days, to bring 
 to great decay in her very old age. I have quieted the 
 consciences of many, that have groaned under the burthen 
 of a wounded spirit, whose prayers I hope are available for 
 me. I cannot plead innocency of life, especially of my 
 youth ; but I am to be judged by a merciful God, who is 
 not willing to see what I have done amiss. And though 
 of myself I have nothing to present to him but sins 
 and misery ; yet I know he looks not upon me now as 
 I am of myself, but as I am in my Saviour, and hath 
 given me, even at this present time, some testimonies 
 by his Holy Spirit, that I am of the number of his elect : 
 I am therefore fidl of inexpressible joy, and shall die in 
 peace.' 
 
 I must here look so far back, as to tell the reader that 
 at his first return out of Essex, to preach his last sermon, 
 his old friend and physician, Dr. Fox — a man of great 
 worth — came to him to consult his health ; and that after a 
 sight of him, and some queries concerning his dis- 
 tempers, he told him, ' That by cordials, and drinking 
 milk twenty days together, there was a probability of his 
 restoration to health ' ; but he passionately denied to drink 
 it. Nevertheless, Dr. Fox, who loved him most entirely, 
 wearied him with solicitations, till he yielded to take it for 
 ten days ; at the end of which time he told Dr. Fox, ' He 
 had drunk it more to satisfy him, than to recover his 
 health ; and that he would not drink it ten days longer, 
 upon the best moral assurance of having twenty years 
 added to his life ; for he loved it not ; and was so far 
 
234 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 from fearing Death, which to others is the King of 
 Terrors, that he longed for the day of his dissolution.' 
 
 It is observed, that a desire of glory or commendation 
 is rooted in the very nature of man ; and that those of the 
 severest and most mortified lives, though they may become 
 so humble as to banish self-flattery, and such weeds as 
 naturally grow there ; yet they have not been able to kill 
 this desire of glory, but that like our radical heat, it will 
 both live and die with us ; and many think it should do 
 so; and we want not sacred examples to justify the desire 
 of having our memory to outlive our lives ; which I 
 mention, because Dr. Donne, by the persuasion of Dr. 
 Fox, easily yielded at this very time to have a monument 
 made for him ; but Dr. Fox undertook not to persuade 
 him how, or what monument it should be ; that was left 
 to Dr. Donne himself. 
 
 A monument being resolved upon. Dr. Donne sent for 
 a carver to make for him in wood the figure of an 
 urn, giving him directions for the compass and height of 
 it ; and to bring with it a board, of the just height of his 
 body. ' These being got, then without delay a choice 
 painter was got to be in readiness to draw his picture, 
 which was taken as followeth. — Several charcoal fires 
 being first made in his large study, he brought with him 
 into that place his winding-sheet in his hand, and having 
 put off all his clothes, had this sheet put on him, and so 
 tied with knots at his head and feet, and his hands so 
 placed as dead bodies are usually fitted, to be shrowded 
 and put into their coffin, or grave. Upon this urn he 
 thus stood, with his eyes shut, and with so much of 
 the sheet turned aside as might shew his lean, pale, and 
 death-like face, which was purposely turned towards the 
 East, from whence he expected the second coming of his 
 and our Saviour Jesus.' In this posture he was drawn at 
 his just height ; and when the picture was fully finished, 
 he caused it to be set by his bed-side, where it continued 
 and became his hourly object till his death, and was then 
 given to his dearest friend and executor Dr. Henry King, 
 then chief Residentiary of St. Paul's, who caused him to 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 235 
 
 be thus carved in one entire piece of white marble, as 
 it now stands in that Church ; and by Dr. Donne's 
 own appointment, these words were to be affixed to it 
 as an epitaph : 
 
 JOHANNES DONNE, 
 
 Sac. theol. profess, post varia studia, quibus ab annis 
 tenernmh fideliter, nee infeliciter incubuit ; instinctu et 
 impulsu Sp. Sancti, monitu et hortatu Regis Jacobi, ordines 
 sacros amplexus, anno sui Jesu, mdcxiv. et suae aetatis xlii. 
 decanatu hujus ecclesiae indutus, xxvii. Novembris, mdcxxi. 
 exutus morte ultimo die Martii, mdcxxxi. hie licet in occiduo 
 cinere, aspicit eum cujus nomen est oriens. 
 
 And now having brought him through the many 
 labyrinths and perple:dties of a various life, even to the 
 gates of death and the grave; my desire is, he may 
 rest, tiU I have told my Reader that I have seen many 
 pictures of him, in several habits, and at several ages, and 
 in several postures : and I now mention this, because I 
 have seen one picture of him, drawn by a curious hand, 
 at his age of eighteen, with his sword, and what other 
 adornments might then suit with the present fashions of 
 youth and the giddy gaieties of that age ; and his motto 
 then was — 
 
 How much shall I be changed, 
 
 Before I am changed .' 
 
 And if that young, and his now dying picture were at 
 this time set together, every beholder might say, Lord ! 
 how much is Dr. Donne already changed, before he is 
 changed ! And the view of them might give my reader 
 occasion to ask himself with some amazement, ' Lord ! 
 how much may I also, that am now in health be changed 
 before I am changed ; before this vile, this changeable 
 body shaU put off mortality ! ' and therefore to prepare 
 for it. — But this is not writ so much for my reader's 
 memento, as to tell him, that Dr. Donne would often in 
 his private discourses, and often publicly in his Sermons, 
 mention the many changes both of his body and mind ; 
 
236 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 especially of his mind from a vertiginous giddiness ; and 
 would as often say, ' His great and most blessed change 
 was from a temporal to a spiritual employment ' ; in which 
 he was so happy, that he accounted the former part of his 
 life to be lost ; and the beginning of it to be, from his 
 first entering into Sacred Orders, and serving his most 
 merciful God at his altar. 
 
 Upon Monday, after the drawing this picture, he took 
 his last leave of his beloved study ; and, being sensible of 
 his hourly decay, retired himself to his bed-chamber ; and 
 that week sent at several times for many of his most con- 
 siderable friends, with whom he took a solemn and 
 deliberate farewell, commending to their considerations 
 some sentences usefial for the regulation of their lives ; 
 and then dismissed them, as good Jacob did his sons, with 
 a spiritual benediction. The Sunday following, he 
 appointed his servants, that if there were any business 
 yet undone, that concerned him or themselves, it should 
 be prepared against Saturday next ; for after that day he 
 would not mix his thoughts with any thing that concerned 
 this world ; nor ever did ; but, as Job, so he ' waited for 
 the appointed day of his dissolution.' 
 
 And now he was so happy as to have nothing to do 
 but to die, to do which, he stood in need of no longer 
 time ; for he had studied it long, and to so happy a per- 
 fection, that in a former sickness he called God to 
 witness,^ ' He was that minute ready to deliver his soul 
 into his hands, if that minute God would determine his 
 dissolution.' In that sickness be begged of God the con- 
 stancy to be preserved in that estate for ever ; and his 
 patient expectation to have his immortal soul disrobed 
 from her garment of mortality, makes me confident he 
 now had a modest assurance that his prayers were then 
 heard, and his petition granted. He lay fifteen days 
 earnestly expecting his hourly change ; and in the last 
 hour of his last day, as his body melted away, and 
 vapoured into spirit, his soul having, I verily believe, some 
 revelation of the beatifical vision, he said, ' I were miser- 
 1 In his Book of Devotions written then. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 237 
 
 able if I might not die ' ; and after those words, closed 
 many periods of his faint breath by saying often, 'Thy 
 kingdom come, thy will be done.' His speech, which had 
 long been his ready and faithful servant, left him not till 
 the last minute of his life, and then forsook him, not to 
 serve another master — for who speaks like him, — but died 
 before him ; for that it was then become useless to him, 
 that now conversed with God on Earth, as Angels are 
 said to do in Heaven, only by thoughts and looks. Being 
 speechless, and seeing Heaven by that illumination by 
 which he saw it, he did, as St. Stephen, 'look stedfastly 
 into it, till he saw the Son of Man standing at the right 
 hand of God his Father'; and being satisfied with this 
 blessed sight, as his soul ascended, and his last breath 
 departed from him, he closed his own eyes, and then dis- 
 posed his hands and body into such a posture, as required 
 not the least alteration by those that came to shroud him. 
 
 Thus variable, thus virtuous was the life : thus excellent, 
 thus exemplary was the death of this memorable man. 
 
 He was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church, which 
 he had appointed for that use some years before his death ; 
 and by which he passed daily to pay his public devotions 
 to Almighty God — who was then served twice a day by a 
 public form of prayer and praises in that place : — but he 
 was not buried privately, though he desired it ; for, beside 
 an unnumbered number of others, many persons of 
 Nobility, and of eminence for Learning, who did love 
 and honour him in his life, did shew it at his death, by a 
 voluntary and sad attendance of his body to the grave, 
 where nothing was so remarkable as a public sorrow. 
 
 To which place of his burial some mournful friends 
 repaired, and, as Alexander the Great did to the grave of 
 the famous Achilles, so they strewed his with an abundance 
 of curious and costly flowers ; which course, they, — who 
 were never yet known, — continued morning and evening 
 for many days, not ceasing, till the stones, that were taken 
 up in that Church, to give his body admission into the 
 cold earth — now his bed of rest, — were again by the 
 mason's art so levelled and firmed as they had been 
 
238 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 formerly, and his place of burial undistinguishable to 
 common view. 
 
 The next day after his burial, some unknown friend, 
 some one of the many lovers and admirers of his virtue 
 and learning, writ this epitaph with a coal on the wall 
 over his grave : 
 
 Reader ! I am to let thee know, 
 Donne's Body only lies below ; 
 For, could the grave his Soul comprise. 
 Earth would be richer than the Skies ! 
 
 Nor was this all the honour done to his reverend 
 ashes ; for, as there be some persons that will not receive 
 a reward for that for which God accounts himself a 
 debtor; persons that dare trust God with their charity, 
 and without a witness; so there was by some grateful 
 unknown friend, that thought Dr. Donne's memory ought 
 to be perpetuated, an hundted marks sent to his faithful 
 friends^ and executors, towards the making of his monu- 
 ment. It was not for many years known by whom ; but, 
 after the death of Dr. Fox, it was known that it was he 
 that sent it ; and he lived to see as lively a representation 
 of his dead friend, as marble can express : a statue indeed 
 so like Dr. Donne, that — as his friend Sir Henry Wotton 
 hath expressed himself, — ' It seems to breathe faintly, and 
 posterity shall look upon it as a kind of artificial miracle.* 
 
 He was of stature moderately tall; of a straight and 
 equally-proportioned body, to which all his words and 
 actions gave an unexpressible addition of comeliness. 
 
 The melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so 
 contempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and 
 made his company one of the delights of mankind. 
 
 His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great 
 wit ; both being made usefLd by a commanding judgment. 
 
 His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent 
 testimony of a clear knowing soul, and of a conscience at 
 peace with itself. 
 
 His melting eye shewed that he had a soft heart, 
 
 ^Dr. King and Dr. Montford. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 239 
 
 full of noble compassion ; of too brave a soul to offer 
 injuries, and too much a Christian not to pardon them 
 in others. 
 
 He did much contemplate — especially after he entered 
 into his sacred calling — the Mercies of Almighty God, the 
 Immortality of the Soul, and the Joys of Heaven : and 
 would often say in a kind of sacred ecstasy, — ' Blessed be 
 God that he is God, only and divinely like himself.' 
 
 He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to 
 reluct at the excesses of it. A great lover of the offices of 
 humanity, and of so merciful a spirit, that he never beheld 
 the miseries of mankind without pity and relief. 
 
 He was earnest and unwearied in the search of know- 
 ledge, with which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, 
 and employed in a continual praise of that God that first 
 breathed it into his active body : that body, which once 
 was a Temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now become 
 a small quantity of Christian dust : 
 
 But I shall see it re-animated. 
 
 I. W. 
 
 Feb. 15, 1639. 
 
 An Epitaph, Written by Dr. Corbet, late Bishop of Oxford, 
 
 ON HIS FRIEND Dr. DoNNE 
 
 He that would write an Epitaph for thee, 
 And write it well, must first begin to be 
 Such as thou wert ; for none can truly know 
 Thy life and worth, but he that hath liv'd so : 
 He must have Wit to spare, and to hurl down. 
 Enough to keep the gallants of the town. 
 He must have Learning plenty ; both the Laws, 
 Civil and Common, to judge any cause. 
 Divinity, great store, above the rest, 
 Not of the last edition, but the best. 
 He must have Language, Travel, all the Arts, 
 Judgment to use, or else he wants thy parts. 
 He must have friends the highest, able to do, 
 Such as Mecaenas and Augustus too. 
 He must have such a sickness, such a death, 
 Or else his vain descriptions come beneath. 
 He that would write an Epitaph for thee, 
 Should first be dead ; — let it alone for me. 
 
240 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 To THE Memory of my Ever-Desired Friend Doctor Donnb 
 An Elegy by H. King, late Bishop of Chichester 
 
 To have liv'd eminent, in a degree 
 Beyond our loftiest thoughts, that is, like thee ; 
 Or t'have had too much merit is not safe, 
 For such excesses find no epitaph. 
 
 At common graves we have poetic eyes 
 Can melt themselves in easy elegies ; 
 Each quill can drop his tributary verse. 
 And pin it, like the hatchments, to the hearse ; 
 But at thine, poem or inscription — 
 Rich soul of wit and language — we have none. 
 Indeed a silence does that tomb befit. 
 Where is no herald left to blazon it. 
 Widow'd Invention justly doth forbear 
 To come abroad, knowring thou art not there 
 Late her great patron, whose prerogative 
 Maintain'd and cloth'd her so, as none alive 
 Must now presume to keep her at thy rate, 
 Tho' he the Indies fijr her dower estate. 
 Or else, that awful fire which once did burn 
 In thy clear brain, now fallen into thy urn, 
 Lives there, to (right rude empirics from thence. 
 Which might profane thee by their ignorance. 
 Whoever writes of thee, and in a style 
 Unworthy such a theme, does but revile 
 Thy precious dust, and wakes a learned spirit. 
 Which may revenge his rapes upon thy merit : 
 For, all a low-pitch'd fancy can devise 
 Will prove at best but hallow'd injuries. 
 
 Thou like the dying swan didst lately sing, 
 Thy mournful dirge in audience of the King ; 
 When pale looks and faint accents of thy breath, 
 Presented so to life that piece of death, 
 That it was fear'd and prophesy'd by all 
 Thou thither cam'st to preach thy funeral. 
 Oh ! had'st thou in an elegiac knell 
 Rung out unto the world thine own fiirewell. 
 And in thy high victorious numbers beat 
 The solemn measures of thy griev'd retreat, 
 Thou might'st the Poet's service now have miss'd 
 As well as then thou didst prevent the Priest ; 
 And never to the world beholden be. 
 So much as for an epitaph for thee. 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 241 
 
 I do not like the office ; nor is't fit 
 Thou, who didst lend our age such sums of wit, 
 Should'st now re-borrow from her bankrupt mine 
 That ore to bury thee which first was thine : 
 Rather still leave us in thy debt ; and know, 
 Exalted soul, more glory 'tis to owe 
 Thy memory what we can never pay. 
 Than with embased coin those rites defray. 
 
 Commit we then thee to thyself, nor blame 
 Our drooping loves, that thus to thine own fame 
 Leave thee executor, since but thine own 
 No pen could do thee justice, nor bays crown 
 Thy vast deserts ; save that we nothing can 
 Depute, to be thy ashes' guardian. 
 
 So Jewellers no art or metal trust. 
 To form the diamond, but the diamond's dust. 
 
 H.K. 
 
 An Elegy on Dr. Donne 
 
 Our Donne is dead ! and we may sighing say. 
 We had that man, where language choose to stay. 
 And shew her utmost power. I would not praise 
 That, and his great wit, which in our vain days ' 
 Make others proud ; but as these serv'd to unlock 
 That cabinet his mind, where such a stock 
 Of knowledge was repos'd, that I lament 
 Our just and general cause of discontent. 
 
 And I rejoice I am not so severe. 
 But as I write a line, to weep a tear 
 For his decease ; such sad extremities 
 Can make such men as I write elegies. 
 
 And wonder not ; for when so great a loss 
 Falls on a nation, and they slight the cross, 
 God hath raised Prophets to awaken them 
 From their dull lethargy ; witness my pen, 
 Not us'd to upbraid the world, though now it must 
 Freely and boldly, for the cause is just. 
 
 Dull age ! Oh, I would spare thee, but thou'rt worse : 
 Thou art not only dull, but hast a curse 
 Of black ingratitude; if not, couldst thou 
 Fart with this matchless man, and make no vow 
 For thee and thine successively to pay 
 Some sad remembrance to his dying day i 
 Q 
 
242 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Did his youth scatter Poetry, wherein 
 Lay Love's Philosophy ? was every sin 
 Pictured in his sharp Satires, made so foul, 
 That some have feared sin's shapes, and kept their soul 
 Safer by reading verse ? Did he give days 
 Past marble monuments, to those whose praise 
 He would perpetuate ? Did he — I fear 
 Envy will doubt: — these at .his twentieth year i 
 
 But, more matur'd, did his rich soul conceive 
 And in harmonious holy numbers weave 
 A Crown of Sacred Sonnets ^ fit t' adorn 
 A dying martyr's brow, or to be worn 
 On that blest head of Mary Magdalen, 
 After she wip'd Christ's feet, but not till then j 
 Did he — fit for such penitents as she 
 And he to use — leave us a Litany, 
 Which all devout men love, and doubtless shall, 
 As times, grow better, grow more classical i 
 Did he write Hymns, for piety and wit, 
 Equal to those great grave Prudentius writ i 
 Spake he all Languages ? Knew he all Laws I 
 The grounds and use of Physic ; but, because 
 'Twas mercenary, waiv'd it ? went to see 
 That happy place of Christ's nativity i 
 Did he return and preach him i preach him so, 
 As since St. Paul none ever did J they know — 
 Those happy souls that heard him — know this truth. 
 Did he confirm thy aged f convert thy youth ? 
 Did he these wonders ? and is his dear loss 
 Mourn'd by so few ? few for so great a cross. 
 
 But sure the silent are ambitious all 
 To be close mourners of his fiineral. 
 If not, in common pity they forbear 
 By repetitions to renew our care : 
 Or knowing grief conceived and hid, consumes 
 Man's life insensibly, — as poison's fumes 
 Corrupt the brain, — take silence for the way 
 To enlarge the soul from these walls, mud and clay, — 
 Materials of this body — to remain 
 With him in heaven, where no promiscuous pain 
 Lessens those joys we have ; for with him all 
 Are satisfied with joys essential. 
 
 Dwell on these joys, my thoughts ! Oh ! do not call 
 Grief back, by thinking on his fiineral. 
 
 1 'La Corona„' 
 
LIFE OF DONNE 243 
 
 Forget he loved me : waste not my swift years, 
 Which haste to David's seventy, fill'd with fears 
 And sorrows for his death : forget his parts, 
 They find a living grave in good men's hearts : 
 And, for my first is daily paid for sin. 
 Forget to pay my second sigh for him : 
 Forget his powerfiil preaching ; and forget 
 I am his convert. Oh my frailty ! let 
 My flesh be no more heard ; it will obtrude 
 This lethargy ; so should my gratitude, 
 My vows of gratitude should so be broke. 
 Which can no more be, than his virtues, spoke 
 By any but himself : for which cause, I 
 Write no encomiums, but this elegy ; 
 Which, as a free-will ofiering, I here give 
 Fame and the world ; and parting with it, grieve 
 I want abilities fit to set forth 
 A monument, as matchless as his worth. 
 
 Iz. Wa. 
 April 7, 1631. 
 
THE LIFE OF SIR HENRY WOTTON 
 
 Knight, late Provost of Eton College 
 
 Eccles. xliv. 7. — These were honourable men in their generations 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton — whose life I now intend to write — 
 was born in the year of our Redemption, 1568, in Bocton- 
 Hall, — commonly called Bocton, or Boughton-Place, or 
 Palace, — in the Parish of Bocton Malherbe, in the fruitful 
 country of Kent. Bocton-Hall being an ancient and 
 goodly structure, beautifying and being beautified by the 
 Parish Church of Bocton Malherbe adjoining unto it, and 
 both seated within a fair Park of the Wottons, on the 
 brow of such a hill, as gives the advantage of a large 
 prospect, and of equal pleasure to all beholders. 
 
 But this House and Church are not remarkable for any 
 thing so much, as for that the memorable Family of the 
 Wottons have so long inhabited the one, and now lie 
 buried in the other, as appears by their many monuments 
 in that Church : the Wottons being a family that hath 
 brought forth divers persons eminent for wisdom and 
 valour ; whose heroic acts, and noble employments, both 
 in England and in foreign parts, have adorned themselves 
 and this nation ; which they have served abroad faithfully, 
 in the discharge of their great trust, and prudently in their 
 negociations with several Princes ; and also served at home 
 with much honour and justice, in their wise managing 
 a great part of the public affairs thereof, in the various 
 times both of war and peace. 
 
 244 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 245 
 
 But lest I should be thought by any, that may incline 
 either to deny or doubt this truth, not to have observed 
 moderation in the commendation of this Family ; and also 
 for that I believe the merits and memory of such persons 
 ought to be thankfully recorded, I shall offer to the con- 
 sideration of every reader, out of the testimony of their 
 Pedigree and our Chronicles, a part — ^and but a part — 
 of that just commendation which might be from thence 
 enlarged, and shall then leave the indifferent Reader to 
 judge whether my error be an excess or defect of 
 commendations. 
 
 Sir Robert Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Knight, was 
 born about the year of Christ 1460 : he, living in the 
 reign of King Edward the Fourth, was by him trusted to 
 be Lieutenant of Guisnes, to be Knight Porter, and 
 Comptroller of Calais, where he died, and lies honourably 
 buried. 
 
 Sir Edward Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Knight, — son 
 and heir of the said Sir Robert — ^was born in the year of 
 Christ 1489, in the reign of King Henry the Seventh ; he 
 was made Treasurer of Calais, and of the Privy Council to 
 King Henry the Eighth, who offered him to be Lord 
 Chancellor of England : but, saith Holinshed,^ out of a 
 virtuous modesty, he refused it. 
 
 Thomas Wotton, of Bocton Malherbe, Esquire, son and 
 heir of the said Sir Edward, and the father of our Sir 
 Henry, that occasions this relation, was born in the year 
 of Christ 1 52 1. He was a gentleman excellently edu- 
 cated, and studious in aU the Liberal Arts ; in the know- 
 ledge whereof he attained unto a great perfection ; who, 
 though he had — besides those abilities, a very noble and 
 plentiful estate, and the ancient interest of his predecessors 
 — many invitations from Queen Elizabeth to change his 
 country recreations and retirement for a Court, offering 
 him a Knighthood, — she was then with him at his Bocton 
 Hall — and that to be but as an earnest of some more 
 honourable and more profitable employment under her ; 
 yet he himibly refiised both, being ' a man of great 
 
 1 In his Chrmtcle. 
 
246 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 modesty, of a most plain and single heart, of an ancient 
 freedom, and integrity of mind.' A commendation which 
 Sir Henry Wotton took occasion often to, remember with 
 great gladness, and thankfully to boast himself the son of 
 such a father ; from whom indeed he derived that noble 
 ingenuity that was always practised by himself, and which 
 he ever both commended and cherished in others. This 
 Thomas was also remarkable for hospitality, a great lovef 
 and much beloved of his country ; to which may justly be 
 added, that he was a cherisher of learning, as appears by 
 that excellent Antiquary Mr. William Lambarde, in his 
 Perambulation of Kent. 
 
 This Thomas had four sons. Sir Edward, Sir James, Sir 
 John, and Sir Henry. 
 
 Sir Edward was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and 
 made Comptroller of Her Majesty's Household. ' He 
 was,' saith Camden, ' a man remarkable for many and 
 great employments in the State, during her reign, and sent 
 several times Ambassador into foreign nations. After her 
 death, he was by King James made Comptroller of his 
 Household, and called to be of his Privy Council, and by 
 him advanced to be Lord Wotton, Baron of Merley in 
 Kent, and made Lord Lieutenant of that County.' 
 
 Sir James, the second son, may be numbered among 
 the martial men of his age, who was, in the thirty-eighth 
 of Queen Elizabeth's reign — with Robert, Earl of Sussex, 
 Count Lodowick of Nassau, Don Christophoro, son of 
 Antonio, King of Portugal, and divers other gentlemen 
 of nobleness and valour — knighted in the field near Cadiz 
 in Spain, after they had gotten great honour and riches, 
 besides a notable retaliation of injuries, by taking that 
 town. 
 
 Sir John, being a gentleman excellently accomplished, 
 both by learning and travel, was knighted by Queen 
 Elizabeth, and by her looked upon with more than 
 ordinary favour, and with intentions of preferment ; but 
 death in his younger years put a period to his growing hopes. 
 
 Of Sir Henry my following discourse shall give an 
 account. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 247 
 
 The descent of these fore-named Wottons was all in a 
 direct line, and most of them and their actions in the 
 memory of those with whom we have conversed ; but if I 
 had looked so far back as to Sir Nicholas Wotton, who 
 lived in the reign of King Richard the Second, or before 
 him upon divers others of great note in their several ages, 
 I might by some be thought tedious ; and yet others may 
 more justly think me negligent, if I omit to mention 
 Nicholas Wotton, the fourth son of Sir Robert, whom I 
 first named. 
 
 This Nicholas Wotton was Doctor of Law, and some- 
 time Dean both of York and Canterbury ; a man whom 
 God did not only bless with a long life, but with great 
 abilities of mind, and an inclination to employ them in the 
 service of his country, as is testified by his several employ- 
 ments,^ having been sent nine times Ambassador unto 
 foreign Princes ; and by his being a Privy Councillor to 
 King Henry the Eighth, to Edward the Sixth, to Queen 
 Mary, and Queen Elizabeth, who also, after he had been, 
 during the wars between England, Scotland, and France, 
 three several times — and not unsuccessfully — employed in 
 Committees for settling of Peace betwixt this and those 
 Kingdoms, 'died,' saith learned Camden, 'full of com- 
 mendations for wisdom and piety.' He was also, by the 
 Will of King Henry the Eighth, made one of his Executors, 
 and Chief Secretary of State to his son, that pious Prince, 
 Edward the Sixth. Concerning which Nicholas Wotton I 
 shall say but this little more; that he refused — being 
 offered it by Queen Elizabeth — to be Archbishop of 
 Canterbury,* — and that he died not rich, though he lived 
 in that time of the dissolution of Abbeys. 
 
 More might be added ; but by this it may appear, 
 that Sir Henry Wotton was a branch of such a kindred, 
 as left a stock of reputation to their posterity : such 
 reputation as might kindle a generous emulation in 
 strangers, and preserve a noble ambition in those of 
 his name and family, to perform actions worthy of their 
 ancestors. 
 
 * Camden in his Britannia. * Holinshed. 
 
248 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And that Sir Henry Wotton did so, might appear more 
 perfectly than my pen can express it, if of his many 
 surviving friends, some one of higher parts and employ- 
 ments had been pleased to have commended his to 
 posterity ; but since some years are now past, and they 
 have all — I know not why — forborne to do it, my grati- 
 tude to the memory of my dead friend, and the renewed 
 request of some^ that still live solicitous to see this duty 
 performed ; these have had a power to persuade me to 
 undertake it ; which truly I have not done but with 
 distrust of mine own abilities ; and yet so far from despair, 
 that I am modestly confident my humble language shall 
 be accepted, because I shall present all readers with a 
 commixture of truth, and Sir Henry Wotton's merits. 
 
 This being premised, I proceed to tell the reader, that 
 the Father of Sir Henry Wotton was twice married ; first 
 to Elizabeth, the daughter of Sir John Rudstone, Knight ; 
 after whose death, though his inclination was averse to all 
 contentions, yet necessitated he was to several suits in 
 Law ; in the prosecution whereof, — which took up much 
 of his time, and were the occasion of many discontents, — 
 he was by divers of his friends earnestly persuaded to a 
 re-marriage ; to whom he as often answered, ' That if ever 
 he did put on a resolution to marry, he was seriously 
 resolved to avoid three sorts of persons : namely, 
 
 {that had children ; 
 that had Law-suits ; 
 that were of his kindred.' 
 
 And yet, following his own Law-suits, he met in West- 
 minster-Hall with Mrs. Eleonora Morton, Widow to 
 Robert Morton, of Kent, Esquire, who was also engaged 
 in several suits in Law : and he observing her comport- 
 ment at the time of hearing one of her causes before the 
 Judges, could not but at the same time both compassionate 
 her condition, and affect her person ; for the tears of 
 lovers, or beauty dressed in sadness, are observed to have 
 
 ' Sir Edward Bysshe, Clarencieux King of Arms, Mr. Charles Cotton, 
 and Mr. Nic. Oudert, sometime Sir Henry Wotton's servant. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 249 
 
 in them a charming eloquence, and to become very often 
 too strong to be resisted : which I mention, because it 
 proved so with this Thomas Wotton ; for although there 
 were in her a concurrence of all those accidents, against 
 which he had so seriously resolved, yet his affection to her 
 grew then so strong, that he resolved to solicit her for a 
 wife, and did, and obtained her. 
 
 By her — who was the daughter of Sir William Finch, of 
 Eastwell, in Kent, — ^he had only Henry his youngest son. 
 His Mother undertook to be tutoress unto him during 
 much of his childhood ; for whose care and pains he paid 
 her each day with such visible signs of future perfection 
 in Learning, as turned her employment into a pleasing 
 trouble; which she was content to continue, till his 
 Father took him into his own particular care, and disposed 
 of him to a Tutor in his own house at Bocton. 
 
 And when time and diligent instruction had made him 
 fit for a removal to an higher form, — which was very 
 early, — he was sent to Winchester-school; a place of 
 strict discipline and order, that so he might in his youth 
 be moulded into a method of living by rule, which his 
 wise father knew to be the most necessary way to make 
 the future part of his life both happy to himself, and useful 
 for the discharge of all business, whether public or 
 private. 
 
 And that he might be confirmed in this regularity, he 
 was, at a fit age, removed from that School, to be a 
 Commoner of New-College in Oxford; both being 
 founded by William Wickham, Bishop of Winchester. 
 
 There he continued till about the eighteenth year of his 
 age, and was then transplanted into Queen's College: 
 where, within that year, he was by the chief of that College, 
 persuasively enjoined to write a play for their private use ; 
 — it was the Tragedy of Tancredo — ^which was so inter- 
 woven with sentences, and for the method and exact 
 personating those humours, passions and dispositions, 
 which he proposed to represent, so performed, that the 
 gravest of that society declared, he had, in a slight employ- 
 ment, given an early and a solid testimony of his future 
 
250 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 abilities. And though there may be some sour disposi- 
 tions, which may think this not worth a memorial, yet 
 that wise Knight, Baptista Guarini, — whom learned Italy 
 accounts one of her ornaments, — thought it neither an 
 uncomely nor an unprofitable employment for his age. 
 But I pass to what will be thought more serious. 
 About the twentieth year of his age he proceeded 
 Master of Arts ; and at that time read in Latin three 
 Lectures de Oculo ; wherein he having described the form, 
 the motion, the curious composure of the Eye, and 
 demonstrated how of those very many, every humour and 
 nerve performs its distinct office, so as the God of Order 
 hath appointed, without mixture or confusion ; and all 
 this to the advantage of man, to whom the Eye is given, 
 not only as the body's guide, but whereas aU other of his 
 senses require time to inform the soul, this in an instant 
 apprehends and warns him of danger ; teaching him in 
 the very eyes of others to discover Wit, Folly, Love, and 
 Hatred, — after he had made these observations, he fell 
 to dispute this Optic question, ' Whether we see by the 
 emission of the beams from within, or reception of the 
 species from without ?' And after that, and many other 
 like learned disquisitions, he, in the conclusion of his 
 Lectures, took a fair occasion to beautify his discourse with 
 a commendation of the blessing and benefit of ' Seeing ; — 
 by which we do not only discover Nature's secrets, but, with 
 a continued content— for the eye is never weary of seeing 
 — behold the great Light of the World, and by it discover 
 the fabric of the Heavens, and both the order and motion 
 of the Celestial Orbs ; nay, that if the Eye looked but 
 downward, it may rejoice to behold the bosom of the 
 Earth, our common mother, embroidered and adorned 
 with numberless and various flowers, which man sees daily 
 grow up to perfection, and then silently moralise his own 
 condition, who, in a short time,- — like those very flowers 
 — decays, withers, and quickly returns again to that Earth, 
 from which both had their first being.' 
 
 These were so exactly debated, and so rhetorically 
 heightened, as, among other admirers, caused that 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 251 
 
 learned Italian, Albericus Gentilis, then Professor of the 
 Civil Law in Oxford, to call him ' Henrice mi Ocelle' ; 
 which dear expression of his was also used by divers 
 of Sir Henry's dearest friends, and by many other persons 
 of note during his stay in the University. 
 
 But his stay there was not long, at least not so long 
 as his friends once intended ; for the year after Sir Henry 
 proceeded Master of Arts, his Father — ^whom Sir Henry 
 did never mention without this, or some like reverential 
 expression, as * That good man my Father,' or, ' My 
 Father, the best of men'; — about that time, this good 
 man changed this fpr a better life ; leaving to Sir Henry, 
 as to his other younger sons, a rent-charge of an hundred 
 marks a year, to be paid for ever out of some one of his 
 Manors, of a much greater value. 
 
 And here, though this good man be dead, yet I wish a 
 circumstance or two that concerns him, may not be buried 
 without a relation ; which I shall undertake to do, for 
 that I suppose they may so much concern the Reader 
 to know, that I may promise myself a pardon for a short 
 digression. 
 
 In the year of our Redemption, 1553, Nicholas Wotton, 
 Dean of Canterbury, — whom I formerly mentioned, — 
 being then Ambassador in France, dreamed that his 
 Nephew, this Thomas Wotton, was inclined to be a 
 party in such a project, as, if he were not suddenly 
 prevented, would turn both to the loss of his life, and 
 ruin of his family. 
 
 Doubtless the good Dean did well know that common 
 Dreams are but a senseless paraphrase on our waking 
 thoughts, or of the business of the day past, or are the 
 result of our over-engaged affections, when we betake 
 ourselves to rest ; and knew that the observation of them 
 may turn to silly superstitions, as they too often do. 
 But, though he might know all this, and might also 
 believe that prophecies are ceased ; yet doubtless he could 
 not but consider, tha:t all dreams are not to be neglected 
 or cast away without all consideration ; and did there- 
 fore rather lay this Dream aside, than intend totally to 
 
252 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 lose it ; and dreaming the same again the night following, 
 when it became a double Dream, like that of Pharaoh, 
 — of which double Dreams the learned have made many 
 observations, — ^and considering that it had no dependence 
 on his waking thoughts, much less on the desires of his 
 heart, then he did more seriously consider it ; and re- 
 membered that Almighty God was pleased in a Dream 
 to reveal and to assure Monica,^ the Mother of St. Austin, 
 ' That he, her son, for whom she wept so bitterly and 
 prayed so much, should at last become a Christian': 
 This, I believe, the good Dean considered ; and con- 
 sidering also that Almighty God, — though the causes of 
 Dreams be often ui. known — hath even in these latter times 
 also by a certain illumination of the Soul in sleep, dis- 
 covered many things that human wisdom could not foresee ; 
 upon these considerations he resolved to use so prudent a 
 remedy by way of prevention, as might introduce no 
 great inconvenience either to himself or to his Nephew. 
 And to that end he wrote to the Queen, — 'twas Queen 
 Mary, — and besought her, ' That she would cause his 
 Nephew, Thomas Wotton, to be sent for out of Kent; 
 and that the Lords of her Council might interrogate him 
 in some such feigned questions, as might give a colour for 
 his commitment into a favourable prison J declaring that 
 he would acquaint her Majesty with the true reason of his 
 request, when he should next become so happy as to 
 see and speak to her Majesty.' 
 
 It was done as the Dean desired: and in prison I must leave 
 Mr. Wotton, tUl I have told the Reader what followed. 
 
 At this time a marriage was concluded betwixt our 
 Queen Mary, and Philip, King of Spain ; and though this 
 was concluded with the advice, if not by the persuasion, of 
 her Privy Council, as having many probabilities of ad- 
 vantage to this nation ; yet divers persons of a contrary 
 persuasion did not only declare against it, but also raised 
 forces to oppose it ; believing — as they said — it would be 
 a means to bring England to be under a subjection to 
 Spain, and make those of this nation slaves to strangers. , 
 * St. Austin's Confession. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 253 
 
 And of this number, Sir Thomas Wyat, of Boxley- 
 Abbey in Kent, — betwixt whose family and the family of 
 the Wottons there had been an ancient and entire friend- 
 ship, — was the principal actor; who having persuaded 
 many of the Nobility and Gentry — especially of Kent — ^to 
 side with him, and he being defeated, and taken prisoner, 
 was legally arraigned and condemned, and lost his life : so 
 did the Duke of Suffolk and divers others, especially many 
 of the Gentry of Kent, who were there in several places 
 executed as Wyat's assistants. 
 
 And of this number, in all probability, had Mr. Wotton 
 been, if he had not been confined ; for though he could 
 not be ignorant that 'another man's Treason makes it 
 mine by concealing it,' yet he durst confess to his Uncle, 
 when he returned into England, and then came to visit 
 him in prison, ' That he had more than an intimation of 
 Wyat's intentions ' ; and thought he had not continued 
 actually innocent, if his Uncle had not so happily dreamed 
 him into a prison ; out of which place when he was delivered 
 by the same hand that caused his commitment, they both 
 considered the Dream more seriously, and then both 
 joined in praising God for it ; ' That God who ties himself 
 to no rules, either in preventing of evil, or in showing of 
 mercy to those, whom of good pleasure he hath chosen to 
 love.' 
 
 And this Dream was the more considerable, because 
 that God, who in the days of old did use to speak to his 
 people in Visions, did seem to speak to many of this 
 Family in Dreams ; of which I will also give the reader 
 one short particular of this Thomas Wotton, whose 
 Dreams did usually prove true, both in foretelling things 
 to come, and discovering things past ; and the particular 
 is this. — ^This Thomas, a litde before his death, dreamed 
 that the University Treasury was robbed by Townsmen 
 and poor Scholars, and that the number was five ; and 
 being that day to write to his son Henry at Oxford, he 
 thought it worth so much pains, as by a postscript in his 
 letter to make a slight enquiry of it. The letter — which was 
 writ out of Kent, and dated three days before — came to 
 
aS4 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 his son's hands the very morning after the night in which 
 the robbery was committed; and when the City and 
 University were both in a perplexed inquest of the thieves, 
 then did Sir Henry Wotton show his Father's letter, and 
 by it such light was given of this work of darkness, that 
 the five guilty persons were presently discovered and 
 apprehended, without putting the University to so much 
 trouble as the casting of a figure. 
 
 And it may yet be more considerable, that this Nicholas 
 and Thomas Wotton should both — being men of holy 
 lives, of even tempers, and much given to fasting and 
 prayer — foresee and foretell the very days of their own 
 death. Nicholas did so, being then seventy years of age, 
 and in perfect health. Thomas did the like in the sixty- 
 fifth year of his age : who being then in London, where 
 he died, — and foreseeing his death there, gave direction in 
 what manner his body should be carried to Bocton ; and 
 though he thought his Uncle Nicholas worthy of that 
 noble monument which he built for him in the Cathedral 
 Church of Canterbury ; yet this humble man gave direc- 
 tions concerning himself, to be buried privately, and 
 especially without any pomp at his funeral. This is some 
 account of this family, which seemed to be beloved of 
 God. 
 
 But it may now seem more than time, that I return to 
 Sir Henry Wotton at Oxford; where, after his Optic 
 Lecture, he was taken into such a bosom friendship with 
 the learned Albericus Gentilis, — whom I formerly named, 
 — that, if it had been possible, Gentilis would have 
 breathed all his excellent knowledge, both of the 
 Mathematics and Law, into the breast of his dear Harry, 
 for so Gentilis used to call him : and though he was not 
 able to do that, yet there was in Sir Henry such a pro- 
 pensity and connaturalness to the Italian language, and 
 those studies whereof Gentilis was a great master, that 
 this friendship between them did daily increase, and proved 
 daily advantageous to Sir Henry, for the improvement of 
 him in several sciences during his stay in the University. 
 
 From which place, before I shall invite the reader to 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 255 
 
 follow him into a foreign nation, though I must omit to 
 mention divers persons that were then in Oxford, of 
 memorable note for learning, and friends to Sir Henry 
 Wotton ; yet I must not omit the mention of a love that 
 was there begun betwixt him and Dr. Donne, sometime 
 Dean of St. Paul's; a man of whose abilities I shall 
 forbear to say any thing, because he who is of this nation, 
 and pretends to learning or ingenuity, and is ignorant of 
 Dr. Donne, deserves not to know him. The friendship 
 of these two I must not omit to mention, being such a 
 friendship as was generously elemented; and as it was 
 begun in their youth, and in an University, and there 
 maintained by correspondent inclinations and studies, so it 
 lasted till age and death forced a separation. 
 
 In Oxford he stayed till about two years after his 
 Father's death ; at which time he was about the two and 
 twentieth year of his age ; and having to his great wit 
 added the ballast of learning, and knowledge of the Arts, 
 he then laid aside his books, and betook himself to the 
 useful library of travel, and a more general conversation 
 with mankind ; employing the remaining part of his youth, 
 his industry, and fortune, to adorn his mind, and to 
 purchase the rich treasure of foreign knowledge : of 
 which both for the secrets of Nature, the dispositions of 
 many nations, their several laws and languages, he was 
 the possessor in a very large measure ; as I shall faithfully 
 make to appear, before I take my pen from the following 
 narration of his life. 
 
 In his travels, which was almost nine years before 
 his return into England, he stayed but one year in 
 France, and most of that in Geneva, where he became 
 acquainted with Theodore Beza, — then very aged ; — and 
 with Isaac Casaubon, in whose house, if I be rightly 
 informed. Sir Henry Wotton was lodged, and there 
 contracted a most worthy friendship with Siat man of rare 
 learning and ingenuity. 
 
 Three of the remaining eight years were spent in 
 Germany, the other five in Italy, — the stage on which 
 God appointed he should act a great part of his life ; 
 
256 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 — where, both in Rome, Venice, and Florence, he became 
 acquainted with the most eminent men for learning and all 
 manner of Arts ; as Picture, Sculpture, Chemistry, Archi- 
 tecture, and other manual Arts, even Arts of inferior 
 nature ; of all which he was a most dear lover, and a most 
 excellent judge. 
 
 He returned out of Italy into England about the 
 thirtieth year of his age, being then noted by many both 
 for his person and comportment: for indeed he was of 
 a choice shape, taU of stature, and of a most persuasive 
 behaviour ; which was so mixed with sweet discourse and 
 civilities, as gained him much love from all persons with 
 whom he entered into an acquaintance. 
 
 And whereas he was noted in his youth to have a sharp 
 wit, and apt to jest ; that, by time, travel, and con- 
 versation, was so polished, and made so useful, that his 
 company seemed to be one of the delights of mankind ; 
 insomuch as Robert Earl of Essex — then one of the 
 darlings of Fortune, and in greatest favour with Queen 
 Elizabeth — invited him first into a friendship, and, after a 
 knowledge of his great abilities, to be one of his Secre- 
 taries, the other being Mr. Henry CufFe, sometime of 
 Merton College in Oxford, — and there also the acquaint- 
 ance of Sir Henry Wotton in his youth, — Mr. CufFe being 
 then a man of no common note in the University for 
 his learning ; nor, after his removal from that place, 
 for the great abilities of his mind, nor indeed for the 
 fatalness of his end. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton, being now taken into a serviceable 
 friendship with the Earl of Essex, did personally attend 
 his counsels and employments in two voyages at sea 
 against the Spaniard, and also in that — which was the 
 Earl's last — into Ireland ; that voyage, wherein he then 
 did so much provoke the Queen to anger, and worse 
 at his return into England ; upon whose immoveable favour 
 the Earl had built such sandy hopes, as encouraged him to 
 those undertakings, which, with the help of a contrary 
 faction, suddenly caused his commitment to the Tower. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton observing this, though he was not 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 257 
 
 of that faction — for the Earl's followers were also divided 
 into their several interests — which encouraged the Earl 
 to those undertakings which proved so fatal to him and 
 divers of his confederation, yet, knowing Treason to be 
 so comprehensive, as to take in even circumstances, and 
 out of them to make such positive conclusions as subtle 
 Statesmen shall project, either for their revenge or safety ; 
 considering this, he thought prevention, by absence out of 
 England, a better security, than to stay in it, and there 
 plead his innocency in a prison. Therefore did he, so 
 soon as the Earl was apprehended, very quickly, and 
 as privately, glide through Kent to Dover, without so 
 much as looking toward his native and beloved Bocton ; 
 and was, by the help of favourable winds, and liberal 
 payment of the mariners, within sixteen hours after his 
 departure from London, set upon the French shore ; 
 where he heard shortly after, that the Earl was arraigned, 
 condemned, and beheaded ; and that his friend Mr. CufFe 
 was hanged, and divers other persons of eminent quality 
 executed. 
 
 The times did not look so favourably upon Sir Henry 
 Wotton, as to invite his return into England : having 
 therefore procured of Sir Edward Wotton, his elder 
 brother, an assurance that his annuity should be paid him 
 in Italy, thither he went, happily renewing his intermitted 
 friendship and interest, and indeed his great content in a 
 new conversation with his old acquaintance in that nation, 
 and more particularly in Florence, — which City is not more 
 eminent for the Great Duke's Court, than for the great 
 recourse of men of choicest note for learning and arts, 
 — in which number he there met with his old friend 
 Signior Vietta, a gentleman of Venice, and then taken to 
 be Secretary to the Great Duke of Tuscany. 
 
 After some stay in Florence, he went the fourth time 
 to visit Rome, where, in the English College he had very 
 many friends ; — their humanity made them really so, 
 though they knew him to be a dissenter from many of 
 their principles of religion ; and having enjoyed their 
 company, and satisfied himself concerning some curiosities 
 
258 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that did partly occasion his journey thither, he returned 
 back to Florence, where a most notable accident befel 
 him ; an accident that did not only find new employment 
 for his choice abilities, but introduce him to a know- 
 ledge and an interest with our King James, then King of 
 Scotland ; which I shall proceed to relate. 
 
 But first I am to tell the reader, that though Queen 
 Elizabeth, or she and her Council, were never willing to 
 declare her successor ; yet James, then King of the Scots, 
 was confidently believed by most to be the man upon 
 whom the sweet trouble of Kingly government would be 
 imposed ; and the Queen declining very fast, both by age 
 and visible infirmities, those that were of the Romish 
 persuasion in point of Religion, — even Rome itself, and 
 those of this nation, — knowing that the death of the 
 Queen and the establishing of her successor, were taken 
 to be critical days for destroying or establishing the Pro- 
 testant religion in this nation, did therefore improve all 
 opportunities for preventing a Protestant Prince to 
 succeed her. And as the Pope's Excommunication of 
 Queen Elizabeth, had both by the judgment and practice 
 of the Jesuited Papist, exposed her to be warrantably 
 destroyed ; so, — if we may believe an angry adversary, 
 a secular Priest^ against a Jesuit — you may believe that 
 about that time there were many endeavours, first to 
 excommunicate, and then to shorten the life of King 
 James. 
 
 Immediately after Sir Henry Wotton's return from 
 Rome to Florence, — which was about a year before the 
 death of Queen Elizabeth — Ferdinand the Great Duke of 
 Florence, had intercepted certain letters, that discovered 
 a design to take away the life of James, the then King of 
 Scots. The Duke abhorring the fact, and resolving to 
 endeavour a prevention of it, advised with his Secretary 
 Vietta, by what means a caution might be best given 
 to that King ; and after consideration it was resolved 
 to be done by Sir Henry Wotton, whom Vietta first com- 
 mended to the Duke, and the Duke had noted and 
 
 ^ Watson in his Quodlibets. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 259 
 
 approved of above all the English that frequented his 
 Court. 
 
 Sir Henry was gladly called by his friend Vietta to the 
 Duke, who, after much profession of trust and friendship, 
 acquainted him with the secret ; and being well instructed, 
 dispatched him into Scotland with letters to the King, and 
 with those letters such Italian antidotes against poison, as 
 the Scots till then had been strangers to. 
 
 Having parted from the Duke, he took up the name 
 and language of an Italian ; and thinking it best to avoid 
 the line of English intelligence aiid danger, he posted into 
 Norway, and through that country towards Scotland, 
 where he found the King at Stirling. Being there, he 
 used means, by Bernard Lindsey, one of the King's Bed- 
 chamber, to procure him a speedy and private conference 
 with his Majesty ; assuring him, ' That the business which 
 he was to negociate was of such consequence, as had caused 
 the Great Duke of Tuscany to enjoin him suddenly to 
 leave his native country of Italy, to impart it to his 
 King.; 
 
 This being by Bernard Lindsey made known to the 
 King, the King, after a little wonder — mixed with 
 jealousy— to hear of an Italian Ambassador, or mes- 
 senger, required his name, — which was said to be Octavio 
 Baldi, — and appointed him to be heard privately at a fixed 
 hour that evening. 
 
 When Octavio Baldi came to the Presence-chamber 
 door, he was requested to lay aside his long rapier — which, 
 Italian-like, he then wore ; — and being entered the chamber, 
 he found there with the King three or four Scotch Lords 
 standing distant in several corners of the chamber : at 
 the sight of whom he made a stand ; which the King 
 observing, ' bade him be bold, and deliver his message ; for 
 he would undertake for the secrecy of aU that were present.' 
 Then did Octavio Baldi deliver his letters and his message 
 to the King in Italian ; which when the King had 
 graciously received, after a little pause, Octavio Baldi steps 
 to the table, and whispers to the King in his own language, 
 that he was an Englishman, beseeching him for a more 
 
260 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 private conference with his Majesty, and that he might be 
 concealed during his stay in that nation ; which was 
 promised and really performed by the King, during aU his 
 abode there, which was about three months; all which 
 time was spent with much pleasantness to the King, and 
 with as much to Octavio Baldi himself, as that country 
 could afford ; from which he departed as true an Italian 
 as he came thither. 
 
 To the Duke at Florence he returned with a fair and 
 grateful account of his employment ; and within some few 
 months after his return, there came certain news to 
 Florence, that Queen Elizabeth was dead : and James, 
 King of the Scots, proclaimed King of England. The 
 Duke knowing travel and business to be the best schools 
 of wisdom, and that Sir Henry Wotton had been tutored 
 in both, advised him to return presently to England, and 
 there joy the King with his new and better title, and wait 
 there upon Fortune for a better employment. 
 
 When King James came into England, he found 
 amongst other of the late Queen's officers. Sir Edward, 
 who was, after Lord Wotton, Comptroller of the House, 
 of whom he demanded, ' If he knew one Henry Wotton, 
 that had spent much time in foreign travel ? ' The Lord 
 replied he knew him well, and that he was his brother. 
 Then the King, asking where he then was, was answered, 
 at Venice or Florence ; but by late letters from thence he 
 understood he would suddenly be at Paris. ' Send for 
 him,' said the King, ' and when he shall come into 
 England, bid him repair privately to me.' The Lord 
 Wotton, after a little wonder, asked the King, ' If he 
 knew him ? ' To which the King answered, ' You 
 must rest unsatisfied of that till you bring the gentleman 
 to me.' 
 
 Not many months after this discourse, the Lord Wotton 
 brought his brother to attend the King, who took him in 
 his arms, and bade him welcome by the name of Octavio 
 Baldi, saying, he was the most honest, and therefore the 
 best dissembler that ever he met with : and said, ' Seeing 
 I know you neither want learning, travel, nor experience, 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 261 
 
 and that I have had so real a testimony of your faithfulness 
 and abilities to manage an ambassage, I have sent for you 
 to declare my purpose ; which is, to make use of you in 
 that kind hereafter.' And indeed the King did so, most 
 of those two and twenty years of his reign ; but before he 
 dismissed Octavio Baldi from his present attendance upon 
 him, he restored him to his old name of Henry Wotton, 
 by which he then knighted him. 
 
 Not long after this, the King having resolved according 
 to his Motto — Beati pacifici — to have a friendship with his 
 neighbour Kingdoms of France and Spain ; and also, for 
 divers weighty reasons, to enter into an alliance with the 
 State of Venice, and to that end to send Ambassadors to 
 those several places, did propose the choice of these em- 
 ployments to Sir Henry Wotton ; who, considering the 
 smallness of his own estate, — which he never took care to 
 augment, — and knowing the Courts of great Princes to be 
 sumptuous, and necessarily expensive, inclined most to 
 that of Venice, as being a place of more retirement, and 
 best suiting with his genius, who did ever love to join 
 with business, study, and a trial of natural experiments ; 
 for both which, fruitful Italy, that darling of Nature, and 
 cherisher of all arts, is so justly famed in all parts of the 
 Christian world. 
 
 Sir Henry having, after some short time and considera- 
 tion, resolved upon Venice, and a large allowance being 
 appointed by the King for his voyage thither, and a 
 setded maintenance during his stay there, he left England, 
 nobly accompanied through France to Venice, by gende- 
 men of the best families and breeding that this nation 
 afforded : they were too many to name ; but these two, 
 for the following reasons, may not be omitted. Sir 
 Albertus Morton, his Nephew, who went his Secretary ; 
 and William Bedel, a man of choice learning, and sanctified 
 wisdom, who went his Chaplain. 
 
 And though his dear friend Dr. Donne — then a private 
 gentleman — was not one of the number that did person- 
 ally accompany him in this voyage, yet the reading of this 
 following letter, sent by him to Sir Henry Wotton, the 
 
262 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 morning before he left England, may testify he wanted 
 not his friend's best wishes to attend him. 
 
 Sir, 
 After those reverend papers, whose soul is 
 Our good and great King's lov'd hand and fear'd name, 
 By which to you he derives much of his, 
 And, how he may, makes you almost the same : 
 
 A taper of his torch ; a copy writ 
 
 From his original, and a fair beam 
 
 Of the same warm and dazzling Sun, though it 
 
 Must in another sphere his virtue stream : 
 
 After those learned papers, which your hand 
 Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too ; 
 From which rich treasury you may command 
 Fit matter whether you will write or do : 
 
 After those loving papers where friends send 
 With glad grief to your sea-ward steps farewell, 
 And thicken on you now as prayers ascend 
 To Heaven in troops at a good man's passing bell : 
 
 Admit this honest paper, and allow 
 It such an audience as yourself would ask ; 
 What you would say at Venice, this says now. 
 And has for nature what you have for task. 
 
 To swear much love ; nor to be chang'd before 
 Honour alone will to your fortune fit ; 
 Nor shall I then honour your fortune more, 
 Than I have done your honour wanting wit 
 
 But 'tis an easier load — though both oppress — 
 To want, than govern greatness ; for we are 
 In that, our own and only business ; 
 In this, we must for others' vices care. 
 
 'Tis therefore well your spirits now are plac'd 
 
 In their last furnace, in activity, 
 
 Which fits them; Schools, and Courts, and Wars o'erpast 
 
 To touch and taste in any best degree. 
 
 For me ! — if there be such a thing as I — 
 Fortune — if there be such a thing as she — 
 Finds that I bear so well her tyranny. 
 That she thinks nothing else so fit for me. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 263 
 
 But though she part us, to hear my oft prayers 
 For your increase, God is as near me here : 
 And, to send you what I shall beg, his stairs 
 In length and ease are alike every where. 
 
 J. Donne. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton was received by the State of Venice 
 with much honour and gladness, both for that he delivered 
 his ambassage most elegantly in the Italian language, and 
 came also in such a juncture of time, as his master's friend- 
 ship seemed useful for that Republic. The time of his 
 coming thither was about the year 1 604, Leouardo Donato 
 being then Duke ; a wise and resolved man, and to all 
 purposes such — Sir Henry Wotton would often say it — 
 as the State of Venice could not then have wanted ; there 
 having been formerly, in the time of Pope Clement the 
 Eighth, some contests about the privileges of Churchmen 
 and the power of the Civil Magistrate ; of which, for the 
 information of common readers, I shall say a litde, because 
 it may give light to some passages that follow. 
 
 About the year 1603, the Republic of Venice made 
 several injunctions against lay-persons giving lands or 
 goods to the Church, without licence from the Civil 
 Magistrate ; and in that inhibition they expressed their 
 reasons to be, ' For that when any goods or land once 
 came into the hands of the Ecclesiastics, it was not subject 
 to alienation : by reason whereof — the lay-people being at 
 their death charitable even to excess, — the Clergy grew 
 every day more numerous, and pretended an exemption 
 from all public service and taxes, and from all secular 
 judgment ; so that the burden grew thereby too heavy 
 to be borne by the Laity.' 
 
 Another occasion of difference was, that about this time 
 complaints were jusdy made by the Venetians against two 
 Clergymen, the Abbot of Nervesa, and a Canon of 
 Vicenza, for committing such sins as I think not fit to 
 name ; nor are these mentioned with an intent to fix a 
 scandal upon any calling ; — for holiness is not tied to 
 Ecclesiastical Orders, — and Italy is observed to breed the 
 most virtuous and most vicious men of any nation. 
 
264 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 These two having been long complained of at Rome in 
 the name of the State of Venice, and no satisfaction being 
 given to the Venetians, they seized the persons of this 
 Abbot and Canon, and committed them to prison. 
 
 The justice or injustice of such, or the like power, then 
 used by the Venetians, had formerly had some calm 
 debates betwixt the former Pope Clement the Eighth, and 
 that Republic : I say, calm, for he did not excommunicate 
 them ; considering, — as I conceive, — that in the late 
 Council of Trent, it was at last — after many politic distur- 
 bances and delays, and endeavours to preserve the Pope's 
 present power, — in order to a general reformation of those 
 many errors, which were in time crept into the Church, 
 declared by that Council, ' That though discipline and 
 especial Excommunication be one of the chief sinews of 
 Church-government, and intended to keep men in obedi- 
 ence to it : for which end it was declared to be very 
 profitable ; yet it was also declared, and advised to be 
 used with great' sobriety and care, because experience had 
 informed them, that when it was pronounced unadvisedly 
 or rashly, it became more contemned than feared.' And, 
 though this was the advice of that Council at the con- 
 clusion of it, which was not many years before this 
 quarrel with the Venetians : yet this prudent, patient 
 Pope Clement dying. Pope Paul the Fifth, who suc- 
 ceeded him, — though not immediately, yet in the same 
 year,— being a man of a much hotter temper, brought this 
 difference with the Venetians to a much higher contention ; 
 objecting those late acts of that State to be a diminution of 
 his just power, and limited a time of twenty^four days 
 for their revocation ; threatening if he were not obeyed, 
 to proceed to the Excommunication of the Republic, who 
 still offered to shew both reason and ancient custom to 
 warrant their actions. But this Pope, contrary to his 
 predecessor's moderation, required absolute obedience 
 without disputes. 
 
 Thus it continued for about a year, the Pope still 
 threatening Excommunication, and the Venetians still 
 answering him with fair speeches, and no compliance ; till 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 265 
 
 at last the Pope's zeal to the Apostolic See did make 
 him to excommunicate the Duke, the whole Senate, and 
 all their dominions, and, that done, to shut up all their 
 Churches ; charging the whole Clergy to forbear all sacred 
 offices to the Venetians, till their obedience should render 
 them capable of Absolution. 
 
 But this act of the Pope's did the more confirm the 
 Venetians in their resolution not to obey him : and to 
 that end, upon the hearing of the Pope's interdict, they 
 presently published, by sound of trumpet, a Proclamation 
 to this effect : 
 
 ' That whosoever hath received from Rome any copy of 
 a papal Interdict, published there, as well against the Law 
 of God, as against the honour of this nation, shall presently 
 render it to the Council of Ten, upon pain of Death.' 
 And made it loss of estate and Nobility, but to speak 
 in the behalf of the Jesuits. 
 
 Then was Duado their Ambassador called home from 
 Rome, and the Inquisition presently suspended by order 
 of the State : and the flood-gates being thus set open, any 
 man that had a pleasant or scoffing wit might safely vent 
 it against the Pope, either by free speaking, or by libels in 
 print : and both became very pleasant to the people. 
 
 Matters thus heightened, the State advised with Father 
 Paul, a holy and learned Friar, — the author of the 
 History of the Council of Trent — whose advice was, 
 ' Neither to provoke the Pope, nor lose their own right ' : 
 he declaring publicly in print, in the name of the State, 
 'That the Pope was trusted to keep two keys, one of 
 Prudence and the other of Power : and that, if they were 
 not both used together. Power alone is not effectual in an 
 Excommunication. ' 
 
 And thus these discontents and oppositions continued, 
 tiU a report was blown abroad, that the Venetians were all 
 turned Protestants ; which was believed by many, for that 
 it was observed that the English Ambassador was so often 
 in conference with the Senate, and his Chaplain, Mr. Bedel, 
 more often with Father Paul, whom the people did not 
 take to be his friend ; and also, for that the Republic 
 
266 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 of Venice was known to give commission to Gregory 
 Justiniano, then their Ambassador in England, to make all 
 these proceedings known to the King of England, and to 
 crave a promise of his assistance, if need should require : 
 and in the mean time they required the King's advice and 
 judgment ; which was the same that he gave to Pope 
 Clement, at his first coming to the Crown of England ; — 
 that Pope then moving him to an union with the Roman 
 Church ; — namely, ' To endeavour the calling of a free 
 Council, for the settlement of peace in Christendom ; and 
 that he doubted not but that the French King, and divers 
 other Princes, would join to assist in so good a work; 
 and, in the meantime, the sin of this breach, both with 
 his and the Venetian dominions, must of necessity lie at 
 the Pope's door.' 
 
 In this contention — which lasted almost two years — the 
 Pope grew still higher, and the Venetians more and more 
 resolved and careless ; still acquainting King James with 
 their proceedings, which was done by the help of Sir 
 Henry Wotton, Mr. Bedel, and Padre Paulo, whom the 
 Venetians did then call to be one of their consulters of 
 State, and with his pen to defend their just cause ; 
 which was by him so performed, that the Pope saw 
 plainly he had weakened his power by exceeding it, and 
 offered the Venetians absolution upon very easy terms; 
 which the Venetians still slighting, did at last obtain by 
 that which was scarce so much as a shew of acknowledging 
 it ; for they made an order, that in that day in which they 
 were absolved, there should be no public rejoicing, nor 
 any bonfires that night, lest the common people might 
 judge, that they desired an absolution, or were absolved 
 for committing a fault. 
 
 These contests were the occasion of Padre Paulo's 
 knowledge and interest with King James ; for whose sake 
 principally. Padre Paulo compiled that eminent History of 
 the remarkable Council of 'trent ; which history was, as 
 fast as it was written, sent in several sheets in letters by 
 Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. Bedel, and others, unto King 
 James, and the then Bishop of Canterbury, into England, 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 267 
 
 and there first made public both in English and in the 
 universal language. 
 
 For eight years after Sir Henry Wotton's going into 
 Italy, he stood fairly and highly valued in the King's 
 opinion ; but at last became much clouded by an accident, 
 which I shall proceed to relate. 
 
 At his first going Ambassador into Italy, as he passed 
 through Germany, he stayed some days at Augusta ; where 
 having been in his former travels well known by many of 
 the best note for learning and ingeniousness, — those that 
 are esteemed the virtuosi of that nation, — with whom he 
 passing an evening in merriments, was requested by 
 Christopher Flecamore to write some sentence in his Albo ; 
 — a book of white paper, which for that purpose many of 
 the German gentry usually carry about them: — and Sir 
 Henry Wotton consenting to the motion, took an occasion, 
 from some accidental discourse of the present company, to 
 write a pleasant definition of an Ambassador in these very 
 words : 
 
 ' Legatus est vir bonus, peregre missus ad mentlendum 
 Reipublicae causa.' 
 
 Which Sir Henry "Wotton could have been content 
 should have been thus Englished : 
 
 ' An Ambassador is an honest man, sent to lie abroad 
 for the good of his country.' 
 
 But the word for lie — being the hinge upon which the 
 conceit was to turn — was not so expressed in Latin, as 
 would admit — in the hands of an enemy especially — so 
 fair a construction as Sir Henry thought in English. 
 Yet as it was, it slept quiedy among other sentences in 
 this Albo almost eight years, till by accident it fell into 
 the hands of Jasper Scioppius, a Romanist, a man of a 
 restless spirit and a malicious pen ; who, with books 
 against King James, prints this as a principle of that 
 religion professed by the King, and his Ambassador Sir 
 Henry Wotton, then at Venice; and in Venice it was 
 presently after written in several glass-windows, and spite- 
 fully declared to be Sir Henry Wotton's. 
 
 This coming to the knowledge of King James, he 
 
268 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 apprehended it to be of such an oversight, such a weak- 
 ness, or worse, in Sir Henry Wotton, as caused the King 
 to express much wrath against him : and this caused Sir 
 Henry Wotton to write two apologies, one to Velserus — 
 one of the chiefs of Augusta — in the universal language, 
 which he caused to be printed, and given and scattered in 
 the most remarkable places both of Germany and Italy, as 
 an antidote against the venomous books of Scioppius ; and 
 another Apology to King James ; which were both so 
 ingenious, so clear, and so choicely eloquent, that his 
 Majesty — who was a pure judge of it — could not forbear, 
 at the receipt thereof, to declare publicly, ' That Sir Henry 
 Wotton had commuted sufficiently for a greater offence.' 
 
 And now, as broken bones well set become stronger, so 
 Sir Henry Wotton did not only recover, but was much 
 more confirmed in his Majesty's estimation and favour 
 than formerly he had been. 
 
 And, as that man of great wit and useful fancy, his 
 friend Dr. Donne, gave in a Will of his — a Will of con- 
 ceits — his Reputation to his Friends, and his Industry to 
 his Foes, because from thence he received both : so those 
 friends, that in this time of trial laboured to excuse this 
 facetious freedom of Sir Henry Wotton's were to him 
 more dear, and by him more highly valued ; and those 
 acquaintance, that urged this as an advantage against him, 
 caused him by this error to grow both more wise, and — 
 which is the best fruit error can bring forth — for the 
 future to become more industriously watchful over his 
 tongue and pen. 
 
 I have told you a part of his employment in Italy ; 
 where, notwithstanding the death of his favourer, the 
 Duke Leonardo Donato, who had an undissembled 
 affection for him, and the malicious accusation of 
 Scioppius, yet his interest — as though it had been an 
 entailed love — was still found to live and increase in all 
 the succeeding Dukes during his employment to that 
 State, which was almost twenty years ; all which time he 
 studied the dispositions of those Dukes, and the other 
 Consulters of State ; well knowing that he who negociates 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 269 
 
 a continued business, and neglects the study of disposi- 
 tions, usually fails in his proposed ends. But in this Sir 
 Henry Wotton did not fail ; for, by a fine sorting of fit 
 presents, curious, and not costiy entertainments, always 
 sweetened by various and pleasant discourse — with which, 
 and his choice application of stories, and his elegant 
 delivery of all these, even in their Italian language, he 
 first got, and still preserved, such interest in the State of 
 Venice, that it was observed — such was either his merit or 
 his modesty — they never denied him any request. 
 
 But all this shews but his abilities, and his fitness for 
 that employment : it will therefore be needful to tell the 
 Reader, what use he made of the interest which these 
 procured him : and that indeed was rather to oblige others 
 than to enrich himself : he still endeavouring that the 
 reputation of the English might be maintained, both in 
 the German Empire and in Italy ; where many gentlemen, 
 whom travel had invited into that nation, received from 
 him cheerful entertainments, advice for their behaviour, 
 and, by his interest, shelter or deliverance from those 
 accidental storms of adversity which usually attend upon 
 travel. 
 
 And because these things may appear to the Reader to 
 be but generals, I shall acquaint him with two particular 
 examples : one of his merciful disposition, and one of the 
 nobleness of his mind ; which shall foUow. 
 
 There had beeen many English Soldiers brought by 
 Commanders of their own country, to serve the Venetians 
 for pay against the Turk ; and those English, having by 
 irregularities, or improvidence, brought themselves into 
 several galleys and prisons. Sir Henry Wotton became a 
 petitioner to that State for their lives and enlargement ; 
 and his request was granted : so that those, — ^which were 
 many hundreds, and there made the sad examples of 
 human misery, by hard imprisonment and unpitied 
 poverty in a strange nation — were by his means released, 
 relieved, and in a comfortable condition sent to thank 
 God and him, for their lives and liberty in their own 
 country. 
 
270 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And this I have observed as one testimony of the com- 
 passionate nature of him, who was, during his stay in 
 those parts, as a city of refuge for the distressed of this 
 and other nations. 
 
 And for that which I offer as a testimony of the noble- 
 ness of his mind, I shall make way to the Reader's clearer 
 understanding of it, by telling him, that beside several 
 other foreign employments. Sir Henry Wotton was sent 
 thrice Ambassador to the Republic of Venice. And at 
 his last going thither, he was employed Ambassador to 
 several of the German Princes, and more particularly to 
 the Emperor Ferdinando the Second ; and that his employ- 
 ment to him, and those Princes, was to incline them to 
 equitable conditions for the restoration of the Queen of 
 Bohemia and her descendants to their patrimonial in- 
 heritance of the Palatinate. 
 
 This was, by his eight months' constant endeavours and 
 attendance upon the Emperor, his Court and Council, 
 brought to a probability of a successful conclusion, with- 
 out bloodshed. But there were at that time two opposite 
 armies in the field ; and as they were treating, there was 
 a battle fought, in the managery whereof there was so 
 many miserable errors on the one side, — so Sir Henry 
 Wotton expresses it in a dispatch to the King — and so 
 advantageous events to the Emperor, as put an end to all 
 present hopes of a successful treaty ; so that Sir Henry, 
 seeing the face of peace altered by that victory, prepared 
 for a removal from that Court ; and at his departure from 
 the Emperor, was so bold as to remember him, ' That the 
 events of every battle move on the unseen wheels of 
 Fortune, which are this moment up, and down the next : 
 and therefore humbly advised him to use his victory so 
 soberly, as stiU to put on thoughts of peace.' Which 
 advice, though it seemed to be spoke with some passion, 
 — his dear mistress the Queen of Bohemia being concerned 
 in it — was yet taken in good part by the Emperor ; who 
 replied, ' That he would consider his advice. And though 
 he looked on the King his master, as an abettor of his 
 enemy, the Palsgrave ; yet for Sir Henry himself, his be- 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 271 
 
 haviour had been such during the manage of the Treaty, 
 that he took him to be a person of much honour and 
 merit ; and did therefore desire him to accept of that Jewel, 
 as a testimony of his good opinion of him ' : which was a 
 Jewel of Diamonds of more value than a thousand pounds. 
 This Jewel was received with all outward circumstances 
 and terms of honour by Sir Henry Wotton. But the 
 next morning, at his departing from Vienna, he, at his 
 taking leave of the Countess of Sabrina — an Italian lady, 
 in whose house the Emperor had appointed him to be 
 lodged, and honourably entertained — he acknowledged her 
 merits, and besought her to accept of that Jewel, as a 
 testimony of his gratitude for her civilities ; presenting her 
 with the same that was given him by the Emperor ; which 
 being suddenly discovered, and told to the Emperor, was 
 by him taken for a high affront, and Sir Henry Wotton 
 told so by a messenger. To which he replied, 'That 
 though he received it with thankfulness, yet he found in 
 himself an indisposition to be the better for any gift that 
 came from an enemy to his Royal Mistress, the Queen of 
 Bohemia'; for so she was pleased he should always call 
 her. Many other of his services to his Prince and this 
 nation might be insisted upon ; as, namely, his procura- 
 tions of privileges and courtesies with the German Princes, 
 and the Republic of Venice, for the English Merchants : 
 and what he did by direction of King James with the 
 Venetian State, concerning the Bishop of Spalato's return 
 to the Church of Rome. But for the particulars of these, 
 and many more that I meant to make known, I want a 
 view of some papers that might inform me, — his late 
 Majesty's Letter-Office having now suffered a strange 
 alienation, — and indeed I want time too ; for the Printer's 
 press stays for what is written : so that I must haste to 
 bring Sir Henry Wotton in an instant from Venice to 
 London, leaving the reader to make up what is defective 
 in this place, by the small supplement of the Inscription 
 under his Arms, which he left at all those houses where he 
 rested, or lodged, when he returned from his late Embassy 
 into England. 
 
272 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Henricus Wottonius Anglo-Cantianus, Thomas optimi 
 viri filius natu minimus, a Serenissimo Jacobi I. Mag. Brit. 
 Rege, in equestrem titulum adscitus, ejusdemque ter ad 
 Rempublicam Venetam Legatus Ordinarius, semel ad Con- 
 faderatarum Provinciarum Ordines in Juliacensi negotio ; Ms 
 ad Carolum Emanuel, Sabaudias Ducem ; semel ad Unitos 
 Superioris Germanise Principes in Conventu Heilbrunensi, 
 postremo ad Archiducem Leopoldum, Ducem Wittember- 
 gensem, Civitates Imperiales, Argentinam, Ulmamque, et 
 ipsum Romanorum Iraperatorem Ferdinandum Secundum, 
 Legatus Extraordinarius, tandem hoc didicit, 
 
 Animas fieri sapientiores quiescendo. 
 
 To London he came the year before King James died ; 
 who having, for the reward of his foreign service, promised 
 him the reversion of an office, which was fit to be turned 
 into present money, which he wanted, for a supply of his 
 present necessities ; and also granted him the reversion of 
 the Master of the Rolls place, if he outlived charitable Sir 
 Julius Caesar, who then possessed it, and then grown 
 so old that he was said to be kept alive beyond Nature's 
 course, by the prayers of those many poor which he daily 
 relieved. 
 
 But these were but in hope ; and his condition required 
 a present support : for in the beginning of these employ- 
 ments he sold to his elder brother, the Lord Wotton, the 
 rent-charge left by his good father ; and — which is worse 
 —was now at his return indebted to several persons, whom 
 he was not able to satisfy, but by the King's payment of 
 his arrears, due for his foreign employments. He had 
 brought into England many servants, of which some were 
 German and Italian Artists : this was part of his condition, 
 who had many times hardly sufficient to supply the 
 occasions of the day : for it may by no means be said of 
 his providence, as himself said of Sir Philip Sidney's wit, 
 ' That it was the very measure of congruity,' he being 
 always so careless of money, as though our Saviour's 
 words, ' Care not for to-morrow,' were to be literally 
 understood. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 273 
 
 But it pleased the God of Providence, that in this 
 juncture of time, the Provostship of his Majesty's College 
 of Eton, became void by the death of Mr. Thomas 
 Murray, for which there were, as the place deserved, 
 many earnest and powerful suitors to the King. And Sir 
 Henry, who had for many years — like Sisyphus — rolled 
 the restless stone of a State-employment, knowing experi- 
 mentally that the great blessing of sweet content was not 
 to be found in multitudes of men or business, and that a 
 College was the fittest place to nourish holy thoughts, and 
 to afford rest both to his body and mind, which his age — 
 being now almost threescore years — seemed to require, 
 did therefore use his own, and the interest of all his 
 friends to procure that place. By which means, and 
 quitting the King of his promised reversionary offices, 
 and a piece of honest policy, — which I have not time to 
 relate, — he got a grant of it from his Majesty.^ 
 
 And this was a fair satisfaction to his mind ; but money 
 was wanting to furnish him with those necessaries which 
 attend removes, and a settlement in such a place ; and, to 
 procure that, he wrote to his old friend Mr. Nicholas 
 Pey, for his assistance. Of which Nicholas Pey I shall 
 here say a little, for the clearing of some passages that I 
 shall mention hereafter. 
 
 He was in his youth a Clerk, or in some such way a 
 servant to the Lord Wotton, Sir Henry's brother; and 
 by him, when he was Comptroller of the King's House- 
 hold, was made a great officer in his Majesty's house. 
 This and other favours being conferred upon Mr. Pey — 
 in whom there was a radical honesty — were always thank- 
 fully acknowledged by him, and his gratitude expressed 
 by a willing and unwearied serviceableness to that family 
 even till his death. To him Sir Henry Wotton wrote, to 
 use all his interest at Court, to procure five hundred 
 pounds of his arrears, for less would not settle him in the 
 College ; and the want of such a sum ' wrinkled his face 
 with care ' ; — 'twas his own expression, — and, that money 
 being procured, he should the next day after find him in 
 
 ^24 June 1624. 
 S 
 
274 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 his College, and ' Invidiae remedium ' writ over his study 
 door. 
 
 This money, being part of his arrears, was, by his own, 
 and the help of honest Nicholas Pey's interest in Court, 
 quickly procured him, and he as quickly in the College ; 
 the place, where indeed his happiness then seemed to have 
 its beginning; the College being to his mind as a quiet 
 harbour to a sea-faring man after a tempestuous voyage ; 
 where, by the bounty of the pious Founder, his very food 
 and raiment were plentifully provided for him in kind, 
 and more money than enough ; where he was freed from 
 all corroding cares, and seated on such a rock, as the 
 waves of want could not probably shake : where he might 
 sit in a calm, and, looking down, behold the busy multi- 
 tude turmoiled and tossed in a tempestuous sea of trouble 
 and dangers ; and — as Sir William Davenant has happily 
 expressed the like of another person : 
 
 Laugh at the graver business of the State, 
 Which speaks men rather wise than fortunate. 
 
 Being thus setded according to the desires of his heart, 
 his first study was the Statutes of the College ; by which 
 he conceived himself bound to enter into Holy Orders, 
 which he did, being made Deacon with all convenient 
 speed. Shordy after which time, as he came in his surplice 
 from the Church-service, an old friend, a person of quality, 
 met him so attired, and joyed him of his new habit. To 
 whom Sir Henry Wotton replied, ' I thank God and the 
 King, by whose goodness I now am in this condition ; a 
 condition which that Emperor Charles the Fifth seemed to 
 approve ; who, after so many remarkable victories, when 
 his glory was great in the eyes of aU men, freely gave up 
 his Crown, and the many cares that attended it, to Philip 
 his Son, making a holy retreat to a Cloisteral life, where 
 he might, by devout meditations, consult with God, — 
 which the rich or busy men seldom do — and have leisure 
 both to examine the errors of his life past, and prepare for 
 that great day, wherein all flesh must make an account of 
 their actions : and after a kind of tempestuous life, I now 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 275 
 
 have the like advantage from him, " that makes the out- 
 goings of the morning to praise him " ; even from my 
 God, whom I daily magnify for this particular mercy of 
 an exemption from business, a quiet mind, and a liberal 
 maintenance, even in this part of my life, when my age 
 and infirmities seem to sound me a retreat from the 
 pleasures of this world, and invite me to contemplation, 
 in which I have ever taken the greatest felicity.' 
 
 And now to speak a little of the employment of his 
 time in the College, After his customary public de- 
 votions, his use was to retire into his study, and there to 
 spend some hours in reading the Bible, and authors in 
 Divinity, closing up his meditations with private prayer; 
 this was, for the most part, his employment in the fore- 
 noon. But when he was once sat to dinner, then nothing 
 but cheerful thoughts possessed his mind, and those still 
 increased by constant company at his table, of such persons 
 as brought thither additions both of learning and pleasure ; 
 but some part of most days was usually spent in Philo- 
 sophical conclusions. Nor did he forget his innate pleasure 
 of Angling, which he would usually call, ' his idle time not 
 idly spent ' ; saying often, ' he would rather live five May 
 months, than forty Decembers.' 
 
 He was a great lover of his neighbours, and a bountiful 
 entertainer of them very often at his table, where his 
 meat was choice, and his discourse better. 
 
 He was a constant cherisher of all those youths in that 
 School, in whom he found either a constant diligence, 
 or a genius that prompted them to learning ; for whose 
 encouragement he was — beside many other things of 
 necessity and beauty — at the charge of setting up in 
 it two rows of pillars, on which he caused to be choicely 
 drawn the pictures of divers of the mqst famous Greek 
 and Latin Historians, Poets, and Orators; persuading 
 them not to neglect Rhetoric, because ' Almighty God has 
 left mankind affections to be wrought upon ' : and he 
 would often say, ' That none despised Eloquence, but 
 such dull souls as were not capable of it.' He would also 
 often make choice of some observations out of those 
 
276 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Historians and Poets ; and would never leave the School 
 without dropping some choice Greek or Latin apophthegm 
 or sentence, that might be worthy of a room in the 
 memory of a growing scholar. 
 
 He was pleased constantly to breed up one or more 
 hopeful youths, which he picked out of the School, and 
 took into his own domestic care, and to attend him at his 
 meals ; out of whose discourse and behaviour, he gathered 
 observations for the better completing of his intended 
 work of Education : of which, by his still striving to make 
 the whole better, he lived to leave but part to posterity. 
 
 He was a great enemy to wrangling disputes of Religion ; 
 concerning which I shall say a little, both to testify that, 
 and to shew the readiness of his wit. 
 
 Having at his being in Rome made acquaintance with a 
 pleasant Priest, who invited him one evening to hear their 
 Vesper music at Church ; the Priest seeing Sir Henry stand 
 obscurely in a corner, sends to him by a boy of the Choir 
 this question, writ in a small piece of paper ; ' Where was 
 your Religion to be found before Luther .'' ' To which 
 question Sir Henry presently under-writ, ' My Religion 
 was to be found then, where yours is not to be found 
 now, in the written Word of God.' 
 
 The next Vesper, Sir Henry went purposely to the same 
 Church, and sent one of the Choir boys with this question 
 to his honest, pleasant friend, the Priest : ' Do you believe 
 all those many thousands of poor Christians were damned, 
 that were excommunicated because the Pope and the Duke 
 of Venice could not agree about their temporal power? 
 even those poor Christians that knew not why they 
 quarrelled. Speak your conscience.' To which he under- 
 writ in French, ' Monsieur, excusez-moi.' 
 
 To one that asked him, ' Whether a Papist may be 
 saved .'' ' he replied, ' You may be saved without knowing 
 that. Look to yourself.' 
 
 To another, whose earnestness exceeded his knowledge, 
 and was still railing against the Papists, he gave this 
 advice ; ' Pray, Sir, forbear till you have studied the points 
 better : for the wise Italians have this proverb ; " He that 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 277 
 
 understands amiss concludes worse." And take heed of 
 thinking, the farther you go from the Church of Rome, 
 the nearer you are to God.' 
 
 And to another that spake indiscreet and bitter words 
 against Arminius, I heard him reply to this purpose : 
 
 ' In my travel towards Venice, as I passed through 
 Germany, I rested almost a year at Leyden, where I 
 entered into an acquaintance with Arminius, — then the 
 Professor of Divinity in that University, — a man much 
 talked of in this age, which is made up of opposition and 
 controversy. And indeed, if I mistake not Arminius in 
 his expressions, — as so weak a brain as mine is may easily 
 do, — then I know I differ from him in some points ; yet 
 I profess my judgment of him to be, that he was a man 
 of most rare learning, and I knew him to be of a 
 most strict life, and of a most meek spirit. And that 
 he was so mild appears by his proposals to our Master 
 Perkins of Cambridge, from whose book. Of the Order 
 and Causes of Salvation — which first was writ in Latin — 
 Arminius took the occasion of writing some queries to 
 him concerning the consequents of his doctrine ; intend- 
 ing them, 'tis said, to come privately to Mr. Perkins' 
 own hands, and to receive from him a like private and 
 a like loving answer. But Mr. Perkins died before those 
 queries came to him, and 'tis thought Arminius meant 
 them to die with him ; for though he lived long after, 
 I have heard he forbore to publish them : but since 
 his death his sons did not. And 'tis pity, if God had 
 been so pleased, that Mr. Perkins did not live to see, 
 consider, and answer those proposals himself; for he 
 was also of a most meek spirit, and of great and sanctified 
 learning. And though, since their deaths, many of high 
 parts and piety have undertaken to clear the controversy ; 
 yet for the most part they have rather satisfied themselves, 
 than convinced the dissenting party. And, doubtless, 
 many middle-witted men, which yet may mean well, many 
 scholars that are not in the highest form for learning, which 
 yet may preach well, men that are but preachers, and 
 shall never know, till they come to Heaven, where the 
 
278 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 questions stick betwixt Arminius and the Church of 
 England, — if there be any, — will yet in this world be 
 tampering with, and thereby perplexing the controversy, 
 and do therefore justly fall under the reproof of St. Jude, 
 for being busy-bodies, and for meddling with things they 
 understand not.' 
 
 And here it offers itself — I think not unfitly, to tell the 
 reader, that a friend of Sir Henry Wotton's being 
 designed for the employment of an Ambassador, came to 
 Eton, and requested from him some experimental rules for 
 his prudent and safe carriage in his negociations ; to whom 
 he smilingly gave this for an infallible aphorism ; ' That, 
 to be in safety himself, and serviceable to his country, he 
 should always, and upon all occasions, speak the truth, — 
 it seems a State paradox — for, says Sir Henry Wotton, 
 you shall never be believed ; and by this means your truth 
 will secure yourself, if you shall ever be called to any 
 account ; and 'twill also put your adversaries — who will 
 still hunt counter — to a loss in all their disquisitions and 
 undertakings.' 
 
 Many more of this nature might be observed ; but they 
 must be laid aside ; for I shall here make a little stop, 
 and invite the reader to look back with me, whilst, accord- 
 ing to my promise, I shall say a little of Sir Albertus 
 Morton, and Mr. William Bedel, whom I formerly 
 mentioned. 
 
 I h^ve told you that are my reader, that at Sir Henry 
 Wotton's first going Ambassador into Italy, his cousin. 
 Sir Albertus Morton, went his Secretary : and I am next 
 to tell you that Sir Albertus died Secretary of State to our 
 late King ; but cannot, am not able to express the sorrow 
 that possessed Sir Henry Wotton, at his first hearing the 
 news that Sir Albertus was by death lost to him and this 
 world. And yet the reader may partly guess by these 
 following expressions : the first in a letter to his Nicholas 
 Pey, of which this that foUoweth is a part. 
 
 ' And, my dear Nick, when I had been here almost 
 
 a fortnight, in the midst of my great contentment, I 
 received notice of Sir Albertus Morton his departure 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 279 
 
 out of this world, who was dearer to me than mine own 
 being in it : what a wound it is to my heart, you that knew 
 him, and know me, will easily believe : but our Creator's 
 will must be done, and unrepiningly received by his own 
 creatures, who is the Lord of all Nature and of all Fortune, 
 when he taketh to himself now one, and then another, till 
 that expected day, wherein it shall please him to dissolve 
 the whole, and wrap up even the Heaven itself as a scroll 
 of parchment. This is the last philosophy that we must 
 study upon earth ; let us therefore, that yet remain here, 
 as our days and friends waste, reinforce our love to each 
 other ; which of all virtues, both spiritual and moral, hath 
 the highest privilege, because death itself cannot end it. 
 And my good Nick.' etc. 
 
 This is a part of his sorrow thus expressed to his Nick. 
 Pey : the other part is in this following elegy, of which 
 the reader may safely conclude it was too hearty to be 
 dissembled. 
 
 Tears wept at the Grave of Sir Albertus Morton, 
 BY Henry Wotton 
 
 Silence, in truth would speak my sorrow best, 
 For deepest wounds can least their feeling tell : 
 Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest, 
 A time to bid him, whom I lov'd, farewell. 
 
 Oh, my unhappy lines ! you that before 
 Have serv'd my youth to vent some wanton cries, 
 And now, congeal'd with grief, can scarce implore 
 Strength to accent, ' Here my Albertus lies.' 
 
 This is that sable stone, this is the cave 
 And womb of earth, that doth his corse embrace ; 
 While others sing his praise, let me engrave 
 These bleeding numbers to adorn the place. 
 
 Here will I paint the characters of woe ; 
 Here will I pay my tribute to the dead ; 
 And here my faithful tears in showers shall flow, 
 To humanize the flints on which I tread. 
 
 Where, though I mourn my matchless loss alone. 
 And none between my weakness judge and me ; 
 
28o IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Yet even these pensive walls allow my moan. 
 Whose doleful echoes to my plaints agree. 
 
 But is he gone ? and live I rhyming here, 
 As if some Muse would listen to my lay i 
 When all distun'd sit waiting for their dear, 
 And bathe the banks where he was wont to play. 
 
 Dwell then in endless bliss with happy souls, 
 Discharg'd from Nature's and from Fortune's trust ; 
 Whilst on this fluid globe my hour-glass rolls, 
 And runs the rest of my remaining dust. 
 
 H.W, 
 
 This concerning his Sir Albertus Morton. 
 
 And for what I shall say concerning Mr. William Bedel, 
 I must prepare the reader by telling him, that when King 
 James sent Sir Henry Wotton Ambassador to the State of 
 Venice, he sent also an Ambassador to the King of France, 
 and another to the King of Spain. With the Ambassador 
 of France went Joseph Hall, late Bishop of Norwich, 
 whose many and useful works speak his great merit : with 
 the Ambassador to Spain went James Wadsworth ; and 
 with Sir Henry Wotton went William Bedel. 
 
 These three Chaplains to these three Ambassadors were 
 all bred in one University, all of one College,^ all beneficed 
 in one Diocese, and all most dear and entire friends. But 
 in Spain, Mr. Wadsworth met with temptations, or reasons, 
 such as were so powerful as to persuade him — who of the 
 three was formerly observed to be the most averse to that 
 religion that calls itself Catholic — to disclaim himself a 
 member of the Church of England, and declare himself 
 for the Church of Rome, discharging himself of his 
 attendance on the Ambassador, and betaking himself to a 
 monasterial life, in which he lived very regularly and so 
 died. 
 
 When Dr. Hall, the late Bishop of Norwich, came into 
 England, he wrote to Mr. Wadsworth, — 'tis the first 
 Epistle in his printed Decades, — to persuade his return, 
 or to shew the reason of his apostacy. The letter seemed 
 
 ^Emanuel College in Cambridge. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 281 
 
 to have in it many sweet expressions of love ; and yet 
 there was in it some expression that was so unpleasant to 
 Mr. Wadsworth, that he ehose rather to acquaint his old 
 friend Mr. Bedel with his motives ; by which means there 
 passed betwixt Mr, Bedel and Mr. Wadsworth, divers 
 letters which be extant in print, and did well deserve it ; 
 for in them there seems to be a controversy, not of 
 religion only, but who should answer each other with 
 most love and meekness ; which I mention the rather, 
 because it too seldom falls out to be so in a book-war. 
 
 There is yet a little more to be said of Mr. Bedel, for 
 the greatest part of which the Reader is referred to this 
 following letter of Sir Henry Wotton's, written to our 
 late King Charles the First : 
 
 ' May it please Your most Gracious Majesty, 
 ' Having been informed that certain persons have, by 
 the good wishes of the Archbishop of Armagh, been 
 directed hither, with a most humble petition unto your 
 Majesty that you will be pleased to make Mr. William 
 Bedel — now resident upon a small benefice in Suffolk — 
 Governor of your College at Dublin, for the good of that 
 Society ; and myself being required to render unto your 
 Majesty some testimony of the said William Bedel who 
 was long my Chaplain at Venice, in the time of my first 
 employment there, I am bound in all conscience and truth 
 — so far as your Majesty will vouchsafe to accept my 
 poor judgment — to affirm of him, that I think hardly a 
 fitter man for that charge could have been propounded 
 unto your Majesty in your whole kingdom, for singular 
 erudition and piety, conformity to the rites of the Church, 
 and zeal to advance the cause of God, wherein his travails 
 abroad were not obscure in the time of the Excommunica- 
 tion of the Venetians. 
 
 ' For it may please your Majesty to know, that this is 
 the man whom Padre Paulo took, I may say, into his 
 very soul, with whom he did communicate the inwardest 
 thoughts of his heart ; from whom he professed to have 
 received more knowledge in all Divinity, both scholastical 
 
282 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 and positive, than from any that he had ever practised in 
 his days; of which all the passages were well known to the 
 King your Father, of most blessed memory. And so, 
 with your Majesty's good favour, I will end this needless 
 office ; for the general fame of his learning, his life, and 
 Christian temper, and those religious labours which him- 
 self hath dedicated to your Majesty, do better describe 
 him than I am able. 
 Your Majesty's 
 
 Most humble and faithful servant, 
 
 H. WOTTON.' 
 
 To this letter I shall add this : that he was — to the 
 great joy of Sir Henry Wotton — made Governor of the 
 said coUege ; ^ and that, after a fair discharge of his duty and 
 trust there he was thence removed to be Bishop of 
 Kilraore.* In both places his life was so holy, as seemed 
 to equal the primitive Christians : for as they, so he kept 
 all the Ember-weeks, observed — besides his private devo- 
 tions — the canonical hours of prayer very strictly, and so 
 he did aU the Feasts and Fast-days of his mother, the 
 Church of England. To which I may add, that his 
 patience and charity were both such, as shewed his affec- 
 tions were set upon things that are above ; for indeed his 
 whole life brought forth the fruits of the spirit ; there 
 being in him such a remarkable meekness, that as St. 
 Paul advised his Timothy in the election of a Bishop, 
 " That he have a good report of those that be without " ;* 
 so had he : for those that were without, even those that 
 in point of religion were of the Roman persuasion, — of 
 which there were very many in his Diocese, — did yet — 
 such is the power of visible piety — ever look upon him 
 with respect and reverence, and testified it by a concealing, 
 and safe protecting him from death in the late horrid 
 rebellion in Ireland, when the fury of the wild Irish knew 
 no distinction of persons : and yet, there and then he was 
 protected and cherished by those of a contrary persuasion ; 
 and there and then he died, not by violence or misusage, 
 
 ^ Aug. 1627, 2 Sept. 3, 1629. * I Tim. iii. 7. 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 283 
 
 but by grief in a quiet prison (1629). And with 
 him was lost many of his learned writings which were 
 thought worthy of preservation ; and amongst the rest 
 was lost the Bible, which by many years' labour, and 
 conference, and study, he had translated into the Irish 
 tongue, with an intent to have printed it for public use. 
 
 More might be said of Mr. Bedel, who, I told the 
 reader, was Sir Henry Wotton's first Chaplain ; and much 
 of his second Chaplain, Isaac Bargrave, Doctor in Divinity, 
 and the late learned and hospitable Dean of Canterbury ; 
 as also of the merit of many others, that had the happi- 
 ness to attend Sir Henry in his foreign employments : 
 but the reader may think that in this digression I have 
 already carried him too far from Eton College, and there- 
 fore I shall lead him back as gently and as orderly as I 
 may to that place, for a further conference concerning 
 Sir Henry Wotton. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton had proposed to himself, before he 
 entered into his Collegiate life, to write the Life of Martin 
 Luther, and in it the History of the Reformation, as it 
 was carried on in Germany : for the doing of which he 
 had many advantages by his several Embassies into those 
 parts, and his interest in the several Princes of the Empire ; 
 by whose means he had access to the Records of all the 
 Hans Towns, and the knowledge of many secret passages 
 that fell not under common view ; and in these he had 
 made a happy progress, as is well known to his worthy 
 friend. Dr. Duppa, the late reverend Bishop of Salisbury. 
 But in the midst of this design, his late Majesty King 
 Charles the first, that knew the value of Sir Henry 
 Wotton's pen, did, by a persuasive loving violence — to 
 which may be added a promise of 500/. a year — force him 
 to lay Luther aside, and betake himself to write the history 
 of England; in which he proceeded to write some short 
 characters of a few Kings, as a foundation upon which he 
 meant to build; but for the present, meant to be more 
 large in the story of Henry the Sixth, the Founder of that 
 College, in which he then enjoyed all the worldly happiness 
 of his present being. But Sir Henry died in the midst of 
 
284 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 this undertaking, and the footsteps of his labours are not 
 recoverable by a more than common diligence. 
 
 This is some account both of his inclination, and the 
 employment of his time in the College, where he seemed 
 to have his youth renewed by a continual conversation with 
 that learned society, and a daily recourse of other friends 
 of choicest breeding and parts ; by which that great bless- 
 ing of a cheerful heart was still maintained; he being 
 always free even to the last of his days, from that peevish- 
 ness which usually attends age. 
 
 And yet his mirth was sometimes damped by the 
 remembrance of divers old debts, partly contracted in his 
 foreign employments, for which his just arrears due from 
 the King would have made satisfaction : but being still 
 delayed with Court-promises, and finding some decays of 
 health, he did, about two years before his death, out of a 
 Christian desire that none should be a loser by him, make 
 his last Will ; concerning which a doubt still remains, 
 namely, whether it discovered more holy wit, or conscion- 
 able policy. But there is no doubt but that his chief 
 design, was a Christian endeavour that his debts might be 
 satisfied. 
 
 And that it may remain as such a testimony, and a 
 legacy to those that loved him, I shall here impart it to 
 the Reader, as it was found written with his own hand. 
 
 ' In the name of God Almighty and All-merciful, I 
 Henry Wotton, Provost of his Majesty's College by Eton, 
 being mindful of mine own mortality, which the sin of our 
 first parents did bring upon all flesh, do by this last Will 
 and Testament thus dispose of myself, and the poor things 
 I shall leave in this world. My Soul I bequeath to the 
 Immortal God my Maker, Father of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, my blessed Redeemer and Mediator, through his 
 all sole-sufficient satisfaction for the sins of the whole 
 world, and efficient for his elect ; in the number of whom 
 I am one by his mere grace, and thereof most unremoveably 
 assured by his Holy Spirit, the true eternal Comforter. 
 My body I bequeath to the earth, if I shall end my 
 transitory days, at or near Eton, to be buried in the Chapel 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 285 
 
 of the said College, as the Fellows shall dispose thereof, 
 with whom I have lived — my God knows — in all loving 
 affection ; or if I shall die near Bocton Malherbe, in the 
 County of Kent, then I wish to be laid in that Parish- 
 Church, as near as may be to the sepulchre of my good 
 father, expecting a joyful resurrection with him in the day 
 of Christ.' 
 
 After this account of his faith, and this surrender of his 
 soul to that God that inspired it, and this direction for the 
 disposal of his body, he proceeded to appoint that his 
 Executors should lay over his grave a marble stone, plain, 
 and not costly : and considering that time moulders even 
 marble to dust, — for — Monuments themselves must die ; 
 therefore did he — waiving the common way — think fit 
 rather to preserve his name — to which the son of Sirach 
 adviseth all men — by a useful Apophthegm, than by a large 
 enumeration of his descent or merits, of both which he 
 might justly have boasted ; but he was content to forget 
 them, and did choose only this prudent, pious sentence to 
 discover his disposition, and preserve his memory. 
 
 'Twas directed by him to be thus inscribed : 
 
 Hie jacet hujus Sententiae primus Author: 
 
 DISPUTANDI PRURITUS ECCLESIARUM SCABIES. 
 
 Nomen alias quaere. 
 
 Which may be Englished thus : 
 
 Here lies the first Author of this sentence: 
 
 THE ITCH OF DISPUTATION WILL PROVE THE SCAB 
 OF THE CHURCH. 
 
 Inquire his Name elsewhere. 
 
 And if any shall object, as I think some have, that Sir 
 Henry Wotton was not the first author of this sentence : 
 but that this, or a sentence like it, was long before his 
 time ; to him I answer, that Solomon says, ' Nothing can 
 be spoken, that hath not been spoken ; for there is no new 
 
286 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 thing under the sun.' But grant, that in his various 
 reading he had met with this, or a like sentence, yet 
 reason mixed with charity should persuade all Readers 
 to believe, that Sir Henry Wotton's mind was then so 
 fixed on that part of the communion of Saints which is 
 above, that an holy lethargy did surprise his memory. 
 For doubtless, if he had not believed himself to be the 
 first author of what he said, he was too prudent first 
 to own, and then expose it to the public view and censure 
 of every critic. And questionless 'twill be charity in 
 all readers to think his mind was then so fixed on 
 Heaven, that a holy zeal did transport him ; and that, 
 in this sacred ecstacy, his thoughts were then only of 
 the Church Triumphant, into which he daily expected 
 his admission ; and that Almighty God was then pleased 
 to make him a Prophet, to tell the Church Militant, 
 and particularly that part of it in this nation, where the 
 weeds of controversy grow to be daily both more nume- 
 rous and more destructive to humble piety ; and where 
 men have consciences that boggle at ceremonies, and 
 yet scruple not to speak and act such sins as the ancient 
 humble Christians believed to be a sin to think ; and 
 where, our reverend Hooker says, ' former simplicity, and 
 softness of spirit, is not now to be found, because Zeal 
 hath drowned Charity, and Skill, Meekness.' It will be 
 good to think, that these sad changes have proved this 
 Epitaph to be a useful caution unto us of this nation ; and 
 the sad effects thereof in Germany have proved it to be a 
 mournful truth. 
 
 This by way of observation concerning his Epitaph ; the 
 rest of his Will follows in his own words. 
 
 ' Further, I the said Henry Wotton, do constitute 
 and ordain to be joint Executors of this my last Will 
 and Testament, my two grand-nephews, Albert Morton, 
 second son to Sir Robert Morton, Knight, late deceased, 
 and Thomas Bargrave, eldest son to Dr. Bargrave, Dean 
 of Canterbury, husband to my right virtuous and only 
 Niece. And I do pray the foresaid Dr. Bargrave, and 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 287 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Pey, my most faithful and chosen friends, 
 together with Mr. John Harrison, one of the Fellows 
 of Eton CoUege, best acquainted with my books and 
 pictures, and other utensils, to be Supervisors of this 
 my last Will and Testament. And I do pray the foresaid 
 Dr. Bargrave, and Mr. Nicholas Pey, to be solicitors 
 for such arrearages as shall appear due unto me from 
 His Majesty's Exchequer at the time of my death ; and 
 to assist my forenamed Executors in some reasonable and 
 conscientious satisfaction of my creditors, and discharge 
 of my legacies now specified ; or that shall be hereafter 
 added unto this my Testament, by any Codicil or 
 Schedule, or left in the hands, or in any memorial with 
 the aforesaid Mr. John Harrison. And first, to my most 
 dear Sovereign and Master, of incomparable goodness, — 
 in whose gracious opinion I have ever had some portion, 
 as far as the interest of a plain honest man, — I leave four 
 pictures at large of those Dukes of Venice, in whose time 
 I was there employed, with their names written on the 
 back side, which hang in my great ordinary Dining room, 
 done after the life by Edoardo Fialetto : likewise a table 
 of the Venetian College, where Ambassadors had their 
 audience, hanging over the mantel of the chimney in the 
 said room, done by the same hand, which containeth a 
 draught in little, well resembling the famous Duke 
 Leonardo Donato, in a time which needed a wise and 
 constant man. Item. The picture of a Duke of Venice, 
 hanging over against the door, done either by Titiano, or 
 some other principal hand, long before my time. Most 
 humbly beseeching his Majesty, that the said pieces may 
 remain in some corner of any of his houses, for a poor 
 memorial of his most humble vassal. 
 
 'Item. I leave his said Majesty aE the papers and 
 negociations of Sir Nich. Throgmorton, Knight, during 
 his famous employment under Queen Elizabeth, in Scot- 
 land, and in France ; which contain divers secrets of State, 
 that perchance his Majesty will think fit to be preserved 
 in his Paper-Office, after they have been perused and 
 sorted by Mr. Secretary Windebank, with whom I have 
 
288 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 heretofore, as I remember, conferred about them. They 
 were committed to my disposal by Sir Arthur Throg- 
 morton, his Son, to whose worthy memory I cannot better 
 discharge my faith than by assigning them to the highest 
 place of trust. Item. I leave to our most gracious and 
 virtuous Queen Mary, Dioscorides, with the plants natu- 
 rally coloured, and the text translated by Matthiolo, in the 
 best language of Tuscany, whence her said Majesty is 
 lineally descended, for a poor token of my thankful 
 devotion, for the honour she was once pleased to do my 
 private Study with her presence. I leave to the most 
 hopeful Prince, the picture of the elected and crowned 
 Queen of Bohemia, his Aunt, of clear and resplendent 
 virtues, through the clouds of her fortune. To my Lord's 
 Grace of Canterbury now being, I leave my picture of 
 Divine Love, rarely copied from one in the King's 
 galleries, of my presentation to his Majesty ; beseeching 
 him to receive it as a pledge of my humble reverence to 
 his great wisdom. And to the most worthy Lord 
 Bishop of London, Lord High Treasurer of England, 
 in true admiration of his Christian simplicity and con- 
 tempt of earthly pomp, I leave a picture of Heraclitus 
 bewailing, and Democritus laughing at the world : most 
 humbly beseeching the said Lord Archbishop his Grace, 
 and the Lord Bishop of London, of both whose 
 favours I have tasted in my lifetime, to intercede with 
 our most gracious Sovereign after my death, in the 
 bowels of Jesus Christ, that out of compassionate memory 
 of my long services, — wherein I more studied the public 
 honour than mine own utility, — some order may be taken 
 out of my arrears due in the Exchequer, for such satis- 
 faction of my creditors, as those whom I have ordained 
 Supervisors of this my last Will and Testament shall pre- 
 sent unto their Lordships, without their further trouble : 
 hoping likewise in his Majesty's most indubitable goodness, 
 that he will keep me from all prejudice, which I may 
 otherwise suffer by any defect of formality in the demand 
 
 of my said arrears. To for a poor addition to his 
 
 Cabinet, I leave, as emblems of his attractive virtues and 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 289 
 
 obliging nobleness, my great Loadstone, and a piece of 
 Amber, of both kinds naturally united, and only differing 
 in degree of concoction, which is thought somewhat rare. 
 Item, a piece of Chrystal Sexangular — as they grow all — 
 grasping divers several things within it, which I bought 
 among the Rhaetian Alps, in the very place where it grew ; 
 recommending most humbly unto his Lordship, the 
 reputation of my poor name in the point of my debts, 
 as I have done to the forenamed Spiritual Lords, and am 
 heartily sorry that I have no better token of my humble 
 thankfulness to his honoured person. Item. I leave to Sir 
 Francis Windebank, one of his Majesty's principal Secre- 
 taries of State, — whom I found my great friend in point of 
 necessity, — the four Seasons of old Bassano, to hang near 
 the eye in his Parlour, — being in little form, — which I 
 bought at Venice, where I first entered into his most 
 worthy acquaintance. 
 
 ' To the above-named Dr. Bargrave, Dean of Canter- 
 bury, I leave all my Italian Books not disposed in this 
 Will. I leave to him likewise my Viol de Gamba, which 
 hath been twice with me in Italy, in which country I first 
 contracted with him an unremoveable affection. To my 
 other Supervisor, Mr. Nicholas Pey, I leave my Chest, or 
 Cabinet of Instruments and Engines of all kinds of uses : 
 in the lower box whereof, are some ^ fit to be bequeathed 
 to none but so entire an honest man as he is. I leave him 
 likewise forty pounds for his pains in the solicitation of 
 my arrears ; and am sorry that my ragged estate can reach 
 no further to one that hath taken such care for me in the 
 same kind, during all my foreign employments. To the 
 Library of Eton College, I leave all my Manuscripts not 
 before disposed, and to each of the Fellows a plain ring of 
 gold, enamelled black, all save the verge, with this motto 
 within, ' Amor unit omnia' 
 
 ' This is my last Will and Testament, save what shall 
 be added by a Schedule thereunto annexed, written on the 
 
 'In it were Italian locks, pick-locks, screws to force open doors, and 
 many things of worth and rarity, that he had gathered in his foreign 
 travel. 
 
290 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 First of October, in the present year of our Redemption, 
 1637, and subscribed by myself, with the testimony of 
 these Witnesses, 
 
 Henry Wotton. 
 
 Nich. Oudert, 
 
 Geo. Lash.' 
 
 And now, because the mind of man is best satisfied by 
 the knowledge of events, I think fit to declare, that every 
 one that was named in his Will did gladly receive their 
 legacies : by which, and his most just and passionate 
 desires for the payment of his debts, they joined in assist- 
 ing the Overseers of his Will ; and by their joint 
 endeavours to the King, — than whom none was more 
 willing, — conscionable satisfaction was given for his just 
 debts. 
 
 The next thing wherewith I shall acquaint the Reader 
 is, that he went usually once a year, if not oftener, to the 
 beloved Bocton Hall, where he would say, ' He found a 
 cure for all cares, by the cheerful company, which he called 
 the living furniture of that place : and a restoration of his 
 strength, by the connaturalness of that which he called his 
 genial air.* 
 
 He yearly went also to Oxford. But the summer 
 before his death he changed that for a journey to Win- 
 chester College, to which School he was first removed 
 from Bocton. And as he returned from Winchester 
 towards Eton College, said to a friend, his companion in 
 that journey : ' How useful was that advice of a holy 
 Monk, who persuaded his friend to perform his customary 
 devotions in a constant place, because in that place we 
 usually meet with those very thoughts which possessed us 
 at our last being there ! And I find it thus far experi- 
 mentally true, that at my now being in that School, and 
 seeing that very place where I sat when I was a boy. 
 occasioned me to remember those very thoughts of my 
 youth which then possessed me : sweet thoughts indeed, 
 that promised my growing years numerous pleasures, 
 without mixtures of cares : and those to be enjoyed, when 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 291 
 
 time — which I therefore thought slow-paced — had changed 
 my youth into manhood. But age and experience have 
 taught me that those were but empty hopes ; for I have 
 always found it true, as my Saviour did foretell, " sufficient 
 for the day is the evil thereof." Nevertheless, I saw there 
 a succession of boys using the same recreations, and, 
 questionless, possessed with the same thoughts that then 
 possessed me. Thus one generation succeeds another, 
 both in their lives, recreations, hopes, fears, and death.' 
 
 After his return from Winchester to Eton, which was 
 about five months before his death, he became much more 
 retired and contemplative : in which time he was often 
 visited by Mr. John Hales, — learned Mr. John Hales, — 
 then a Fellow of that College, to whom upon an occasion 
 he spake to this purpose : ' I have, in my passage to my 
 grave, met with most of those joys of which a discoursive 
 soul is capable ; and been entertained with more inferior 
 pleasures than the sons of men are usually made partakers 
 of: nevertheless, in this voyage I have not always floated 
 on the calm sea of content ; but have often met with cross 
 winds and storms, and with many troubles of mind and 
 temptations to evil. And yet, though I have been, and 
 am a man compassed about with human frailties, Almighty 
 God hath by his grace prevented me from making ship- 
 wreck of faith and a good conscience, the thought of which 
 is now the joy of my heart, and I most humbly praise him 
 for it : and I humbly acknowledge that it was not myself, 
 but he that hath kept me to this great age, and let him 
 take the glory of his great mercy. — And, my dear friend, I 
 now see that I draw near my harbour of death ; that harbour 
 that will secure me from all the future storms and waves 
 of this restless world ; and I praise God I am willing to 
 leave it, and expect a better ; that world wherein dwelleth 
 righteousness ; and I long for it ! ' 
 
 These and the like expressions were then uttered by 
 him at the beginning of a feverish distemper, at which 
 time he was also troubled with an Asthma, or short 
 spitting : but after less than twenty fits, by the help of a 
 familiar physic and a spare diet, this fever abated, yet so 
 
292 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 as to leave him much weaker than it found him ; and his 
 Asthma seemed also to be overcome in a good degree by 
 his forbearing tobacco, which, as many thoughtful men do, 
 he also had taken somewhat immoderately. This was his 
 then present condition, and thus he continued till about 
 the end of October, 1639, which was about a month before 
 his death, at which time he again fell into a fever, which 
 though he seemed to recover, yet these still left him so 
 weak, that they, and those other common infirmities that 
 accompany age, were wont to visit him like civil friends, 
 and after some short time to leave him, — came now both 
 oftener and with more violence, and at last took up their 
 constant habitation with him, still weakening his body and 
 abating his cheerfulness ; of both which he grew more 
 sensible, and did the oftener retire into his Study, and 
 there made many papers that had passed his pen, both 
 in the days of his youth and in the busy part of his life, 
 useless, by a fire made there to that purpose. These, and 
 several unusual expressions to his servants and friends, 
 seemed to foretell that the day of his death drew near ; 
 for which he seemed to those many friends that observed 
 him, to be well prepared, and to be both patient and free 
 from all fear, as several of his letters writ on this his last 
 sick-bed may testify. And thus he continued till about 
 the beginning of December following, at which time he 
 was seized more violently with a Quotidian fever ; in the 
 tenth fit of which fever, his better part, that part of Sir 
 Henry Wotton which could not die, put off mortality 
 with as much content and cheerfulness as human frailty is 
 capable of, being then in great tranquillity of mind, and in 
 perfect peace with God and man. 
 
 And thus the circle of Sir Henry Wotton' s life — that 
 circle which began at Bocton, and in the circumference 
 thereof did first touch at Winchester School, then at 
 Oxford, and after upon so many remarkable parts and 
 passages in Christendom — that circle of his Life was by 
 Death thus closed up and completed, in the seventy and 
 second year of his age, at Eton College ; where, according 
 to his Will, he now lies buried, with his Motto on a plain 
 
LIFE OF WOTTON 293 
 
 Grave-stone over him : dying worthy of his name and 
 family, worthy of the love and favour of so many Princes, 
 and persons of eminent wisdom and learning, worthy of 
 the trust committed unto him, for the service of his Prince 
 and Country. 
 
 And all Readers are requested to believe that he was 
 worthy of a more worthy pen, to have preserved his 
 Memory and commended his Merits to the imitation of 
 posterity. Iz. Wa. 
 
 An Elegy on Sir Henry Wotton, writ by Mr. Abraham Cowley 
 
 What shall we say, since silent now is he, 
 Who when he spoke all things would silent be ? 
 Who had so many languages in store, 
 That only Fame shall speak of him in more. 
 Whom England now no more return'd, must see j 
 He's gone to Heaven, on his fourth embassy. 
 On earth he travell'd often, not to say. 
 He'd been abroad to pass loose time away ; 
 For in whatever land he chanced to come, 
 He read the men and manners ; bringing home 
 Their wisdom, learning, and their piety. 
 As if he went to conquer, not to see. 
 So well he understood the most and best 
 Of tongues that Babel sent into the West ; 
 Spoke them so truly, that he had, you'd swear. 
 Not only liv'd, but been born every- where. 
 Justly each nation's speech to him was known. 
 Who for the world was made, not us alone : 
 Nor ought the language of that man be less. 
 Who in his breast had all things to express. 
 We say that learning's endless, and blame Fate 
 For not allowing life a longer date. 
 He did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find, 
 And found them not so large as was his mind 5 
 But, like the brave Pellean youth, did moan. 
 Because that Art had no more worlds than one. 
 And when he saw that he through all had past, 
 He died — lest he should idle grow at last. 
 
 A. Cowley. 
 
THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER : 
 
 The Author of those Learned Books of the Laws of 
 Ecclesiastical Polity 
 
 Eccles. xxiv. 34 — Behold! I have not laboured fir myself only, but fir 
 all those that seek wisdom 
 
 Psal. cxlv. 4 — One generation shall praise thy tvorks to another 
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 
 
 I HAVE been persuaded, by a friend whom I reverence, 
 and ought to obey, to write the Life of Richard 
 Hooker, the happy Author of Five — if not more — of 
 the eight learned books of 'The Laws of Ecclesiastical 
 Polity. And though I have undertaken it, yet it hath 
 been with some unwiUingness : because I foresee that it 
 must prove to me, and especially at this time of my age, 
 a work of much labour to enquire, consider, research, and 
 determine what is needful to be known concerning him. 
 For I knew him not in his life, and must therefore not 
 only look back to his death, — -now sixty-four years past, 
 — but almost fifty years beyond that, even to his child- 
 hood and youth ; and gather thence such observations 
 and prognostics as may at least adorn, if not prove 
 necessary for the completing of what I have undertaken. 
 
 This trouble I foresee, and foresee also that it is 
 impossible to escape censures ; against which I will not 
 hope my well-meaning and diligence can protect me, — • 
 
 294 
 
INTRODUCTION 295 
 
 for I consider the age in which I live — and shall therefore 
 but intreat of my reader a suspension of his censures, till 
 I have made known unto him some reasons, which I 
 myself would now gladly believe do make me in some 
 measure fit for this undertaking ; and if these reasons 
 shall not acquit me from all censures, they may at least 
 abate of their severity, and this is all I can probably hope 
 for. My reasons follow. 
 
 About forty years past — for I am now past the seventy 
 of my age — I began a happy affinity with William Cranmer, 
 — now with God, — grand-nephew unto the great Arch- 
 bishop of that name ; — a family of noted prudence and 
 resolution ; with him and two of his sisters I had an 
 entire and free friendship : one of them was the wife of 
 Dr. Spencer, a bosom friend and sometime com-pupil with 
 Mr. Hooker in Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and 
 after President of the same. I name them here, for that 
 I shall have occasion to mention them in this following 
 discourse, as also George Cranmer, their brother, of whose 
 useful abilities my Reader may have a more authentic 
 testimony than my pen can purchase for him, by that of 
 our learned Camden and others. 
 
 This William Cranmer and his two forenamed sisters had 
 some affinity, and a most familiar friendship, with Mr. 
 Hooker, and had had some part of their education with him 
 in his house, when he was parson of Bishop's-Bourne near 
 Canterbury ; in which City their good father then lived. 
 They had, I say, a part of their education with him as 
 myself, since that time, a happy cohabitation with them ; 
 and having some years before read part of Mr. Hooker's 
 works with great liking and satisfaction, my affection to 
 them made me a diligent inquisitor into many things that 
 concerned him ; as namely, of his persons, his nature, the 
 management of his time, his wife, his family, and the 
 fortune of him and his. Which enquiry hath given me 
 much advantage in the knowledge of what is now under 
 my consideration, and intended for the satisfaction of my 
 Reader. 
 
 I had also a friendship with the Reverend Dr. Usher, 
 
296 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 the late learned Archbishop of Armagh ; and with Dr. 
 Morton, the late learned and charitable Bishop of Durham ; 
 as also with the learned John Hales, of Eton College ; and 
 with them also — who loved the very name of Mr. Hooker 
 — I have had many discourses concerning him ; and from 
 them, and many others that have now put off mortality, I 
 might have had more informations, if I could then have 
 admitted a thought of any fitness for what by persuasion I 
 have now undertaken. But though that full harvest be 
 irrecoverably lost, yet my memory hath preserved some 
 gleanings, and my diligence made such additions to them, 
 as I hope will prove useful to the completing of what I 
 intend : in the discovery of which I shall be faithful, and 
 with this assurance put a period to my Introduction. 
 
 THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER 
 
 It is not to be doubted, but that Richard Hooker was 
 born at Heavy-tree, near, or within the precincts, or in 
 the City of Exeter ; a City which may justly boast, that it 
 was the birth-place of him and Sir Thomas Bodley ; as 
 indeed the County may, in which it stands, that it hath 
 furnished this nation with Bishop Jewel, Sir Francis 
 Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, and many others, memorable 
 for their valour and learning. He was born about the 
 year of our Redemption 1553, and of parents that were 
 hot so remarkable for their extraction or riches, as for 
 their virtue and industry, and God's blessing upon both ; 
 by which they were enabled to educate their children in 
 some degree of learning, of which our Richard Hooker 
 may appear to be one fair testimony, and that nature is 
 not so partial as always to give the great blessings of 
 wisdom and learning, and with them the greater blessings 
 of virtue and government, to those only that are of a more 
 high and honourable birth. 
 
 His complexion — if we may guess by him at the age of 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 297 
 
 forty — was sanguine, with a mixture of choler ; and yet 
 his motion was slow ieven in his youth, and so was his 
 speech, never expressing an earnestness in either of them, 
 but an humble gravity suitable to the aged. And 'tis 
 observed, — so far as enquiry is able to look back at this 
 distance of time, — that at his being a school-boy he was an 
 early questionist, quietly inquisitive 'why this was, and 
 that was not, to be remembered ? why this was granted, 
 and that denied ? ' This being mixed with a remarkable 
 modesty, and a sweet serene quietness of nature, and with 
 them a quick apprehension of many perplexed parts of 
 learning, imposed then upon him as a scholar, made his 
 Master and others to believe him to have an inward 
 blessed divine light, and therefore to consider him to 
 be a little wonder. For in that, children were less preg- 
 nant, less confident and more malleable, than in this wiser, 
 but not better, age. 
 
 This meekness and conjuncture of knowledge, with 
 modesty in his conversation, being observed by his School- 
 master, caused him to persuade his parents — who intended 
 him for an apprentice — to continue him at school till he 
 could find out some means, by persuading his rich Uncle, 
 or some other charitable person, to ease them of a part of 
 their care and charge ; assuring them that their son was so 
 enriched with the blessings of nature and grace, that God 
 seemed to single him out as a special instrument of his 
 glory. And the good man told them also, that he would 
 double his diligence in instructing him, and would neither 
 expect nor receive any other reward, than the content of 
 so hopeful and happy an employment. 
 
 This was not unwelcome news, and especially to his 
 Mother, to whom he was a dutiful and dear child, and all 
 parties were so pleased with this proposal, that it was 
 resolved so it should be. And in the mean time his 
 Parents and Master laid a foundation for his future happi- 
 ness, by instilling into his soul the seeds of piety, those 
 conscientious principles of loving and fearing God, of an 
 early belief that he knows the very secrets of our souls ; 
 that he punisheth our vices, and rewards our innocence ; 
 
298 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that we should be free from hypocrisy, and appear to man 
 what we are to God, because first or last the crafty man 
 is catched in his own snare. These seeds of piety were so 
 seasonably planted, and so continually watered with the 
 daily dew of God's blessed Spirit, that his infant virtues 
 grew into such holy habits, as did make him grow daily 
 into more and more favour both with God and man ; 
 which, with the great learning that he did after attain to, 
 hath made Richard Hooker honoured in this, and will 
 continue him to be so to succeeding generations. 
 
 This good School-master, whose name I am not able to 
 recover, — and am sorry, for that I would have given him 
 a better memorial in this humble monument, dedicated to 
 the memory of his scholar, — was very solicitous with John 
 Hooker, then Chamberlain of Exeter, and uncle to our 
 Richard, to take his Nephew into his care, and to main- 
 tain him for one year in the University, and in the mean 
 time to use his endeavours to procure an admission for 
 him into some College, though it were but in a mean 
 degree ; stUl urging and assuring him, that his charge 
 would not continue long ; for the lad's learning and 
 manners were both so remarkable, that they must of 
 necessity be taken notice of; and that doubtless God 
 would provide him some second patron, that would free 
 him and his Parents from their future care and charge. 
 
 These reasons, with the affectionate rhetoric of his good 
 Master, and God's blessing upon both, procured from his 
 Uncle a faithful promise, that he would take him into his 
 care and charge before the expiration of the year following, 
 which was performed by him, and with the assistance of 
 the learned Mr. John Jewel ; of whom this may be noted, 
 that he left, or was about the first of Queen Mary's reign 
 expelled out of Corpus Christi College in Oxford, — of 
 which he was a Fellow, — for adhering to the truth of 
 those principles of Religion to which he had assented and 
 given testimony in the days of her brother and predecessor, 
 Edward the Sixth ; and this John Jewel, having within a 
 short time after, a just cause to fear a more heavy punish- 
 ment than expulsion, was forced, by forsaking this, to seek 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 299 
 
 safety in another nation ; and, with that safety, the enjoy- 
 ment of that doctrine and worship for which he suffered. 
 
 But the cloud of that persecution and fear ending with 
 the life of Queen Mary, the affairs of the Church and 
 State did then look more clear and comfortable ; so that 
 he, and with him many others of the same judgment, 
 made a happy return into England about the first of 
 Queen Elizabeth ; in which year this John Jewel was sent 
 a Commissioner or Visitor, of the Churches of the Western 
 parts of this kingdom, and especially of those in Devon- 
 shire, in which County he was born ; and then and there 
 he contracted a friendship with John Hooker, the Uncle 
 of our Richard. 
 
 About the second or third year of her reign, this John 
 Jewel was made Bishop of Salisbury; and there being 
 always observed in him a willingness to do good, and to 
 oblige his friends, and now a power added to his willing- 
 ness ; this John Hooker gave him a visit in Salisbury, and 
 besought him for charity's sake to look favourably upon a 
 poor nephew of his, whom Nature had fitted for a 
 scholar ; but the estate of his parents was so narrow, that 
 they were unable to give him the advantage of learning ; 
 and that the Bishop would therefore become his patron, 
 and prevent him from being a tradesman, for he was a 
 boy of remarkable hopes. And though the Bishop knew 
 men do not usually look with an indifferent eye upon 
 their own children and relations, yet he assented so far to 
 John Hooker, that he appointed the boy and his School- 
 master should attend him, about Easter next following, at 
 that place : which was done accordingly ; and then, after 
 some questions and observations of the boy's learning, and 
 gravity, and behaviour, the Bishop gave his School-master 
 a reward, and took order for an annual pension for the 
 boy's parents ; promising also to take him into his care for 
 a future preferment, which he performed : for about the 
 fifteenth year of his age, which was anno 1567, he was by 
 the Bishop appointed to remove to Oxford, and there to 
 attend Dr. Cole, then President of Corpus Christi College. 
 Which he did ; and Dr. Cole had — according to a promise 
 
300 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 made to the Bishop — provided for him both a Tutor — 
 which was said to be the learned Dr. John Reynolds, — ^and 
 a Clerk's place in that College: which place, though it 
 were not a full maintenance, yet, with the contribution of 
 his Uncle, and the continued pension of his patron, the 
 good Bishop, gave him a comfortable subsistence. And 
 in this condition he continued unto the eighteenth year of 
 his age, still increasing in learning and prudence, and so 
 much in humility and piety, that he seemed to be filled 
 with the Holy Ghost; and even like St. John Baptist, to 
 be sanctified from his mother's womb, who did often bless 
 the day in which she bare him. 
 
 About this time of his age, he fell into a dangerous 
 sickness, which lasted two months ; all which time his 
 Mother, having notice of it, did in her hourly prayers as 
 earnesdy beg his life of God, as Monica the mother of St. 
 Augustine did, that he might become a true Christian; 
 and their prayers were both so heard as to be granted. 
 Which Mr. Hooker would often mention with much joy, 
 and as often pray that ' he might never live to occasion 
 any sorrow to so good a mother; of whom he would 
 often say, he loved her so dearly, that he would endeavour 
 to be good, even as much for her's as for his own sake.' 
 
 As soon as he was perfectly recovered from this sick- 
 ness, he took a journey from Oxford to Exeter, to satisfy 
 and see his good Mother, being accompanied with a 
 countryman and companion of his own College, and both 
 on foot ; which was then either more in fashion, or want 
 of money, or their humility niade it so : but on foot they 
 went, and took Salisbury in their way, purposely to see the 
 good Bishop, who made Mr. Hooker and his companion 
 dine with him at his own table: which Mr. Hooker 
 boasted of with much joy and gratitude when he saw his 
 mother and friends : and at the Bishop's parting with him, 
 the Bishop gave him good counsel, and his benediction, 
 but forgot to give him money; which, when the Bishop 
 had considered, he sent a servant in all haste to call 
 Richard back to him : and at Richard's return, the Bishop 
 said to him, ' Richard, I sent for you back to lend you a 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 301 
 
 horse, which hath carried me many a mile, and, I thank 
 God, with much ease ' ; and presently delivered into his 
 hand a walking-staff, with which he professed he had 
 travelled through many parts of Germany. And he said, 
 ' Richard, I do not give, but lend you my horse : be sure 
 you be honest, and bring my horse back to me at your 
 return this way to Oxford. And I do now give you ten 
 groats, to bear your charges to Exeter ; and here is ten 
 groats more, which I charge you to deliver to your Mother 
 and tell her I send her a Bishop's benediction with it, and 
 beg the continuance of her prayers for me. And if you 
 bring my horse back to me, I will give you ten groats 
 more, to carry you on foot to the College : and so God 
 bless you, good Richard.* 
 
 And this, you may believe, was performed by both 
 parties. But, alas! the next news that followed Mr. 
 Hooker to Oxford was, that his learned and charitable 
 patron had changed this for a better life. Which happy 
 change may be believed, for that as he lived, so he died, 
 in devout meditation and prayer : and in both so zealously, 
 that it became a religious question, 'Whether his last 
 ejaculations or his soul did first enter into Heaven ?' 
 
 And now Mr. Hooker became a man of sorrow and 
 fear : of sorrow, for the loss of so dear and comfortable a 
 patron ; and of fear for his future subsistence. But Dr. 
 Cole raised his spirits from this dejection, by bidding him 
 go cheerfully to his studies, and assuring him, he should 
 neither want food nor raiment, — which was the utmost of 
 his hopes, — for he would become his patron. And so he 
 was for about nine months, and not longer; for about 
 that time this following accident did befall Mr. Hooker. 
 
 Edwin Sandys — sometime Bishop of London, and after 
 Archbishop of Y"ork — had also been in the days of Queen 
 Mary, forced, by forsaking this, to seek safety in another 
 nation ; where, for some years. Bishop Jewel and he were 
 companions at bed and board in Germany ; and where, in 
 this their exile, they did often eat the bread of sorrow, 
 and by that means they there began such a friendship, 
 as lasted till the death of Bishop Jewel, which was in 
 
302 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 September, 1571. A little before which time the two 
 Bishops meeting, Jewel had an occasion to begin a story 
 of his Richard Hooker, and in it gave such a character of 
 his learning and manners, that though Bishop Sandys was 
 educated in Cambridge, where he had obliged, and had 
 many friends ; yet his resolution was, that his son Edwin 
 should be sent to Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and 
 by all means be pupil to Mr. Hooker, though his son 
 Edwin was not much younger than Mr. Hooker then 
 was : for the Bishop said, ' 1 will have a Tutor for my 
 son, that shall teach him learning by instruction, and 
 virtue by example : and my greatest care shall be of the 
 last; and, God willing, this Richard Hooker shall be the 
 man into whose hands I will commit my Edwin.' And 
 the Bishop did so about twelve months, or not much 
 longer, after this resolution. 
 
 And doubtless, as to these two, a better choice could 
 not be made ; for Mr. Hooker was now in the nineteenth 
 year of his age ; had spent five in the University ; and 
 had, by a constant unwearied diligence, attained unto a 
 perfection in all the learned languages; by the help of 
 which, an excellent tutor, and his unintermitted studies, he 
 had made the subtilty of all the arts easy and familiar 
 to him, and useful for the discovery of such learning as 
 lay hid from common searchers. So that by these, added 
 to his great reason, and his restless industry added to both, 
 he did not only know more of causes and effects ; but 
 what he knew, he knew better than other men. And 
 with this knowledge he had a most blessed and clear 
 method of demonstrating what he knew, to the great 
 advantage of all his pupils, — which in time were many, — 
 but especially to his two first, his dear Edwin Sandys, and 
 his as dear George Cranmer ; of which there will be a 
 fair testimony in the ensuing relation. 
 
 This for Mr. Hooker's learning. And for his behaviour, 
 amongst other testimonies, this still remains of him, that 
 in four years he was but twice absent from the Chapel 
 prayers ; and that his behaviour there was such, as shewed 
 an awful reverence of that God which he then worshipped 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 303 
 
 and prayed to ; giving all outward testimonies that his 
 affections were set on heavenly things. This was his 
 behaviour towards God; and for that to man, it is 
 observable that he was never known to be angry, or 
 passionate, or extreme in any of his desires ; never heard 
 to repine or dispute with Providence, but, by a quiet 
 gentie submission and resignation of his will to the wisdom 
 of his Creator, bore the burthen of the day with patience ; 
 never heard to utter an uncomely word : and by this, and 
 a grave behaviour, which is a divine charm, he begot an 
 early reverence unto his person, even from those that 
 at other times and in other companies, took a liberty 
 to cast off that strictness of behaviour and discourse that 
 is required in a Collegiate life. And when he took any 
 liberty to be pleasant, his wit was never blemished with 
 scoffing, or the utterance of any conceit that bordered 
 upon, or might beget a thought of looseness in his hearers. 
 Thus mild, thus innocent and exemplary was his behaviour 
 in his College ; and thus this good man continued till his 
 death, still increasing in learning, in patience, and piety. 
 
 In this nineteenth year of his age, he was, December 24, 
 1573, admitted to be one of the twenty Scholars of the 
 Foundation ; being elected and so admitted as born in 
 Devon or Hantshire ; out of which counties a certain 
 number are to be elected in vacancies by the Founder's 
 Statutes. And now as he was much encouraged, so now 
 he was perfectly incorporated into this beloved College, 
 which was then noted for an eminent library, strict stu- 
 dents, and remarkable scholars. And indeed it may glory, 
 that it had Cardinal Poole, but more that it had Bishop 
 Jewel, Dr. John Reynolds, and Dr. Thomas Jackson, 
 of that foundation. The first famous for his learned 
 Apology for the Church of England, and his Defence of it 
 against Harding. The second, for the learned and wise 
 manage of a public dispute with John Hart, of the Romish 
 persuasion, about the Head and Faith of the Church, and 
 after printed by consent of both parties. And the third, 
 for his most excellent Exposition of the Creed, and other 
 treatises; all such as have given greatest satisfaction to 
 
304 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 men of the greatest learning. Nor was Dr. Jackson more 
 note-worthy for his learning, than for his strict and pious 
 life, testified by his abundant love, and meekness, and 
 charity to aU men. 
 
 And in the year 1576, February 23, Mr. Hooker's 
 Grace was given him for Inceptor of Arts ; Dr. Herbert 
 Westphaling, a man of note for learning, being then Vice- 
 Chancellor: and the Act following he was completed 
 Master, which was anno 1577, his patron, Dr. Cole, being 
 Vice-Chancellor that year, and his dear friend, Henry 
 Savile of Merton College, being then one of the Proctors. 
 'Twas that Henry Savile, that was after Sir Henry Savile, 
 Warden of Merton College, and Provost of Eton; he 
 which founded in Oxford two famous Lectures; and 
 endowed them with liberal maintenance. 
 
 It was that Sir Henry Savile that translated and en- 
 lightened the History of Cornelius Tacitus, with a most 
 excellent Comment; and enriched the world by his 
 laborious and chargeable collecting the scattered pieces of 
 St. Chrysostom, and the publication of them in one entire 
 body in Greek ; in which language he was a most judicious 
 critic. 'Twas this Sir Henry Savile that had the happiness 
 to be a contemporary and familiar friend to Mr. Hooker ; 
 and let posterity know it. 
 
 And in this year of 1577, he was so happy as to be 
 admitted Fellow of the College ; happy also in being the 
 contemporary and friend of that Dr. John Reynolds^ of 
 whom I have lately spoken, and of Dr. Spencer ; both 
 which were after and successively made Presidents of 
 Corpus Christi College : men of great learning and merit, 
 and famous in their generations. 
 
 Nor was Mr. Hooker more happy in his contemporaries 
 of his time and College, than in the pupilage and friendship 
 of his Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer ; of whom my 
 Reader may note, that this Edwin Sandys was after Sir 
 Edwin Sandys, and as famous for his Speculum Europae, 
 as his brother George for making posterity beholden to his 
 pen by a learned relation and comment on his dangerous 
 and remarkable Travels ; and for his harmonious transla- 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 305 
 
 tton of the Psalms of David, the Book of Job, and other 
 poetical parts of Holy Writ, into most high and elegant 
 verse. And for Cranmer, his other pupil, I shall refer my 
 Reader to the printed testimonies of our learned Mr. 
 Camden, of Fynes Moryson and others. 
 
 'This Cranmer,' says Mr. Camden in his Annals of 
 Queen Elizabeth, — ' whose Christian name was George, 
 was a gentleman of singular hopes, the eldest son of 
 Thomas Cranmer, son of Edmund Cranmer, the Arch- 
 bishop's brother : he spent much of his youth in Corpus 
 Christi College in Oxford, where he continued Master of 
 Arts for some time before he removed, and then betook 
 himself to travel, accompanying that worthy gentleman 
 Sir Edwin Sandys into France, Germany, and Italy, for 
 the space of three years ; and after their happy return, he 
 betook himself to an employment under Secretary Davison, 
 a Privy Councillor of note, who, for an unhappy under- 
 taking, became clouded and pitied : after whose fall, he 
 went in place of Secretary with Sir Henry Killegrew in his 
 Embassage into France : and after his death he was sought 
 after by the most noble Lord Mountjoy, with whom he 
 went into Ireland, where he remained, until in a battle 
 against the rebels near Carlingford, an unfortunate wound 
 put an end both to his life, and the great hopes that were 
 conceived of him, he being then but in the thirty-sixth 
 year of his age.' 
 
 Betwixt Mr. Hooker and these his two pupils, there 
 was a sacred friendship ; a friendship made up of religious 
 principles, which increased daily by a similitude of inclina- 
 tions to the same recreations and studies ; a friendship 
 elemented in youth, and in an university, free from self- 
 ends, which the friendships of age usually are not. And 
 in this sweet, this blessed, this spiritual amity, they went 
 on for many years : and as the holy Prophet saith, ' so 
 they took sweet counsel together, and walked in the house 
 of God as friends.' By which means they improved this 
 friendship to such a degree of holy amity, as bordered upon 
 heaven : a friendship so sacred, that when it ended in this 
 world, it began in that next, where it shall have no end, 
 
 V 
 
3o6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And, though this world cannot give any degree of 
 pleasure equd to such a friendship; yet obedience to 
 parents, and a desire to know the affairs, manners, laws, 
 and learning of other nations, that they might thereby 
 become the more serviceable unto their own, made them 
 put off^ their gowns, and leave the College and Mr. 
 Hooker to his studies, in which he was daily more 
 assiduous, still enriching his quiet and capacious soul with 
 the precious learning of the Philosophers, Casuists, and 
 Schoolmen ; and with them the foundation and reason of 
 all Laws, both Sacred and Civil ; and indeed with such 
 other learning as lay most remote from the track of 
 common studies. And, as he was diligent in these, so he 
 seemed restless in searching the scope and intention of 
 God's Spirit revealed to mankind in the Sacred Scripture : 
 for the understanding of which, he seemed to be assisted 
 by the same Spirit with which they were written ; He 
 that regardeth truth in the inward parts, making him to 
 understand wisdom secretly. And the good man would 
 often say, that ' God abhors confusion as contrary to his 
 nature ' ; and as often say, ' That the Scripture was not 
 writ to beget disputations and pride, and opposition to 
 government ; but charity and humility, moderation, obedi- 
 ence to authority, and peace to mankind' ; of which virtues, 
 he would as often say, * no man did ever repent himself 
 on his death-bed.' And that this was really his judgment, 
 did appear in his future writings, and in all the actions of 
 his life. Nor was this excellent man a stranger to the 
 more light and airy parts of learning, as Music and 
 Poetry ; all which he had digested and made useful ; and 
 of all which the Reader will have a fair testimony in what 
 will follow. 
 
 In the year 1579, the Chancellor of the University was 
 given to understand, that the public Hebrew Lecture was 
 not read according to the Statutes ; nor could be, by 
 reason of a distemper, that had then seized the brain 
 of Mr. Kingsmill, who was to read it : so that it lay long 
 unread, to the great detriment of those that were studious 
 of that language. Therefore the Chancellor writ to his 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 307 
 
 Vice-Chancellor, and the University, that he had heard 
 such commendations of the excellent knowledge of Mr. 
 Richard Hooker in that tongue, that he desired he might 
 be procured to read it : and he did, and continued to do 
 so till he left Oxford. 
 
 Within three months after his undertaking this Lecture. 
 — namely in October 1579, — he was, with Dr. Reynolds 
 and others, expelled his College; and this Letter, tran- 
 scribed from Dr. Reynolds his own hand, may give some 
 account of it. 
 
 To Sir Francis Knolles. 
 
 * I am sorry. Right Honourable, that I am enforced to 
 make unto you such a suit, which I cannot move ; but 
 I must complain of the unrighteous dealing of one of our 
 College, who hath taken upon him, against all law and 
 reason, to expel out of our house both me and Mr. 
 Hooker, and three other of our fellows, for doing that 
 which by oath we were bound to do. Our matter must 
 be heard before the Bishop of Winchester, with whom 
 I do not doubt but we shall find equity. Howbeit, foras- 
 much as some of our adversaries have said that the Bishop 
 is already forestalled, and will not give us such audience 
 as we look for ; therefore I am humbly to beseech your 
 Honour, that you will desire the Bishop, by your letters, 
 to let us have justice ; though it be with rigour, so it be 
 justice : our cause is so good, that I am sure we shall 
 prevail by it. Thus much I am bold to request of your 
 honour for Corpus Christi College sake, or rather for 
 Christ's sake ; whom I beseech to bless you with daily 
 increase of his manifold gifts, and the blessed graces of his 
 Holy Spirit. 
 
 Your Honour's in Christ to command, 
 
 John Reynolds. 
 
 London, Octob. 9, 1579. 
 
 This expulsion was by Dr. John Barfoote, then Vice- 
 President of the College, and Chaplain to Ambrose Earl of 
 
308 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Warwick. I cannot learn the pretended cause ; but that 
 they were restored the same month is most certain. 
 
 I return to Mr. Hooker in his College, where he con- 
 tinued his studies with aU quietness, for the space of three 
 years ; about which time he entered into Sacred Orders, 
 being then made Deacon and Priest, and, not long after, 
 was appointed to preach at St. Paul's Cross. 
 
 In order to which Sermon, to London he came, and 
 immediately to the Shunamite's House ; which is a House 
 so called, for that, besides the stipend paid the Preacher, 
 there is provision made also for his lodging and diet for 
 two days before, and one day after his Sermon. This 
 house was then kept by John Churchman, sometime a 
 Draper ot good note in Watling-street, upon whom 
 poverty had at last come like an armed man, and brought 
 him into a necessitous condition ; which, though it be a 
 punishment, is not always an argument of God's dis- 
 favour ; for he was a virtuous man. I shall not yet give 
 the like testimony of his wife, but leave the Reader to judge 
 by what follows. But to this house Mr. Hooker came 
 so wet, so weary, and weather-beaten, that he was never 
 known to express more passion, than against a friend that 
 dissuaded him from footing it to London, and for finding 
 him no easier an horse, — supposing the horse trotted when 
 he did not ; — and at this time also, such a faintness and 
 fear possessed him, that he would not be persuaded two 
 days' rest and quietness, or any other means could be used 
 to make him able to preach his Sunday Sermon ; but a 
 warm bed, and rest, and drink proper for a cold, given 
 him by Mrs. Churchman, and her diligent attendance 
 added unto it, enabled him to perform the office of the 
 day, which was in or about the year 1 5 8 1 . 
 
 And in this first public appearance to the world, he was 
 not so happy as to be free from exceptions against a point 
 of doctrine delivered in his Sermon ; what was, ' That in 
 God there were two wills; an antecedent and a conse- 
 quent will: his first will. That all mankind should be 
 saved ; but his second will was. That those only should 
 be saved, that did live answerable to that degree of grace 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 309 
 
 which he had ofFered or afforded them.' This seemed to 
 cross a late opinion of Mr. Calvin's, and then taken for 
 granted by many that had not a capacity to examine it, 
 as it had been by him before, and hath been since by 
 Master Henry Mason, Dr. Jackson, Dr. Hammond, and 
 others of great learning, who believed that a contrary opinion 
 intrenches upon the honour and justice of our merciful 
 God. How he justified this, I will not undertake to 
 declare ; but it was not excepted against — as Mr. Hooker 
 declares in his rational Answer to Mr. Travers — by John 
 Elmer, then Bishop of London, at this time one of his 
 auditors, and at last one of his advocates too, when Mr. 
 Hooker was accused for it. 
 
 But the justifying of this doctrine did not prove of so 
 bad consequence, as the kindness of Mrs. Churchman's 
 curing him of his late distemper and cold ; for that was so 
 gratefully apprehended by Mr. Hooker, that he thought 
 bimself bound in conscience to believe all that she said : 
 so that the good man came to be persuaded by her, ' that 
 he was a man of a tender constitution ; and that it was best 
 for him to have a wife, that might prove a nurse to him ; 
 such a one as might both prolong his life, and make it 
 more comfortable ; and such a one she could and would 
 provide for him, if he thought fit to marry.' And he, 
 not considering that ' the children of this world are wiser 
 in their generation that the children of light ' ; but, like a 
 true Nathaniel, fearing no guile, because he meant none, 
 did give her such a power as Eleazar was trusted with, — 
 you may read it in the book of Genesis, — when he was 
 sent to choose a wife for Isaac ; for even so he trusted her 
 to choose for him, promising upon a fair summons to 
 return to London, and accept of her choice ; and he did so 
 in that, or about the year following. Now, the wife 
 provided for him was her daughter Joan, who brought 
 him neither beauty nor portion : and for her conditions, 
 they were too like that wife's, which is by Solomon com- 
 pared to a dripping house : so that the good man had no 
 reason to 'rejoice in the wife of his youth'; but too just 
 cause to say with the holy Prophet, ' Wo is me, that 
 
3IO IZAAK WALTON 
 
 I am constrained to have my habitation in the tents 
 ofKedar!' 
 
 This choice of Mr. Hooker's — if it were his choice — 
 may be wondered at : but let us consider that the Prophet 
 Ezekiel says, 'There is a wheel within a wheel' ; a secret 
 sacred wheel of Providence,— most visible in marriages, — 
 guided by his hand, that ' allows not the race to the swift,' 
 nor ' bread to the wise,' nor good wives to good men : 
 and he that can bring good out of evil — for mortals are 
 blind to this reason — only knows why this blessing was 
 denied to patient Job, to meek Moses, and to our as meek 
 and patient Mr. Hooker. But so it was; and let the 
 Reader cease to wonder, for affliction is a divine diet; 
 which though it be not pleasing to mankind, yet Almighty 
 God hath often, very often, imposed it as good, though 
 bitter physic to those children whose souls are dearest to 
 him. 
 
 And by this marriage the good man was drawn from 
 the tranquillity of his College ; from that garden of piety, 
 of pleasure, of peace, and a sweet conversation, into the 
 thorny wilderness of a busy world ; into those corroding 
 cares that attend a married Priest, and a country Par- 
 sonage ; which was Drayton-Beauchamp in Buckingham- 
 shire, not far from Aylesbury, and in the Diocese of 
 Lincoln ; to which he was presented by John Cheney, 
 Esq. — then Patron of it — the 9th of December, 1584, 
 where he behaved himself so as to give no occasion of 
 evil, but as St. Paul adviseth a minister of God — ' in much 
 patience, in afflictions, in anguishes, in necessities, in 
 poverty and no doubt in long-suiFering ' ; yet troubling 
 no man with his discontents and wants. 
 
 And in this condition he continued about a year ; in 
 which time his two pupils, Edwin Sandys and George 
 Cranmer, took a journey to see their tutor ; where they 
 found him with a book in his hand, — it was the Odes of 
 Horace, — he being then like humble and innocent Abel, 
 tending his small allotment of sheep in a common field ; 
 which he told his pupils he was forced to do then, for that 
 his servant was gone home to dine, and assist his wife 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 311 
 
 to do some necessary household business. But when his 
 servant returned and released him, then his two pupils 
 attended him unto his house, where their best entertain- 
 ment was his quiet company, which was presently denied 
 them : for Richard was called to rock the cradle ; and the 
 rest of their welcome was so like this, that they stayed but 
 till next morning, whiph was time enough to discover and 
 pity their tutor's condition ; and they having in that time 
 rejoiced in the remembrance, and then paraphrased on 
 many of the innocent recreations of their younger days, 
 and other like diversions, and thereby given him as much 
 present comfort as they were able, they were forced to 
 leave him to the company of his wife Joan, and seek them- 
 selves a quieter lodging for next night. But at their 
 parting from him, Mr. Cranmer said, ' Good tutor, I am 
 sorry your lot is fallen in no better ground, as to your 
 parsonage ; and more sorry that your wife proves not a 
 more comfortable companion, after you have wearied 
 yourself in your restless studies.' To whom the good 
 man replied, 'My dear George, if Saints have usually a 
 double share In the miseries of this life, I, that am none, 
 ought not to repine at what my wise Creator hath 
 appointed for me : but labour — as indeed I do daily — 
 to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in 
 patience and peace.' 
 
 At their return to London, Edwin Sandys acquaints his 
 father, who was then Archbishop of York, with his Tutor's 
 sad condition, and solicits for his removal to some benefice 
 that might give him a more quiet and a more comfortable 
 subsistence ; which his father did most willingly grant him 
 when it should next fall into his power. And not long 
 after this time, which was in the year 1585, Mr. Alvey, — 
 Master of the Temple, — died, who was a man of a strict 
 life, of great learning, and of so venerable behaviour, as to 
 gain so high a degree of love and reverence from all men, 
 that he was generally known by the name of Father 
 Alvey. And at the Temple-reading, next after the death 
 of this Father Alvey, he, the said Archbishop of York 
 being then at dinner with the Judges, the Reader, and the 
 
312 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Benchers of that Society, met with a general condolement 
 for the death of Father Alvey, and with a high commen- 
 dation of his saint-like life, and of his great merit both 
 towards God and man ; and as they bewailed his death, so 
 they wished for a like pattern of virtue and learning to 
 succeed him. And here came in a fair occasion for the 
 Bishop to commend Mr. Hooker to Father Alvey's place, 
 which he did with so effectual an earnestness, and that 
 seconded with so many other testimonies of his worth, 
 that Mr. Hooker was sent for from Drayton-Beauchamp 
 to London, and there the Mastership of the Temple pro- 
 posed unto him by the Bishop, as a greater freedom from 
 his country cares, the advantage of a better society, and a 
 more liberal pension than his country parsonage did afford 
 him. But these reasons were not powerful enough to 
 incline him to a willing acceptance of it : his wish was 
 rather to gain a better country living, where he might see 
 God's blessings spring out of the earth, and be free from 
 noise, — so he expressed the desire of his heart, — and eat 
 that bread which he might more properly call his own, in 
 privacy and quietness. But, notwithstanding this averse- 
 ness, he was at last persuaded to accept of the Bishop's 
 proposal ; and was by Patent for life, made Master of the 
 Temple the 17th of March, 1585, he being then in the 
 34th year of his age.^ 
 
 And here I shall make a stop ; and, that the Reader 
 may the better judge of what follows, give him a character 
 of the times and temper of the people of this nation, when 
 Mr. Hooker had his admission into this place ; a place 
 which he accepted, rather than desired : and yet here he 
 promised himself a virtuous quietness, that blessed tran- 
 quillity which he always prayed and laboured for, that so he 
 might in peace bring forth the fruits of peace, and glorify 
 
 ^ This you may find in the Temple Records. William Ermstead was 
 master of the Temple at the Dissolution of the Priory, and died 2 Eliz. 
 (1559). Richard Alvey, Bat. Divinity, Pat. 13 Febr. z Eliz. 
 Magister, sive Custos Domus etEcckslae Novi Templi, died 27 Eliz. (1585). 
 Richard Hooker succeeded that year by Patent, in terminis, as Alvey 
 had it, and he left it 33 Eliz. (1591). That year Dr. Balgey succeeded 
 Richard Hooker. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 313 
 
 God by uninterrupted prayers and praises. For this he 
 always thirsted and prayed : but Almighty God did not 
 grant it ; for his admission into this place was the very 
 beginning of those oppositions and anxieties, which till 
 then this good man was a stranger to ; and of which the 
 Reader may guess by what follows. 
 
 In this character of the times, I shall by the Reader's 
 favour, and for his information, look so far back as to the 
 beginning of the reign of Queen Elizabeth ; a time, in 
 which the many pretended titles to the Crown, the fre- 
 quent treasons, the doubts of her successor, the late 
 Civil War, and the sharp persecution for Religion that 
 raged to the effusion of so much blood in the reign 
 of Queen Mary, were fresh in the memory of all men ; 
 and begot fears in the most pious and wisest of this 
 nation, lest the like days should return again to them, 
 or their present posterity. And the apprehension of these 
 dangers, begot a hearty desire of a settlement in the 
 Church and State ; believing there was no other probable 
 way left to make them sit quietly under their own vines 
 and fig-trees^and enjoy the desired fruit of their labours. 
 But time, and peace, and plenty begot self-ends : and these 
 begot animosities, envy, opposition, and unthankfulness 
 for those very blessings for which they lately thirsted, 
 being then the very utmost of their desires, and even 
 beyond their hopes. 
 
 This was the temper of the times in the beginning 
 of her reign ; and thus it continued too long ; for those 
 very people that had enjoyed the desires of their hearts in 
 a Reformation from the Church of Rome, became at last 
 so like the grave, as never to be satisfied, but were 
 still thirsting for more and more ; neglecting to pay that 
 obedience, and perform those vows, which they made 
 in their days of adversities and fear : so that in short 
 time there appeared three several interests, each of them 
 fearless and restless in the prosecution of their designs: 
 they may for distinction be called, the active Romanists, 
 the restless Non-conformists, — of which there were many 
 sorts, — and the passive peaceable Protestants. The coun- 
 
314 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 sels of the first considered and resolved on in Rome ; the 
 second, both in Scotland, in Geneva, and in divers selected, 
 secret, dangerous Conventicles, both there, and within the 
 bosom of our own nation : the third pleaded and defended 
 their cause by established laws, both Ecclesiastical and 
 Civil : and if they were active, it was to prevent the other 
 two from destroying what was by those known Laws 
 happily established to them and their posterity. 
 
 I shall forbear to mention the very many and dangerous 
 plots of the Romanists against the Church and State; 
 because what is principally intended in this digression, 
 is an account of the opinions and activity of the Non- 
 conformists : against whose judgment and practice Mr. 
 Hooker became at last, but most unwillingly, to be 
 engaged in a book-war ; a war which he maintained not 
 as against an enemy, but with the spirit of meekness and 
 reason. 
 
 In which number of Non-conformists, though some 
 might be sincere, well-meaning men, whose indiscreet zeal 
 might be so like charity, as thereby to cover a multitude 
 of their errors ; yet of this party there were many that 
 were possessed with a high degree of spiritual wickedness ; 
 I mean with an innate restless pride and malice ; I do 
 not mean the visible carnal sins of gluttony and drunken- 
 ness, and the like, — from which, good Lord, deliver us ! 
 — but sins of a higher nature, because they are more 
 unlike God, who is the God of love, and mercy, and 
 order, and peace : and more like the Devil, who is not 
 a glutton, nor can be drunk, and yet is a Devil : but 
 I mean those spiritual wickednesses of malice and revenge, 
 and an opposition to government : men that joyed to 
 be the authors of misery, which is properly his work that 
 is the enemy and disturber of mankind ; and thereby 
 greater sinners than the glutton or drunkard, though some 
 will not believe it. And of this party there were also 
 many, whom prejudice and a furious zeal had so blinded, 
 as to make them neither to hear reason, nor adhere to 
 the ways of peace : men that were the very dregs and pest 
 of mankind ; men whom pride and self-conceit had made 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 315 
 
 to over-value their own pitiful crooked wisdom so much 
 as not to be ashamed to hold foolish and unmannerly dis- 
 putes against those men whom they ought to reverence, 
 and those laws which they ought to obey; men that 
 laboured and joyed first to find out the faults, and then 
 speak evil of Government, and to be the authors of 
 confusion ; men whom company, and conversation, and 
 custom had at last so blinded, and made so insensible 
 that these were sins, that like those that perished in the 
 gainsaying of Korah, so these died without repenting of 
 these spiritual wickednesses ; of which the practices of 
 Coppinger and Hacket in their lives, and the death of 
 them and their adherents, are, God knows, too sad ex- 
 amples, and ought to be cautions to those men that 
 are inclined to the like spiritual wickednesses. 
 
 And in these times, which tended thus to confusion, 
 there were also many of these scruple-mongers, that 
 pretended a tenderness of conscience, refusing to take 
 an oath before a lawful Magistrate : and yet these very 
 men in their secret Conventicles did covenant and swear 
 to each other, to be assiduous and faithful in using 
 their best endeavours to set up the Presbyterian doctrine 
 and discipline ; and both in such a manner as they them- 
 selves had not yet agreed on ; but up that government 
 must. To which end there were many that wandered up 
 and down and were active in sowing discontents and 
 sedition, by venomous and secret murmurings, and a 
 dispersion of scurrilous pamphlets and libels against the 
 Church and State ; but especially against the Bishops ; 
 by which means, together with venomous and indiscreet 
 sermons, the common people became so fanatic, as to 
 believe the Bishops to be Antichrist, and the only obstruc- 
 tors of God's discipline ! and at last some of them were 
 given over to so bloody a zeal, and such other desperate 
 delusions, as to find out a text in the Revelation of St. 
 John, that Antichrist was to be overcome by the sword. 
 So that those very men, that began with tender and 
 meek petitions, proceeded to admonitions : then to 
 satirical remonstrances : and at last — having, like Absalom, 
 
3i6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 numbered who was not, and who was, for their 
 cause — they got a supposed certainty of so great a party, 
 that they durst threaten first the Bishops, and then the 
 Queen and Parliament, to all which they were secretly 
 encouraged by the Earl of Leicester, then in great favour 
 with her Majesty, and the reputed cherisher and patron- 
 general of these pretenders to tenderness of conscience ; 
 his design being, by their means, to bring such an odium 
 upon the Bishops, as to procure an alienation of their 
 lands, and a large proportion of them for himself: which 
 avaricious desire had at last so blinded his reason, that his 
 ambitious and greedy hopes seemed to put him into a 
 present possession of Lambeth-House. 
 
 And to these undertakings the Non-conformists of this 
 nation were much encouraged and heightened by a corre- 
 spondence and confederacy with that brotherhood in 
 Scotland; so that here they became so bold, that one' 
 told the Queen openly in a sermon, ' She was like an un- 
 tamed heifer, that would not be ruled by God's people, 
 but obstructed his discipline.' And in Scotland they were 
 more confident; for there ^ they declared her an Atheist, 
 and grew to such an height, as not to be accountable for 
 any thing spoken against her, nor for treason against their 
 own King, if it were but spoken in the pulpit ; shewing at 
 last such a disobedience to him, that his mother being in 
 England, and then in distress, and in prison, and in 
 danger of death, the Church denied the King their prayers 
 for her ; and at another time, when he had appointed a 
 day of Feasting, the Church declared for a general Fast, in 
 opposition to his authority. 
 
 To this height they were grown In both nations, and by 
 these means there was distilled into the minds of the 
 common people such other venomous and turbulent 
 principles as were inconsistent with the safety of the 
 Church and State : and these opinions vented so daringly, 
 that, beside the loss of life and limbs, the governors of 
 the Church and State were forced to use such other 
 
 ^ Mr. Bering. 
 
 * Vide Bishop Spotswood's History of the Church of Scotland. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 317 
 
 severities as will not admit of an excuse, if it had not been 
 to prevent the gangrene of confusion, and the perilous 
 consequences of it ; which, without such prevention, would 
 have been first confusion, and then ruin and misery to this 
 numerous nation. 
 
 These errors and animosities were so remarkable, that 
 they begot wonder in an ingenious Italian, who being 
 about this time come newly into this nation, and con- 
 sidering them, writ scofKngly to a friend in his own 
 country, to this purpose ; ' That the common people of 
 England were wiser than the wisest of his nation ; for 
 here the very women and shop-keepers were able to judge 
 of Predestination, and to determine what laws were fit to 
 be made concerning Church-government ; and then, what 
 were fit to be obeyed or abolished. That they were more 
 able — or at least thought so — to raise and determine per- 
 plexed Cases of Conscience, than the wisest of the most 
 learned Colleges in Italy ! That men of the slightest 
 learning, and the most ignorant of the common people, 
 were mad for a new, or super, or re-reformation of 
 Religion ; and that in this they appeared like that man, 
 who would never cease to whet and whet his knife, till 
 there was no steel left to make it useful.' And he con- 
 cluded his letter with this observation, ' That those very 
 men that were most busy in oppositions, and disputations, 
 and controversies, and finding out the faults of their 
 governors, \u\'^ usually the least of humility and mortifica- 
 tion, or of the power of godliness.' 
 
 And to heighten all these discontents and dangers, there 
 was also sprung up a generation of godless men ; men that 
 had so long given way to their own lusts and delusions, 
 and so highly opposed the blessed motions of His Spirit, 
 and the inward light of their own consciences, that they 
 became the very slaves of vice, and had thereby sinned 
 themselves into a belief of that which they would, but 
 could not believe, into a belief, which is repugnant even 
 to human nature ; — for the Heathens believe that there 
 are many Gods ; — but these had sinned themselves into 
 a belief that there was no God ! and so, finding nothing 
 
3i8 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 in themselves but what was worse than nothing, began 
 to wish whkt they were not able to hope for, namely, 
 ' That they might be like the beasts that perish ! ' and 
 in wicked company — which is the Atheist's sanctuary — 
 were so bold as to say so : though the worst of man- 
 kind, when he is left alone at midnight, may wish, but 
 is not then able to think it : even into a belief that 
 there is no God. Into this wretched, this reprobate 
 condition, many had then sinned themselves. 
 
 And now, when the Church was pestered with them, 
 and with all those other fore-named irregularities; when 
 her lands were in danger of alienation, her power at least 
 neglected, and her peace torn to pieces by several schisms, 
 and such heresies as do usually attend that sin : — for 
 heresies do usually out-live their first authors ; — when the 
 common people seemed ambitious of doing those very 
 things that were forbidden and attended with most 
 dangers, that thereby they might be punished, and then 
 applauded and pitied: when they called the spirit of 
 opposition a tender conscience, and complained of persecu- 
 tion, because they wanted power to persecute others : 
 when the giddy multitude raged, and became restless to 
 find out misery for themselves and others ; and the rabble 
 would herd themselves together, and endeavour to govern 
 and act in spite of authority : — in this extremity of fear, 
 and danger of the Church and State, when, to suppress the 
 growing evils of both, they needed a man of prudence and 
 piety, and of an high and fearless fortitude, they were blest 
 in all by John Whitgift his being made Archbishop of 
 Canterbury; of whom Sir Henry Wotton — that knew him 
 well in his youth, and had studied him in his age — gives 
 this true character ; ' That he was a man of reverend and 
 sacred memory, and of the primitive temper ; such a 
 temper, as when the Church by lowliness of spirit did 
 flourish in highest examples of virtue.' And indeed this 
 man proved so. 
 
 And though I dare not undertake to add to this 
 excellent and true character of Sir Henry Wotton ; yet I 
 shall neither do right to this discourse, nor to my Reader, 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 319 
 
 if I forbear to give him a further and short account of the 
 life and manners of this excellent man; and it shall be 
 short, for I long to end this digression, that I may lead my 
 reader back to Mr. Hooker where we left him at the 
 Temple. 
 
 John Whitgift was born in the County of Lincoln, of a 
 family that was ancient ; and noted to be both prudent and 
 affable, and gentle by nature. He was educated in Cam- 
 bridge ; much of his learning was acquired in Pembroke 
 Hall, — where Mr. Bradford the Martyr was his tutor ; — 
 from thence he was removed to Peter House ; from thence 
 to be Master of Pembroke Hall ; and from thence to the 
 Mastership of Trinity College. About which time the 
 Queen made him her Chaplain ; and not long after 
 Prebend of Ely, and then Dean of Lincoln ; and having 
 for many years past looked upon him with much reverence 
 and favour, gave him a fair testimony of both, by giving 
 him the Bishoprick of Worcester, and — which was not with 
 her a usual favour — forgiving him his first fruits ; then by 
 constituting him Vice-President of the Principality of 
 Wales. And having experimented his wisdom, his justice, 
 and moderation in the manage of her affairs in both these 
 places, she, in the twenty-sixth of her reign, made him 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, and, not long after, of her 
 Privy Council ; and trusted him to manage all her Ecclesi- 
 astical affairs and preferments. In all which removes, he 
 was like the Ark, which left a blessing on the place where 
 it rested ; and in all his employments was like Jehoiada, 
 that did good unto Israel. 
 
 These were the steps of this Bishop's ascension to this 
 place of dignity and cares : in which place — to speak Mr. 
 Camden's very words in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth — 
 ' he devoutly consecrated both his whole life to God, and 
 his painful labours to the good of his Church.' 
 
 And yet in this place he met with many oppositions in 
 the regulation of Church affairs, which were much dis- 
 ordered at his entrance, by reason of the age and remissness 
 of Bishop Grindal, his immediate predecessor, the activity 
 of the Non-conformists, and their chief assistant the Earl of 
 
320 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Leicester; and indeed by too many others of the like 
 sacrilegious principles. With these he was to encounter ; 
 and though he wanted neither courage, nor a good cause, 
 yet he foresaw, that without a great measure of the Queen's 
 favour, it was impossible to stand in the breach that had 
 been lately made into the lands and immunities of the 
 Church, or indeed to maintain the remaining lands and 
 rights of it. And therefore by justifiable sacred insinua- 
 tions, such as St. Paul to Agrippa, — 'Agrippa, believest 
 thou ? I know thou believest,' he wrought himself into so 
 great a degree of favour with her, as, by his pious use of it, 
 hath got both of them a great degree of fame in this world, 
 and of glory in that into which they are now both entered. 
 
 His merits to the Queen, and her favours to him were 
 such, that she called him, 'her little black husband,' and 
 called ' his servants her servants ' : and she saw so visible 
 and blessed a sincerity shine in all his cares and endeavours 
 for the Church's and for her good, that she was supposed 
 to trust him with the very secrets of her soul, and to make 
 him her confessor ; of which she gave many fair testi- 
 monies ; and of which one was, that ' she would never eat 
 flesh in Lent, without obtaining a licence from her little 
 black husband ' : and would often say ' she pitied him 
 because she trusted him, and had thereby eased herself by 
 laying the burthen of all her Clergy-cares upon his 
 shoulders, which he managed with prudence and piety.' 
 
 I shall not keep myself within the promised rules of 
 brevity in this account of his interest with her Majesty, 
 and his care of the Church's rights, if in this digression I 
 should enlarge to particulars ; and therefore my desire is, 
 that one example may serve for a testimony of both. And, 
 that the Reader may the better understand it, he may take 
 notice, that not many years before his being made Arch- 
 bishop, there passed an Act, or Acts of Parliament, intend- 
 ing the better preservation of the Church-lands, by recalling 
 a power which was vested in others to sell or lease them, 
 by lodging and trusting the future care and protection of 
 them only in the Crown : and amongst many that made a 
 bad use of this power or trust of the Queen's, the Earl of 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 321 
 
 Leicester was one ; and the Bishop having, by his interest 
 with her Majesty, put a stop to the Earl's sacrilegious 
 designs, they two fell to an open opposition before her ; 
 after which they both quitted the room, not friends in 
 appearance. But the Bishop made a sudden and a season- 
 able return to her Majesty, — for he found her alone — and 
 spake to her with great humility and reverence, to this 
 purpose. 
 
 ' I beseech your Majesty to hear me with patience, and 
 to believe that your's and the Church's safety are dearer 
 to me than my life, but my conscience dearer than both : 
 and therefore give me leave to do my duty, and tell you, 
 that Princes are deputed nursing Fathers of the Church, 
 and owe it a protection ; and therefore God forbid that you 
 should be so much as passive in her ruins, when you may 
 prevent it ; or that I should behold it without horror and 
 detestation ; or should forbear to tell your Majesty of the 
 sin and danger of Sacrilege. And though you and myself 
 were born in an age of frailties, when the primitive piety 
 and care of the Church's lands and immunities are much 
 decayed ; yet. Madam, let me beg that you would first 
 consider that there are such sins as Profaneness and 
 Sacrilege : and that, if there were not, they could not have 
 names in Holy Writ, and particularly in the New Testa- 
 ment. And I beseech you to consider, that though our 
 Saviour said, " He judged no man " ; and, to testify it, 
 would not judge nor divide the inheritance betwixt the 
 two brethren, nor would judge the woman taken in 
 adultery ; yet in this point of the Church's rights he was 
 so zealous, that he made himself both the accuser, and the 
 judge, and the executioner too, to punish these sins ; 
 witnessed, in that he himself made the whip to drive the 
 profaners out of the Temple, overthrew the tables of the 
 money-changers, and drove them out of it. And I 
 beseech you to consider, that it was St. Paul that said to 
 those Christians of his time that were offended with 
 idolatry, and yet committed sacrilege ; " Thou that 
 abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacrilege ? " supposing, 
 I think, sacrilege the greater sin. This may occasion your 
 
 X 
 
322 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Majesty to consider, that there is such a sin as sacrilege ; 
 and to incline you to prevent the curse that will follow it, 
 I beseech you also to consider, that Constantine, the first 
 Christian Emperor, and Helena his Mother ; that King 
 Edgar, and Edward the Confessor ; and indeed many 
 others of your predecessors, and many private Christians, 
 have also given to God, and to his Church, much land, 
 and many immunities, which they might have given to 
 those of their own families, and did not ; but gave them for 
 ever as an absolute right and sacrifice to God : and with 
 these immunities and lands they have entailed a curse 
 upon the alienators of them : God prevent your Majesty 
 and your successors from being liable to that curse, 
 which will cleave unto Church-lands as the leprosy to 
 the Jews. 
 
 ' And to make you, that are trusted with their preser- 
 vation, the better to understand the danger of it, I 
 beseech you forget not, that, to prevent these Curses, the 
 Church's land and power have been also endeavoured to be 
 preserved, as far as human reason and the law of this 
 nation have been able to preserve them, by an immediate 
 and most sacred obligation on the consciences of the 
 Princes of this realm. For they that consult Magna 
 Charta shall find, that as all your predecessors were at 
 their Coronation, so you also were sworn before all the 
 Nobility and Bishops then present, and in the presence of 
 God, and in his stead to him that anointed you, to main- 
 tain the Church-lands, and the rights belonging to it : 
 and this you yourself have testified openly to God at the 
 holy Altar, by laying your hands on the Bible then lyitig 
 upon it. And not only Magna Charta, but many modern 
 Statutes have denounced a curse upon those that break 
 Magna Charta ; a curse like the leprosy, that was entailed 
 on the Jews : for as that, so these curses have, and will 
 cleave to the very stones of those buildings that have been 
 consecrated to God ; and the father's sin of Sacrilege hath, 
 and will prove to be entailed on his son and family. And 
 now, Madam, what account can be given for the breach of 
 this Oath at the Last Great Day, either by your Majesty, 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 323 
 
 or by me, if it be wilfully, or but negligently violated, I 
 know not. 
 
 ' And therefore, good Madam, let not the late Lord's 
 exceptions against the failings of some few Clergymen 
 prevail with you to punish posterity for the errors of the 
 present age ; let particular men suffer for their particular 
 errors ; but let God and his Church have their inheritance : 
 and though I pretend not to prophecy, yet I beg posterity 
 to take notice of what is already become visible in many 
 families ; that Church-land added to an ancient and just 
 inheritance, hath proved like a moth fretting a garment, 
 and secretly consumed both ; or like the Eagle that stole a 
 coal from the altar, and thereby set her nest on fire, which 
 consumed both her young eagles and herself that stole it. 
 And though I shall forbear to speak reproachfully of your 
 Father, yet I beg you to take notice, that a part of the 
 Church's rights added to the vast treasure left him by his 
 Father, hath been conceived to. bring an unavoidable 
 consumption upon both, notwithstanding all his diligency 
 to preserve them. 
 
 ' And consider, that after the violation of those laws, 
 to which he had sworn in Magna Charta, God did so far 
 deny him his restraining grace, that as King Saul, after 
 he was forsaken of God, fell from one sin to another ; so 
 he, till at last he fell into greater sins than I am willing to 
 mention. Madam, Religion is the foundation and cement 
 of human societies ; and when they that serve at God's 
 Altar shall be exposed to poverty, then Religion itself will 
 be exposed to scorn, and become contemptible ; as you 
 may already observe it to be in too many poor Vicarages 
 in this nation. And therefore, as you are by a late Act or 
 Acts of Parliament, entrusted with a great power to 
 preserve or waste the Church-lands ; yet dispose of them, 
 for Jesus' sake, as you have promised to men, and vowed 
 to God, that is, as the donors intended : let neither false- 
 hood nor flattery beguile you to do otherwise ; but put a 
 stop to God's and the Levites' portion, I beseech you, and 
 to the approaching ruins of His Church, as you expect 
 comfort at the Last Great Day; for Kings must be judged. 
 
324 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Pardon this affectionate plainness, my most dear Sovereign, 
 and let me beg to be still continued in your favour ; and 
 the Lord still continue you in His.' 
 
 The Queen's patient hearing this affectionate speech, 
 and her future care to preserve the Church's rights, which 
 till then had been neglected, may appear a fair testimony, 
 that he made her's and the Church's good the chiefest of 
 his cares, and that she also thought so. And of this there 
 were such daily testimonies given, as begot betwixt them 
 so mutual a joy and confidence, that they seemed born to 
 believe and do good to each other ; she not doubting his 
 piety to be more than all his opposers, which were many ; 
 nor doubting his prudence to be equal to the chiefest of 
 her Council, who were then as remarkable for active wis- 
 dom, as those dangerous times did require, or this nation 
 did ever enjoy. And in this condition he continued 
 twenty years ; in which time he saw some flowings, but 
 many more ebbings of her favour towards all men that 
 had opposed him, especially the Earl of Leicester : so that 
 God seemed still to keep him in her favour, that he might 
 preserve the remaining Church-lands and immunities from 
 Sacrilegious alienations. And this good man deserved all 
 the honour and power with which she gratified and trusted 
 him ; for he was a pious man, and naturally of noble and 
 grateful principles : he eased her of all her Church-cares 
 by his wise manage of them ; he gave her faithfid and 
 prudent counsels in all the extremities and dangers of her 
 temporal affairs, which were very many ; he lived to be 
 the chief comfort of her life in her declining age, and to be 
 then most frequently with her, and her assistant at her 
 private devotions ; he lived to be the greatest comfort of 
 her soul upon her death-bed, to be present at the expiration 
 of her last breath, and to behold the closing of those eyes 
 that had long looked upon him with reverence and affec- 
 tion. And let this also be added, that he was the Chief 
 Mourner at her sad funeral ; nor let this be forgotten, 
 that, within a few hours after her death, he was the happy 
 proclaimer, that King James — her peaceful successor — was 
 heir to the Crown. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 325 
 
 Let me beg of my Reader to allow me to say a little, 
 and but a little, more of this good Bishop, and I shall then 
 presently lead him back to Mr. Hooker ; and because I 
 would hasten, I will mention but one part of the Bishop's 
 charity and humility ; but this of both. He built a large 
 Alms-house near to his own Palace at Croydon in Surrey, 
 and endowed it with maintenance for a Master and twenty- 
 eight poor men and women ; which he visited so often, 
 that he knew their names and dispositions ; and was so 
 truly humble, that he called them Brothers and Sisters ; 
 and whensoever the Queen descended to that lowliness to 
 dine with him at his Palace in Lambeth, — which was very 
 often, — he would usually the next day shew the like 
 lowliness to his poor Brothers and Sisters at Croydon, and 
 dine with them at his Hospital ; at which time, you may 
 believe there was joy at the table. And at this place he 
 built also a fair Free-school, with a good accommodation 
 and maintenance for the Master and Scholars. Which 
 gave just occasion for Boyse Sisi, then Ambassador for the 
 French King, and resident here, at the Bishop's death, to 
 say, ' the Bishop had published many learned books ; but 
 a Free-school to train up youth, and an Hospital to lodge 
 and maintain aged and poor people, were the best evidences 
 of Christian learning that a Bishop could leave to posterity.' 
 This good Bishop lived to see King James settled in peace, 
 and then fell into an extreme sickness at his Palace in 
 Lambeth ; of which when the King had notice, he went 
 presently to visit him, and found him in his bed in a 
 declining condition and very weak ; and after some short 
 discourse betwixt them, the King at his departure assured 
 him, • He had a great affection for him, and a very high 
 value for his prudence and virtues, and would endeavour 
 to beg his life of God for the good of his Church.' To 
 which the good Bishop replied, ^ Pro Ecclesia Dei! Pro 
 Ecclesia Dei ! ' which were the last words he ever spake ; 
 therein testifying, that as in his life, so at his death, his 
 chiefest care was of God's Church. 
 
 This John Whitgift was made Archbishop in the year 
 1583. In which busy place he continued twenty years and 
 
326 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 some months ; and in which time you may believe he had 
 many trials of his courage and patience : but his motto 
 was ' Vincit qui patitur * ; and he made it good. 
 
 Many of his trials were occasioned by the then powerful 
 Earl of Leicester, who did still — but secretly — raise and 
 cherish a faction of Non-conformists to oppose him ; 
 especially one Thomas Cartwright, a man of noted learn- 
 ing, sometime contemporary with the Bishop in Cambridge, 
 and of the same College, of which the Bishop had been 
 Master ; in which place there began some emulations, — 
 the particulars I forbear, — and at last open and high 
 oppositions betwixt them ; and in which you may believe 
 Mr. Cartwright was most faulty, if his expulsion out of 
 the University can incline you to it. 
 
 And in this discontent after the Earl's death, — which 
 was 1588, — Mr. Cartwright appeared a chief cherisher of 
 a party that were for the Geneva Church-government; 
 and, to effect it, he ran himself into many dangers both of 
 liberty and life, appearing at the last to justify himself and 
 his party in many remonstrances, which he caused to be 
 printed : and to which the Bishop made a first answer, 
 and Cartwright replied upon him ; and then the Bishop 
 having rejoined to his first reply, Mr. Cartwright either 
 was, or was persuaded to be, satisfied, for he wrote no 
 more, but left the Reader to be judge which had main- 
 tained their cause with most charity and reason. After 
 some silence, Mr. Cartwright received from the Bishop 
 many personal favours and betook himself to a more 
 private living, which was at Warwick, where he was made 
 Master of an Hospital, and lived quietly, and grew rich ; 
 and where the Bishop gave him a licence to preach, upon 
 promises not to meddle with controversies, but incline his 
 hearers to piety and moderation: and this promise he 
 kept during his life, which ended 1602, the Bishop sur- 
 viving him but some few months ; each ending his days 
 in perfect charity with the other. 
 
 And now after this long digression, made for the infor- 
 mation of my Reader concerning what foUows, I bring 
 him back to venerable Mr. Hooker, where we left him in 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 327 
 
 the Temple, and where we shall find him as deeply engaged 
 in a controversy with Walter Travers, — a friend and 
 favourite of Mr. Cartwright's — as the Bishop had ever 
 been with Mr. Cartwright himself, and of which I shall 
 proceed to give this following account. 
 
 And first this ; that though the pens of Mr, Cartwright 
 and the Bishop were now at rest, yet there was sprung up 
 a new generation of restless men, that by company and 
 clamours became possessed of a faith, which they ought to 
 have kept to themselves, but could not: men that were 
 become positive in asserting, ' That a papist cannot be 
 saved': insomuch, that about this time, at the execution 
 of the Queen of Scots, the Bishop that preached her 
 Funeral Sermon — which was Dr. Rowland, then Bishop of 
 Peterborough — was reviled for not being positive for her 
 damnation. And besides this boldness of their becoming 
 Gods, so far as to set limits to His mercies, there was not 
 only one Martin Mar-Prelate, but other venomous books 
 daily printed and dispersed ; books that were so absurd and 
 scurrilous, that the graver Divines disdained them an 
 answer. And yet these were grown into high esteem with 
 the common people, till Tom Nash appeared against them 
 all, who was a man of a sharp wit, and the master of a 
 scoffing, satirical, merry pen, which he employed to dis- 
 cover the absurdities of those blind, malicious, senseless 
 pamphlets, and sermons as senseless as they ; Nash's 
 answers being like his books, which bore these, or like 
 titles : ' An Almond for a Parrot ' ; ' A Fig for my God- 
 son'; 'Come crack me this nut,' and the like; so that 
 this merry wit made some sport, and such a discovery of 
 their absurdities, as — which is strange — he put a greater 
 stop to these malicious pamphlets, than a much wiser man 
 had been able. 
 
 And now the Reader is to take notice, that at the death 
 of Father Alvey, who was Master of the Temple, this 
 Walter Travers was Lecturer there for the Evening 
 Sermons, which he preached with great approbation, 
 especially of some citizens, and the younger gentlemen of 
 that Society; and for the most part approved by Mr. 
 
328 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Hooker himself, in the midst of their oppositions. For 
 he continued Lecturer a part of his time ; Mr. Travers 
 being indeed a man of competent learning, of a winning 
 behaviour, and of a blameless life. But he had taken 
 Orders by the Presbytery in Antwerp, — and with them 
 some opinions, that could never be eradicated, — ^and if in 
 anything he was transported, it was in an extreme desire 
 to set up that government in this nation ; for the pro- 
 moting of which he had a correspondence with Theodore 
 Beza at Geneva, and others in Scotland ; and was one of 
 the chiefest assistants to Mr. Cartwright in that design. 
 
 Mr. Travers had also a particular hope to set up this 
 government in the Temple, and to that end used his most 
 zealous endeavours to be Master of it ; and his being 
 disappointed by Mr. Hooker's admittance, proved the 
 occasion of a public opposition betwixt them in their 
 sermons : many of which were concerning the doctrine and 
 ceremonies of this Church ; insomuch that, as St. Paul 
 withstood St. Peter to his face, so did they withstand each 
 other in their Sermons : for, as one hath pleasantly ex- 
 pressed it, ' The forenoon sermon spake Canterbury ; and 
 the afternoon Geneva.' 
 
 In these Sermons there was little of bitterness, but each 
 party brought all the reasons he was able to prove his 
 adversary's opinion erroneous. And thus it continued a 
 long time, till the oppositions became so visible, and the 
 consequences so dangerous, especially in that place, that 
 the prudent Archbishop put a stop to Mr. Travers his 
 preaching, by a positive prohibition. Against which Mr. 
 Travers appealed, and petitioned her Majesty's Privy 
 Council to have it recalled ; where, besides his patron, the 
 Earl of Leicester, he met also with many assisting friends : 
 but they were not able to prevail with, or against the 
 Archbishop, whom the Queen had intrusted with all 
 Church-power ; and he had received so fair a testimony of 
 Mr. Hooker's principles, and of his learning and modera- 
 tion, that he withstood all solicitations. But the denying 
 this petition of Mr. Travers, was unpleasant to divers of 
 his party ; and the reasonableness of it became at last to be 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 329 
 
 so publicly magnified by them, and many others of that 
 party, as never to be answered : so that, intending the 
 Bishop's and Mr. Hooker's disgrace, they procured it to 
 be privately printed and scattered abroad; and then Mr. 
 . Hooker was forced to appear, and make as public an 
 Answer ; which he did, and dedicated it to the Archbishop ; 
 and it proved so full an answer, an answer that had in it so 
 much of clear reason, and writ with so much meekness and 
 majesty of style, that the Bishop began to have him in 
 admiration, and to rejoice that he had appeared in his 
 cause, and disdained not earnesdy to beg his friendship; 
 even a familiar friendship with a man of so much quiet 
 learning and humility. 
 
 To enumerate the many particular points in which Mr. 
 Hooker and Mr. Travers dissented, — all, or most of which 
 I have seen written, — would prove at least tedious : and 
 therefore I shall impose upon my Reader no more than 
 two, which shall immediately follow, and by which he may 
 judge of the rest. 
 
 Mr. Travers excepted against Mr. Hooker, for that in 
 one of his sermons he declared, ' That the assurance of 
 what we believe by the Word of God is not to us so 
 certain as that which we perceive by sense.' And Mr. 
 Hooker confesseth he said so, and endeavours to justify it 
 by the reasons following. 
 
 ' First ; I taught that the things which God promises in 
 his Word are surer than what we touch, handle, or see : 
 but are we so sure and certain of them .'' If we be, why 
 doth God so often prove his promises to us as he doth, by 
 arguments drawn from our sensible experience ? For we 
 must be surer of the proof than of the things proved ; 
 otherwise it is no proof For example; how is it that 
 many men looking on the moon, at the same time, every 
 one knoweth it to be the moon as certainly as the other 
 doth ? but many believing one and the same promise, 
 have not all one and the same fulness of persuasion. For 
 how faUeth it out, that men being assured of any thing by 
 sense, can be no surer of it than they are ; when as the 
 strongest in faith that liveth upon the earth hath always 
 
330 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 need to labour, strive, and pray, that his assurance con- 
 cerning heavenly and spiritual things may grow, increase, 
 and be augmented ? * 
 
 The sermon, that gave him the cause of this his justifi- 
 cation, makes the case more plain, by declaring ' That 
 there is, besides this certainty of evidence, a certainty of 
 adherence.' In which having most excellently demonstrated 
 what the certainty of adherence is, he makes this comfort- 
 able use of it, ' Comfortable,' he says, ' as to weak believers, 
 who suppose themselves to be faithless, not to believe, 
 when notwithstanding they have their adherence; the 
 Holy Spirit hath his private operations, and worketh 
 secretly in them, and effectually too, though they want 
 the inward testimony of it.' 
 
 Tell this, saith he, to a man that hath a mind too much 
 dejected by a sad sense of his sin ; to one that, by a too 
 severe judging of himself, concludes that he wants faith, 
 because he wants the comfortable assurance of it ; and his 
 answer will be, do not persuade me against my knowledge, 
 against what I find and feel in myself: I do not, I know, 
 I do not believe. — Mr. Hooker's own words follow. — 
 ' Well then, to favour such men a little in their weakness, 
 let that be granted which they do imagine ; be it, that they 
 adhere not to God's promises, but are faithless, and with- 
 out belief: but are they not grieved for their unbelief.' 
 They confess they are ; do they not wish it might, and also 
 strive that it may be otherwise ? We know they do. 
 Whence cometh this, but from a secret love and liking, 
 that they have of those things believed ? For no man can 
 love those things which in his own opinion are not ; and if 
 they think those things to be, which they show they love, 
 when they desire to believe them ; then must it be, 
 that, by desiring to believe, they prove themselves true 
 believers : for without faith no man thinketh that things 
 believed are : which argument all the subtilties of infernal 
 powers will never be able to dissolve.' This is an abridge- 
 ment of part of the reasons Mr. Hooker gives for his 
 justification of this his opinion, for which he was excepted 
 against by Mr. Travers. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 331 
 
 Mr. Hooker was also accused by Mr. Travers, for that 
 he in one of his sermons had declared, ' That he doubted 
 not but that God was merciful to many of our forefathers 
 living in Popish superstition, for as much as they sinned 
 ignorantly ' ; and Mr. Hooker in his Answer professeth it 
 to be his judgment, and declares his reasons for this 
 charitable opinion to be as foUoweth. 
 
 But first, he states the question about Justification and 
 Works, and how the foundation of Faith without works is 
 overthrown ; and then he proceeds to discover that way 
 which natural men and some others have mistaken to be 
 the way, by which they hope to attain true and everlasting 
 happiness : and having discovered the mistaken, he proceeds 
 to direct to that true way, by which, and no other, ever- 
 lasting life and blessedness is attainable. And these two 
 ways he demonstrates thus ; — they be his own words that 
 follow: — r'That, the way of Nature; this, the way of 
 Grace ; the end of that way. Salvation merited, pre- 
 supposing the righteousness of men's works ; their right- 
 eousness, a natural ability to do them ; that ability, the 
 goodness of God, which created them in such perfection. 
 But the end of this way. Salvation bestowed upon men as 
 a gift : pre-supposing not their righteousness, but the 
 forgiveness of their unrighteousness. Justification ; their 
 justification, not their natural ability to do good, but their 
 hearty sorrow for not doing, and unfeigned belief in Him, 
 for whose sake not-doers are accepted, which is their 
 Vocation ; their vocation, the election of God, taking 
 them out of the number of lost children : their Election, 
 a Mediator in whom to be elected ; this mediation, in- 
 explicable mercy : this mercy, supposing their misery for 
 whom He vouchsafed to die, and make Himself a 
 Mediator.' 
 
 And he also declareth, 'There is no meritorious cause 
 for our Justification, but Christ : no effectual, but his 
 mercy ' ; and says also, ' We deny the grace of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ, we abuse, disannul and annihilate the benefit 
 of his passion, if by a proud imagination we believe we can 
 merit everlasting life, or can be worthy of it.' This belief, 
 
332 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 he declareth, is to destroy the very essence of our Justi- 
 fication ; and he makes all opinions that border upon this 
 to be very dangerous. ' Yet nevertheless,' — and for this 
 he was accused, — ' considering how many virtuous and 
 just men, how many Saints and Martyrs have had their 
 dangerous opinions amongst which this was one, that they 
 hoped to make God some part of amends, by voluntary 
 punishments which they laid upon themselves : because by 
 this, or the like erroneous opinions, which do by conse- 
 quence overthrow the merits of Christ, shall man be so 
 bold as to write on their graves, " Such men are damned ; 
 there is for them no Salvation?" St. Austin says. Err are 
 ■possum^ Haereticus esse nolo. And except we put a differ- 
 ence betwixt them that err ignorantly, and them that 
 obstinately persist in it, how is it possible that any man 
 should hope to be saved .^ Give me a Pope or Cardinal, 
 whom great afflictions have made to know himself, whose 
 heart God hath touched with true sorrow for all his sins, 
 and filled with a love of Christ and his Gospel ; whose 
 eyes are willingly open to see the truth, and his mouth 
 ready to renounce all error, — this one opinion of merit 
 excepted, which he thinketh God will require at his hands ; 
 — and because he wanteth, trembleth, and is discouraged, 
 and yet can say, Lord, cleanse me from all my secret sins ! 
 shall I think, because of this, or a like error, such men 
 touch not so much as the hem of Christ's garment } If 
 they do, wherefore should I doubt, but that virtue may 
 proceed from Christ to save them ? No, I will not be 
 afraid to say to such a one. You err in your opinion ; but 
 be of good comfort ; you have to do with a merciful God, 
 who wUl make the best of that little which you hold well ; 
 and not with a captious sophister, who gathereth the worst 
 out of everything in which you are mistaken.' 
 
 But it wiU be said, says Mr. Hooker, the admittance ot 
 merit in any degree overthroweth the foundation, ex- 
 cludeth from the hope of mercy, from all possibility of 
 salvation. (And now Mr. Hooker's own words follow.) 
 
 ' What, though they hold the truth sincerely in all other 
 parts of Christian faith ; although they have in some measure 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 333 
 
 all the virtues and graces of the Spirit, although they have 
 all other tokens of God's children in them ? although they 
 be far from having any proud opinion, that they shall be 
 saved by the worthiness of their deeds ? although the only 
 thing, that troubleth and molesteth them, be a little too 
 much dejection, somewhat too great a fear arising from an 
 erroneous conceit, that God will require a worthiness in 
 them, which they are grieved to find wanting in them- 
 selves ? although they be not obstinate in this opinion ? 
 although they be willing, and would be glad to forsake it, 
 if any one reason were brought suiEcient to disprove it ? 
 although the only cause why they do not forsake it ere 
 they die, be their ignorance of that means by which it 
 might be disproved ? although the cause why the ignor- 
 ance in this point is not removed, be the want of knowledge 
 in such as should be able, and are not, to remove it ? Let 
 me die,' says Mr. Hooker, ' if it be ever proved, that 
 simply an error doth exclude a Pope or Cardinal in such a 
 case utterly from hope of life. Surely, I must confess, 
 that if it be an error to think that God may be merciful to 
 save men, even when they err, my greatest comfort is my 
 error : were it not for the love I bear to this error, I 
 would never wish to speak or to live.' 
 
 I was willing to take notice of these two points, as 
 supposing them to be very material ; and that, as they are 
 thus contracted, they may prove useful to my Reader ; as 
 also for that the answers be arguments of Mr. Hooker's 
 great and clear reason, and equal charity. Other excep- 
 tions were also made against him by Mr. Travers, as 
 ' That he prayed before, and not after, his Sermons ; that 
 in his prayers he named Bishops ; that he kneeled, both 
 when he prayed, and when he received the Sacrament ' ; 
 and — says Mr. Hooker in his Defence — ' other exceptions 
 so like these, as but to name, I should have thought a 
 greater fault than to commit them.' 
 
 And 'tis not unworthy the noting, that, in the manage 
 of so great a controversy, a sharper reproof than this, and 
 one like it, did never fall from the happy pen of this 
 humble man. That like it was upon a like occasion of 
 
334 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 exceptions, to which his answer was, ' your next argument 
 consists of railing and of reasons : to your railing I say 
 nothing ; to your reasons I say what follows.' And I am 
 glad of this fair occasion to testify the dove-like temper 
 of this meek, this matchless man. And doubtless, if 
 Almighty God had blest the Dissenters from the cere- 
 monies and discipline of this Church, with a like measure 
 of wisdom and humility, instead of their pertinacious zeal, 
 then obedience and truth had kissed each other ; then 
 peace and piety had flourished in our nation, and this 
 Church and State had been blessed like Jerusalem, that is 
 at unity with itself: but this can never be expected, till 
 God shall bless the common people of this nation with a 
 belief, that Schism is a sin, and they not fit to judge what 
 is Schism : and bless them also with a belief, that there 
 may be offences taken which are not given, and, that laws 
 are not made for private men to dispute, but to obey. 
 
 And this also may be worthy of noting, that these 
 exceptions of Mr. Travers against Mr. Hooker proved to 
 he felix error, for they were the cause of his transcribing 
 those few of his sermons, which we now see printed with 
 his books ; and of his Answer to Mr. 'travers his 
 Supplication ; and of his most learned and useful Discourse 
 of Justification, of Faith, and Works : and by their tran- 
 scription they fell into such hands as have preserved them 
 from being lost, as too many of his other matchless 
 writings were: and from these I have gathered many 
 observations in this discourse of his life. 
 
 After the publication of his Answer to the Petition of Mr. 
 Travers, Mr. Hooker grew daily into greater repute with 
 the most learned and wise of the nation ; but it had a con- 
 trary effect in very many of the Temple, that were zealous 
 for Mr. Travers, and for his Church-discipline ; insomuch, 
 that though Mr. Travers left the place, yet the seeds of 
 discontent could not be rooted out of that Society, by the 
 great reason, and as great meekness, of this humble man : 
 for though the chief Benchers gave him much reverence 
 and encouragement, yet he there met with many neglects 
 and oppositions by those of Master Travers' judgment ; 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 335 
 
 insomuch that it turned to his extreme grief : and, that he 
 might unbeguile and win them, he designed to write a 
 deliberate, sober treatise of the Church's power to make 
 Canons for the use of ceremonies, and by law to impose 
 an obedience to them, as upon her children ; and this he 
 proposed to do in Eight Books of the Law of Ecclesiastical 
 Polity ; intending therein to shew such arguments as should 
 force an assent from all men, if reason, delivered in sweet 
 language, and void of any provocation, were able to do it : 
 and, that he might prevent all prejudice, he wrote before 
 it a large Preface, or Epistle to the Dissenting Brethren, 
 wherein there were such bowels of love, and such a com- 
 mixture of that love with reason, as was never exceeded 
 but in Holy Writ ; and particularly by that of St. Paul to 
 his dear brother and fellow-labourer Philemon : than which 
 none ever was more like this epistle of Mr. Hooker's. 
 So that his dear friend and companion in his studies, Dr. 
 Spencer, might, after his death, justly say, ' What ad- 
 mirable height of learning, and depth of judgment, dwelt 
 in the lowly mind of this truly humble man — ^great in all 
 wise men's eyes, except his own ; with what gravity and 
 majesty of speech his tongue and pen uttered heavenly 
 mysteries ; whose eyes, in the humility of his heart, were 
 always cast down to the ground ; how all things that pro- 
 ceeded from him were breathed as from the Spirit of 
 Love ; as if he, like the bird of the Holy Ghost, the Dove, 
 had wanted gall: — let those that knew him not in his 
 person, judge by these living images of his soul, his 
 writings.' 
 
 The foundation of these books was laid in the Temple ; 
 but he found it no fit place to finish what he had there 
 designed ; he therefore earnestly solicited the Archbishop 
 for a remove from that place ; to whom he spake to this 
 purpose : ' My Lord, when I lost the freedom of my cell, 
 which was my College, yet I found some degree of it in 
 my quiet country parsonage : but I am weary of the noise 
 and oppositions of this place ; and indeed God and Nature 
 did not intend me for contentions, but for study and 
 quietness. My Lord, my particular contests with Mr. 
 
336 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Travers here have proved the more unpleasant to me, 
 because I believe him to be a good man ; and that belief 
 hath occasioned me to examine mine own conscience con- 
 cerning his opinions ; and, to satisfy that, I have consulted 
 the Scripture, and other laws, both human and divine, 
 whether the conscience of him, and others of his judg- 
 ment, ought to be so far complied with, as to alter our 
 frame of Church-government, our manner of God's 
 worship, our praising and praying to him, and our estab- 
 lished ceremonies, as often as his, and other tender 
 consciences shall require us. And in this examination, I 
 have not only satisfied myself, but have begun a Treatise, 
 in which I intend a justification of the Laws of our 
 Ecclesiastical Polity; in which design God and his holy 
 angels shall at the last great Day bear me that witness 
 which my conscience now does ; that my meaning is not 
 to provoke any, but rather to satisfy aU tender consciences : 
 and I shall never be able to do this, but where I may 
 study, and pray for God's blessing upon my endeavours, 
 and keep myself in peace and privacy, and behold God's 
 blessing spring out of my mother earth, and eat my own 
 bread without oppositions ; and therefore, if your Grace 
 can judge me worthy of such a favour, let me beg it, that 
 I may perfect what I have begun.' 
 
 About this time the Parsonage or Rectory of Boscum, 
 in the Diocese of Sarum, and six miles from that City, 
 became void. The Bishop of Sarum is patron of it ; but 
 in the vacancy of that See, — which was three years betwixt 
 the translation of Bishop Pierce to the See of York, and 
 Bishop Caldwell's admission into it, — the disposal of that, 
 and all benefices belonging to that See, during this said 
 vacancy, came to be disposed of by the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury : and he presented Richard Hooker to it in 
 the year 1591. And Richard Hooker was also in the said 
 year instituted, July 17, to be a Minor Prebend of Salis- 
 bury, the corps to it being Nether-Haven, about ten miles 
 from that City ; which prebend was of no great value, but 
 intended chiefly to make him capable of a better prefer- 
 ment in that church. In this Boscum he continued till he 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 337 
 
 had finished four of his eight proposed books of The 
 Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, and these were entered into 
 the Register-Book in Stationers' Hall, the 9th of March, 
 1592, but not published till the year 1594, and then were 
 with the before-mentioned large and affectionate Preface, 
 which he directs to them that seek — as they term it — the 
 reformation of the Laws and Orders Ecclesiastical in the 
 Church of England; of which books I shall yet say 
 nothing more, but that he continued his laborious diligence 
 to finish the remaining four during his life ; — of all which 
 more properly hereafter ; — but at Boscum he finished and 
 published but only the first four, being then in the 39th 
 year of his age. 
 
 He left Boscum in the year 1595, by a surrender of it 
 into the hands of Bishop Caldwell : and he presented 
 Benjamin Russell, who was instituted into it the 23rd of 
 June in the same year. 
 
 The Parsonage of Bishop's Bourne in Kent, three miles 
 from Canterbury, is in that Archbishop's gift ; but, in that 
 latter end of the year 1594, Dr. William Redman, the 
 Rector of it, was made Bishop of Norwich ; by which 
 means the power of presenting to it was pro ed vice in the 
 Queen ; and she presented Richard Hooker, whom she 
 loved well, to this good living of Bourne, the 7th of July, 
 1595 ; in which living he continued till his death, without 
 any addition of dignity or profit. 
 
 And now having brought our Richard Hooker from 
 his birth-place, to this where he found a grave, I shall only 
 give some account of his books and of his behaviour in 
 this Parsonage of Bourne, and then give a rest both to 
 myself and my Reader. 
 
 His first four books and large epistle have been de- 
 clared to be printed at his being at Boscum, anno 1594. 
 Next I am to tell, that at the end of these four books there 
 was, when he first printed them, this Advertisement to the 
 Reader. ' I have for some causes, thought it at this time 
 more fit to let go these first four books by themselves, 
 than to stay both them and the rest, till the whole 
 might together be published. Such generalities of the 
 
338 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 cause In question as are here handled, it will be perhaps 
 not amiss to consider apart, by way of introduction unto 
 the books that are to follow concerning particulars ; in 
 the mean time the Reader is requested to mend the 
 Printer's errors, as noted underneath.' 
 
 And I am next to declare, that his Fifth Book — which 
 is larger than his first four — was first also printed by itself, 
 anno 1597, and dedicated to his patron — for till then he 
 chose none — the Archbishop. — These books were read 
 with an admiration of their excellency in this, and their 
 just fame spread itself also into foreign nations. And I 
 have been told, more than forty years past, that either 
 Cardinal Allen, or learned Dr. Stapleton, — both English- 
 men, and in Italy about the time when Mr. Hooker's four 
 books were first printed, — ^meeting with this general fame 
 of them, were desirous to read an author, that both the 
 reformed and the learned of their own Romish Church 
 did so much magnify ; and therefore caused them to be 
 sent for to Rome : and after reading them, boasted to the 
 Pope, — which then was Clement the Eighth, — ' That 
 though he had lately said, he never met with an English 
 book, whose writer deserved the name of author ; yet 
 there now appeared a wonder to them, and it would be so 
 to his Holiness, if it were in Latin : for a poor obscure 
 English Priest had writ four such books of Laws, and 
 Church-polity, and in a style that expressed such a grave 
 and so humble a majesty, with such clear demonstration of 
 reason, that in all their readings they had not met with 
 any that exceeded him ' : and this begot in the Pope an 
 earnest desire that Dr. Stapleton should bring the said 
 four books, and, looking on the English, read a part of 
 them to him in Latin ; which Dr. Stapleton did, to the 
 end of the first book ; at the conclusion of which, the Pope 
 spake to this purpose: 'There is no learning that this 
 man hath not searched into, nothing too hard for his 
 understanding : this man indeed deserves the name of an 
 author : his books will get reverence by age ; for there is 
 in them such seeds of eternity, that if the rest be like this, 
 they shall last till the last fire shall consume all learning.' 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 339 
 
 Nor was this high, the only testimony and commenda- 
 tions given to his books ; for at the first coming of King 
 James into this kingdom, he enquired of the Archbishop 
 Whitgift for his friend Mr. Hooker, that writ the books 
 of Church-polity ; to which the answer was, that he died a 
 year before Queen Elizabeth, who received the sad news 
 of his death with very much sorrow ; to which the King 
 replied, 'And I receive it with no less, that I shall 
 want the desired happiness of seeing and discoursing with 
 that man, from whose books I have received such satisfac- 
 tion : indeed, my Lord, I have received more satisfaction 
 in reading a leaf or paragraph, in Mr. Hooker, though it 
 were but about the fashion of Churches, or Church-Music, 
 or the like, but especially of the Sacraments, than I have 
 had in the reading particular large treatises written but 
 of one of those subjects by others, though very learned 
 men : and I observe there is in Mr. Hooker no affected 
 language : but a grave, comprehensive, clear manifestation 
 of reason, and that backed with the authority of the Scrip- 
 ture, the Fathers, and Schoolmen, and with all law both 
 sacred and civil. And, though many others write well, 
 yet in the next age they will be forgotten ; but doubtless 
 there is in every page of Mr. Hooker's book, the picture 
 of a divine soul, such pictures of truth and reason, and 
 drawn in so sacred colours, that they shall never fade, 
 but give an immortal memory to the author.' And it 
 is so truly true, that the King thought what he spake, 
 that, as the most learned of the nation have, and still 
 do mention Mr. Hooker with reverence ; so he also did 
 never mention him but with the epithet of learned, or 
 judicious, or reverend, or venerable Mr. Hooker. 
 
 Nor did his son, our late King Charles the First, ever 
 mention him but with the same reverence, enjoining his 
 son, our now gracious King, to be studious in Mr. 
 Hooker's books. And our learned antiquary, Mr. Cam- 
 den,^ mentioning the death, the modesty, and other virtues 
 of Mr. Hooker, and magnifying his books, wished, ' that, 
 for the honour of this, and benefit of other nations, they 
 
 'la his Annals, 1 599, 
 
340 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 were turned into the Universal Language.' Which work, 
 though undertaken by many, yet they have been weary, 
 and forsaken it : but the Reader may now expect it, having 
 been long since begun and lately finished, by the happy 
 pen of Dr. Earle, now Lord Bishop of Salisbury, of whom 
 I may justly say, — and let it not offend him, because it is 
 such a truth as ought not to be concealed from posterity, 
 or those that now live , and yet know him not, — that since 
 Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom God hath blessed 
 with more innocent wisdom, more sanctified learning, or a 
 more pious, peaceable, primitive temper : so that this 
 excellent person seems to be only like himself, and our 
 venerable Richard Hooker, and only fit to make the 
 learned of all nations happy, in knowing what hath been 
 too long confined to the language of our little island. 
 
 There might be many more and just occasions taken to 
 speak of his books, which none ever did or can commend 
 too much ; but I decline them, and hasten to an account 
 of his Christian behaviour and death at Bourne ; in which 
 place he continued his customary rules of mortification 
 and self-denial ; was much in fasting, frequent in medita- 
 tion and prayers, enjoying those blessed returns, which 
 only men of strict lives feel and know, and of which 
 men of loose and godless lives cannot be made sensible ; 
 for spiritual things are spiritually discerned. 
 
 At his entrance into this place, his friendship was much 
 sought for by Dr. Hadrian Saravia, then, or about that 
 time, made one of the Prebends of Canterbury ; a German 
 by birth, and sometimes a pastor both in Flanders and 
 Holland, where he had studied, and well considered the 
 controverted points concerning Episcopacy and sacrilege ; 
 and in England had a just occasion to declare his judgment 
 concerning both, unto his brethren ministers of the Low 
 Countries ; which was excepted against by Theodore Beza 
 and others ; against whose exceptions he rejoined, and 
 thereby became the happy author of many learned tracts 
 writ in Latin, especially of three ; one, of the ' Degrees of 
 Ministers,' and of the ' Bishops' superiority above the 
 Presbytery ' ; a second, ' against Sacrilege ' ; and a third of 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 341 
 
 ' Christian Obedience to Princes ' ; the last being occasioned 
 by Gretzerus the Jesuit. And it is observable, that when; 
 in a time of Church tumults, Beza gave his reasons to the 
 Chancellor of Scotland for the abrogation of Episcopacy in 
 that nation, partly by letters, and more fuUy in a Treatise 
 of a threefold Episcopacy, — ^which he calls divine, human, 
 and satanical, — this Dr. Saravia had, by the help of Bishop 
 Whitgift, made such an early discovery of their intentions, 
 that he had almost as soon answered that Treatise as it 
 became public ; and he therein discovered how Beza's 
 opinion did contradict that of Calvin's and his adherents ; 
 leaving them to interfere with themselves in point of 
 Episcopacy. But of these tracts it will not concern me 
 to say more, than that they were most of them dedicated 
 to his, and the Church of England's watchful patron, John 
 Whitgift, the Archbishop ; and printed about the time in 
 which Mr. Hooker also appeared first to the world, in the 
 publication of his first four books of Ecclesiastical Polity. 
 
 This friendship being sought for by this learned Doctor, 
 you may believe was not denied by Mr. Hooker, who was 
 by fortune so like him, as to be engaged against Mr. 
 Travers, Mr. Cartwright, and others of their judgment, in 
 a controversy too like Dr. Saravia's ; so that in this year 
 of 1595, and in this place of Bourne, these two excellent 
 persons began a holy friendship, increasing daily to so 
 high and mutual afFections, that their two wills seemed to 
 be but one and the same ; and their designs both for the 
 glory of God, and peace of the Church, still assisting and 
 improving each other's virtues, and the desired comforts 
 of a peaceable piety ; which I have willingly mentioned, 
 because it gives a foundation to some things that follow. 
 
 This Parsonage of Bourne is from Canterbury three 
 miles, and near to the common road that leads from that 
 City to Dover ; in which Parsonage Mr. Hooker had not 
 been twelve months, but his books, and the innocency 
 and sanctity of his life became so remarkable, that many 
 turned out of the road, and others — scholars especially — 
 went purposely to see the man, whose life and learning 
 were so much admired : and alas ! as our Saviour said of St. 
 
342 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 John Baptist, 'What went they out to see? a man clothed 
 in purple and fine linen?' No, indeed: but an obscure, 
 harmless man ; a man in poor clothes, his loins usually 
 girt In a coarse gown, or canonical coat ; of a mean 
 stature, and stooping, and yet more lowly in the thoughts 
 of his soul ; his body worn out, not with age, but study 
 and holy mortifications ; his face fuU of heat-pimples, 
 begot by his unactivity and sedentary life. And to this 
 true character of his person, let me add this of his dis- 
 position and behaviour : God and Nature blessed him with 
 so blessed a bashfulness, that as in his younger days his 
 pupils might easily look him out of countenance ; so 
 neither then, nor in his age, did he ever willingly look any 
 man in the face : and was of so mild and humble a 
 nature, that his poor Parish-Clerk and he did never talk 
 but with both their hats on, or both off, at the same 
 time : and to this may be added, that though he was not 
 purblind, yet he was short or weak-sighted ; and where 
 he fixed his eyes at the beginning of his sermon, there 
 they continued till it was ended : and the Reader has a 
 liberty to believe, that his modesty and dim sight were 
 some of the reasons why he trusted Mrs. Churchman to 
 choose his wife. 
 
 This Parish-Clerk lived till the third or fourth year of 
 the late Long Parliament ; betwixt which time and Mr. 
 Hooker's death there had come many to see the place of 
 his burial, and the Monument dedicated to his memory 
 by Sir William Cowper, who still lives ; and the poor 
 Clerk had many rewards for shewing Mr. Hooker's grave 
 place, and his said Monument, and did always hear Mr. 
 Hooker mentioned with commendations and reverence ; 
 to all which he added his own knowledge and observations 
 of his humility and holiness ; and in all which discourses 
 the poor man was still more confirmed in his opinion of 
 Mr. Hooker's virtues and learning. But it so fell out, 
 that about the said third or fourth year of the Long 
 Parliament, the then present Parson of Bourne was 
 sequestered, — you may guess why, — and a Genevan 
 Minister put into his good living. This, and other 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 343 
 
 like sequestrations, made the Clerk express himself in a 
 wonder, and say, ' They had sequestered so many good 
 men, that he doubted, if his good master Mr. Hooker had 
 lived till now, they would have sequestered him too ! ' 
 
 It was not long before this intruding Minister had made 
 a party in and about the said Parish, that were desirous to 
 receive the Sacrament as in Geneva ; to which end, the 
 day was appointed for a select company, and forms and 
 stools set about the altar, or communion-table, for them 
 to sit and eat and drink : but when they went about this 
 work, there was a want of some joint-stools, which the 
 Minister sent the Clerk to fetch, and then to fetch 
 cushions, — but not to kneel upon. — When the Clerk saw 
 them begin to sit down, he began to wonder; but the 
 Minister bade him ' cease wondering, and lock the Church- 
 door ' : to whom he replied, ' Pray take you the keys, and 
 lock me out : I wiU never come more into this Church ; 
 for all men will say, my master Hooker was a good man, 
 and a good scholar ; and I am sure it was not used to be 
 thus in his days ' : and report says the old man went 
 presently home and died ; I do not say died immediately, 
 but within a few days after. 
 
 But let us leave this grateful Clerk in his quiet grave, 
 and return to Mr. Hooker himself, continuing our obser- 
 vations of his Christian behaviour in this place, where he 
 gave a holy valediction to all the pleasures and allurements 
 of earth ; possessing his soul in a virtuous quietness, which 
 he maintained by constant study, prayers, and meditations. 
 His use was to preach once every Sunday, and he, or his 
 Curate, to catechise after the second Lesson in the 
 Evening Prayer. His sermons were neither long nor 
 earnest, but uttered with a grave zeal and an humble 
 voice : his eyes always fixed on one place, to prevent 
 imagination from wandering; insomuch that he seemed 
 to study as he spake. The design of his sermons — as 
 indeed of all his discourses — was to shew reasons for what 
 he spake ; and with these reasons such a kind of rhetoric, 
 as did rather convince and persuade, than frighten men 
 into piety ; studying not so much for matter, — which he 
 
344 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 never wanted, — as for apt Illustrations, to Inform and 
 teach his unlearned hearers by familiar examples, and then 
 make them better by convincing applications ; never 
 labouring by hard words, and then by heedless distinctions 
 and sub-distinctions, to amuse his hearers, and get glory 
 to himself ; but glory only to God. Which intention, he 
 would often say, was as discernible in a Preacher, 'as a 
 natural from an artificial beauty.' 
 
 He never failed the Sunday before every Ember-week 
 to give notice of it to his parishioners, persuading them 
 both to fast, and then to double their devotions for a 
 learned and pious Clergy, but especially the last ; saying 
 often, 'That the life of a pious Clergyman was visible 
 rhetoric ; and so convincing, that the most godless men — 
 though they would not deny themselves the enjoyment of 
 their present lusts — did yet secretly wish themselves like 
 those of the strictest lives.' And to what he persuaded 
 others, he added his own example of fasting and prayer ; 
 and did usually every Ember-week take from the Parish- 
 Clerk the key of the Church-door, into which place he 
 retired every day, and locked himself up for many hours ; 
 and did the like most Fridays and other days of fasting. 
 
 He would by no means omit the customary time of 
 Procession, persuading all, both rich and poor, if they 
 desired the preservation of love, and their Parish-rights 
 and liberties, to accompany him In his perambulation ; and 
 most did so : In which perambulation he would usually 
 express more pleasant discourse than at other times, and 
 would then always drop some loving and facetious obser- 
 vations to be remembered against the next year, especially 
 by the boys and young people ; stUl inclining them, and 
 all his present parishioners, to meekness, and mutual 
 kindness and love ; because ' Love thinks not evil, but 
 covers a multitude of Infirmities.' 
 
 He was diligent to enquire who of his Parish were sick, 
 or any ways distressed, and would often visit them, unsent 
 for ; supposing that the fittest time to discover to them 
 those errors, to which health and prosperity had blinded 
 them. And having by pious reasons and prayers moulded 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 345 
 
 them into holy resolutions for the time to come, he would 
 incline them to confession and bewailing their sins, with 
 purpose to forsake them, and then to receive the Com- 
 munion, both as a strengthening of those holy resolutions, 
 and as a seal betwixt God and them of his mercies to their 
 souls, in case that present sickness did put a period to 
 their lives. 
 
 And as he was thus watchful and charitable to the sick, 
 so he was as diligent to prevent lawsuits ; still urging his 
 parishioners and neighbours to bear with each other's 
 infirmities, and live in love, because, as St. John says, ' He 
 that lives in love, lives in God : for God is love.' And to 
 maintain this holy fire of love constantly burning on the 
 altar of a pure heart, his advice was to watch and pray, and 
 always keep themselves fit to receive the Communion, and 
 then to receive it often ; for it was both a confirming 
 and strengthening of their graces. This was his advice ; 
 and at his entrance or departure out of any house, he 
 would usually speak to the whole family, and bless them 
 by name ; insomuch, that as he seemed in his youth to be 
 taught of God, so he seemed in this place to teach his 
 precepts as Enoch did, by walking with him in aU holiness 
 and humility, making each day a step towards a blessed 
 eternity. And though, in this weak and declining age of 
 the world, such examples are become barren, and almost 
 incredible; yet let his memory be blessed with this true 
 recordation, because he that praises Richard Hooker, 
 praises God who hath given such gifts to men ; and let 
 this humble and affectionate relation of him become such a 
 pattern, as may invite posterity to imitate these his virtues. 
 
 This was his constant behaviour both at Bourne, and in 
 all the places in which he lived: thus did he walk with 
 God, and tread the footsteps of primitive piety ; and yet, 
 as that great example of meekness and purity, even our 
 blessed Jesus, was not free from false accusations, no more 
 was this disciple of his, this most humble, most innocent, 
 holy man. His was a slander parallel to that of chaste 
 Susannah's by the wicked Elders ; or that against St. 
 Athanasius, as it is recorded in his life, — for that holy man 
 
346 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 had heretical enemies, — a slander which this age calls 
 trepanning. The particulars need not a repetition ; and 
 that it was false, needs no other testimony than the public 
 punishment of his accusers, and their open confession of 
 his innocency. 'Twas said, that the accusation was con- 
 trived by a dissenting brother, one that endured not 
 Church-ceremonies, hating him for his book's sake, which 
 he was not able to answer ; and his name hath been told 
 me ; but I have not so much confidence in the relation, as 
 to make my pen fix a scandal on him to posterity ; I shall 
 rather leave it doubtful till the great day of revelation. 
 But this is certain, that he lay under the great charge, and 
 the anxiety of this accusation, and kept it secret to himself 
 for many months ; and, being a helpless man, had lain 
 longer under this heavy burthen, but that the Protector of 
 the innocent gave such an accidental occasion, as forced 
 him to make it known to his two dearest friends, Edwin 
 Sandys and George Cranmer, who were so sensible of their 
 tutor's sufferings, that they gave themselves no rest, till 
 by their disquisitions and diligence they had found out 
 the fraud, and brought him the welcome news, that his 
 accusers did confess they had wronged him, and begged 
 his pardon. To which the good man's reply was to this 
 purpose : ' The Lord forgive them ; and the Lord bless 
 you for this comfortable news. Now have I a just 
 occasion to say with Solomon, " Friends are born for the 
 days of adversity " ; and such you have proved to me. 
 And to my God I say, as did the Mother of St. John 
 Baptist, "Thus hath the Lord dealt with me, in the day 
 wherein he looked upon me, to take away my reproach 
 among men." And, O my God ! neither my life, nor my 
 reputation, are safe in mine own keeping ; but in thine, who 
 didst take care of me when I yet hanged upon my mother's 
 breast. Blessed are they that put their trust in thee, O 
 Lord ! for when false witnesses were risen up against me ; 
 when shame was ready to cover my face ; when my nights 
 were restless ; when my soul thirsted for a deliverance, as 
 the hart panteth after the rivers of waters ; then thou. 
 Lord, didst hear my complaints, pity my condition, and 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 347 
 
 art now become my deliverer ; and as long as I live I will 
 hold up my hands in this manner, and magnify thy 
 mercies, who didst not give me over as a prey to mine 
 enemies : the net is broken, and they are taken in it. 
 Oh ! blessed are they that put their trust in thee ! and no 
 prosperity shall make me forget those days of sorrow, or 
 to perform those vows that I have made to thee in the 
 days of my affliction ; for with such sacrifices, thou, O 
 God, art well pleased ; and I will pay them.' 
 
 Thus did the joy and gratitude of this good man's heart 
 break forth ; and it is observable, that as the invitation 
 to this slander was his meek behaviour and dove-like 
 simplicity, for which he was remarkable ; so his Christian 
 charity ought to be imitated. For though the spirit of 
 revenge is so pleasing to mankind, that It is never conquered 
 but by a supernatural grace, revenge being indeed so 
 deeply rooted in human nature, that, to prevent the 
 excesses of it, — for men would not know moderation, — 
 Almighty God allows not any degree of it to any man, but 
 says ' vengeance is mine ' : and though this be sai4 
 positively by God himself, yet this revenge is so pleasing, 
 that man is hardly persuaded to submit the manage of it 
 to the time, and justice, and wisdom of his Creator, but 
 would hasten to be his own executioner of it. And yet 
 nevertheless, if any man ever did wholly decline, and leave 
 this pleasing passion to the time and measure of God alone, 
 it was this Richard Hooker, of whom I write : for when 
 his slanderers were to suffer, he laboured to procure their 
 pardon ; and when that was denied him, his reply was, 
 ' That however he would fast and pray that God would 
 give them repentance, and patience to undergo their 
 punishment.' And his prayers were so far returned into 
 his own bosom, that the first was granted, if we may 
 believe a penitent behaviour, and an open confession. 
 And 'tis observable, that after this time he would often say 
 to Dr. Saravia, ' Oh ! with what quietness did I enjoy my 
 soul, after I was free from the fears of my slander ! And 
 how much more after a conflict and victory over my 
 desires of revenge ! ' 
 
348 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 About the year 1600, and of his age forty-six, he fell 
 into a long and sharp sickness, occasioned by a cold taken 
 in his passage by water betwixt London and Gravesend, 
 from the malignity of which he was never recovered ; for 
 after that time, till his death, he was not free from 
 thoughtful days and restless nights : but a submission to 
 His will that makes the sick man's bed easy, by giving 
 rest to his soul, made his very languishment comfortable : 
 and yet aU this time he was solicitous in his study, and 
 said often to Dr. Saravia, — who saw him daily, and was 
 the chief comfort of his life,- — 'That he did not beg a 
 long life of God for any other reason, but to live to finish 
 his three remaining books of Polity ; and then, " Lord, 
 let thy servant depart in peace"'; which was his usual 
 expression. And God heard his prayers, though he denied 
 the Church the benefit of them, as completed by himself ; 
 and 'tis thought he hastened his own death, by hastening 
 to give life to his books. But this is certain, that the 
 nearer he was to his death, the more he grew in humility, 
 in holy thoughts, and resolutions. 
 
 About a month before his death, this good man, that 
 never knew, or at least never considered, the pleasures of 
 the palate, became first to lose his appetite, and then to 
 have an averseness to all food, insomuch that he seemed to 
 live some intermitted weeks by the smell of meat only, 
 and yet stiU studied and writ. And now his guardian 
 angel seemed to foretell him that the day of his dissolution 
 drew near ; for which his vigorous soul appeared to thirst. 
 
 In this time of his sickness and not many days before 
 his death, his house was robbed ; of which he having 
 notice, his question was, ' Are my books and written papers 
 safe ? ' And being answered that they were ; his reply was, 
 ' Then it matters not ; for no other loss can trouble me.' 
 
 About one day before his death. Dr. Saravia, who knew 
 the very secrets of his soul, — for they were supposed to 
 be confessors to each other, — came to him, and, after a 
 conference of the benefit, the necessity, and safety of the 
 Church's absolution, it was resolved the Doctor should 
 give him both that and the Sacrament the following day. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 349 
 
 To which end the Doctor came, and, after a short retire- 
 ment and privacy, they two returned to the company ; 
 and then the Doctor gave him and some of those friends 
 which were with him, the blessed Sacrament of the body 
 and blood of our Jesus. Which being performed, the 
 Doctor thought he saw a reverend gaiety and joy in his 
 face ; but it lasted not long ; for his bodily infirmities did 
 return suddenly, and became more visible, insomuch that 
 the Doctor apprehended death ready to seize him ; yet, 
 after some amendment, left him at night, with a promise to 
 return early the day following; which he did, and then 
 found him better in appearance, deep in contemplation, 
 and not inclinable to discourse ; which gave the Doctor 
 occasion to require his present thoughts. To which he 
 replied, ' That he was meditating the number and nature 
 of Angels, and their blessed obedience and order, without 
 which, peace could not be in Heaven : and Oh ! that it 
 might be so on Earth ! ' After which words, he said, ' I 
 have lived to see this world is made up of perturbations ; 
 and I have been long preparing to leave it, and gather- 
 ing comfort for the dreadful hour of making my account 
 with God, which I now apprehend to be near: and 
 though I have by his grace loved him in my youth, and 
 feared him in mine age, and laboured to have a conscience 
 void of offence to him, and to all men ; yet if thou, O 
 Lord ! be extreme to mark what I have done amiss, who 
 can abide it ? And therefore, where I have failed. Lord, 
 shew mercy to me ; for I plead not my righteousness, but 
 the forgiveness of my unrighteousness, for His merits, 
 who died to purchase pardon for penitent sinners. And 
 since I owe thee a death. Lord, let it not be terrible, and 
 then take thine own time : I submit to it : let not mine, O 
 Lord ! but let thy will be done.' With which expression 
 he fell into a dangerous slumber ; dangerous as to his 
 recovery, yet recover he did, but it was to speak only these 
 few words : ' Good Doctor, God hath heard my daily 
 petitions, for I am at peace with all men, and he is at 
 peace with me ; and from that blessed assurance I 
 feel that inward joy, which this world can neither give nor 
 
3SO IZAAK WALTON 
 
 take from mc : my conscience beareth me this witness, 
 and this witness makes the thoughts of death joyful. I 
 could wish to live to do the Church more service; but 
 cannot hope it, for my days are past as a shadow that 
 returns not.' More he would have spoken, but his spirits 
 failed him ; and, after a short conflict betwixt Nature and 
 Death, a quiet sigh put a period to his last breath, and so 
 he fell asleep. And now he seems to rest like Lazarus in 
 Abraham's bosom. Let me here draw his curtain, till with 
 the most glorious company of the Patriarchs and Apostles, 
 the most Noble Army of Martyrs and Confessors, this 
 most learned, most humble, holy man shall also awake 
 to receive an eternal tranquillity, and with it a greater 
 degree of glory than common Christians shall be made 
 partakers of. 
 
 In the mean time. Bless, O Lord ! Lord, bless his brethren, 
 the Clergy of this nation, with effectual endeavours to 
 attain, if not to his great learning, yet to his remarkable 
 meekness, his godly simplicity, and his Christian modera- 
 tion ; for these will bring peace at the last. And, Lord, 
 let his most excellent writings be blest with what he 
 designed, when he undertook them : which was, glory to 
 thee, O God ! on high, peace in thy Church, and goodwill 
 to mankind. Amen, Amen. 
 
 IzAAK Walton. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 351 
 
 This following Epitaph was long since presented to the 
 world, in memory of Mr. Hooker, by Sir William 
 Cooper, who also built him a fair Monument in 
 Bourne Church, and acknowledges him to have been 
 his spiritual father. 
 
 Though nothing can be spoke worthy his fame. 
 
 Or the remembrance of that precious name, 
 
 Judicious Hooker; though this cost be spent 
 
 On him, that hath a lasting monument 
 
 In his own books ; yet ought we to express, 
 
 If not his worth, yet our respectfulness. 
 
 Church-Ceremonies he maintain'd ; then why 
 
 Without all ceremony should he die ? 
 
 Was it because his life and death should be 
 
 Both equal patterns of humility ? 
 
 Or that perhaps this only glorious one 
 
 Was above all, to ask, why had he none ? 
 
 Yet he, that lay so long obscurely low. 
 
 Doth now preferr'd to greater honours go. 
 
 Ambitious men, learn hence to be more wise. 
 
 Humility is the true way to rise : 
 
 And God in me this lesson did inspire, 
 
 To bid this humble man, ' Friend, sit up higher.* 
 
352 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 AN APPENDIX TO THE LIFE OF 
 MR. RICHARD HOOKER 
 
 And now, having by a long and laborious search satisfied 
 myself, and I hope my Reader, by imparting to him the 
 true relation of Mr. Hooker's life, I am desirous also to 
 acquaint him with some observations that relate to it, and 
 which could not properly fall to be spoken till after his 
 death ; of which my Reader may expect a brief and true 
 account in the following Appendix. 
 
 And first, it is not to be doubted but that he died in the 
 forty-seventh, if not in the forty-sixth year of his age : 
 which I mention, because many have believed him to be 
 more aged : but I have so examined it, as to be confident 
 I mistake not : and for the year of his death, Mr. 
 Camden, who in his Annals of Queen Elizabeth, 1599, 
 mentions him with a high commendation of his life and 
 learning, declares him to die in the year 1599; and yet in 
 that inscription of his Monument, set up at the charge of 
 Sir William Cowper, in Bourne Church, where Mr. Hooker 
 was buried, his death is there said to be in anno 1603 ; 
 but doubtless both mistaken ; for I have it attested under 
 the hand of William Somner, the Archbishop's Registrar 
 for the Province of Canterbury, that Richard Hooker's 
 Will bears date October 26th in anno 1600, and that it 
 was proved the third of December following.'^ 
 
 1 And the Reader may take notice, that since I first writ this 
 Appendix to the Life of Mr. Hooker, Mr. Fulman, of Corpus Christi 
 College, hath shewed me a good authority for the very day and hour 
 of Mr. Hooker's death, in one of his books of Polity, which had been 
 Archbishop Laud's. In which book, beside many considerable mar- 
 ginal notes of some passages of his time, under the Bishop's own hand, 
 there is also written in the title-page of that book — ^which now is 
 Mr. Fulman's — this attestation : Ricardus Hooker vir summis doctrinae 
 dotibus ornatus, de Ecclesia fraecipue Anglkana optime meritus, obiit Novemb. 
 2, circiter horam secundam post-mendianum, Anno 1600. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 353 
 
 And that at his death he left four daughters, Alice, 
 Cicely, Jane and Margaret ; that he gave to each of them 
 an hundred pounds ; that he left Joan, his wife, his sole 
 executrix; and that, by his inventory his estate — a great 
 part of it being in books — came to ;^i,092 9s. 2d., which 
 was much more than he thought himself worth; and 
 which was not got by his care, much less by the good 
 housewifery of his wife, but saved by his trusty servant, 
 Thomas Lane, that was wiser than his master in getting 
 money for him, and more frugal than his mistress in 
 keeping of it. Of which Will of Mr. Hooker's I shall 
 say no more, but that his dear friend Thomas, the father 
 of George Cranmer, — of whom I have spoken, and shall 
 have occasion to say more, — was one of the witnesses 
 to it. 
 
 One of his elder daughters was married to one Chalinor, 
 sometime a School-master in Chichester, and are both dead 
 long since. Margaret, his youngest daughter, was married 
 unto Ezekiel Charke, Bachelor in Divinity, and Rector of 
 St. Nicholas in Harbledown, near Canterbury, who died 
 about sixteen years past, and had a son Ezekiel, now 
 living, and in Sacred Orders ; being at this time Rector of 
 Waldron, in Sussex. She left also a daughter, with both 
 whom I have spoken not many months past, and find 
 her to be a widow in a condition that wants not, but very 
 far from abounding. And these two attested unto me, 
 that Richard Hooker, their grandfather, had a sister, by 
 name Elizabeth Harvey, that lived to the age of 121 
 years, and died in the month of September, 1663. 
 
 For his other two daughters I can learn little certainty, 
 but have heard they both died before they were marriage- 
 able. And for his wife, she was so unlike Jephtha's 
 daughter, that she staid not a comely time to bewail her 
 widowhood ; nor lived long enough to repent her second 
 marriage; for which, doubtless, she would have found 
 cause, if there had been but four months betwixt Mr. 
 Hooker's and her death. But she is dead, and let her 
 other infirmities be buried with her. 
 
 Thus much briefly for his age, the year of his death, his 
 
354 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 estate, his wife, and his children. I am next to speak of 
 his books; concerning which I shall have a necessity of 
 being longer, or shall neither do right to myself, or my 
 Reader, which is chiefly intended in this Appendix. 
 
 I have declared in his Life, that he proposed Eight 
 Books, and that his first Four were printed anno 1594, 
 and his Fifth book first printed, and alone, anno 1597 ; 
 and that he lived to finish the remaining Three of the 
 proposed Eight : but whether we have the last Three as 
 finished by himself, is a just and material question ; con- 
 cerning which I do declare, that I have been told almost 
 forty years past, by one that very well knew Mr. Hooker 
 and the affairs of his family, that, about a month after the 
 death of Mr. Hooker, Bishop Whitgift, then Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, sent one of his Chaplains to enquire of 
 Mrs. Hooker, for the three remaining books of Polity, 
 writ by her husband : of which she would not, or could 
 not, give any account : and that about three months after 
 that time the Bishop procured her to be sent for to 
 London, and then by his procurement she was to be 
 examined by some of her Majesty's Council, concerning 
 the disposal of those books : but, by way of preparation 
 for the next day's examination, the Bishop invited her to 
 Lambeth, and after some friendly questions, she confessed 
 to him, that one Mr. Charke, and another Minister that 
 dwelt near Canterbury, came to her, and desired that they 
 might go into her husband's study, and look upon some 
 of his writings : and that there they two burnt and tore 
 many of them, assuring her, that they were writings not 
 fit to be seen : and that she knew nothing more concerning 
 them. Her lodging was then in King Street in West- 
 minster, where she was found next morning dead in her 
 bed, and her new husband suspected and questioned for 
 it ; but he was declared innocent of her death. 
 
 And I declare also, that Dr. John Spencer, — mentioned 
 in the Life of Mr. Hooker, — who was of Mr. Hooker's 
 College, and of his time there, and betwixt whom there 
 was so friendly a friendship, that they continually advised 
 together in all their studies, and particularly in what con- 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 355 
 
 cerned these books of Polity — this Dr. Spencer, the Three 
 perfect books being lost, had delivered into his hands — I 
 think by Bishop Whitgift — the imperfect books, or first 
 rough draughts of them, to be made as perfect as they 
 might be by him, who both knew Mr. Hooker's hand- 
 writing, and was best acquainted with his intentions. And 
 a fair testimony of this may appear by an Epistle, first, 
 and usually printed before Mr. Hooker's Five books, — 
 but omitted, I know not why, in the last impression of the 
 Eight printed together in anno 1662, in which the Pub- 
 lishers seem to impose the three doubtful books, to be the 
 undoubted books of Mr. Hooker, — with these two 
 letters, J. S. at the end of the said Epistle, which was 
 meant for this John Spencer : in which Epistle the Reader 
 may find these words, which may give some authority to 
 what I have here written of his last Three books. 
 
 ' And though Mr. Hooker hastened his own death by 
 hastening to give life to his books, yet he held out with 
 his eyes to behold these Benjamins, these sons of his right 
 hand, though to him they proved Benonies, sons of pain 
 and sorrow. But some evil-disposed minds, whether of 
 malice or covetousness, or wicked blind zeal, it is uncertain, 
 as soon as they were born, and their father dead, smothered 
 them, and by conveying the perfect copies, left unto us 
 nothing but the old, imperfect, mangled draughts, dis- 
 membered into pieces ; no favour, no grace, not the 
 shadow of themselves remaining in them. Had the 
 father lived to behold them thus defaced, he might 
 rightly have named them Benonies, the sons of sorrow : 
 but being the learned will not suflFer them to die and be 
 buried, it is intended the world shall see them as they are ; 
 the learned will find in them some shadows and resem- 
 blances of their father's face. God grant, that as they 
 were with their brethren dedicated to the Church for 
 messengers of peace : so, in the strength of that little 
 breath of life that remaineth in them, they may prosper 
 in their work, and, by satisfying the doubts of such 
 as are willing to learn, they may help to give an end to 
 the calamities of these our civil wars.' — ^J. S. 
 
356 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And next the Reader may note, that this Epistle of Dr. 
 Spencer's was writ and first printed within four years after 
 the death of Mr. Hooker, in which time all diligent search 
 had been made for the perfect copies ; and then granted 
 not recoverable, and therefore endeavoured to be com- 
 pleted out of Mr. Hooker's rough draughts, as is 
 expressed by the said Dr. Spencer in the said Episde, 
 since whose death it is now fifty years. 
 
 And I do profess by the faith of a Christian, that Dr. 
 Spencer's wife — who was my Aunt, and Sister to George 
 Cranmer, of whom I have spoken — told me forty years 
 since, in these, or in words to this purpose : 'That her 
 husband had made up, or finished Mr. Hooker's last 
 Three books ; and that upon her husband's death-bed, or 
 in his last sickness, he gave them into her hand, with 
 a charge that they should not be seen by any man, but 
 be by her delivered into the hands of the then 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, which was Dr. Abbot, or unto 
 Dr. King, then Bishop of London, and that she did as he 
 enjoined her.' 
 
 I do conceive, that from Dr. Spencer's, and no other 
 copy, there have been divers transcripts ; and I know that 
 these were to be found in several places ; as namely, in 
 Sir Thomas Bodley's Library ; in that of Dr. Andrews, 
 late Bishop of Winton ; in the late Lord Conway's ; in 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury's ; and in the Bishop of 
 Armagh's ; and in many others : and most of these pre- 
 tended to be the Author's own hand, but much disagree- 
 ing, being indeed altered and diminished, as men have 
 thought fittest to make Mr. Hooker's judgment suit with 
 their fancies, or give authority to their corrupt designs ; 
 and for proof of a part of this, take these following 
 testimonies. 
 
 Dr. Barnard, sometime Chaplain to Dr. Usher, late 
 Lord Archbishop of Armagh, hath declared in a late 
 book, called Clavi Trabales, printed by Richard Hodg- 
 kinson, anno 1661, that, in his search and examination of 
 the said Bishop's manuscripts, he found the Three written 
 books which were supposed the Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 357 
 
 of Mr. Hooker's books of Ecclesiastical Polity ; and that 
 in the said Three books — now printed as Mr. Hooker's — 
 there are so many omissions, that they amount to many 
 paragraphs, and which cause many incoherencies : the 
 omissions are set down at large in the said printed book, 
 to which I refer the Reader for the whole ; but think fit 
 in this place to insert this following short part of some of 
 the said omissions. 
 
 First, as there could be in natural bodies no motion 
 of any thing, unless there were some first which moved all 
 things, and continued unmoveable ; even so in politic 
 societies there must be some unpunishable, or else no man 
 shall suffer punishment : for sith punishments proceed 
 always from superiors, to whom the administration of 
 justice belongeth ; which administration must have neces- 
 sarily a fountain, that deriveth it to all others, and receiveth 
 not from any, because otherwise the course of justice 
 should go infinitely in a circle, every superior having his 
 superior without end, which cannot be : therefore a well- 
 spring, it followeth, there is : a supreme head of justice, 
 whereunto all are subject, but itself in subjection to none. 
 Which kind of pre-eminency if some ought to have in a 
 kingdom, who but the King shall have it ? Kings, there- 
 fore, or no man, can have lawful power to judge. 
 
 If private men offend, there is the Magistrate over 
 them, which judgeth ; if Magistrates, they have their 
 Prince ; if Princes, there is Heaven, a tribunal, before 
 which they shall appear ; on earth they are not accountable 
 to any. Here, says the Doctor, it breaks off abruptly. 
 
 And I have these words also attested under the hand 
 of Mr. Fabian Philips, a man of note for his useful books. 
 *I will make oath, if I shall be required, that Dr. 
 Sanderson, the late Bishop of Lincoln, did a little before 
 his death affirm to me, he had seen a manuscript affirmed 
 to him to be the hand-writing of Mr. Richard Hooker, in 
 which there was no mention made of the King or supreme 
 governors being accountable to the people. This I will 
 make oath, that that good man attested to me. 
 
 Fabian Philips. 
 
358 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 So that there appears to be both omissions and addi- 
 tions in the said last Three printed books : and this may 
 probably be one reason why Dr. Sanderson, the said 
 learned Bishop, — whose writings are so highly and justly 
 valued, — gave a strict charge near the time of his death, 
 or in his last Will, ' That nothing of his that was not 
 already printed, should be printed after his death,' 
 
 It is well known how high a value our learned King 
 James put upon the books writ by Mr. Hooker; and 
 known also that our late King Charles — the Martyr for 
 the Church — valued them the second of all books, testified 
 by his commending them to the reading of his son Charles, 
 that now is our gracious King : and you may suppose that 
 this Charles the First was not a stranger to the pretended 
 three books, because, in a discourse with the Lord Say, 
 in the time of the Long Parliament, when the said Lord 
 required the King to grant the truth of his argument, 
 because it was the judgment of Mr. Hooker, — quoting 
 him in one of the three written books, the King replied, 
 ' They were not allowed to be Mr. Hooker's books : but, 
 however, he would allow them to be Mr. Hooker's, and 
 consent to what his Lordship proposed to prove out of 
 those doubtful books, if he would but consent to the 
 judgment of Mr. Hooker in the other five, that were the 
 undoubted books of Mr. Hooker.' 
 
 In this relation concerning these Three doubtful books 
 of Mr. Hooker's, my purpose was to enquire, then set 
 down what I observed and know ; which I have done, not 
 as an engaged person, but indifFerently ; and now leave 
 my Reader to give sentence, for their legitimation, as to 
 himself; but so as to leave others the same liberty of 
 believing or disbelieving them to be Mr. Hooker's : and 
 'tis observable, that as Mr. Hooker advised with Dr. Spencer, 
 in the design and manage of these books ; so also, apd 
 chiefly with his dear pupil, George Cranmer, — whose sister 
 was the wife of Dr. Spencer, — of which this following 
 letter may be a testimony, and doth also give authority to 
 some things mentioned both in this Appendix and in the 
 Life of Mr. Hooker, and is therefore added. I. W. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 359 
 
 George Cranme/s Letter unto Mr. Richard Hooker, 
 Feb. 1598 
 
 What posterity is likely to judge of these matters con- 
 cerning Church-discipline, we may the better conjecture, 
 if we call to mind what our own age, within few years, 
 upon better experience, hath already judged concerning 
 the same. It may be remembered, that at first, the 
 greatest part of the learned in the land were either eagerly 
 affected, or favourably inclined that wdy. The books then 
 written for the most part savoured of the disciplinary 
 style ; it sounded everywhere in pulpits, and in common 
 phrase of men's speech. The contrary part began to fear 
 they had taken a wrong course ; many which impugned 
 the discipline, yet so impugned it, not as not being the 
 better form of government, but as not being so convenient 
 for our state, in regard of dangerous innovations thereby 
 likely to grow : one man ^ alone there was to speak of, — 
 whom let no suspicion of flattery deprive of his deserved 
 commendation, — ^who, in the defiance of the one part, and 
 courage of the other, stood in the gap and gave others 
 respite to prepare themselves to the defence, which, by the 
 sudden eagerness and violence of their adversaries, h^d 
 otherwise been prevented, wherein God hath made good 
 unto him his own impress, Vincit qui patitur: for what 
 contumelious indignities he hath at their hands sustained, 
 the world is witness ; and what reward of honour above 
 his adversaries God hath bestowed upon him, themselves, 
 — though nothing glad thereof, — must needs confess. 
 Now of late years the heat of men towards the discipline 
 is greatly decayed ; their judgments begin to sway on the 
 other side; the learned have weighed it, and found it 
 light ; wise men conceive some fear, lest it prove not only 
 not the best kind of government, but the very bane and 
 destruction of all government. The cause of this change 
 in men's opinions may be drawn from the general nature 
 
 ^ John Whitgift, the Archbishop. 
 
36o IZAAK WALTON 
 
 of error, disguised and clothed with the name of truth ; 
 which did mightily and violently possess men at first, but 
 afterwards, the weakness thereof being by time discovered, 
 it lost that reputation, which before it had gained. As by 
 the outside of an house the passers-by are oftentimes 
 deceived, till they see the conveniency of the rooms within ; 
 so, by the very name of discipline and reformation, men 
 were drawn at first to cast a fancy towards it, but now 
 they have not contented themselves only to pass by and 
 behold afar off the fore-front of this reformed house ; they 
 have entered it, even at the special request of the master- 
 workmen and chief-builders thereof: they have perused 
 the rooms, the lights, the conveniences, and they find them 
 not answerable to that report which was made of them, nor 
 to that opinion which upon report they had conceived : so 
 as now the discipline, which at first triumphed over all, 
 being unmasked, beginneth to droop, and hang down her 
 head. 
 
 The cause of change in opinion concerning the discipline 
 is proper to the learned, or to such as by them have been 
 instructed. Another cause there is more open, and more 
 apparent to the view of all, namely, the course of practice, 
 which the Reformers have had with us from the beginning. 
 The first degree was only some small difference about the 
 cap and surplice ; but not such as either bred division in 
 the Church, or tended to the ruin of the government 
 established. This was peaceable ; the next degree more 
 stirring. Admonitions were directed to the Parliament in 
 peremptory sort against our whole form of regiment. In 
 defence of them, volumes were published in English and in 
 Latin : yet this was no more than writing. Devices were 
 set on foot to erect the practice of the discipline without 
 authority ; yet herein some regard of modesty, some 
 moderation was used. Behold at length it brake forth into 
 open outrage, first in writing by Martin ; in whose kind of 
 dealing these things may be observed : i . That whereas 
 Thomas Cartwright and others his great masters, had 
 always before set out the discipline as a Queen, and as the 
 daughter of God ; he contrariwise, to make her more 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 361 
 
 acceptable to the people, brought her forth as a Vice upon 
 the stage. 2. This conceit of his was grounded — as may 
 be supposed — upon this rare policy, that seeing the dis- 
 cipline was by writing refuted, in Parliament rejected, in 
 secret corners hunted out and decried, it was imagined that 
 by open railing, — which to the vulgar is commonly most 
 plausible, — the State Ecclesiastical might have been drawn 
 into such contempt and hatred, as the overthrow thereof 
 should have been most grateful to all men, and in a 
 manner desired by all the common people. 3. It may be 
 noted — and this I know myself to be true— how some of 
 them, although they could not for shame approve so lewd 
 an action, yet were content to lay hold on it to the ad- 
 vancement of their cause, by acknowledging therein the 
 secret judgments of God against the Bishops, and hoping 
 that some good might be wrought thereby for his Church ; 
 as indeed there was, though not according to their con- 
 struction. For 4thly, contrary to their expectation, that 
 railing spirit did not only not further, but extremely dis- 
 grace and prejudice their cause, when it was once perceived 
 from how low degrees of contradiction, at first, to what 
 outrage of contumely and slander, they were at length 
 proceeded ; and were also likely to proceed further. 
 
 A further degree of outrage was also in fact : certain^ 
 prophets did arise, who deeming it not possible that God 
 should suffer that to be undone, which they did so fiercely 
 desire to have done, namely, that his holy saints, the 
 favourers and fathers of the discipline, should be enlarged 
 and delivered from persecution ; and seeing no means of 
 deliverance ordinary, were fain to persuade themselves that 
 God must needs raise some extraordinary means ; and 
 being persuaded of none so well as of themselves, they 
 forthwith must needs be the instruments of this great 
 work. Hereupon they framed unto themselves an assured 
 hope, that, upon their preaching out of a peascart in 
 Cheapside, all the multitude would have presently joined 
 unto them, and in amazement of mind have asked them, 
 Viri fratres, quid agimus ? whereunto it is likely they would 
 
 ^ Hacket and Coppinger. 
 
362 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 have returned an answer far unlike to that of St. Peter : 
 ' Such and such are men unworthy to govern ; pluck them 
 down: such and such are the dear children of God; let 
 them be advanced.' 
 
 Of two of these men it is meet to speak with all 
 commiseration ; yet so, that others by their example may 
 receive instruction, and withal some light may appear, 
 what stirring affections the discipline is like to inspire, if it 
 light upon apt and prepared minds. 
 
 Now if any man doubt of what society they were ; or if 
 the Reformers disclaim them, pretencHng that by them 
 they were condemned ; let these points be considered, i. 
 Whose associates were they before they entered into this 
 frantic passion ? Whose sermons did they frequent ? 
 Whom did they admire ? 2. Even when they were 
 entering into it, Whose advice did they require ? and 
 when they were in. Whose approbation ? Whom adver- 
 tised they of their purpose ? Whose assistance by prayer 
 did they request ? But we deal injuriously with them to 
 lay this to their charge ; for they reproved and condemned 
 it. How ! did they disclose it to the Magistrate, that it 
 might be suppressed ? or were they not rather content to 
 stand aloof of, and see the end of it, as being loath to 
 quench that spirit ? No doubt these mad practitioners 
 were of their society, with whom before, and in the 
 practice of their madness, they had most affinity. Hereof 
 read Dr. Bancroft's book. 
 
 A third inducement may be to dislike of the discipline, 
 if we consider not only how far the Reformers themselves 
 have proceeded, but what others upon their foundations 
 have built. Here come the Brownists in the first rank, 
 their lineal descendants, who have seized upon a number 
 of strange opinions ; whereof, although their ancestors, 
 the Reformers, were never actually possessed, yet, by right 
 and interest from them derived, the Brownists and Bar- 
 rowists have taken possession of them : for if the positions 
 of the Reformers be true, I cannot see how the main and 
 general conclusions of Brownism should be false ; for upon 
 these two points, as I conceive, they stand. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 363 
 
 I . That, because we have no Church, they are to sever 
 themselves from us. 2. That without Civil authority they 
 are to erect a Church of their own. And if the former of 
 these be true, the latter, I suppose, will follow : for if 
 above all things men be to regard their salvation ; and if 
 out of the Church there be no salvation ; it foUoweth, 
 that, if we have no Church, we have no means of salva- 
 tion ; and therefore separation from us in that respect is 
 both lawful and necessary ; as also, that men, so separated 
 frbm the false and counterfeit Church, are to associate 
 themselves unto some Church ; not to ours ; to the Popish 
 much less ; therefore to one of their own making. Now 
 the ground of all these inferences being this. That in our 
 Church there is no means of salvation, is out of the 
 Reformers' principles most clearly to be proved. For 
 wheresoever any matter of faith unto salvation necessary is 
 denied, there can be no means of salvation ; but in the 
 Church of England, the discipline, by them accounted a 
 matter of faith, and necessary to salvation, is not only denied, 
 but impugned, and the professors thereof oppressed. Ergo. 
 
 Again, — but this reason perhaps is weak, — every true 
 Church of Christ acknowledgeth the whole Gospel of 
 Christ: the discipline, in their opinion, is a part of the 
 Gospel, and yet by our Church resisted. Ergo. 
 
 Again, the discipline is essentially united to the Church : 
 by which term essentially, they must mean either an 
 essential part, or an essential property. Both which ways 
 it must needs be, that where that essential discipline is not, 
 neither is there any Church. If therefore between them 
 and the Brownists there should be appointed a solemn 
 disputation, whereof with us they have been oftentimes so 
 earnest challengers ; it doth not yet appear what other 
 answer they could possibly frame to these and the like 
 arguments, wherewith they may be pressed, but fairly to 
 deny the conclusion, — ^for all the premises are their own, — 
 or rather ingeniously to reverse their own principles before 
 laid, whereon so foul absurdities have been so firmly built. 
 What further proofs you can bring out of their high 
 words, magnifying the discipline, I leave to your better 
 
364 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 remembrance: but, above all points, I am desirous this 
 one should be strongly enforced against them, because it 
 wringeth them most of all, and is of all others — for aught 
 I see — the most unanswerable. You may notwithstanding 
 say, that you would be heartily glad these their positions 
 might be salved, as the Brownists might not appear to 
 have issued out of their loins : but until that be done, 
 they must give us leave to think that they have cast the 
 seed whereout these tares are grown. 
 
 Another sort of men there are, which have been content 
 to run on with the Reformers for a time, and to make 
 them poor instruments of their own designs. These are a 
 sort of godless politics, who, perceiving the plot of dis- 
 cipline to consist of these two parts, the overthrow of 
 Episcopal, and erections of Presbyterial authority ; and that 
 this latter can take no place tiU the former be removed; 
 are content to join with them in the destructive part of 
 discipline, bearing them in hand, that in the other also they 
 shall find them as ready. But when time shall come, it 
 may be they would be as loath to be yoked with that kind 
 of regiment, as now they are willing to be released from 
 this. These men's ends in aU their actions is distraction ; 
 their pretence and colour, reformation. Those things 
 which under this colour they have effected to their own 
 good, are, i. By maintaining a contrary faction, they have 
 kept the Clergy always in awe, and thereby made them 
 more pliable, and willing to buy their peace. 2. By 
 maintaining an opinion of equality among ministers, they 
 have made way to their own purposes for devouring 
 Cathedral Churches, and Bishops' livings. 3. By exclaim- 
 ing against abuses in the Church, they have carried their 
 own corrupt dealing in the Civil State more covertly. For 
 such is the nature of the multitude, that they are not able 
 to apprehend many things at once ; so as being possessed 
 with a dislike or liking of any one thing, many other in 
 the mean time may escape them without being perceived. 
 4. They have sought to disgrace the Clergy, in entertain- 
 ing a conceit in men's minds, and confirming it by 
 continual practice. That men of learning, and specially of 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 365 
 
 the Clergy, which are employed in the chiefest kind of 
 learning, are not to be admitted or sparingly admitted to 
 matters of State; contrary to the practice of all well-governed 
 commonwealths, and of our own till these late years. 
 
 A third sort of men there are, though not descended 
 from the Reformers, yet in part raised and greatly 
 strengthened by them ; namely, the cursed crew of Atheists. 
 This also is one of those points, which I am desirous you 
 should handle most effectually, and strain yourself therein 
 to all points of motion and affection ; as in that of the 
 Brownists, to all strength and sinews of reason. This is a 
 sort most damnable, and yet by the general suspicion of 
 the world at this day most common. The causes of it, 
 which are in the parties themselves, although you handle in 
 the beginning of the fifth book, yet here again they may 
 be touched: but the occasions of help and furtherance, 
 which by the Reformers have been yielded unto them, are, 
 as I conceive, two ; namely, senseless preaching, and dis- 
 gracing of the Ministry : for how should not men dare to 
 impugn that, which neither by force of reason, nor by 
 authority of persons is maintained.? But in the parties 
 themselves these two causes I conceive of Atheism: i. 
 More abundance of wit than judgment, and of witty than 
 judicious learning ; whereby they are more inclined to con- 
 tradict any thing, than willing to be informed of the truth. 
 They are not therefore men of sound learning for the most 
 part, but smatterers ; neither is their kind of dispute so 
 much by force of argument, as by scoffing ; which humour 
 of scoffing, and turning matters most serious into merri- 
 ment, is now become so common, as we are not to marvel 
 what the Prophet means by the seat of scorners, nor what 
 the Apostles, by foretelling of scorners to come ; for our 
 own age hath verified their speech unto us : which also 
 may be an argument against these scoffers and Atheists 
 themselves, seeing it hadi been so many ages ago foretold, 
 that such men the later days of the world should afford : 
 which could not be done by any other spirit, save that 
 whereunto things future and present are alike. And even 
 for the main question of the resurrection, whereat they 
 
366 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 stick so mightily, was it not plainly foretold, that men 
 should in the latter times say, ' Where i? the promise of his 
 coming ? ' Against the creation, the ark, and divers other 
 points, exceptions are said to be taken, the ground whereof 
 is superfluity of wit, without ground of learning and 
 judgment. A second cause of Atheism is sensuality, 
 which maketh men desirous to remove all stops and 
 impediments of their wicked life ; among which because 
 Religion is the chiefest, so as neither in this life without 
 shame they can persist therein, nor — if that be true — with- 
 out torment in the life to come ; they therefore whet their 
 wits to annihilate the joys of Heaven, wherein they see — if 
 any such be — th^ can have no part, and likewise the pains 
 of Hell, wherein their portion must needs be very great. 
 They labour therefore, not that they may not deserve those 
 pains, but that, deserving them, there may be no such 
 pains to seize upon them. But what conceit can be 
 imagined more base, than that man should strive to 
 persuade himself even against the secret instinct, no doubt, 
 of his own mind, that his soul is as the sox;l of a beast, 
 mortal, and corruptible with the body.? Against which 
 barbarous opinion their own Atheism is a very strong 
 argument. For, were not the soul a nature separable from 
 the body, how could it enter into discourse of things 
 merely spiritual, and nothing at all pertaining to the body? 
 Surely the soul were not able to conceive any thing of 
 Heaven, no not so much as to dispute against Heaven, 
 and against God, if there were not in it somewhat heavenly, 
 and derived from God. 
 
 The last which have received strength and encourage- 
 ment from the Reformers are Papists ; against whom, 
 although they are most bitter enemies, yet unwittingly they 
 have given them great advantage./ For what can any 
 enemy rather desire than the breach and dissension of 
 those which are confederates against him ? Wherein they 
 are to remember that if our communion with Papists in 
 some few ceremonies do so much strengthen them, as is 
 pretended, how much more doth this division and rent 
 among ourselves, especially seeing it is maintained to be. 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 367 
 
 not in light matters only, but even in matters of faith and 
 salvation ? "Which over-reaching speech of theirs, because 
 it is so open an advantage for the Barrowist and the 
 Papist, we are to wish and hope for, that they will acknow- 
 ledge it to have been spoken rather in heat of affection, 
 than with soundness of judgment ; and that through their 
 exceeding love to that creature of discipline which them- 
 selves have bred, nourished, and maintained, their mouth 
 in commendation of her did so often overflow. 
 
 From hence you may proceed — but the means of con- 
 nexion I leave to yourself — to another discourse, which I 
 think very meet to be handled either here or elsewhere at 
 large ; the parts whereof may be these : 1 . That in this 
 cause between them and us, men are to sever the proper 
 and essential points and controversy from those which are 
 accidental. The most essential and proper are these two : 
 overthrow of the Episcopal, and erection of Presbyterial 
 authority. But in these two points whosoever joineth 
 with them, is accounted of their number ; whosoever in all 
 other points agreeth with them, yet thinketh the authority 
 of Bishops not unlawful, and of Elders not necessary, may 
 justly be severed from their retinue. Those things, there- 
 fore, which either in the persons, or in the laws and orders 
 themselves are faulty, may be complained on, acknow- 
 ledged, and amended, yet they no whit the nearer their 
 main purpose : for what if all errors by them supposed in 
 our Liturgy were amended, even according to their own 
 heart's desire ; if non-residence, pluralities, and the like 
 were utterly taken away; are their lay-elders therefore 
 presently authorized .'' or their sovereign ecclesiastical juris- 
 diction established ? 
 
 But even in their complaining against the outward and 
 accidental matters in Church-Government, they are many 
 ways faulty, i. In their end, which they propose to 
 themselves. For in declaiming against abuses, their mean- 
 ing is not to have them redressed, but, by disgracing the 
 present state, to make way for their own discipline. As 
 therefore in Venice, if any Senator should discourse against 
 the power of their Senate, as being either too sovereign, or 
 
368 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 too weak in government, with purpose to draw their 
 authority to a moderation, it might well be suffered ; but 
 not so, if it should appear he spake with purpose to induce 
 another state by depraving the present. So in all causes 
 belonging either to Church or Commonwealth, we are to 
 have regard what mind the complaining part doth bear, 
 whether of amendment or innovation ; and accordingly 
 either to suffer or suppress it. Their objection therefore 
 is frivolous, ' Why, may not men speak against abuses ?' 
 Yes : but with desire to cure the part affected, not to 
 destroy the whole. 2. A second fault is in their manner 
 of complaining, not only because it is for the most part in 
 bitter and reproachful terms, but also it is to the common 
 people, who are judges incompetent and insufficient, both 
 to determine any thing amiss, and for want of skill and 
 authority to amend it. Which also discovereth their 
 intent and purpose to be rather destructive than corrective, 
 3. Thirdly, those very exceptions which they take are 
 frivolous and impertinent. Some things indeed they 
 accuse as impious ; which if they may appear to be such, 
 God forbid they should be maintained. 
 
 Against the rest it is only alleged, that they are idle 
 ceremonies without use, and that better and more profit- 
 able might be devised. Wherein they are doubly deceived ; 
 for neither is it a sufficient plea to say, this must give 
 place, because a better may be devised ; because in our 
 judgments of better and worse, we oftentimes conceive 
 amiss, when we compare those things which are in device 
 with those which are in practice : for the imperfections 
 of the one are hid, till by time and trial they be discovered: 
 the others are already manifest and open to all. But last 
 of all, — ^which is a point in my opinion of great regard, 
 and which I am desirous to have enlarged, — they do not 
 see that for the most part when they strike at the State 
 Ecclesiastical, they secretly wound the Civil State, for 
 personal faults ; ' What can be said against the Church, 
 which may not also agree to the Commonwealth ? ' In 
 both states, men have always been, and will be always, 
 men ; sometimes blinded with error, most commonly per- 
 
LIFE OF HOOKER 369 
 
 verted by passions ; many unworthy have been and are 
 advanced in both ; many worthy not regarded. And as 
 for abuses, which they pretend to be in the law themselves ; 
 when they inveigh against non-residence, do they take it a 
 matter lawful or expedient in the Civil State, for a man to 
 have a great and gainful office in the North, himself 
 continually remaining in the South ? ' He that hath an 
 office let him attend his office.' When they condemn 
 plurality of livings spiritual to the pit of Hell, what think 
 they of the infinite of temporal promotions ? By the great 
 Philosopher, PoL lib. ii. cap. 9, it is forbidden as a thing 
 most dangerous to Commonwealths, that by the same man 
 many great offices should be exercised. When they deride 
 our ceremonies as vain and frivolous, were it hard to apply 
 their exceptions even to those civil ceremonies, which at 
 the Coronation, in Parliament, and all Courts of Justice, are 
 used ? Were it hard to argue even against Circumcision, 
 the ordinance of God, as being a cruel ceremony ? against 
 the Passover, as being ridiculous — shod, girt, a staff in 
 their hand, to eat a lamb .'' 
 
 To conclude : you may exhort the Clergy, — or what if 
 you direct your conclusion not to the Clergy in general, 
 but only to the learned in or of both Universities .?— you 
 may exhort them to a due consideration of all things, and 
 to a right esteem and valuing of each thing in that degree 
 wherein it ought to stand. For it oftentimes falleth out, 
 that what men have either devised themselves, or greatly 
 delighted in, the price and the excellency thereof they do 
 admire above desert. The chiefest labour of a Christian 
 should be to know, of a Minister to preach Christ 
 crucified : in regard whereof, not only worldly things, but 
 things otherwise precious, even the discipline itself, is vUe 
 and base. Whereas now, by the heat of contention, and 
 violence of affectibn, the zeal of men towards the one 
 hath greatly decayed their love to the other. Hereunto 
 therefore they are to be exhorted to preach Christ Cruci- 
 fied, the mortification of the flesh, the renewing of the Spirit; 
 not those things which in time of strife seem precious, but 
 — passions being allayed — are vain and childish. G. C. 
 
 2A 
 
THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 Wisdom of Salom. iv. i o — He pleased God, and was beloved of Him ; so 
 that whereas he lived among sinners. He translated him 
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 
 
 In a late retreat from the business of this world, and those 
 many little cares with which I have too often cumbered 
 myself, I fell into a contemplation of some of those his- 
 torical passages that are recorded in Sacred Story : and 
 more particularly of what had passed betwixt our blessed 
 Saviour and that wonder of Women, and Sinners, and 
 Mourners, St. Mary Magdalen. I call her Saint, because 
 I did not then, nor do now consider her, as when she 
 was possessed with seven devils ; not as when her wanton 
 eyes and dishevelled hair were designed and managed to 
 charm and ensnare amorous beholders. But I did then, 
 and do now consider her, as after she had expressed a 
 visible and sacred sorrow for her sensualities ; as after 
 those eyes had wept such a flood of penitential tears as 
 did wash, and that hair had wiped, and she most 
 passionately kissed the feet of her's and our blessed Jesus. 
 And I do now consider, that because she loved much, not 
 only much was forgiven her : but that beside that blessed 
 blessing of having her sins pardoned, and the joy of 
 knowing her happy condition, she also had from him a 
 testimony, that her alabaster box of precious ointment 
 
 370 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 371 
 
 poured on his head and feet, and that spikenard, and those 
 spices that were by her dedicated to embalm and preserve 
 his sacred body from putrefaction, should so far preserve 
 her own memory, that these demonstrations of her 
 sanctified love, and of her officious and generous gratitude, 
 should be recorded and mentioned wheresoever his Gospel 
 should be read ; intending thereby, that as his, so her 
 name, should also live to succeeding generations, even till 
 time itself shall be no more. 
 
 Upon occasion of which fair example, I did lately look 
 back, and not without some content, — at least to myself, 
 — that I have endeavoured to deserve the love, and pre- 
 serve the memory, of my two deceased friends, Dr. 
 Donne, and Sir Henry Wotton, by declaring the several 
 employments and various accidents of their lives. And 
 though Mr. George Herbert — whose Life I now intend to 
 write — were to me a stranger as to his person, for I have 
 only seen him ; yet since he was, and was worthy to be, 
 their friend, and very many of his have been mine, I judge 
 it may not be unacceptable to those that knew any of 
 them in their lives, or do now know them by mine, or 
 their own writings, to see this conjunction of them after 
 their deaths ; without which, many things that concerned 
 them, and some things that concerned the age on which 
 they lived, would be less perfect, and lost to posterity. 
 
 For these reasons I have undertaken it ; and if I have 
 prevented any abler person, I beg pardon of him and my 
 Reader. 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 George Herbert was born the Third day of April, in 
 the year of our Redemption 1593. The place of his birth 
 was near to the Town of Montgomery, and in that Castle 
 that did then bear the name of that Town and County ; 
 that Casde was then a place of state and strength, and had 
 been successively happy in the Family of the Herberts, 
 
372 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 who had long possessed it ; and with it, a plentiful estate, 
 and hearts as liberal to their poor neighbours. A family, 
 that hath been blessed with men of remarkable wisdom, 
 and a willingness to serve their country, and, indeed, to do 
 good to all mankind ; for which they are eminent : But 
 alas ! this family did in the late rebellion suffer extremely 
 in their estates ; and the heirs of that Castle saw it laid 
 level with that earth, that was too good to bury those 
 wretches that were the cause of it. 
 
 The Father of our George was Richard Herbert, the 
 son of Edward Herbert, Knight, the son of Richard 
 Herbert, Knight, the son of the famous Sir Richard 
 Herbert of Colebrook, in the County of Monmouth, 
 Banneret, who was the youngest brother of that memor- 
 able William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, that lived in the 
 reign of our King Edward the Fourth. 
 
 His Mother was Magdalen Newport, the youngest 
 daughter of Sir Richard, and sister to Sir Francis Newport 
 of High-Arkall, in the County of Salop, Knight, and 
 grandfather of Francis Lord Newport, now Controller of 
 his Majesty's Household. A family that for their loyalty 
 have suffered much in their estates, and seen the ruin of 
 that excellent structure, where their ancestors have long 
 lived, and been memorable for their hospitality. 
 
 This Mother of George Herbert — of whose person, and 
 wisdom, and virtue I intend to give a true account in a 
 seasonable place — was the happy Mother of seven sons 
 and three daughters, which she would often say was Job's 
 number, and Job's distribution ; and as often bless God, 
 that they were neither defective in their shapes, or in their 
 reason ; and very often reprove them that did not praise 
 God for so great a blessing. I shall give the Reader a 
 short account of their names, and not say much of their 
 fortunes. 
 
 Edward, the eldest, was first made Knight of the Bath, 
 at that glorious time of our late Prince Henry's being 
 installed Knight of fhe Garter; and after many years' 
 useful travel, and the attainment of many languages, he 
 was by King James sent Ambassador resident to the then 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 373 
 
 French King, Lewis the thirteenth. There he continued 
 about two years ; but he could not subject himself to a 
 compliance with the humours of the Duke de Luisnes, 
 who was then the great and powerful favourite at Court : 
 so that upon a complaint to our King, he was called back 
 into England in some displeasure; but at his return he 
 gave such an honourable account of his employment, and 
 so justified his comportment to the Duke and all the 
 Court, that he was suddenly sent back upon the same 
 Embassy, from which he returned in the beginning of the 
 reign of our good King Charles the First, who made him 
 first Baron of Castle-Island, and not long after of Cher- 
 bury, In the County of Salop. He was a man of great 
 learning and reason, as appears by his printed book De 
 Veritate and by his History of the reign of King Henry the 
 Eighth, and by several other tracts. 
 
 The second- and third brothers were Richard and 
 William, who ventured their lives to purchase honour in 
 the wars of the Low Countries, and died officers in that 
 employment. Charles was the fourth, and died fellow of 
 New College in Oxford. Henry was the sixth, who 
 became a menial servant to the Crown in the days of King 
 James, and hath continued to be so for fifty years ; during 
 all which time he hath been Master of the Revels ; a place 
 that requires a diligent wisdom, with which God hath 
 blessed him. The seventh son was Thomas, who, being 
 made captain of a ship in that fleet with which Sir Robert 
 Mansell was sent against Algiers, did there shew a for- 
 tunate and true English valour. Of the three sisters I 
 need not say more, than that they were all married to 
 persons of worth, and plentiful fortunes ; and lived to be 
 examples of virtue, and to do good in their generations. 
 
 I now come to give my intended account of George, 
 who was the fifth of those seven brothers. 
 
 George Herbert spent much of his childhood in a sweet 
 content under the eye and care of his prudent Mother, 
 and the tuition of a Chaplain, or tutor to him and two of 
 his brothers, in her own family, — for she was then a 
 widow, — where he continued tUl about the age of twelve 
 
374 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 years ; and being at that time well instructed in the rules 
 of Grammar, he was not long after commended to the 
 care of Dr. Neale, who was then Dean of Westminster ; 
 and by him to the care of Mr. Ireland, who was then 
 Chief Master of that School ; where the beauties of his 
 pretty behaviour and wit shined, and became so eminent 
 and lovely in this his innocent age, that he seemed to be 
 marked out for piety, and to become the care of Heaven, 
 and of a particular good angel to guard and guide him. 
 And thus he continued in that School, till he came to be 
 perfect in the learned languages, and especially ^in the Greek 
 tongue, in which he after proved an ej^cellent critic. 
 
 About the age of fifteen — he being then a King's 
 Scholar — he was elected out of that School for Trinity 
 College in Cambridge, to which place he was transplanted 
 about the year 1608 ; and his prudent Mother, well know- 
 ing that he might easily lose or lessen that virtue and 
 innocence, which her advice and example had planted in 
 his mind, did therefore procure the generous and liberal 
 Dr. Nevil, who was then Dean of Canterbury, and Master 
 of that College, to take him into his particular care, and 
 provide him a tutor ; which he did most gladly undertake, 
 for he knew the excellencies of his mother, and how to 
 value such a friendship. 
 
 This was the method of his education, till he was settled 
 in Cambridge ; where we will leave him in his study, till I 
 have paid my promised account of his excellent mother ; 
 and I will endeavour to make it short. 
 
 I have told her birth, her marriage, and the number of 
 her children, and have given some short account of them. 
 I shall next tell the Reader, that her husband died when 
 our George was about the age of four years : I am next to 
 tell, that she continued twelve years a widow ; that she 
 then married happily to a noble gentleman, the brother 
 and heir of the Lord Danvers, Earl of Danby, who did 
 highly value both her person and the most excellent 
 endowments of her mind. 
 
 In this time of her widowhood, she being desirous to 
 give Edward, her eldest son, such advantages of learning. 
 
LIFE OF HEkBERT 375 
 
 and other education, as might suit his birth and fortune, 
 and thereby make him the more fit for the service of his 
 country, did, at his being of a fit age, remove from Mont- 
 gomery Castle with him, and some of her younger sons, 
 to Oxford ; and having entered Edward into Queen's 
 College, and provided him a fit tutor, she commended him 
 to his care, yet she continued there With him, and still kept 
 him in a moderate awe of herself, and so much under her 
 own eye, as to see and converse with him daily : but she 
 managed this power over him without any such rigid 
 sourness as might make her company a torment to her 
 child ; but with such a sweetness and compliance with the 
 recreations and pleasures of youth, as did incline him 
 willingly fo spend much of his time in the company of his 
 dear and careful mother ; which was to her great content : 
 for she would often say, * That as our bodies take a 
 nourishment suitable to the meat on which we feed ; so 
 our souls do as insensibly take in vice by the example or 
 conversation with wicked company' : and would therefore 
 as often say, ' That ignorance of vice was the best pre- 
 servation of virtue ; and that the very knowledge of 
 wickedness was as tinder to inflame and kindle sin and 
 keep it burning.' For these reasons she ewdeared him to 
 her own company, and continued with him in Oxford four 
 years ; in which time her great and harmless wit, her 
 cheerful gravity, and her obliging behaviour, gained her an 
 acquaintance and friendship with most of any eminent 
 worth or learning, that were at that time in or near that 
 University; and particularly with Mr. John Donne, who 
 then came accidentally to that place, in this time of her 
 being there. It was that John Donne who was after Dr. 
 Donne, and Dean of St. Paul's, London : and he, at his 
 leaving Oxford, writ and left there, in verse, a character 
 of the beauties of her body and mind : of the first he says, 
 
 No Spring nor Summer-beauty hath such grace 
 As I have seen in an Autumnal face. 
 
 Of the latter he says. 
 
 In all her words to every hearer fit, 
 You may at revels, or at council sit. 
 
3/6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 The rest of her character may be read in his printed 
 poems, in that Elegy which bears the name of I'he Autumnal 
 Beauty. For both he and she were then past the meridian 
 of man's life. 
 
 This amity, begun at this time and place, was not an 
 amity that polluted their souls ; but an amity made up of 
 a chain of suitable inclinations and virtues ; an amity 
 like that of St. Chrysostom's to his dear and virtuous 
 Olympias ; whom, in his letters, he calls his Saint : or an 
 amity, indeed, more like that of St. Hierome to his Paula ; 
 whose affection to her was such, that he turned poet in his old 
 age, and then made her epitaph : wishing all his body were 
 turned into tongues, that he niight declare her just praises to 
 posterity. And this amity betwixt her and Mr. Donne was 
 begun in a happy time for him, he being then near to the 
 fortieth year of his age, — which was some years before he 
 entered into Sacred Orders ; — a time when his necessities 
 needed a daily supply for the support of his wife, seven 
 children, and a family. And in this time she proved one of 
 his most bountiful benefactors ; and he as grateful an ac- 
 knowledger of it. You may take one testimony for what 
 I have said of these two worthy persons, from this following 
 Letter and Sonnet. 
 
 ' Madam, 
 
 ' Your favours to me are every where : I use them and 
 have them. I enjoy them at London, and leave them 
 there ; and yet find them at Mitcham. Such riddles as 
 these become things inexpressible ; and such is your good- 
 ness. I was almost sorry to find your servant here this 
 day, because I was loath to have any witness of my not 
 coming home last night, and indeed of my coming this 
 morning. But my not coming was excusable, because 
 earnest business detained me ; and my coming this day is 
 by the example of your St. Mary Magdalen, who rose early 
 upon Sunday to seek that which she loved most ; and so did 
 I. And, from her and myself, I return such thanks as are 
 due to one, to whom we owe all the good opinion, that they, 
 whom we need most, have of us. By this messenger, and 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 377 
 
 on this good day, I commit the inclosed Holy Hymns and 
 Sonnets — which for the matter, not the workmanship, have 
 yet escaped the fire — to your judgment, and to your pro- 
 tection too, if you think them worthy of it ; and I have 
 appointed this inclosed Sonnet to usher them to your 
 happy hand. 
 
 Your unworthiest servant, 
 Unless your accepting him to be so 
 have mended him, 
 
 Jo. Donne. 
 
 Mitcham, July 11, 1607.' 
 
 To THE Lady Magdalen Herbert : of St. Mary Magdalen 
 
 Her of your name, whose fair inheritance 
 
 Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo, 
 An active faith so highly did advance, 
 
 That she once knew more than the Church did know, 
 The Resurrection ! so much good there is 
 
 Delivered of her, that some Fathers be 
 Loth to believe one woman could do this : 
 
 But think these Magdalens were two or three. 
 Increase their number. Lady, and their fame : 
 
 To their devotion add your innocence : 
 Take so much of th' example, as of the name ; 
 
 The latter half; and in some recompense 
 That they did harbour Christ himself, a guest. 
 
 Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest, 
 
 J.D. 
 
 These Hymns are now lost to us ; but doubtless they 
 were such as they two now sing in Heaven. 
 
 There might be more demonstrations of the friendship, 
 and the many sacred endearments betwixt these two 
 excellent persons, — for I have many of their letters in my 
 hand, — and much more might be said of her great pru- 
 dence and piety: but my design was not to write her's, 
 but the life of her son ; and therefore I shall only tell my 
 Reader, that about that very day twenty years that this 
 letter was dated, and sent her, I saw and heard this Mr. 
 John Donne — who was then Dean of St. Paul's — ^weep, 
 and preach her Funeral Sermon, in the Parish Church of 
 
378 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Chelsea, near London, where she now rests in her quiet 
 grave : and where we must now leave her, and return to 
 her son George, whom we left in his study in Cambridge. 
 
 And in Cambridge we may find our George Herbert's 
 behaviour to be such, that we may conclude he consecrated 
 the first-fruits of his early age to virtue, and a serious 
 study of learning. And that he did so, this following 
 Letter and Sonnet, which were, in the first year of his 
 going to Cambridge, sent his dear Mother for a New- 
 year's gift, may appear to be some testimony. 
 
 — ' But I fear the heat of my late ague hath dried up 
 those springs, by which scholars say the Muses use to take 
 up their habitations. However, I need not their help to 
 reprove the vanity of those many love-poems, that are 
 daily writ, and consecrated to Venus ; nor to bewail that 
 so few are writ, that look towards God and Heaven. For 
 my own part, my meaning — dear Mother — is, in these 
 Sonnets, to declare my resolution to be, that my poor 
 abilities in Poetry, shajl be all and ever consecrated to 
 God's glory: and I beg you to receive this as one 
 testimony.' 
 
 My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, 
 
 Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn. 
 
 Besides their other flames ? Doth Poeuy 
 Wear Venus' livery ? only serve her turn ? 
 Why are not Sonnets made of thee ? and lays 
 
 Upon thine altar burnt ? Cannot thy love 
 
 Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise 
 As well as any she ? Cannot thy Dove 
 Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight i 
 
 Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same. 
 
 Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name ? 
 Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might 
 
 Each brea«t does feel, no braver fuel choose 
 
 Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse ? 
 Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry 
 
 Oceans of ink ; for as the Deluge did 
 
 Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty j 
 Each cloud distils thy praise^ and doth ferbidi 
 Poets to turn it to another use. 
 
 Roses and lilies speak Thee ; and to make 
 
 A pair of cheeks of them, is thy a:buse. 
 Why should I wnomen's eyes for crystal take i 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 579 
 
 Such poor invention burns in their low mind 
 Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go 
 To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow. 
 
 Open the bones, and you shall nothing find 
 
 In the best face but filth ; when. Lord, in Thee 
 
 The beauty lies in the discovery. G. H. 
 
 This was his resolution at the sending this letter to his 
 dear Mother, about which time he was in the seventeenth 
 year of his age : and as he grew older, so he grew in 
 learning, and more and more in favour both with God and 
 man : insomuch that, in this morning of that short day of 
 his life, he seemed to be marked out for virtue, and to 
 become the care of Heaven ; for God still kept his soul in 
 so holy a frame, that he may, and ought to be a pattern 
 of virtue to all posterity, and especially to his brethren of 
 the Clergy, of which the Reader may expect a more exact 
 account in what will follow. 
 
 I need not declare that he was a strict student, because, 
 that he was so, there will be many testimonies in the 
 future part of his life. I shall therefore only tell, that he 
 was made Minor Fellow in the year 1609, Bachelor of 
 Arts in the year 161 1; Major Fellow of the College, 
 March 15th, 161 5: and that in that year he was also 
 made Master of Arts, he being then in the 22 nd year of 
 his age ; during all which time, all, or the greatest diver- 
 sion from his study, was the practice of Music, in which 
 he became a great master ; and of which he would say, 
 ' That it did relieve his drooping spirits, compose his 
 distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul so far above 
 earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of Heaven, 
 before he possessed them.' And it may be noticed, that 
 from his first entrance into the College, the generous 
 Dr. Nevil was a cherisher of his studies, and such a lover 
 of his person, his behaviour, and the excellent endow- 
 ments of his mind, that he took him often into his own 
 company; by which he confirmed his native gentleness: 
 and if during his time he expressed any error, it was, that he 
 kept himself too much retired, and at too great a distance 
 with all his inferiors ; and his clothes seemed to prove, that 
 he put too great a value on his parts and parentage. 
 
38o IZAAK WALTON 
 
 This may be some account of his disposition, and of the 
 employment of his time till he was Master of Arts, which 
 was anno 1615, and in the year 1619 he was chosen 
 Orator for the University. His two precedent Orators 
 were Sir Robert Naunton, and Sir Francis Nethersole. 
 The first was not long after made Secretary of State, and 
 Sir Francis, not very long after his being Orator, was 
 made Secretary to the Lady Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia. 
 In this place of Orator our George Herbert continued 
 eight years ; and managed it with as becoming and grave 
 a gaiety, as any had ever before or since his time. For 
 ' he had acquired great learning, and was blessed with a 
 high fancy, a civil and sharp wit ; and with a natural 
 elegance, both in his behaviour, his tongue, and his pen.' 
 Of all which there might be very many particular evi- 
 dences ; but I will limit myself to the mention of but three. 
 
 And the first notable occasion of shewing his fitness for 
 this employment of Orator was manifested in a letter to 
 King James, upon the occasion of his sending that Uni- 
 versity his book called Basilicon Doron ; and their Orator 
 was to acknowledge this great honour, and return their 
 gratitude to his Majesty for such a condescension ; at the 
 close of which letter he writ. 
 
 Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque objicis, hospes ! 
 Unicus est nobis Bibliotheca Liber. 
 
 This letter was writ in such excellent Latin, was so full 
 of conceits, and all the expressions so suited to the genius 
 of the King, that he enquired the Orator's name, and then 
 asked William Earl of Pembroke, if he knew him ? whose 
 answer was, ' That he knew him very well, and that he 
 was his kinsman ; but he loved him more for his learning 
 and virtue, than for that he was of his name and family.' 
 At which answer the King smiled, and asked the Earl leave 
 that he might love him too, for he took him to be the 
 jewel of that University. 
 
 The next occasion he had and took to shew his great 
 abilities, was, with them, to shew also his great affection to 
 that Church in which he received his baptism, and of which 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 381 
 
 he professed himself a member ; and the occasion was 
 this : There was one Andrew Melvin, a Minister of the 
 Scotch Church, and Rector of St. Andrew's ; who, by a 
 long and constant converse with a discontented part of 
 that Clergy which opposed Episcopacy, became at last to be 
 a chief leader of that faction ; and had proudly appeared to 
 be so to King James, when he was but King of that nation, 
 who, the second year after his Coronation in England, 
 convened a part of the Bishops, and other learned Divines 
 of his Church, to attend him at Hampton-Court, in order 
 to a friendly conference with some dissenting brethren, 
 both of this and the Church of Scotland : of which Scotch 
 party Andrew Melvin was one ; and he being a man of 
 learning, and inclined to satirical poetry, had scattered 
 many malicious, bitter verses against our Liturgy, our 
 ceremonies, and our Church-government ; which were by 
 some of that party so magnified for the wit, that they were 
 therefore brought into Westminster School, where Mr. 
 George Herbert, then, and often after, made such answers 
 to them, and such reflections on him and his Kirk, as 
 might un beguile any man that was not too deeply pre- 
 engaged in such a quarrel. — But to return to Mr. Melvin 
 at Hampton-Court Conference ; he there appeared to be a 
 man of an unruly wit, of a strange confidence, of so 
 furious a zeal, and of so ungoverned passions, that his 
 insolence to the King, and others at this Conference, lost 
 him both his Rectorship of St. Andrew's and his liberty 
 too ; for his former verses, and his present reproaches 
 there used against the Church and State, caused him to be 
 committed prisoner to the Tower of London ; where he 
 remained very angry for three years. At which time of 
 his commitment, he found the Lady Arabella an innocent 
 prisoner there ; and he pleased himself much in sending, 
 the next day after his commitment, these two verses 
 to the good lady ; which I will underwrite, because 
 they may give the Reader a taste of his others, which 
 were like these. 
 
 Causa tibi mecum est communis, carceris, Ara- 
 Bella, tibi causa est, Araque sacra mihi. 
 
382 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 I shall not trouble my Reader with an account of his 
 enlargement from that prison, or his death ; but tell him 
 Mr. Herbert's verses were thought so worthy to be 
 preserved, that Dr. Duport, the learned Dean of Peter- 
 borough hath lately collected and caused many of them to 
 be printed, as an honourable memorial of his friend Mr. 
 George Herbert, and the cause he undertook. 
 
 And in order to my third and last observation of his 
 great abilities, it will be needful to declare, that about this 
 time King James came very often to hunt at Newmarket 
 and Royston, and was almost as often invited to Cam- 
 bridge, where his entertainment was comedies, suited to 
 his pleasant humour ; and where Mr. George Herbert 
 was to welcome him with gratulations, and the applauses 
 of an Orator ; which he always performed so well, that he 
 still grew more into the King's favour, insomuch that he 
 had a particular appointment to attend his Majesty at 
 Royston ; where, after a discourse with him, his Majesty 
 declared to his kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke, that he 
 found the Orator's learning and wisdom much above his 
 age or wit. The year following, the King appointed to 
 end his progress at Cambridge, and to stay there certain 
 days ; at which time he was attended by the great 
 Secretary of Nature and all learning, Sir Francis Bacon, 
 Lord Verulam, and by the ever-memorable and learned 
 Dr. Andrews, Bishop of Winchester, both which did at 
 that time begin a desired friendship with our Orator. 
 Upon whom, the first put such a value on his judgment, 
 that he usually desired his approbation before he would 
 expose any of his books to be printed ; and thought him 
 so worthy of his friendship, that having translated many 
 of the Prophet David's Psalms into English verse, he 
 made George Herbert his patron, by a public dedication 
 of them to him, as the best judge of Divine Poetry. And 
 for the learned Bishop, it is observable, that at that time 
 there fell to be a modest debate betwixt them two about 
 Predestination, and Sanctity of life ; of both of which the 
 Orator did, not long after, send the Bishop some safe and 
 useful aphorisms, in a long letter, written in Greek ; which 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 383 
 
 letter was so remarkable for the language and reason of it, 
 that, after the reading of it, the Bishop put it into his 
 bosom, and did often shew it to many Scholars, both of 
 this and foreign nations ; but did always return it back to 
 the place where he first lodged it, and continued it so near 
 his heart till the last day of his life. 
 
 To this I might add the long and entire friendship 
 betwixt him and Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Donne ; but 
 I have promised to contract myself, and shall therefore 
 only add one testimony to what is also mentioned in the 
 Life of Dr. Donne ; namely, that a little before his death 
 he caused many Seals to be made, and in them to be 
 engraven the figure of Christ, crucified on an Anchor, — 
 the emblem of Hope, — and of which Dr. Donne would 
 often say, ' Crux mihi anchora.^ — These Seals he gave or 
 sent to most of those friends on which he put a value : 
 and, at Mr. Herbert's death, these verses were found wrapt 
 up with that seal, which was by the Doctor given to him ; 
 
 When my dear friend could write no more, 
 He gave this Seal and so gave o'er. 
 
 When winds and waves rise highest I am sure, 
 This Anchor keeps my faith, that, me secure. 
 
 At this time of being Orator, he had learned to under- 
 stand the Italian, Spanish, and French tongues very 
 perfectly : hoping, that as his predecessors, so he might 
 in time attain the place of a Secretary of State, he being at 
 that time very high in the King's favour, and not meanly 
 valued and loved by the most eminent and most powerful 
 of the Court Nobility. This, and the love of a Court- 
 conversation, mixed with a laudable ambition to be 
 something more than he then was, drew him often from 
 Cambridge, to attend the King wheresoever the Court was, 
 who then gave him a sinecure, which fell into his Majesty's 
 disposal, I think, by the death of the Bishop of St. Asaph. 
 It was the same that Queen Elizabeth had formerly given 
 to her favourite Sir Philip Sidney, and valued to be worth 
 an hundred and twenty pounds per annum. With this, 
 
384 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 and his annuity, and the advantage of his College, and of 
 his Oratorship, he enjoyed his genteel humour for clothes, 
 and Court-like company, and seldom looked towards 
 Cambridge, unless the King were there, but then he never 
 failed ; and, at other times, left the manage of his Orator's 
 place to his learned friend, Mr. Herbert Thorndike, who 
 is now Prebend of Westminster. 
 
 I may not omit to tell, that he had often designed to 
 leave the University, and decline all study, which he 
 thought did impair his health ? for he had a body apt 
 to a consumption, and to fevers, and other infirmities, 
 which he judged were increased by his studies ; for he 
 would often say, ' He had too thoughtful a wit ; a wit like 
 a penknife in too narrow a sheath, too sharp for his body.' 
 But his Mother would by no means allow him to leave the 
 University, or to travel; and though he inclined very 
 much to both, yet he would by no means satisfy his own 
 desires at so dear a rate, as to prove an undutiful son to so 
 affectionate a Mother; but did always submit to her 
 wisdom. And what I have now said may partly appear in 
 a copy of verses in his printed poems ; 'tis one of those 
 that bears the title of Affliction ; and it appears to be a 
 pious reflection on God's providence, and some passages of 
 his life, in which he says. 
 
 Whereas my birth and spirit rather took 
 
 The way that takes the town : 
 Thou didst betray me to a lingering book, 
 
 And wrap me in a gown : 
 I was entangled in a world of strife, 
 Before I had the power to change my life. 
 
 Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise. 
 
 Not simpering all mine age ; 
 Thou often didst with academic praise 
 
 Melt and dissolve my rage : 
 I took the sweeten'd pill, till I came where 
 I could not go away, nor persevere. 
 
 Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be 
 
 In my unhappiness, 
 Turning my purge to food, thou throwest m© 
 
 Into more sicknesses. 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 385 
 
 Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making 
 Thine own gifts good, yet me from my ways taking. 
 
 Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me 
 
 None of my books will show. 
 I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree, 
 
 For then sure I should grow 
 To fruit or shade, at least some bird would trust 
 Her household with me, and I would be just. 
 
 Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek, 
 
 In weakness must be stout. 
 Well, I will change my service, and go seek 
 
 Some other master out ; 
 Ah, my dear God ! though I am clean forgot, 
 Let me not love thee, if I love thee not. 
 
 G. H. 
 
 In this time of Mr. Herbert's attendance and expecta- 
 tion of some good occasion to remove from Cambridge to 
 Court, God, in whom there is an unseen chain of causes, 
 did in a short time put an end to the lives of two of his 
 most obliging and most powerful friends, Lodowick Duke 
 of Richmond, and James Marquis of Hamilton ; and not 
 long after him King James died also, and with them, all 
 Mr. Herbert's Court-hopes: so that he presently betook 
 himself to a retreat from London, to a friend in Kent, 
 where he lived very privately, and was such a lover of 
 solitariness, as was judged to impair his health, more than 
 his study had done. In this time of retirement, he had 
 many conflicts with himself, whether he should return to 
 the painted pleasures of a Court-life, or betake himself to 
 a study of Divinity, and enter into Sacred Orders, to which 
 his dear mother had often persuaded him. These were 
 such conflicts, as they only can know, that have endured 
 them ; for ambitious desires, and the outward glory of this 
 world, are not easily laid aside ; but at last God inclined 
 him to put on a resolution to serve at his altar. 
 
 He did, at his return to London, acquaint a Court- 
 friend with his resolution to enter into Sacred Orders, who 
 persuaded him to alter it, as too mean an employment, and 
 too much below his birth, and the excellent abilities and 
 
 2 B 
 
386 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 endowments of his mind. To whom he replied, ' It hath 
 been formerly judged that the domestic servants of the 
 King of Heaven should be of the noblest families on earth. 
 And though the iniquity of the late times have made 
 clergymen meanly valued, and the sacred name of priest 
 contemptible ; yet I will labour to make it honourable, by 
 consecrating all my learning, and all my poor abilities to 
 advance the glory of that God that gave them ; knowing 
 that I can never do too much for him, that hath done so 
 much for me, as to make me a Christian. And I will 
 labour to be like my Saviour, by making humility lovely in 
 the eyes of all men, and by following the merciful and 
 meek example of my dear Jesus.' 
 
 This was then his resolution ; and the God of constancy^ 
 who intended him for a great example of virtue, continued 
 him in it, for within that year he was made Deacon, but 
 the day when, or by whom, I cannot learn ; but that he was 
 about that time made Deacon, is most certain ; for I find 
 by the Records of Lincoln, that he was made Prebend of 
 Layton Ecclesia, in the Diocese of Lincoln, July 15th, 
 1626, and that this Prebend was given him by John, then 
 Lord Bishop of that See. And now he had a fit occasion 
 to shew that piety and bounty that was derived from his 
 generous mother, and his other memorable ancestors, and 
 the occasion was this. 
 
 This Layton Ecclesia is a village near to Spalden, in 
 the County of Huntingdon, and the greatest part of the 
 Parish Church was fallen down, and that of it which stood 
 was so decayed, so little, and so useless, that the 
 parishioners could not meet to perform their duty to God 
 in public prayer and praises ; and thus it had been for 
 almost twenty years, in which time there had been some 
 faint endeavours for a public collection to enable the 
 parishioners to rebuild it ; but with no success, till Mr. 
 Herbert undertook it ; and he, by his own, and the 
 contribution of many of his kindred, and other noble 
 friends, undertook the re-edification of it ; and made it so 
 much his whole business, that he became restless till he 
 saw it finished as it now stands ; being for the workman- 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 387 
 
 ship, a costly mosaic ; for the form, an exact cross ; and 
 for the decency and beauty, I am assured, it is the most 
 remarkable parish church that this nation affords. He 
 lived to see it so wainscotted, as to be exceeded by none ; 
 and, by his order, the Reading pew and Pulpit were a little 
 distant from each other, and both of an equal height ; for 
 he would often say, 'They should neither have a pre- 
 cedency or priority of the other ; but that prayer and 
 preaching, being equally useful, might agree like brethren, 
 and have an equal honour and estimation.' 
 
 Before I proceed farther, I must look back to the time 
 of Mr. Herbert's being made prebend, and tell the reader, 
 that not long after, his mother being informed of his 
 intentions to rebuild that church, and apprehending the 
 great trouble and charge that he was like to draw upon 
 himself, his relations and friends, before it could be 
 finished, sent for him from London to Chelsea, — where 
 she then dwelt, — ^and at his coming, said, ' George, I sent 
 for you, to persuade you to commit Simony, by giving 
 your patron as good a gift as he has given to you ; 
 namely, that you give him back his prebend ; for, George, 
 it is not for your weak body, and empty purse, to under- 
 take to build Churches.' Of which, he desired he might 
 have a day's time to consider, and then make her an 
 answer. And at his return to her the next day, when he 
 had first desired her blessing, and she given it him, his 
 next request was, ' That she would at the age of thirty- 
 three years, allow him to become an undutiful son : for he 
 had made a vow to God, that, if he were able, he would 
 rebuild that Church.' And then shewed her such reasons 
 for his resolution, that she presently subscribed to be one 
 of his benefactors ; and undertook to solicit William Earl 
 of Pembroke to become another, who subscribed for fifty 
 pounds ; and not long after, by a witty and persuasive 
 letter from Mr. Herbert, made it fifty pounds more. And 
 in this nomination of some of his benefactors, James Duke 
 of Lenox, and his brother, Sir Henry Herbert, ougfht to 
 be remembered ; as also the bounty of Mr. Nicholas 
 Farrer, and Mr. Arthur Woodnot : the one a gentleman 
 
388 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 in the neighbourhood of Layton, and the other a Gold- 
 smith in Foster Lane, London, ought not to be forgotten : 
 for the memory of such men ought to outlive their lives. 
 Of Mr. Farrer, I shall hereafter give an account in a more 
 seasonable place ; but before I proceed farther, I will give 
 this short account of Mr. Arthur Woodnot. 
 
 He was a man that had considered overgrown estates do 
 often require more care and watchfulness to preserve than 
 get them, and considered that there be many discontents, 
 that riches cure not ; and did therefore set limits to him- 
 self, as to desire of wealth. And having attained so much 
 as to be able, to shew some mercy to the poor, and pre- 
 serve a competence for himself, he dedicated the remaining 
 part of his life to the service of God, and to be useful for 
 his friends ; and he proved to be so to Mr. Herbert ; for 
 beside his own bounty, he collected and returned most of 
 the money that was paid for the rebuilding of that Church ; 
 he kept all the account of the charges, and would often go 
 down to state them, and see all the workmen paid. When 
 I have said, that this good man was a useful friend to Mr. 
 Herbert's father, and to his mother, and continued to be 
 so to him, till he closed his eyes on his death-bed ; I will 
 forbear to say more, till I have the next fair occasion to 
 mention the holy friendship that was betwixt him and Mr. 
 Herbert. From whom Mr. Woodnot carried to his 
 mother this following letter, and delivered it to her in a 
 sickness, which was not long before that which proved to 
 be her last. 
 
 A Letter of Mr. George Herbert to his Mother, 
 in her Sickness 
 ' Madam, 
 
 ' At my last parting from you, I was the better content, 
 because I was in hope I should myself carry all sickness 
 out of your family ; but since I know I did not and that 
 your share continues, or rather increaseth, I wish earnestly 
 that I were again with you ; and would quickly make good 
 my wish, but that my employment does fix me here, it 
 being now but a month to our commencement : wherein 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 389 
 
 my absence, by how much it naturally augmenteth sus- 
 picion, by so much shall it make my prayers the more 
 constant and the more earnest for you to the God of all 
 consolation. — In the mean time, I beseech you to be cheer- 
 ful, and comfort yourself in the God of all comfort, who 
 is not willing to behold any sorrow but for sin. — What 
 hath affliction grievous in it more than for a moment ? or 
 why should our afflictions here, have so much power or 
 boldness as to oppose the hope of our joys hereafter ? — 
 Madam, as the earth is but a point in respect of the 
 heavens, so are earthly troubles compared to heavenly 
 joys ; therefore, if either age or sickness lead you to those 
 joys, consider what advantage you have over youth and 
 health, who are now so near those true comforts. Your 
 last letter gave me earthly preferment, and I hope kept 
 heavenly for yourself: but would you divide and choose 
 too .' Our College customs allow not that : and I should 
 account myself most happy, if I might change with you ; 
 for I have always observed the thread of life to be like 
 other threads or skeins of silk, full of snarles and incum- 
 brances. Happy is he, whose bottom is wound up, and 
 laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem. — For myself, 
 dear Mother, I always feared sickness more than death, 
 because sickness hath made me unable to perform those 
 offices for which I came into the world, and must yet be 
 kept in it; but you are freed from that fear, who have 
 already abundantly discharged that part, having both 
 ordered your family and so brought up your children, that 
 they have attained to the years of discretion, and competent 
 maintenance. So that now, if they do not well, the fault 
 cannot be charged on you, whose example and care of them 
 will justify you both to the world and your own conscience ; 
 insomuch that, whether you turn your thoughts on the 
 life past, or on the joys that are to come, you have strong 
 preservatives against all disquiet. And for temporal afflic- 
 tions, I beseech you consider, all that can happen to you 
 are either afflictions of estate, or body, or mind. For 
 those of estate, of what poor regard ought they to be ? 
 since, if we had riches, we are commanded to give them 
 
390 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 away : so that the best use of them is, having, not to have 
 them. But perhaps, being above the common people, our 
 credit and estimation calls on us to live in a more splendid 
 fashion: but, O God ! how easily is that answered, when 
 we consider that the blessings in the holy Scripture are 
 never given to the rich, but to the poor. I never find 
 " Blessed be the rich," or " Blessed be the noble" ; but, 
 " Blessed be the meek," and, " Blessed be the poor," and, 
 " Blessed be the mourners, for they shall be comforted." — 
 And yet, O God ! most carry themselves so, as if they not 
 only not desired, but even feared to be blessed. — And for 
 afflictions of the body, dear Madam, remember the holy 
 Martyrs of God, how they have been burned by thousands, 
 and have endured such other tortures, as the very mention 
 of them might beget amazement : but their fiery trials 
 have had an end ; and your's — which, praised be God, are 
 less, — are not like to continue long. I beseech you, let 
 such thoughts as these moderate your present fear and 
 sorrow ; and know that if any of yours should prove a 
 Goliah-like trouble, yet you may say with David, " That 
 God, who hath delivered me out of the paws of the lion 
 and bear, will also deliver me out of the hands of this 
 uncircumcised Philistine." — Lastly, for those afflictions of 
 the soul ; consider that God intends that to be as a Sacred 
 Temple for himself to dwell in, and will not allow any 
 room there for such an inmate as grief ; or allow that any 
 sadness shall be his competitor. And, above all, if any 
 care of future things molest you, remember those admir- 
 able words of the Psalmist : " Cast thy care on the Lord, 
 and he shall nourish thee."^ To which join that of St. 
 Peter, " Casting all your care on the Lord, for he careth 
 for you."^ What an admirable thing is this, that God puts 
 his shoulder to our burden, and entertains our care for 
 us, that we may the more quietly intend his service ! 
 To conclude, let me commend only one place more to 
 you : Philipp. iv. 4. St. Paul saith there, " Rejoice in 
 the Lord always : and again I say, rejoice." He doubles 
 it to take away the scruple of those that might say. What, 
 
 ^Psal. Iv, 22. 2 1 Pet. V. 7. 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 391 
 
 shall we rejoice in afflictions ? Yes. I say again, rejoice ; 
 so that it is not left to us to rejoice, or not rejoice ; but, 
 whatsoever befalls us, we must always, at all times, rejoice 
 in the Lord, who taketh care for us. And it follows in 
 the next verse : " Let your moderation appear to all 
 men : The Lord is at hand : Be careful for nothing." 
 What can be said more comfortably ? Trouble not your- 
 selves ; God is at hand, to deliver us from all, or in all. — 
 Dear Madam, pardon my boldness, and accept the good 
 meaning of 
 
 Your most obedient son, 
 
 George Herbert. 
 Trin. Coll. May z^ti, 1622.' 
 
 About the year 1629, and the thirty-fourth of his age, 
 Mr. Herbert was seized with a sharp quotidian ague, and 
 thought to remove it by the change of air ; to which endj 
 he went to Woodford in Essex, but thither more chiefly 
 to enjoy the company of his beloved brother, Sir Henry 
 Herbert, and other friends then of that family. In his 
 house he remained about twelve months, and there became 
 his own physician, and cured himself of his ague, by for- 
 bearing drink, and not eating any meat, no not mutton, 
 nor a hen, or pigeon, unless they were salted ; and by 
 such a constant diet he removed his ague, but with incon- 
 veniences that were worse ; for he brought upon himself a 
 disposition to rheums, and other weaknesses, and a supposed 
 consumption. And it is to be noted, that in the sharpest 
 of his extreme fits he would often say, ' Lord, abate my 
 great affliction, or increase my patience : but Lord, I 
 repine not ; I am dumb, Lord, before thee, because thou 
 doest it.' By which, and a sanctified submission to the 
 will of God, he shewed he was inclinable to bear the 
 sweet yoke of Christian discipline, both then and in the 
 latter part of his life, of which there will be many true 
 testimonies. 
 
 And now his care was to recover from his consumption, 
 by a change from Woodford into such an air as was most 
 proper to that end. And his remove was to Dauntsey in 
 
392 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Wiltshire, a noble house, which stands in a choice air ; the 
 owner of it then was the Lord Danvers, Earl of Danby, 
 who loved Mr. Herbert so very much, that he allowed 
 him such an apartment in it as might best suit with his 
 accommodation and liking. And in this place, by a spare 
 diet, declining all perplexing studies, moderate exercise, 
 and a cheerful conversation, his health was apparently 
 improved to a good degree of strength and cheerfulness. 
 And then he declared his resolution both to marry, and to 
 enter into the Sacred Orders of Priesthood. These had 
 long been the desires of his Mother, and his other relations ; 
 but she lived not to see either, for she died in the year 
 1627. And though he was disobedient to her about 
 Layton Church, yet, in conformity to her will, he kept his 
 Orator's place till after her death, and then presently 
 declined it; and the more willingly, that he might be 
 succeeded by his friend Robert Creighton, who now is Dr. 
 Creighton, and the worthy Bishop of Wells. 
 
 I shall now proceed to his marriage ; in order to which, 
 it will be convenient that I first give the Reader a short 
 view of his person, and then an account of his wife, and ot 
 some circumstances concerning both. — He was for his 
 person of a stature inclining towards tallness ; his body 
 was very straight, and so far from being cumbered with too 
 much flesh, that he was lean to an extremity. His aspect 
 was cheerful, and his speech and motion did both declare 
 him a gentleman ; for they were all so meek and obliging, 
 that they purchased love and respect from all that knew 
 him. 
 
 These, and his other visible virtues, begot him much 
 love from a gentleman of a noble fortune, and a near 
 kinsman to his friend the Earl of Danby ; namely, from 
 Mr. Charles Danvers of Bainton, in the County of Wilts, 
 Esq. This Mr. Danvers, having known him long, and 
 familiarly, did so much affect him, that he often and 
 publicly declared a desire, that Mr. Herbert would marry 
 any of^ his nine daughters, — for he had so many, — but 
 rather his daughter Jane than any other, because Jane was 
 his beloved daughter. And he had often said the same to 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 395 
 
 Mr. Herbert himself; and that if he could like her for a 
 ' wife, and she him for a husband, Jane should have a double 
 blessing: and Mr. Danvers had so often said the like to 
 Jane, and so much commended Mr. Herbert to her, that 
 Jane became so much a platonic, as to fall in love with Mr. 
 Herbert unseen. 
 
 This was a fair preparation for a marriage ; but, alas ! 
 her father died before Mr. Herbert's retirement to 
 Dauntsey : yet some friends to, both parties procured their 
 meeting ; at which time a mutual affection entered into 
 both their hearts, as a conqueror enters into a surprised 
 city ; and love having got such possession, governed, and 
 made there such laws and resolutions, as neither party was 
 able to resist ; insomuch, that she changed her name into 
 Herbert the third day after this first interview. 
 
 This haste might in others be thought a love-frenzy, or 
 worse ; but it was not, for they had wooed so like princes,, 
 as to have select proxies ; such as were true friends to both 
 parties, such as well understood Mr. Herbert's and her 
 temper of mind, and also their estates, so well before this 
 interview, that the suddenness was justifiable by the 
 strictest rules of prudence ; and the more, because it proved 
 so happy to both parties ; for the eternal lover of mankind 
 made them happy in each other's mutual and equal affec- 
 tions, and compliance ; indeed, so happy, that there never 
 was any opposition betwixt them, unless it were a contest 
 which should most incline to a compliance with the other's 
 desires. And though this begot, and continued in them, 
 such a mutual love, and joy, and content, as was no way 
 defective ; yet this mutual content, and love, and joy, did 
 receive a daily augmentation, by such daily obligingness to 
 each other, as still added such new affluences to the former 
 fulness of these divine souls, as was only improvable in 
 Heaven, where they now enjoy it. 
 
 About three months after this marriage. Dr. Curie, who 
 was then Rector of Bemerton, in Wiltshire, was made 
 Bishop of Bath and Wells, and not long after translated to 
 Winchester, and by that means the presentation of a. 
 Clerk to Bemerton did not fall to the Earl of Pembroke, 
 
394 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 — who was the undoubted Patron of it, — but to the King, 
 by reason of Dr. Curie's advancement : but PhUip, then 
 Ear] of Pembroke, — for William was lately dead, — 
 requested the King to bestow it upon his kinsman George 
 Herbert ; and the King said, ' Most willingly to Mr. 
 Herbert, if it be worth his acceptance ' ; and the Earl as 
 willingly and suddenly sent it him, without seeking. But 
 though Mr. Herbert had formerly put on a resolution for 
 the Clergy ; yet, at receiving this presentation, the appre- 
 hension of the last great account, that he was to make for 
 the cure of so many souls, made him fast and pray often, 
 and consider for not less than a month : in which time he 
 had some resolutions to decline both the Priesthood, and 
 that living. And in this time of considering, ' he 
 endured,' as he would often say, ' such spiritual conflicts, 
 as none can think, but only those that have endured 
 them.' 
 
 In the midst of these conflicts, his old and dear friend, 
 Mr. Arthur Woodnot, took a journey to salute him at 
 Bainton, — where he then was, with his wife's friends and 
 relations, — and was joyful to be an eye-witness of his 
 health and happy marriage. And after they had rejoiced 
 together some few days, they took a journey to Wilton, 
 the famous seat of the Earls of Pembroke ; at which time 
 the King, the Earl, and the whole Court were there, or at 
 Salisbury, which is near to it. And at this time Mr. 
 Herbert presented his thanks to the Earl, for his presenta- 
 tion to Bemerton, but had not yet resolved to accept it, and 
 told him the reason why : but that night, the Earl acquainted 
 Dr. Laud, then Bishop of London, and after Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, with his kinsman's irresolution. And the 
 Bishop did the next day so convince Mr. Herbert, that 
 the refusal of it was a sin, that a tailor was sent for to 
 come speedily from Salisbury to Wilton, to take measure, 
 and make him canonical clothes against next day ; which 
 the tailor did : and Mr. Herbert being so habited, went 
 with his presentation to the learned Dr. Davenant, who 
 was then Bishop of Salisbury, and he gave him institution 
 immediately, — for Mr. Herbert had been made Deacon 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 395 
 
 some years before, — ^and he was also the same day — which 
 was April 26th, 1630 — inducted into the good, and more 
 pleasant than healthful, Parsonage of Bemerton ; which is 
 a mile from Salisbury. 
 
 I have now brought him to the Parsonage of Bemerton, 
 and to the thirty-sixth year of his age, and must stop here, 
 and bespeak the reader to prepare for an almost incredible 
 story, of the great sanctity of the short remainder of his 
 holy life ; a life so full of charity, humility, and all Christian 
 virtues, that it deserves the eloquence of St. Chrysostom to 
 commend and declare it : a life, that if it were related by a 
 pen like his, there would then be no need for this age to 
 look back into times past for the examples of primitive 
 piety ; for they might be all found in the life of George 
 Herbert. But now, alas ! who is fit to undertake it ? I 
 confess I am not ; and am not pleased with myself that I 
 must ; and profess myself amazed, when I consider how 
 few of the Clergy lived like him then, and how many live 
 so unlike him now. But it becomes not me to censure : 
 my design is rather to assure the reader, that I have 
 used very great diligence to inform myself, that I might 
 inform him of the truth of what follows; and though I 
 cannot adorn it with eloquence, yet I will do it with 
 sincerity. 
 
 "When at his induction he was shut into Bemerton 
 Church, being left there alone to toll the bell, — as the Law 
 requires him, — he staid so much longer than an ordinary 
 time, before he returned to those friends that staid expect- 
 ing him at the Church-door, that his friend Mr. Woodnot 
 looked in at the Church-window, and saw him lie prostrate 
 on the ground before the Altar ; at which time and place 
 — as he after told Mr. Woodnot — he set some rules to 
 himself, for the future manage of his life ; and then and 
 there made a vow to labour to keep them. 
 
 And the same night that he had his induction, he said 
 to Mr. Woodnot, 'I now look back upon my aspiring 
 thoughts, and think myself more happy than if I had 
 attained what then I so ambitiously thirsted for. And I 
 can now behold the Court with an impartial eye, and see 
 
396 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 plainly that it is made up of fraud and titles, and flattery, 
 and many other such empty, imaginary, painted pleasures ; 
 pleasures, that are so empty, as not to satisfy when they 
 are enjoyed. But in God, and his service, is a fulness of all 
 joy and pleasure, and no satiety. And I will now use all my 
 endeavours to bring my relations and dependents to a love 
 and reliance on Him, who never fails those that trust him. 
 But above all, I will be sure to live well, because the virtu- 
 ous life of a Clergyman is the most powerful eloquence to- 
 persuade all that see it to reverence and love, and at least 
 to desire to live like him. And this I will do, because I 
 know we live in an age that hath more need of good 
 examples than precepts. And I beseech that God, who 
 hath honoured me so much as to call me to serve him at 
 his altar, that as by his special grace he hath put into my 
 heart these good desires and resolutions ; so he will, by 
 his assisting grace, give me ghostly strength to bring the 
 same to good effect. And I beseech him, that my humble 
 and charitable life may so win upon others, as to bring 
 glory to my Jesus, whom I have this day taken to be my 
 Master and Governor ; and I am so proud of his service, 
 that I will always observe, and obey, and do his wiU ; and 
 always call him, Jesus my Master ; and I will always con- 
 temn my birth, or any title or dignity that can be conferred 
 upon me, when I shall compare them with my title of 
 being a Priest, and serving at the Altar of Jesus my 
 Master.' 
 
 And that he did so, may appear in many parts of his 
 book of Sacred Poems : especially in that which he calls 
 ' The Odour.' In which he seems to rejoice in the thoughts 
 of that word Jesus, and say, that the adding these words,, 
 my Master, to it, and the often repetition of them, seemed 
 to perfume his mind, and leave an oriental fragrancy in his 
 very breath. And for his unforced choice to serve at God's, 
 altar, he seems in another place of his poems, ' The Pearl,' 
 {Matt. xiii. 45, 46,) to rejoice and say — ' He knew the 
 ways of learning ; knew what nature does willingly, and 
 what, when it is forced by fire ; knew the ways of honour, 
 and when glory inclines the soul to noble expressions ; 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 397 
 
 knew the Court ; knew the ways of pleasure, of love, of 
 wit, of music, and upon what terms he declined 
 all these for the service of his Master Jesus'; and then 
 concludes, saying, 
 
 That, through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit, 
 
 But thy silk twist, let down from Heaven to me, 
 Did both conduct, and teach me, how by it 
 
 To climb to thee. 
 
 The third day after he was made Rector of Bemerton, 
 and had changed his sword and silk clothes into a 
 canonical coat, he returned so habited with his friend Mr. 
 Woodnot to Sainton ; and immediately after he had seen 
 and saluted his wife, he said to her — ' You are now a 
 Minister's wife, and must now so far forget your father's 
 house, as not to claim a precedence of any of your 
 parishioners ; for you are to know, that a Priest's wife 
 can challenge no precedence or place, but that which she 
 purchases by her obliging humility ; and I am sure, places 
 so purchased do best become them. And let me tell you, 
 that I am so good a Herald, as to assure you that this is 
 truth.' And she was so meek a wife, as to assure him, 
 ' it was no vexing news to her, and that he should see her 
 observe it with a cheerful willingness.' And, indeed, her 
 unforced humility, that humility that was in her so 
 original, as to be born with her, made her so happy as to 
 do so ; and her doing so begot her an unfeigned love, and 
 a serviceable respect from all that conversed with her ; 
 and this love followed her in all places, as inseparably as 
 shadows follow substances in sunshine. 
 
 It was not many days before he returned back to Bemer- 
 ton, to view the Church, and repair the Chancel : and 
 indeed to rebuild almost three parts of his house, which 
 was fallen down, or decayed by reason of his predecessor's 
 living at a better Parsonage-house ; namely, at Minal, 
 sixteen or twenty miles from this place. At which time 
 of Mr. Herbert's coming alone to Bemerton, there came 
 to him a poor old woman, with an intent to acquaint him 
 with her necessitous condition, as also with some troubles 
 
398 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 of her mind : but after she had spoke some few words 
 to him, she was surprised with a fear, and that begot a 
 shortness of breath, so that her spirits and speech failed 
 her ; which he perceiving, did so compassionate her, and 
 was so humble, that he took her by the hand, and said, 
 ' Speak, good mother ; be not afraid to speak to me ; for 
 I am a man that will hear you with patience ; and will 
 relieve your necessities too, if I be able : and this I will do 
 willingly ; and therefore, mother, be not afraid to acquaint 
 me with what you desire.' After which comfortable 
 speech, he again took her by the hand, made her sit down 
 by him, and understanding she was of his parish, he told 
 her ' He would be acquainted with her, and take her into 
 his care.' And having with patience heard and under- 
 stood her wants, — ^and it is some relief for a poor 
 body to be but heard with patience, — he, like a Christian 
 Clergyman, comforted her by his meek behaviour and 
 counsel : but because that cost him nothing, he relieved 
 her with money too, and so sent her home with a cheerful 
 heart, praising God, and praying for him. Thus worthy, 
 and — like David's blessed man — thus lowly, was Mr. 
 George Herbert in his own eyes, and thus lovely in the 
 eyes of others. 
 
 At his return that night to his wife at Bain ton, he gave 
 her an account of the passages betwixt him and the poor 
 woman ; with which she was so affected, that she went 
 next day to Salisbury, and there bought a pair of blankets, 
 and sent them as a token of her love to the poor woman ; 
 and with them a message, ' That she would see and 
 be acquainted with her, when her house was built at 
 Bemerton.' 
 
 There be many such passages both of him and his wife, 
 of which some few will be related : but I shall first telly 
 that he hastened to get the Parish-Church repaired ; then 
 to beautify the Chapel, — which stands near his house, — 
 and that at his own great charge. He then proceeded to 
 rebuild the greatest part of the Parsonage-house, which he 
 did also very completely, and at his own charge ; and 
 having done this good work, he caused these verses to be 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 399 
 
 writ upon, or engraven in, the mantle of the chimney in 
 his hall. 
 
 To My Successor 
 
 If thou chance for to find 
 A new house to thy mind, 
 And built without thy cost ; 
 
 Be good to the poor. 
 
 As God gives thee store. 
 And then my labour's not lost. 
 
 We will now, by the Reader's favour, suppose him 
 fixed at Bemerton, and grant him to have seen the Church 
 repaired, and the Chapel belonging to it very decently 
 adorned at his own great charge, — which is a real truth ; 
 — and having now fixed him there, I shall proceed to give 
 an account of the rest of his behaviour, both to his 
 parishioners, and those many others that knew and con- 
 versed with him. 
 
 Doubtless Mr. Herbert had considered, and given rules 
 to himself for his Christian carriage both to God and man, 
 before he entered into Holy Orders. And 'tis not 
 unlike, but that he renewed those resolutions at his prostra^ 
 tion before the holy altar, at his induction into the Church 
 of Bemerton : but as yet he was but a Deacon, and 
 therefore longed for the next Ember-week, that he might 
 be ordained Priest, and made capable of administering 
 both the Sacraments. At which time the reverend Dr. 
 Humphrey Henchman, now Lord Bishop of London, — 
 who does not mention him but with some veneration for 
 his life and excellent learning, — tells me, ' He laid his hand 
 on Mr. Herbert's head, and, alas ! within less than three 
 years, lent his shoulder to carry his dear friend to his 
 grave.' 
 
 And that Mr. Herbert might the better preserve those 
 holy rules which such a Priest as he intended to be, ought 
 to observe ; and that time might not insensibly blot them 
 out of his memory, but that the next year might shew him 
 his variations from this year's resolutions; he therefore 
 did set down his rules, then resolved upon, in that 
 order as the world now sees them printed in a little 
 
400 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 book, called The Country Parson ; in which some of his 
 rules are : 
 
 The Parson's knowledge. The Parson condescending. 
 
 The Parson on Sundays. The Parson in his journey. 
 
 The Parson praying. The Parson in his mirth. 
 
 The Parson preaching. The Parson with his Church- 
 The Parson's charity. wardens. 
 
 The Parson comforting the The Parson blessing the 
 
 sick. people. 
 
 The Parson arguing. 
 
 And his behaviour toward God and man may be said to 
 be a practical comment on these, and the other holy rules 
 «et down in that useful book: a book so full of plain, 
 prudent, and useful rules, that that Country Parson, that 
 can spare twelve pence, and yet wants it, is scarce ex- 
 cusable ; because it will both direct him what he ought 
 to do, and convince him for not having done it. 
 
 At the death of Mr. Herbert, this book fell into the 
 hands of his friend Mr. Woodnot ; and he commended it 
 into the trusty hands of Mr. Barnabas Oley, who pub- 
 lished it with a most conscientious and excellent preface ; 
 from which I have had some of those truths, that are 
 related in this life of Mr. Herbert. The text of his first 
 Sermon was taken out of Solomon's Proverbs, [chap. iv. 23,] 
 and the words were, 'Keep thy heart with all diligence.' 
 In which first Sermon he gave his Parishioners many 
 necessary, holy, safe rules for the discharge of a good con- 
 science, both to God and man ; and delivered his Sermon 
 after a most florid manner, both with great learning and 
 eloquence ; but, at the close of this Sermon, told them, 
 ' That should not be his constant way of preaching ; for 
 since Almighty God does not intend to lead men to 
 Heaven by hard questions, he would not therefore fill 
 their heads with unnecessary notions ; but that, for their 
 sakes, his language and his expressions should be more 
 plain and practical in his future sermons.' And he then 
 made it his humble request, ' That they would be constant 
 to the Afternoon's Service, and Catechising ' : and shewed 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 401 
 
 them convincing reasons why he desired it ; and his oblig- 
 ing example and persuasions brought them to a willing 
 conformity to his desires. 
 
 The texts for all his future sermons — which, God 
 knows, were not many — were constantly taken out of the 
 Gospel for the day ; and he did as constantly declare why 
 the Church did appoint that portion of Scripture to be that 
 day read ; and in what manner the Collect for every Sun- 
 day does refer to the Gospel, or to the Epistle then read 
 to them ; and, that they might pray with understanding, 
 he did usually take occasion to explain, not only the 
 Collect for every particular Sunday, but the reasons of all 
 the other Collects and Responses in our Church-service ; 
 and made it appear to them, that the whole service of the 
 Church was a reasonable, and therefore an acceptable sacri- 
 fice to God : as namely, that we begin with ' Confession of 
 ourselves to be vile, miserable sinners ' ; and that we begin 
 so, because, till we have confessed ourselves to be such, we 
 are not capable of that mercy which we acknowledge we 
 need, and pray for : but having, in the prayer of our Lord, 
 begged pardon for those sins which we have confessed ; 
 and hoping, that as the Priest hath declared our absolution, 
 so by our public confession, and real repentance, we have 
 obtained that pardon ; then we dare and do proceed to 
 beg of the Lord, ' to open our lips, that our mouths may 
 shew forth his praise ' ; for till then we are neither able 
 nor worthy to praise him. But this being supposed, we 
 are then fit to say, ' Glory be to the Father, and to the 
 Son, and to the Holy Ghost' ; and fit to proceed to a 
 further service of our God, in the Collects, and Psalms, 
 and Lauds, that foUow in the service. 
 
 And as to the Psalms and Lauds, he proceeded to inform 
 them why they were so often, and some of them daily, 
 repeated in our Church- service ; namely, the Psalms every 
 month, because they be an historical and thankful repetition 
 of mercies past, and such a composition of prayers and 
 praises, as ought to be repeated often, and publicly ; for 
 with such sacrifice God is honoured and well-pleased. 
 This for the Psalms. 
 
 20 
 
402 izAAK Walton 
 
 And for the Hymns and Lauds appointed to be daily 
 repeated or sung after the first and second Lessons are 
 read to the congregation ; he proceeded to inform them, 
 that it was most reasonable, after they have heard the will 
 and goodness of God declared or preached by the Priest in 
 his reading the two chapters, that it was then a seasonable 
 duty to rise up, and express their gratitude to Almighty 
 God, for those his mercies to them, and to all mankind ; 
 and then to jsay with the Blessed Virgin, ' that their souls 
 do magnify the Lord, and that their spirits do also rejoice 
 in God their Saviour ' : and that it was their duty also to 
 rejoice with Simeon in his song, and say with him, ' That 
 their eyes have ' also ' seen their salvation ' ; for they have 
 seen that salvation which was but prophesied till his time : 
 and he then broke out into these expressions of joy that he 
 did see it ; but they live to see it daily in the history of it, 
 and therefore ought daUy to rejoice, and daily to offer up 
 their sacrifices of praise to their God, for that particular 
 mercy. A service, which is now the constant employment 
 of that Blessed Virgin and Simeon, and all those blessed 
 Saints that are possessed of Heaven : and where they are 
 at this time interchangeably and constantly singing, ' Holy, 
 holy, holy. Lord God ; glory be to God on high, and 
 on earth peace.' And he taught them, that to do this 
 was an acceptable service to God, because the Prophet 
 David says in his Psalms, ' He that praiseth the Lord 
 honoureth him.' 
 
 He made them to understand how happy they be that 
 are freed from the encumbrances of that law which our 
 forefathers groaned under : namely, from the legal sacri- 
 fices, and from the many ceremonies of the Levitical Law; 
 freed from Circumcision, and from the strict observation 
 of the Jewish Sabbath, and the like. And he made them 
 know, that having received so many and so great blessings, 
 by being born since the days of our Saviour, it must be an 
 acceptable sacrifice to Almighty God, for them to acknow- 
 ledge those blessings daily, and stand up and worship, and 
 say as Zacharias did, ' Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, 
 for he hath — in our days — visited and redeemed his people; 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 403 
 
 and he hath — in our days — remembered, and shewed that 
 mercy, which by the mouth of the Prophets, he promised 
 to our forefathers ; and this he has done according to 
 his holy covenant made with them.' And he made them 
 to understand that we live to see and enjoy the benefit 
 of it, in his Birth, in his Life, his Passion, his Resurrection, 
 and Ascension into Heaven, where he now sits sensible 
 of all our temptations and infirmities ; and where he is 
 at this present time making intercession for us, to his and 
 our Father: and therefore they ought daily to express 
 their public gratulations, and say daily with Zacharias, 
 ' Blessed be that Lord God of Israel, that hath thus visited 
 and thus redeemed his people.' — These were some of 
 the reasons, by which Mr. Herbert instructed his congre- 
 gation for the use of the Psalms and the Hymns appointed 
 to be daily sung or said in the Church-service. 
 
 He informed them also, when the Priest did pray only 
 for the congregation, and not for himself; and when they 
 did only pray for him ; as namely, after the repetition 
 of the Creed before he proceeds to pray the Lord's Prayer, 
 or any of the appointed Collects, the Priest is directed 
 to kneel down, and pray for them, saying, ' The Lord 
 be with you ' ; and when they pray for him, saying, ' And 
 with thy spirit ' ; and then they join together in the follow- 
 ing CoUects : and he assured them, that when there is such 
 mutual love, and such joint prayers offered for each other, 
 then the holy Angels look down from Heaven, and are 
 ready to carry such charitable desires to God Almighty, 
 and he as ready to receive them ; and that a Christian 
 congregation calling thus upon God with one heart, and 
 one voice, and in one reverent and humble posture, looks 
 as beautifully as Jerusalem, that is at peace with itself. 
 
 He instructed them also why the prayer of our Lord was 
 prayed often in every full service of the Church ; namely, 
 at the conclusion of the several parts of that service ; 
 and prayed then, not only because it was composed and 
 commanded by our Jesus that made it, but as a perfect 
 pattern for our less perfect forms of prayer, and therefore 
 fittest to sum up and conclude all our imperfect petitions. 
 
404 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 He instructed them also, that as by the second Com- 
 mandment we are required not to bow down, or wor- 
 ship an idol, or false God ; so, by the contrary rule, we 
 are to bow down and kneel, or stand up and worship 
 the true God. And he instructed them why the Church 
 required the congregation to stand up at the repetition of 
 the Creeds ; namely, because they thereby declare both 
 their obedience to the Church, and an assent to that faith 
 into which they had been baptized. And he taught them 
 that in that shorter Creed or Doxology, so often repeated 
 daily, they also stood up to testify their belief to be, ' the 
 God that they trusted in was one God, and three persons ; 
 the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost ; to whom they 
 and the Priest gave glory.' And because there had been 
 heretics that had denied some of these three persons to be 
 God, therefore the congregation stood up and honoured 
 him, by confessing and saying, ' It was so in the beginning, 
 is now so, and shall ever be so world without end.' And 
 all gave their assent to this belief, by standing up and 
 saying. Amen. 
 
 He instructed them also what benefit they had by the 
 Church's appointing the celebration of holidays and the 
 excellent use of them, namely, that they were set apart for 
 particular commemorations of particular mercies received 
 from almighty God ; and — as Reverend Mr. Hooker says 
 — to be the landmarks to distinguish times ; for by them 
 we are taught to take notice how time passes by us, and 
 that we ought not to let the years pass without a celebra- 
 tion of praise for those mercies which those days give 
 us occasion to remember, and therefore they were to note 
 that the year is appointed to begin the 25th day of March ; 
 a day in which we commemorate the Angel's appearing 
 to the Blessed Virgin, with the joyful tidings that ' she 
 should conceive and bear a son, that should be the 
 Redeemer of mankind.' And she did so forty weeks after 
 this joyful salutation ; namely, at our Christmas : a day in 
 which we commemorate his Birth with joy and praise : and 
 that eight days after this happy birth we celebrate his 
 Circumcision ; namely, in that which we call New-year's 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 40S 
 
 day. And that, upon that day which we call Twelfth-day, 
 we commemorate the manifestation of the unsearchable 
 riches of Jesus to the Gentiles : and that that day we also 
 celebrate the memory of his goodness in sending a star to 
 guide the three Wise Men from the East to Bethlehem, 
 that they might there worship, and present him with their 
 oblations of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And he — 
 Mr. Herbert — instructed them, that Jesus was forty days 
 after his birth presented by his blessed Mother in the 
 Temple ; namely, on that day which we call, ' The Purifi- 
 cation of the Blessed Virgin, Saint Mary.' And he 
 instructed them, that by the Lent-fast we imitate and 
 commemorate our Saviour's humiliation in fasting forty 
 days ; and that we ought to endeavour to be like him in 
 purity : and that on Good Friday we commemorate and 
 condole his Crucifixion ; and at Easter commemorate his 
 glorious Resurrection. And he taught them that after Jesus 
 had manifested himself to his Disciples to be ' that Christ 
 that was crucified, dead and buried'; and by his appear- 
 ing and conversing with his Disciples for the space of forty 
 days after his Resurrection, he then, and not till then, 
 ascended into Heaven in the sight of those Disciples ; 
 namely, on that day which we call the Ascension, or Holy 
 Thursday. And that we then celebrate the performance 
 of the promise which he made to his Disciples at or before 
 his Ascension ; namely, ' that though he left them, yet he 
 would send them the Holy Ghost to be their Comforter'; 
 and that he did so on that day which the Church calls 
 Whitsunday. — Thus the Church keeps an historical and 
 circular commemoration of times, as they pass by us ; of 
 such times as ought to incline us to occasional praises, for 
 the particular blessings which we do, or might receive, by 
 those holy commemorations. 
 
 He made them kno;w also why the Church hath appointed 
 Ember-weeks ; and to know the reason why the Command- 
 ments, and the Epistles and Gospels, were to be read at 
 the Altar or Communion Table : why the Priest was to 
 pray the Litany kneeling ; and why to pray some Collects 
 standing : and he gave them many other observations, fit 
 
4o6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 for his plain congregation, but not fit for me now to men- 
 tion ; for I must set limits to my pen, and not make that a 
 treatise, which I intended to be a much shorter account than 
 I have made It : but I have done, when I have told the 
 Reader, that he was constant in catechising every Sunday 
 in the afternoon, and that his catechising was after his 
 Second Lesson, and in the pulpit ; and that he never 
 exceeded his half hour, and was always so happy as to 
 have an obedient and a full congregation. 
 
 And to this I must add, that if he were at any time too 
 zealous in his Sermons, it was in reproving the indecencies 
 of the people's behaviour in the time of divine service ; 
 and of those Ministers that huddle up the Church prayers, 
 without a visible reverence and affection ; namely, such as 
 seemed to say the Lord's prayer, or a Collect in a breath. 
 But for himself, his custom was to stop betwixt every 
 Collect, and give the people time to consider what they had 
 prayed, and to force their desires affectionately to God, 
 before he engaged them into new petitions. 
 
 And by this account of his diligence to make his 
 parishioners understand what they prayed, and why they 
 praised and adored their Creator, I hope I shall the more 
 easily obtain the reader's belief to the following account 
 of Mr. Herbert's own practice ; which was to appear con- 
 stantly with his wife and three nieces — the daughters of a 
 deceased sister — and his whole family, twice every day at 
 the Church-prayers in the Chapel, which does almost join 
 to his Parsonage-house. And for the time of his appear- 
 ing, it was stricdy at the canonical hours of ten and four : 
 and then and there he lifted up pure and charitable hands 
 to God in the midst of the congregation. And he would 
 joy to have spent that time in that place, where the honour 
 of his Master Jesus dwelleth ; and there, by that inward 
 devotion which he testified constandy by an humble 
 behaviour and visible adoration, he, like Joshua, brought 
 not only ' his own household thus to serve the Lord,' 
 but brought most of his parishioners, and many gentlemen 
 in the neighbourhood, constantly to make a part of his 
 congregation twice a day : and some of the meaner sort of 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 407 
 
 his parish did so love and reverence Mr. Herbert, that 
 they would let their plough rest when Mr. Herbert's 
 Saint's-bell rung to prayers, that they might also offer 
 their devotions to God with him ; and would then return 
 back to their plough. And his most holy life was such, 
 that it begot such reverence to God, and to him, that they 
 thought themselves the happier, when they carried Mr. 
 Herbert's blessing back with them to their labour. Thus 
 powerful was his reason and example to persuade others 
 to a practical piety and devotion. 
 
 And his constant public prayers did never make him to 
 neglect his own private devotions, nor those prayers that 
 he thought himself bound to perform with his family, 
 which always were a set form, and not long ; and he did 
 always conclude them with that Collect which the Church 
 hath appointed for the day or week. — Thus he made every 
 day's sanctity a step towards the kingdom, where impurity 
 cannot enter. 
 
 His chiefest recreation was Music, in which heavenly art 
 he was a most excellent master, and did himself compose 
 many Divine Hymns and Anthems, which he set and sung 
 to his lute or viol : and though he was a lover of retired- 
 ness, yet his love to Music was such, that he went 
 usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the 
 Cathedral Church in Salisbury; and at his return would 
 say, ' that his time spent in prayer, and Cathedral-music, 
 elevated his soul, and was his Heaven upon earth.' But 
 before his return thence to Bemerton, he would usually 
 sing and play his part at an appointed private Music- 
 meeting ; and, to justify this practice, he would often 
 say, ' Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates 
 and set rules to it.' 
 
 And as his desire to enjoy his Heaven upon earth drew 
 him twice every week to Salisbury, so his walks thither 
 were the occasion of many happy accidents to others ; of 
 which I will mention some few. 
 
 In one of his walks to Salisbury he overtook a gentle- 
 man, that is still living in that city ; and in their walk 
 together, Mr. Herbert took a fair occasion to talk with 
 
408 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 him, and humbly begged to be excused, if he asked him 
 some account of his faith ; and said, ' I do this the rather, 
 because though you are not of my parish, yet I receive 
 tythe from you by the hand of your tenant ; and, Sir, I 
 am the bolder to do it, because I know there be some 
 sermon-hearers that be like those fishes, that always live in 
 salt water and yet are always fresh.' 
 
 After which expression, Mr. Herbert asked him some 
 needful questions, and having received his answer, gave 
 him such rules for the trial of his sincerity, and for a 
 practical piety, and in so loving and meek a manner, that 
 the gentleman did so fall in love with him, and his dis- 
 course, that he would often contrive to meet him in his 
 walk to Salisbury, or to attend him back to Bemerton; 
 and still mentions the name of Mr. George Herbert with 
 veneration, and still praiseth God for the occasion of 
 knowing him. 
 
 In another of his Salisbury walks, he met with a neigh- 
 bour Minister ; and after some friendly discourse betwixt 
 them, and some condolement for the decay of piety, and 
 too general contempt of the Clergy, Mr. Herbert took 
 occasion to say, 
 
 ' One cure for these distempers would be for the Clergy 
 themselves to keep the Ember-weeks strictly, and beg of 
 their parishioners to join with them in fasting and prayers 
 for a more religious Clergy. 
 
 ' And another cure would be, for themselves to restore 
 the great and neglected duty of Catechising, on which the 
 Salvation of so many of the poor and ignorant lay-people 
 does depend ; but principally, that the Clergy themselves 
 would be sure to live unblameably ; and that the dignified 
 Clergy especially which preach temperance, would avoid 
 surfeiting and take all occasions to express a visible humility 
 and charity in their lives ; for this would force a love and 
 an imitation, and an unfeigned reverence from all that 
 knew them to be such.' (And for proof of this, we need 
 no other testimony than the life and death of Dr. Lake, 
 late Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells.) 'This,' said Mr. 
 Herbert, * would be a cure for the wickedness and growing 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 409 
 
 Atheism of our age. And, my dear brother, till this be 
 done by us, and done in earnest, let no man expect a 
 reformation of the manners of the Laity ; for 'tis not 
 learning, but this, this only that must do it ; and, till then, 
 the fault must lie at our doors.' 
 
 In another walk to Salisbury, he saw a poor man with a 
 poorer horse, that was fallen under his load : they were 
 both in distress, and needed present help; which Mr. 
 Herbert perceiving, put ofF his canonical coat, and helped 
 the poor man to unload, and after to load, his horse. The 
 poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man ; 
 and was so like the Good Samaritan, that he gave him 
 money to refresh both himself and his horse ; and told 
 him, ' That if he loved himself he should be merciful to 
 his beast.' Thus he left the poor man : and at his coming 
 to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder 
 that Mr. George Herbert, which used to be so trim and 
 clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed : 
 but he told them the occasion. And when one of the 
 company told him ' He had disparaged himself by so dirty 
 an employment,' his answer was, ' That the thought of 
 what he had done would prove music to him at midnight ; 
 and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made 
 discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by 
 that place : for if I be bound to pray for all that be in 
 distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my 
 power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not 
 wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I 
 would not willingly pass one day of my life without com- 
 forting a sad sold, or shewing mercy ; and I praise God for 
 this occasion. And now let's tune our instruments.' 
 
 Thus, as our blessed Saviour, after his Resurrection, did 
 take occasion to interpret the Scripture to Cleopas, and 
 that other Disciple, which he met with and accompanied in 
 their journey to Emmaus; so Mr. Herbert, in his path 
 toward Heaven, did daily take any fair occasion to instruct 
 the ignorant, or comfort any that were in affliction ; and 
 did always confirm his precepts, by shewing humility and 
 mercy, and ministering grace to the hearers. 
 
4IO IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And he was most happy in his wife's unforced com- 
 pliance with his acts of Charity, whom he made his almoner, 
 and paid constantly into her hand, a tenth penny of what 
 money he received for tythe, and gave her power to 
 dispose that to the poor of his parish, and with it a power 
 to dispose a tenth part of the corn that came yearly into 
 his barn : which trust she did most faithfully perform, and 
 would often offer to him an account of her stewardship, 
 and as often beg an enlargement of his bounty ; for she 
 rejoiced in the employment : and this was usually laid out 
 by her in blankets and shoes for some such poor people as 
 she knew to stand in most need of them. This as to her 
 charity. — And for his own, he set no limits to it : nor did 
 ever turn his face from any that he saw in want, but would 
 relieve them ; especially his poor neighbours ; to the 
 meanest of whose houses he would go, and inform himself 
 of their wants, and relieve them cheerfully, if they were in 
 distress ; and would always praise God, as much for being 
 willing, as for being able to do it. And when he was 
 advised by a friend to be more frugal, because he might 
 have children, his answer was, ' He would not see the 
 danger of want so far off : but being the Scripture does so 
 commend Charity, as to tell us that Charity is the top of 
 Christian virtues, the covering of sins, the fulfilling of the 
 Law, the Life of Faith ; and that Charity hath a promise of 
 the blessings of this life, and of a reward in that life which 
 is to come : being these, and more excellent things are in 
 Scripture spoken of thee, O Charity! and that, being aU 
 my tythes and Church-dues are a deodate from thee, O 
 my God! make me, O my God! so far to trust thy 
 promise, as to return them back to thee ; and by thy grace 
 I will do so, in distributing them to any of thy poor 
 members that are in distress, or do but bear the image of 
 Jesus my Master.' ' Sir,' said he to his friend, ' my wife 
 hath a competent maintenance secured after my death ; 
 and therefore, as this is my prayer, so this my resolution 
 shall, by God's grace, be unalterable.' 
 
 This may be some account of the excellencies of the 
 active part of his life; and thus he continued, till 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 411 
 
 a consumption so weakened him, as to confine him 
 to his house, or to the Chapel, which does almost 
 join to it ; in which he continued to read prayers con- 
 stantly twice every day, though he were very weak : 
 in one of which times of his reading, his wife observed 
 him to read in pain, and told him so, and that it wasted his 
 spirits, and weakened him ; and he confessed it did, but said, 
 his ' life could not be better spent, than in the service of 
 his Master Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for 
 him. But,' said he, ' I will not be wilful ; for though my 
 spirit be willing, yet I find my flesh is weak ; and there- 
 fore Mr. Bostock shall be appointed to read prayers for 
 me to-morrow ; and I will now be only a hearer of them, 
 till this mortal shall put on immortality.' And Mr. 
 Bostock did the next day undertake and continue this 
 happy employment, till Mr. Herbert's death. This Mr. 
 Bostock was a learned and virtuous man, an old friend of 
 Mr, Herbert's and then his Curate to the Church of 
 Fulston, which is a mile from Bemerton, to which Church 
 Bemerton is but a Chapel of Ease. And this Mr. Bostock 
 did also constantly supply the Church-service for Mr. 
 Herbert in that Chapel, when the Music-meeting at Salis- 
 bury caused his absence from it. 
 
 About one month before his death, his friend Mr. 
 Farrer, — for an account of whom I am by promise indebted 
 to the reader, and intend to make him sudden payment, 
 — hearing of Mr. Herbert's sickness, sent Mr. Edmund 
 Duncon — who is now Rector of Friar Barnet in the County 
 of Middlesex — from his house of Gidden Hall, which is 
 near to Huntingdon, to see Mr. Herbert, and to assure 
 him, he wanted not his daily prayers for his recovery ; 
 and Mr. Duncon was to return back to Gidden, with 
 an account of Mr. Herbert's condition. Mr. Duncon 
 found him weak, and at that time lying on his bed, or 
 on a pallet ; but at his seeing Mr. Duncon he raised 
 himself vigorously, saluted him, and with some earnest- 
 ness enquired the health of his brother Farrer ; of which 
 Mr. Duncon satisfied him, and after some discourse of 
 Mr. Farrer's holy life, and the manner of his constant 
 
412 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 serving God, he said to Mr. Duncon, — ' Sir, I see by your 
 habit Siat you are a Priest, and I desire you to pray with 
 me ' : which being granted, Mr Duncon asked him, ' What 
 prayers ? ' To which Mr. Herbert's answer was, ' O, Sir ! 
 the prayers of my Mother, the Church of England : no 
 other prayers are equal to them ! But at this time, I beg 
 of you to pray only the Litany, for I am weak and faint ' : 
 and Mr. Duncon did so. After which, and some other 
 discourse of Mr. Farrer, Mrs. Herbert provided Mr. 
 Duncon a plain supper, and a clean lodging, and he 
 betook himself to rest. This Mr. Duncon tells me ; and 
 tells me, that, at his first view of Mr. Herbert, he saw 
 majesty and humility so reconciled in his looks and 
 behaviour, as begot in him an awful reverence for his 
 person ; and says, ' his discourse was so pious, and his 
 motion so gende and meek, that after almost forty 
 years, yet they remain still fresh in his memory.' 
 
 The next morning Mr. Duncon left him, and betook 
 himself to a journey to Bath, but with a promise to 
 return back to him within five days ; and he did so : but 
 before I shall say any thing of what discourse then fell 
 betwixt them two, I will pay my promised account of 
 Mr. Farrer. 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Farrer — who got the reputation of being 
 called St. Nicholas at the age of six years — ^was born in 
 London, and doubtless had good education in his youth ; 
 but certainly was, at an early age, made Fellow of Clare- 
 Hall in Cambridge ; where he continued to be eminent 
 for his piety, temperance, and learning. About the twenty- 
 sixth year of his age, he betook himself to travel : in which 
 he added, to his Latin and Greek, a perfect knowledge of 
 all the languages spoken in the Western parts of our 
 Christian world ; and understood well the principles of 
 their Religion, and of their manner, and the reasons of 
 their worship. In this his travel he met with many per- 
 suasions to come into a communion with that church 
 which calls itself Catholic : but he returned from his 
 travels as he went, eminent for his obedience to his 
 mother, the Church of England. In his absence from 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 413 
 
 England, Mr. Farrer's father — who was a merchant — 
 allowed him a liberal maintenance ; and, not long after his 
 return into England, Mr. Farrer had, by the death of his 
 father, or an elder brother, or both, an estate left him, 
 that enabled him to purchase land to the value of four or 
 five hundred pounds a year ; the greatest part of which 
 land was at Little Gidden, four or six miles from 
 Huntingdon, and about eighteen from Cambridge ; which 
 place he chose for the privacy of it, and for the Hall, 
 which had the Parish-Church or Chapel, belonging and 
 adjoining near to it ; for Mr. Farrer, having seen the 
 manners and vanities of the world, and found them to be, 
 as Mr. Herbert says, ' a nothing between two dishes,' did 
 so contemn it, that he resolved to spend the remainder of 
 his life in mortifications, and in devotion, and charity, and 
 to be always prepared for death. And his life was spent 
 thus : 
 
 He and his family, which were like a little College, and 
 about thirty in number, did most of them keep Lent and 
 aU Ember-weeks strictly, both in fasting and using all 
 those mortifications and prayers that the Church hath 
 appointed to be then used ; and he and they did the like 
 constantly on Fridays, and on the Vigils or Eves appointed 
 to be fasted before the Saints' days : and this frugality and 
 abstinence turned to the relief of the poor : but this was 
 but a part of his charity ; none but God and he knew 
 the rest. 
 
 This family, which I have said to be in number about 
 thirty, were a part of them his kindred, and the rest chosen 
 to be of a temper fit to be moulded into a devout life ; 
 and all of them were for their dispositions serviceable, and 
 quiet, and humble, and free from scandal. Having thus 
 fitted himself for his family, he did, about the year 1630, 
 betake himself to a constant and methodical service of 
 God ; and it was in this manner : — He, being accompanied 
 with most of his family, did himself use to read the 
 common prayers — for he was a Deacon — every day, at the 
 appointed hours of ten and four, in the Parish-Church, 
 which was very near his house, and which he had both 
 
414 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 repaired and adorned ; for it was fallen into a great ruin, 
 by reason of a depopulation of the village before Mr. 
 Farrer bought the manor. And he did also constantly 
 read the Matins every morning at the hour of six, either 
 in the Church, or in an Oratory, which was within his own 
 house. And many of the family did there continue with 
 him after the prayers were ended, and there they spent 
 some hours in singing Hymns, or Anthems, sometimes in 
 the Church, and often to an organ in the Oratory. And 
 there they sometimes betook themselves to meditate, or 
 to pray privately, or to read a part of the New Testament 
 to themselves, or to continue their praying or reading 
 the Psalms ; and in case the Psalms were not always read 
 in the day, then Mr. Farrer, and others of the congrega- 
 tion, did at night, at the ringing of a watch-bell, repair to 
 the Church or Oratory, and there betake themselves to 
 prayers and lauding God, and reading the Psalms that had 
 not been read in the day : and when these, or any part of 
 the congregation, grew weary or faint, the watch-bell was 
 rung, sometimes before, and sometimes after midnight ; 
 and then another part of the family rose, and maintained 
 the watch, sometimes by praying, or singing lauds to God, 
 or reading the Psalms ; and when, after some hours, they 
 also grew weary or faint, then they rung the watch-bell 
 and were also relieved by some of the former, or by a 
 new part of the society, which continued their devotions 
 — as hath been mentioned — until morning. And it is 
 to be noted, that in this continued serving of God, the 
 Psalter or the whole Book of Psalms, was in every four 
 and twenty hours sung or read over, from the first to the 
 last verse : and this was done as constantly as the sun 
 runs his circle every day about the world, and then begins 
 again the same instant that it ended. 
 
 Thus did Mr. Farrer and his happy family serve God 
 day and night ; thus did they always behave themselves as 
 in his presence. And they did always eat and drink by 
 the strictest rules of temperance ; eat and drink so as to 
 be ready to rise at midnight, or at the call of a watch-bell, 
 and perform their devotions to God. And 't is fit to tell 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 415 
 
 the reader, that many of the Clergy, that were more 
 inclined to practical piety and devotion, than to doubtful 
 and needless disputations, did often come to Gidden Hall, 
 and make themselves a part of that happy society, and 
 stay a week or more, and then join with Mr. Farrer and 
 the family in these devotions, and assist and ease him or 
 them in their watch by night. And these various devo- 
 tions had never less than two of the domestic family in the 
 night ; and the watch was always kept in the Church or 
 Oratory, unless in extreme cold winter nights, and then it 
 was maintained in a parlour, which had a fire in it ; and 
 the parlour was fitted for that purpose. And this course 
 of piety, and great liberality to his poor neighbours, Mr. 
 Farrer maintained till his death, which was in the year 
 1639. 
 
 Mr. Farrer's and Mr. Herbert's devout lives were both 
 so noted, that the general report of their sanctity gave 
 them occasion to renew that slight acquaintance which was 
 begun at their being contemporaries in Cambridge ; and 
 this new holy friendship was long maintained without any 
 interview, but only by loving and endearing letters. And 
 one testimony of their friendship and pious designs, may 
 appear by Mr. Farrer's commending the ' Considerations 
 of John Valdesso ' — a book which he had met with in his 
 travels, and translated out of Spanish into English, — to be 
 examined and censured by Mr. Herbert before it was 
 made public : which excellent book Mr. Herbert did read, 
 and return back with many marginal notes, as they be 
 now printed with it ; and with them, Mr. Herbert's 
 affectionate letter to Mr. Farrer. 
 
 This John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was for his 
 learning and virtue much valued and loved by the great 
 Emperor Charles the Fifth, whom Valdesso had followed 
 as a Cavalier all the time of his long and dangerous wars : 
 and when Valdesso grew old, and grew weary both of war 
 and the world, he took his fair opportunity to declare to 
 the Emperor, that his resolution was to decline his 
 Majesty's service, and betake himself to a quiet and con- 
 templative life, ' because there ought to be a vacancy of 
 
416 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 time betwixt fighting and dying.' The Emperor had 
 himself, for the same, or other like reasons, put on the 
 same resolution : but God and himself did, till then, only 
 know them ; and he did therefore desire Valdesso to con- 
 sider well of what he had said, and to keep his purpose 
 within his own breast, till they two might have a second 
 opportunity of a friendly discourse ; which Valdesso 
 promised to do. 
 
 In the mean time the Emperor appoints privately a day 
 for him and Valdesso to meet again ; and, after a pious 
 and free discourse, they both agreed on a certain day to 
 receive the blessed Sacrament publicly ; and appointed an 
 eloquent and devout Friar to preach a Sermon of contempt 
 of the world, and of the happiness and benefit of a quiet 
 and contemplative life ; which the Friar did most affec- 
 tionately. After which Sermon, the Emperor took occasion 
 to declare openly, ' That the Preacher had begot in him a 
 resolution to lay down his dignities, and to forsake the 
 world, and betake himself to a monastical life.' And he 
 pretended, he had persuaded John Valdesso to do the like : 
 but this is most certain, that after the Emperor had called 
 his son Philip out of England, and resigned to him all 
 his kingdoms, that then the Emperor and John Valdesso 
 did perform their resolutions. 
 
 This account of John Valdesso I received from a friend, 
 that had it from the mouth of Mr. Farrer. And the 
 Reader may note, that in this retirement John Valdesso 
 writ his Hundred and Ten Considerations, and many 
 other treatises of worth, which want a second Mr. Farrer 
 to procure and translate them. 
 
 After this account of Mr. Farrer and John Valdesso, I 
 proceed to my account of Mr. Herbert and Mr. Duncon, 
 who according to his promise returned from Bath the fifth 
 day, and then found Mr. Herbert much weaker than he 
 left him ; and therefore their discourse could not be long : 
 but at Mr. Duncon's parting with him, Mr. Herbert 
 spoke to this purpose : ' Sir, I pray you give my brother 
 Farrer an account of the decaying condition of my body, 
 and tell him I beg him to continue his daily prayers for 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 417 
 
 me; and let him know that I have considered, that God 
 only is what he would be ; and that I am, by his grace, 
 become now so like him, as to be pleased with what 
 pleaseth him ; and tell him, that I do not repine, but am 
 pleased with my want of health : and tell him, my heart is 
 fixed on that place where true joy is only to be found ; 
 and that I long to be there, and do wait for my appointed 
 change with hope and patience.' Having said this, he 
 did, with so sweet a humility as seemed to exalt him, 
 bow down to Mr. Duncon, and with a thoughtful and 
 contented look, say to him, 'Sir, I pray deliver this 
 little book to my dear brother Farrer, and tell him, he 
 shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts 
 that have passed betwixt God and my soul, before I 
 could subject mine to the will of Jesus my Master : in 
 whose service I have now found perfect freedom. Desire 
 him to read it ; and then, if he can think it may turn 
 to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be 
 made public; if not, let him burn it; for I and it are 
 less than the least of God's mercies.' Thus meanly 
 did this humble man think of this excellent book, which 
 now bears the name of The Tempk ; or. Sacred Poems 
 and Private Ejaculations ; of which Mr. Farrer would 
 say, ' There was in it the picture of a divine soul in every 
 page : and that the whole book was such a harmony of 
 holy passions, as would enrich the world with pleasure and 
 piety.' And it appears to have done so ; for there have 
 been more than twenty thousand of them sold since the 
 first impression. 
 
 And this ought to be noted, that when Mr. Farrer 
 sent this book to Cambridge to be licensed for the press, 
 the Vice-Chancellor would by no means allow the two 
 so much noted verses. 
 
 Religion stands a tiptoe in our land, 
 Ready to pass to the American strand, 
 
 to be printed ; and Mr. Farrer would by no means allow 
 the book to be printed and want them. But after some 
 time, and some arguments for and against their being made 
 
 2D 
 
41 8 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 public, the Vice-Chancellor said, 'I knew Mr. Herbert 
 well, and know that he had many heavenly speculations, 
 and was a divine poet : but I hope the world will not take 
 him to be an inspired prophet, and therefore I license the 
 whole book.' So that it came to be printed without the 
 diminution or addition of a syllable, since it was delivered 
 into the hands of Mr. Duncon, save only that Mr. Farrer 
 hath added that excellent Preface that is printed before it. 
 At the time of Mr. Duncon's leaving Mr. Herbert, — 
 which was about three weeks before his death, — his old 
 and dear friend Mr. Woodnot came from London to 
 Bemerton, and never left him till he had seen him draw 
 his last breath, and closed his eyes on his death-bed. In 
 this time of his decay, he was often visited and prayed for 
 by all the Clergy that lived near to him, especially by his 
 friends the Bishop and Prebends of the Cathedral Church 
 in Salisbury; but by none more devoutly than his wife, 
 his three nieces, — then a part of his family, — and Mr. 
 Woodnot, who were the sad witnesses of his daily decay ; 
 to whom he would often speak to this purpose : ' I now 
 look back upon the pleasures of my life past, and see the 
 content I have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and 
 pleasant conversation, are now all past by me like a dream, 
 or as a shadow that returns not, and are now aU become 
 dead to me, or I to them ; and I see, that as my father 
 and generation hath done before me, so I also shall now 
 suddenly (with Job) make my bed also in the dark ; and 
 I praise God I am prepared for it ; and I praise him that 
 I am not to learn patience now I stand in such need of it ; 
 and that I have practised mortification, and endeavoured 
 to die daily, that I might not die eternally ; and my hope 
 is, that I shall shortly leave this valley of tears, and be 
 free from aU fevers and pain ; and, which will be a more 
 happy condition, I shall be free from sin, and all the 
 temptations and anxieties that attend it : and this being 
 past, I shall dwell in the New Jerusalem ; dwell there 
 with men made perfect ; dwell where these eyes shall see 
 my Master and Saviour Jesus ; and with him see my dear 
 Mother, and all my relations and friends. But I must 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 419 
 
 die, or not come to that happy place. And this is my 
 content, that I am going daily towards it : and that every 
 day which I have lived, hath taken a part of my appointed 
 time from me ; and that I shall live the less time, for 
 having lived this and the day past.' These, and the like 
 expressions, which he uttered often, may be said to be his 
 enjoyment of Heaven before he enjoyed it. The Sunday 
 before his death, he rose suddenly from his bed or couch, 
 called for one of his instruments, took it into his hand 
 and said. 
 
 My God, my God, 
 
 My music shall find thee, 
 
 And every string 
 Shall have his attribute to sing. 
 
 And having tuned it, he played and sung : 
 
 The Sundays of man's life, 
 Threaded together on time's string. 
 Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
 Of the eternal glorious King : 
 On Sundays Heaven's doors stand ope ; 
 Blessings are plentiful and rife. 
 
 More plentiful than hope. 
 
 Thus he sung on earth such Hymns and Anthems, as 
 the Angels, and he, and Mr. Farrer, now sing in Heaven. 
 
 Thus he continued meditating, and praying, and re- 
 joicing, tiU the day of his death ; and on that day said to 
 Mr. Woodnot, ' My dear friend, I am sorry I have 
 nothing to present to my merciful God but sin and 
 misery ; but the first is pardoned, and a few hours will 
 now put a period to the latter ; for I shall suddenly go 
 hence, and be no more seen.' Upon which expression Mr, 
 Woodnot took occasion to remember him of the re- 
 edifying Layton Church, and his many acts of mercy. 
 To which he made answer, saying, ' They be good works, 
 if they be sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and not 
 otherwise.' After this discourse he became more restless, 
 and his soul seemed to be weary of her earthly tabernacle ; 
 and this uneasiness became so visible, that his wife, his 
 three nieces, and Mr. Woodnot, stood constantly about 
 
420 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 his bed, beholding him with sorrow, and an unwillingness 
 to lose the sight of him, whom they could not hope to see 
 much longer. As they stood thus beholding him, his 
 wife observed him to breathe faintly, and with much 
 trouble, and observed him to fall into a sudden agony ; 
 which so surprised her, that she fell into a sudden passion, 
 and required of him to know how he did. To which his 
 answer was, ' that he had passed a conflict with his last 
 enemy, and had overcome him by the merits of his 
 Master Jesus.' After which answer, he looked up, and 
 saw his wife and nieces weeping to an extremity, and 
 charged them, if they loved him, to withdraw into the 
 next room, and there pray every one alone for him ; for 
 nothing but their lamentations could make his death un- 
 comfortable. To which request their sighs and tears 
 would not sufFer them to make any reply ; but they 
 yielded him a sad obedience, leaving only with him Mr. 
 Woodnot and Mr. Bostock. Immediately after they had 
 left him, he said to Mr. Bostock, ' Pray, Sir, open that 
 door, then look into that cabinet, in which you may easily 
 find my last Will, and give it into my hand ' : which 
 being done, Mr. Herbert delivered it into the hand of 
 Mr. Woodnot, and said, ' My old friend, I here deliver 
 you my last Will, in which you will find that I have made 
 you my sole Executor for the good of my wife and 
 nieces ; and I desire you to shew kindness to them, as 
 they shall need it : I do not desire you to be just ; for I 
 know you will be so for your own sake ; but I charge 
 you, by the religion of our friendship, to be careful of 
 them.' And having obtained Mr. Woodnot's promise to 
 be so, he said, ' I am now ready to die.' After which 
 words, he said, ' Lord, forsake me not now my strength 
 faileth me : but grant me mercy for the merits of my 
 Jesus. And now. Lord — Lord, now receive my soul.' 
 And with those words he breathed forth his divine 
 soul, without any apparent disturbance, Mr. Woodnot 
 and Mr. Bostock attending his last breath, and closing 
 his eyes. 
 
 Thus he lived, and thus he died, like a Saint, unspotted 
 
LIFE OF HERBERT 421 
 
 of the world, full of alms-deeds, full of humility, and all 
 the examples of a virtuous life ; which I cannot conclude 
 better, than with this borrowed observation : 
 
 All must to their cold graves : 
 
 But the religious actions of the just 
 
 Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust. 
 
 Mr. George Herbert's have done so to this, and will 
 doubtless do so to succeeding generations. — I have but 
 this to say more of him ; that if Andrew Melvin died 
 before him, then George Herbert died without an enemy. 
 I wish — if God shall be so pleased — that I may be so happy 
 as to die like him. I2, Wa. 
 
 There is a debt justly due to the memory of Mr. Her- 
 bert's virtuous Wife ; a part of which I will endeavour to 
 pay, by a very short account of the remainder of her life, 
 which shall follow. 
 
 She continued his disconsolate widow about six years, 
 bemoaning herself, and complaining, that she had lost the 
 delight of her eyes ; but more that she had lost the spiritual 
 guide for her poor soul ; and would often say, ' O that I 
 had, like holy Mary, the Mother of Jesus, treasured up all 
 his sayings in my heart ! But since I have not been able 
 to do that, I will labour to live like him, that where he now 
 is I may be also.' And she would often say, — as the 
 Prophet David for his son Absalom, — ' O that I had died 
 for him ! ' Thus she continued mourning till time and 
 conversation had so moderated her sorrows, that she became 
 the happy wife of Sir Robert Cook, of Highnam, in the 
 County of Gloucester, Knight. And though he put a high 
 value on the excellent accomplishments of her mind and 
 body, and was so like Mr. Herbert, as not to govern like 
 a master, but as an affectionate husband ; yet she would 
 even to him often take occasion to mention the name of 
 Mr. George Herbert, and say, that name must live in her 
 memory till she put off mortality. By Sir Robert she had 
 only one child, a daughter, whose parts and plentiful estate 
 make her happy in this world, and her well using of them 
 
422 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 gives a fair testimony that she will be so in that which is 
 to come. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was the wife of Sir Robert eight years, and 
 lived his widow about fifteen ; all which time she took a 
 pleasure in mentioning and commending the excellencies of 
 Mr. George Herbert. She died in the year 1663, and lies 
 buried at Highnam : Mr. Herbert in his own Church, 
 under the altar, and covered with a gravestone without any 
 inscription. 
 
 This Lady Cook had preserved many of Mr. Herbert's 
 private writings, which she intended to make public ; but 
 they and Highnam House were burnt together by the late 
 rebels, and so lost to posterity. j -r^ 
 
THE LIFE OF DR. ROBERT SANDERSON, 
 Late Bishop of Lincoln 
 
 Eccles. iii. — Mysteries are revealed to the meek 
 
To the Right Reverend and Honourable, 
 
 George, Lord Bishop of Winchester, 
 
 Prelate of the Garter, and one of His Majesty's Privy 
 
 Council 
 
 My Lord, 
 If I should undertake to enumerate the many favours and 
 advantages I have had by my very long acquaintance with 
 your Lordship, I should enter upon an employment, that 
 might prove as tedious as the collecting of the materials for 
 this poor Monument, which I have erected, and do dedicate 
 to the Memory of your beloved friend, Dr. Sanderson : 
 But though I will not venture to do that ; yet I do 
 remember with pleasure, and remonstrate with gratitude, 
 that your Lordship made me known to him, Mr. Chilling- 
 worth, and Dr. Hammond ; men, whose merits ought 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 My friendship with the first was begun almost forty 
 years past, when I was as far from a thought, as a desire to 
 outlive him ; and farther from an intention to write his 
 Life. But the wise Disposer of aU men's lives and actions 
 hath prolonged the first, and now permitted the last; 
 which is here dedicated to your Lordship, — and, as it ought 
 to be — with all humility, and a desire that it may remain 
 as a public testimony of my gratitude. — My Lord, Your 
 most affectionate old friend, and most humble servant, 
 
 IzAAK Walton. 
 
 42s 
 
THE PREFACE 
 
 I DARE neither think, nor assure the Reader, that I have 
 committed no mistakes in this relation of the Life of 
 Dr. Sanderson ; but am sure, there is none that are either 
 wilful, or very material. I confess, it was worthy the 
 employment of some person of more Learning and greater 
 abilities than I can pretend to ; and I have not a little 
 wondered that none have yet been so gratefiil to him and 
 to posterity, as to undertake it. For as it may be noted, 
 that our Saviour had a care, that, for Mary Magdalen's 
 kindness to him, her name should never be forgotten : 
 So I conceive, the great satisfaction many scholars have 
 already had, and the unborn world is like to have, by his 
 exact, clear and useful learning : and might have by a 
 true narrative of his matchless meekness, his calm 
 fortitude, and the innocence of his whole life : doth justly 
 challenge the like from this present age : that posterity 
 may not be ignorant of them : And 'tis to me a wonder, 
 that it has been already fifteen years neglected. But, in 
 saying this, my meaning is not to upbraid others, — I am 
 far from that, — but excuse myself, or beg pardon for 
 daring to attempt it. This being premised, I desire to 
 tell the Reader, that in this relation I have been so bold, 
 as to paraphrase and say, what I think he — whom I had 
 the happiness to know well — would have said upon the 
 same occasions : and if I have been too bold in doing so, 
 and cannot now beg pardon of him that loved me ; yet I 
 do of my Reader, from whom I desire the same favour. 
 
 426 
 
PREFACE 427 
 
 And, though my age might have procured me a Writ of 
 Ease, and that secured me from all further trouble in this 
 kind ; yet I met with such persuasions to undertake it, 
 and so many willing informers since, and from them, and 
 others, such helps and encouragements to proceed, that 
 when I found myself faint, and weary of the burthen with 
 which I had loaden myself, and sometime ready to lay it 
 down ; yet time and new strength hath at last brought it 
 to be what it now is, and here presented to the Reader, 
 and with it this desire ; that he will take notice, that Dr. 
 Sanderson did in his Will, or last sickness, advertise, that 
 after his death nothing of his might be printed ; because 
 that might be said to be his, which indeed was not ; and 
 also for that he might have changed his opinion since he first 
 writ it, as 'tis thought he has since he writ his Pax Eccksiae. 
 And though these reasons ought to be regarded, yet regarded 
 so, as he resolves in his Case of Conscience concerning 
 Rash Vows ; that there may appear very good second 
 reasons why we may forbear to perform them. However, 
 for his said reasons, they ought to be read as we do 
 Apocryphal Scripture ; to explain, but not oblige us to so 
 firm a belief of what is here presented as his. 
 
 And I have this to say more ; That as in my queries for 
 writing Dr. Sanderson's Life, I met with these little Tracts 
 annexed ; so, in my former queries for my information to 
 write the Life of venerable Mr. Hooker, I met with a 
 Sermon, which I also believe was really his, and here 
 presented as his to the Reader. It is affirmed, — and I 
 have met with reason to believe it, — that there be some 
 Artists, that do certainly know an original picture from a 
 copy ; and in what age of the world, and by whom drawn. 
 And if so, then I hope it may be as safely affirmed, that 
 what is here presented for their's is so like their temper of 
 mind, their other writings, the times when, and the 
 occasions upon which they were writ, that all Readers may 
 safely conclude, they could be writ by none but venerable 
 Mr. Hooker, and the humble and learned Dr. Sanderson. 
 
 And lastly, the trouble being now past, I look back and 
 am glad that I have collected these memoirs, of this 
 
428 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 humble man, which lay scattered, and contracted them 
 into a narrower compass ; and if I have, by the pleasant 
 toil of so doing either pleased or profited any man, I have 
 attained what I designed when I first undertook it. But I 
 seriously wish, both for the Reader's and Dr. Sanderson's 
 sake, that posterity had known his great Learning and 
 Virtue by a better pen ; by such a pen, as could have 
 made his life as immortal, as his learning and merits ought 
 to be. J ^ 
 
THE LIFE OF DR. ROBERT SANDERSON 
 
 Late Lord Bishop of Lincoln 
 
 Dr. Robert Sanderson, the late learned Bishop of 
 Lincoln, whose Life I intend to write with all truth 
 and equal plainness, was born the nineteenth day of 
 September in the year of our Redemption 1587. The 
 place of his birth was Rotherham in the county of 
 York ; a town of good note, and the more for that 
 Thomas Rotherham, some time Archbishop of that see, 
 was born in it ; a man, whose great wisdom, and bounty, 
 and sanctity of life, gave a denomination to it, or hath 
 made it the more memorable : as Indeed it ought also 
 to be, for being the birth-place of our Robert Sanderson. 
 And the reader will be of my belief, if this humble 
 relation of his life can hold any proportion with his 
 great sanctity, his useful learning, and his many other 
 extraordinary endowments. 
 
 He was the second and youngest Son, of Robert 
 Sanderson, of Gilthwaite-Hall, in the said parish and 
 county, Esq., by Elizabeth, one of the daughters of 
 Richard Carr, of Butterthwaite-Hall, in the parish of 
 Ecclesfield, in the said County of York, Gentleman. 
 
 This Robert Sanderson, the Father, was descended from 
 a numerous, ancient, and honourable family of his own 
 name : for the search of which truth, I refer my reader, 
 that inclines to it, to Dr. Thorlton's History of the 
 Antiquities of Nottinghamshire, and other records ; not 
 
 429 
 
430 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 thinking it necessary here to engage him into a search for 
 bare titles, which are noted to have in them nothing of 
 reality : for titles not acquired, but derived only, do but 
 shew us who of our ancestors have, and how they have 
 achieved that honour which their descendants claim, and 
 may not be worthy to enjoy. For, if those titles descend 
 to persons that degenerate into vice, and break off the 
 continued line of Learning, or Valour, or that Virtue that 
 acquired them, they destroy the very foundation upon 
 which that honour was built ; and all the rubbish of their 
 degenerousness ought to fall heavy on such dishonourable 
 heads ; ought to fall so heavy, as to degrade them of their 
 titles, and blast their memories with reproach and shame. 
 
 But this Robert Sanderson lived worthy of his name 
 and family : of which one testimony may be, that Gilbert, 
 called the Great and Glorious Earl of Shrewsbury, thought 
 him not unworthy to be joined with him as a Godfather 
 to Gilbert Sheldon, the late Lord Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury ; to whose merits and memory, posterity — the Clergy 
 especially — ought to pay a reverence. 
 
 But I return to my intended relation of Robert the 
 Son, who (like Josiah that good King) began in his youth 
 to make the Laws of God, and obedience to his parents, 
 the rules of his life ; seeming even then to dedicate himself, 
 and all his studies, to piety and virtue. 
 
 And as he was inclined to this by that native goodness, 
 with which the wise Disposer of all hearts had endowed 
 his ; so this calm, this quiet and happy temper of mind — 
 his being mild, and averse to oppositions — made the whole 
 course of his life easy and grateful both to himself and 
 others : and this blessed temper was maintained and 
 improved by his prudent Father's good example ; as also, 
 by his frequent conversing with him, and scattering short 
 and virtuous apophthegms with little pleasant stories, and 
 making useful applications of them, by which his son was 
 in his infancy taught to abhor Vanity and Vice as 
 monsters, and to discern the loveliness of Wisdom and 
 Virtue ; and by these means, and God's concurring grace, 
 his knowledge was so augmented, and his native good- 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 431 
 
 ness so confirmed, that all became so habitual, as 't 
 was not easy to determine whether Nature or Education 
 were his teachers. 
 
 And here let me tell the reader, that these early 
 beginnings of Virtue, were by God's assisting grace, blessed 
 with what St. Paul seemed to beg for his Philippians,^ 
 namely, ' That he, that had begun a good work in them, 
 would finish it.' And Almighty God did : for his whole 
 life was so regular and innocent, that he might have said 
 at his death — and with truth and comfort — what the same 
 St. Paul said after to the same Philippians, when he advised 
 them to walk as they had him for. an example." 
 
 And this goodness, of which I have spoken, seemed 
 to increase as his years did ; and with his goodness his 
 Learning, the foundation of which was laid in the Gram- 
 mar-school of Rotherham — that being one of those three 
 that were founded and liberally endowed by the said 
 great and good Bishop of that name. — And in this time 
 of his being a Scholar there, he was observed to use an 
 unwearied diligence to attain learning, and to have a 
 seriousness beyond his age, and with it a more than 
 common modesty ; and to be of so calm and obliging 
 a behaviour, that the Master and whole number of 
 Scholars loved him as one man. 
 
 And in this love and amity he continued at that School 
 till about the thirteenth year of his age ; at which time his 
 Father designed to improve his Grammar learning, by 
 removing him from Rotherham to one of the more noted 
 Schools of Eton or Westminster ; and after a year's stay 
 there, then to remove him thence to Oxford. But, as he 
 went with him, he called on an old friend, a Minister of 
 noted learning, and told him his intentions ; and he, after 
 many questions with his Son, received such answers from 
 him, that he assured his Father, his Son was so perfect a 
 Grammarian, that he had laid a good foundation to build 
 any or all the Arts upon ; and therefore advised him to 
 shorten his journey, and leave him at Oxford. And his 
 Father did so. 
 
 ^Phil. i. 6. iphil, iii. 17. 
 
432 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 His father left him there to the sole care and manage of 
 Dr. Kilbie, who was then Rector of Lincoln College. And 
 he, after some time and trial of his manners and learning, 
 thought fit to enter him of that College, and, not long 
 after to matriculate him in the University, which he did 
 the first of July, 1 603 ; but he was not chosen Fellow till 
 the third of May, 1 606 ; at which time he had taken his 
 degree of Bachelor of Arts : at the taking of which degree, 
 his Tutor told the Rector, ' That his pupil Sanderson had 
 a metaphysical brain and a matchless memory ; and that he 
 thought he had improved or made the last so by an art of 
 his own invention.' And aU the future employments of 
 his life proved that his tutor was not mistaken. I must 
 here stop my Reader, and tell him that this Dr. Kilbie was 
 a man of so great learning and wisdom, and was so 
 excellent a critic in the Hebrew Tongue, that he was made 
 Professor of it in this university ; and was also so perfect 
 a Grecian, that he was by King James appointed to be one 
 of the Translators of the Bible ; and that this Doctor and 
 Mr. Sanderson had frequent discourses, and loved as father 
 and son. The Doctor was to ride a journey into Derby- 
 shire, and took Mr. Sanderson to bear him company : 
 and they resting on a Sunday with the Doctor's friend and 
 going together to that Parish Church where they then 
 were, found the young Preacher to have no more discre- 
 tion, than to waste a great part of the hour allotted for his 
 Sermon in exceptions against the late Translation of 
 several words, — not expecting such a hearer as Dr. Kilbie, 
 — and shewed three reasons why a particular word should 
 have been otherwise translated. When Evening Prayer 
 was ended, the Preacher was invited to the Doctor's 
 friend's house ; where after some other conference the 
 Doctor told him, ' He might have preached more useful 
 doctrine, and not have filled his auditors' ears with 
 needless exceptions against the late Translation : and for 
 that word, for which he offered to that poor congregation 
 three reasons why it ought to have been translated as he 
 said; he and others had considered all them, and found 
 thirteen more considerable reasons why it was translated 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 433 
 
 as now printed ' ; and told him, ' If his friend, then attend- 
 ing him, should prove guilty of such indiscretion, he 
 should forfeit his favour.' To which Mr. Sanderson said, 
 ' He hoped he should not.' And the preacher was so 
 ingenuous, as to say, ' He would not justify himself.' 
 And so I return to Oxford. In the year 1608, — ^July the 
 I ith, — Mr. Sanderson was completed Master of Arts. I 
 am not ignorant, that for the attaining these dignities the 
 time was shorter than was then or is now required ; but 
 either his birth or the well performance of some extra- 
 ordinary exercise, or some other merit, made him so : and 
 the Reader is requested to believe, that 'twas the last : and 
 requested to believe also, that if I be mistaken in the time, 
 the College Records have misinformed me : but I hope 
 they have not. 
 
 In that year of i6o8, he was — November the 7th — 
 by his College chosen Reader of Logic in the House ; 
 which he performed so well, that he was chosen again the 
 sixth of November, 1609. In the year 161 3, he was 
 chosen Sub-Rector of the College, and the like for the 
 year 16 14, and chosen again to the same dignity and 
 trust for the year t6i6. 
 
 In all which time and employments, his abilities and 
 behaviour were such, as procured him both love and 
 reverence from the whole Society ; there being no excep- 
 tion against him for any faults, but a sorrow for the 
 infirmities of his being too timorous and bashful ; both 
 which were, God knows, so connatural as they never left 
 him. And I know not whether his lovers ought to wish 
 they had ; for they proved so like the radical moisture in 
 man's body, that they preserved the life of virtue in his 
 soul, which by God's assisting grace never left him till this 
 life put on immortality. Of which happy infirmities — if 
 they may be so called — more hereafter. 
 
 In the year 16 14 he stood to be elected one of the 
 Proctors for the University. And 'twas not to satisfy 
 any ambition of his own, but to comply with the desire of 
 the Rector and whole Society, of which he was a Member ; 
 who had not had a Proctor chosen out of their College, for 
 
 2E 
 
434 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 the space of sixty years ; — namely, not from the year 1 554, 
 unto his standing ; — and they persuaded him, that if he 
 would but stand for Proctor, his merits were so generally 
 known, and he so well beloved, that 'twas but appear- 
 ing, and he would infallibly carry it against any opposers ; 
 and told him, ' That he would by that means recover a 
 right or reputation that was seemingly dead to his College." 
 By these, and other like persuasions, he yielded up his own 
 reason to their's, and appeared to stand for Proctor. But 
 that election was carried on by so sudden and secret, and 
 by so powerful a faction, that he missed it. Which when he 
 understood, he professed seriously to his friends, ' That if 
 he were troubled at the disappointment 'twas for their's, 
 and not for his own sake : for he was far from any desire of 
 such an employment, as must be managed with charge and 
 trouble, and was too usually rewarded with hard censures, 
 or hatred, or both.' 
 
 In the year following he was earnestly persuaded by Dr. 
 KUbie and others, to review the Logic Lectures which he 
 had read some years past in his College ; and, that done, 
 to methodise and pritit them, for the ease and public good 
 of posterity, and though he had an averseness to appear 
 publicly in print ; yet after many serious solicitations, and 
 some second thoughts of his own, he laid aside his 
 modesty, and promised he would ; and he did so in that 
 year of 161 5. And the book proved as his friends seemed 
 to prophesy, that is, of great and general use, whether we 
 respect the Art or the Author. For Logic may be said to 
 be an Art of right reasoning ; an Art that undeceives men 
 who take falsehood for truth ; and enables men to pass a 
 true judgment, and detect those fallacies, which in some 
 men's understandings usurp the place of right reason. 
 And how great a master our Author was in this art, may 
 easily appear from that clearness of method, argument, and 
 demonstration, which is so conspicuous in all his other 
 writings, and that he, who had attained to so great a 
 dexterity in the use of reason himself, was best qualified to 
 prescribe rules and directions for the instructions of others. 
 And I am the more satisfied of the excellency and usefid- 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 435 
 
 ncss of this, his first public undertaking, by hearing that 
 most Tutors in both Universities teach Dr. Sanderson's 
 Logic to their Pupils, as a foundation upon which they are 
 to build their future studies in Philosophy. And, for a 
 further confirmation of my belief, the Reader may note, 
 that since his Book of Logic was first printed there has not 
 been less than ten thousand sold: and that 'tis like to 
 continue both to discover truth and to clear and confirm 
 the reason of the unborn world. 
 
 It will easily be believed that his former standing for a 
 Proctor's place, and being disappointed, must prove much 
 displeasing to a man of his great wisdom and modesty, 
 and create in him an averseness to run a second hazard of 
 his credit and content : and yet he was assured by Dr. 
 Kilbie, and the Fellows of his own College, and most of 
 those that had opposed him in the former Election, that 
 his Book of Logic had purchased for him such a belief of 
 his learning and prudence, and his behaviour at the former 
 Election had got for him so great and so general a love, 
 that all his former opposers repented what they had done ; 
 and therefore persuaded him to venture to stand a second 
 time. And, upon these, and other like encouragements, 
 he did again, but not without an inward unwillingness, 
 yield up his own reason to their's, and promised to stand. 
 And he did so; and was the tenth of April, 1616, chosen 
 Senior Proctor for the year following ; Mr. Charles Crooke 
 of Christ Church being then chosen the Junior. 
 
 In this year of his being Proctor, there happened many 
 memorable accidents ; part of which I will relate, namely. 
 Dr. Robert Abbot, Master of Balliol College, and Regius 
 Professor of Divinity, — who being elected or consecrated 
 Bishop of Sarum some months before, — was solemnly 
 conducted out of Oxford towards his Diocese, by the 
 Heads of all Houses, and the other chiefs of all the 
 University. And it may be noted that Dr. Prideaux 
 succeeded him in the Professorship, in which he continued 
 till the year 1642, — being then elected Bishop of Wor- 
 cester, at which time our now Proctor, Mr. Sanderson, 
 succeeded him in the Regius Professorship. 
 
436 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And in this year Dr. Arthur Lake — then Warden of 
 New College — was advanced to the Bishopric of Bath and 
 Wells : a man of whom I take myself bound in justice to 
 say, that he made the great trust committed to him, the 
 chief care and whole business of his life. And one testi- 
 mony of this truth may be, that he sate usually with his 
 Chancellor in his Consistory, and at least advised, if not 
 assisted, in most sentences for the punishing of such 
 offenders as deserved Church-censures. And it may be 
 noted, that, after a sentence for penance was pronounced, 
 he did very rarely or never, allow of any commutation for 
 the offence, but did usually see the sentence for penance 
 executed; and then as usually preached a Sermon of 
 mortification and repentance, and so apply them to the 
 offenders, that then stood before him, as begot in them 
 then a devout contrition, and at least resolutions to amend 
 their lives : and having done that, he would take them — 
 though never so poor — to dinner with him, and use them 
 friendly, and dismiss them with his blessing and persuasions 
 to a virtuous life, and beg them for their own sakes to 
 believe him. And his humility and charity, and all other 
 Christian excellencies, were all like this. Of all which the 
 Reader may inform himself in his Life, truly writ, and 
 printed before his excellent Sermons. 
 
 And in this year also, the very prudent and very wise 
 Lord Ellesmere, who was so very long Lord Chancellor 
 of England, and then of Oxford, resigning up the last, 
 the Right Honourable, and as magnificent, William 
 Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, was chosen to succeed him. 
 
 And in this year our late King Charles the First — then 
 Prince of Wales — came honourably attended to Oxford ; 
 and having deliberately visited the University, the Schools, 
 Colleges, and Libraries, he and his attendants were enter- 
 tained with ceremonies and feasting suitable to their 
 dignity and merits. 
 
 And in this year King James sent letters to the 
 University for the regulating their studies ; especially of 
 the young Divines : advising they should not rely on 
 modern sums and systems, but study the Fathers and 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 437 
 
 Councils, and the more primitive learning. And this 
 advice was occasioned by the indiscreet inferences made 
 by very many Preachers out of Mr. Calvin's doctrine 
 concerning Predestination, Universal Redemption, the 
 Irresistibility of God's Grace, and of some other knotty 
 points depending upon these; points which many think 
 were not, but by interpreters forced to be, Mr. Calvin's 
 meaning ; of the truth or falsehood of which I pretend 
 not to have an ability to judge ; my meaning in this 
 relation, being only to acquaint the Reader with the 
 occasion of the King's Letter. 
 
 It may be observed, that the various accidents of this 
 year did afford our Proctor large and laudable matter to 
 dilate and discourse upon : and that though his office 
 seemed, according to statute and custom, to require him to 
 do so at his leaving it ; yet he chose rather to pass them 
 over with some very short observations, and present the 
 governors, and his other hearers, with rules to keep up 
 discipline and order in the University ; which at that time 
 was, either by defective Statutes, or want of the due 
 execution of those that were good, grown to be extremely 
 irregular. And in this year also, the magisterial part of 
 the Proctor required more diligence, and was more difficult 
 to be managed than formerly, by reason of a multiplicity 
 of new Statutes, which begot much confiasion ; some of 
 which Statutes were then and not till then, and others 
 suddenly after, put into a useful execution. And though 
 these Statutes were not then made so perfectly useful as 
 they were designed, till Archbishop Laud's time — who 
 assisted in the forming and promoting them ; — ^yet our 
 present Proctor made them as effectual as discretion and 
 diligence could do : of which one example may seem 
 worthy the noting ; namely, that if in his night-walk he 
 met with irregular Scholars absent from their Colleges at 
 University hours, or disordered by drink, or in scandalous 
 company, he did not use his power of punishing to an 
 extremity; but did usually take their names, and a 
 promise to appear before him unsent for next morning ; 
 and when they did, convinced them, with such obliging- 
 
438 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 ness, and reason added to it, that they parted from him 
 with such resolutions, as the man after God's own heart 
 was possessed with, when he said to God, 'There is mercy 
 with thee, and therefore thou shalt be feared.' ^ And by 
 this and a like behaviour to all men, he was so happy as 
 to lay down this dangerous employnient, as but very few, 
 if any, have done, even without an enemy. 
 
 After his Proctor's speech was ended, and he retired 
 with a friend into a convenient privacy, he looked upon 
 his friend with a more than common cheerfulness, and 
 spake to him to this purpose : ' I look back upon my late 
 employment with some content to myself, and a great 
 thankfulness to Almighty God, that he hath made me of 
 a temper not apt to provoke the meanest of mankind, but 
 rather to pass by infirmities, if noted ; and in this employ- 
 ment I have had — God knows — many occasions to do 
 both. And when I consider, how many of a contrary 
 temper are by sudden and small occasions transported and 
 hurried by anger to commit such errors, as they in that 
 passion could not foresee, and will in their more calm and 
 deliberate thoughts upbraid, and require repentance : and 
 consider, that though repentance secures us from the 
 punishment of any sin, yet how much more comfortable 
 it is to be innocent than need pardon : and consider, that 
 errors against men, though pardoned both by God and 
 them, do yet leave such anxious and upbraiding im- 
 pressions in the memory, as abates of the offender's 
 content : — when I consider all this, and that God hath of 
 his goodness given me a temper that hath prevented me 
 from running into such enormities, I remember my temper 
 with joy and thankfulness. And though I cannot say 
 with David — I wish I could, — that therefore "his praise 
 shall always be in my mouth" ;^ yet I hope, that by his 
 grace, and that grace seconded by my endeavours, it shall 
 never be blotted out of my memory; and I now beseech 
 Almighty God that it never may.' 
 
 And here I must look back, and mention one passage 
 more in his Proctorship, which is, that Gilbert Sheldon, 
 
 * Psal. cxxx. 4. 2 p^al. xxiiv. i 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 459 
 
 the late Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, was this year 
 sent to Trinity College in that University ; and not long 
 after his entrance there, a letter was sent after him. from 
 his godfather — the father of our Proctor — to let his son 
 know it, and commend his godson to his acquaintance, 
 and to a more than common care of his behaviour ; which 
 proved a pleasing injunction to our Proctor, who was so 
 gladly obedient to his father's desire, that he some few 
 days after sent his servitor to intreat Mr. Sheldon to his 
 chamber next morning. But it seems Mr. Sheldon having 
 — like a young man as he was — run into some such 
 irregularity as made him conscious he had transgressed his 
 statutes, did therefore apprehend the Proctor's invitation 
 as an introduction to punishment ; the fear of which made 
 his bed restless that night : but, at their meeting the next 
 morning, that fear vanished immediately by the Proctor's 
 cheerful countenance, and the freedom of their discourse 
 of friends. And let me tell my Reader, that this first 
 meeting proved the beginning of as spiritual a friendship 
 as human nature is capable of; of a friendship free 
 from all self ends : and it continued to be so, till death 
 forced a separation of it on earth ; but 'tis now reunited in 
 Heaven. 
 
 And now, having given this account of his behaviour, and 
 the considerable accidents in his Proctorship, I proceed to 
 tell my Reader, that, this busy employment being ended, he 
 preached his sermon for his Degree of Bachelor in Divinity 
 in as elegant Latin, and as remarkable for the method and 
 matter, as hath been preached in that University since that 
 day. And having well performed his other exercises for 
 that Degree, he took it the nine and twentieth of May 
 following, having been ordained Deacon and Priest in 
 the year 161 1, by John King, then Bishop of London, 
 who had not long before been Dean of Christ Church, 
 and then knew him so well, that he owned it at his 
 Ordination and became his more affectionate friend. 
 And in this year, being then about the twenty-ninth 
 of his age, he took from the University a license to 
 preach. 
 
440 12AAK WALTON 
 
 In the year 1618, he was by Sir Nicholas Sanderson, 
 Lord Viscount Castleton, presented to the Rectory of 
 Wibberton, not far from Boston, in the County of Lincoln, 
 a living of very good value ; but it lay in so low and wet 
 a part of that country as was inconsistent with his health. 
 And health being — next to a good conscience — the greatest 
 of God's blessings in this life, and requiring therefore of 
 every man a care and diligence to preserve it, he, appre- 
 hending a danger of losing it, if he continued at Wibberton 
 a second Winter, did therefore resign it back into the 
 hands of his worthy kinsman and patron, about one year 
 after his donation of it to him. 
 
 And about this time of his resignation he was presented 
 to the Rectory of Boothby Pannell, in the same County of 
 Lincoln ; a town which has been made famous, and must 
 continue to be famous, because Dr. Sanderson, the humble 
 and learned Dr. Sanderson, was more than forty years 
 Parson of Boothby Pannell, and from thence dated all or 
 most of his matchless writings. 
 
 To this living — ^which was of less value, but a purer air 
 than Wibberton — he was presented by Thomas Harring- 
 ton, of the same County, and Parish, Esq., who was a 
 gentleman of a very ancient family, and of great use and 
 esteem in his country during his whole life. And in this 
 Boothby Pannell the meek and charitable Dr. Sanderson 
 and his patron lived with an endearing, mutual, and com- 
 fortable friendship, till the death of the last put a period 
 to it. 
 
 About the time that he was made Parson of Boothby 
 Pannell, he resigned his Fellowship of Lincoln College 
 unto the then Rector and Fellows ; and his resignation is 
 recorded in these words : 
 
 Ego Robertus Sanderson perpetuus, etc. 
 
 I Robert Sanderson, Fellow of the College of St. Mary's 
 and All-Saints, commonly called Lincoln College, in the 
 University of Oxford, do freely and willingly resign into 
 the hands of the Rector and Fellows, all the right and tide 
 that I have in the said College, wishing to them and their 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 441 
 
 successors all peace, and piety, and happiness, in the name 
 of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. 
 Amen. Robert Sanderson. 
 
 May 6, 1619. 
 
 And not long after this resignation, he was by the then 
 Bishop of York, or the King sede vacante, made Prebend 
 of the Collegiate Church of Southwell in that Diocese ; 
 and shortly after of Lincoln by the Bishop of that See. 
 
 And being now resolved to set down his rest in a quiet 
 privacy at Boothby Pannell, and looking back with some 
 sadness upon his removal from his general and cheerful 
 acquaintance left in Oxford, and the peculiar pleasures of 
 a University life ; he could not but think the want of 
 society would render this of a country Parson still more 
 uncomfortable, by reason of that want of conversation ; 
 and therefore he did put on some faint purposes to marry. 
 For he had considered, that though marriage be cumbered 
 with more worldly care than a single life ; yet a complying 
 and prudent wife changes those very cares into so mutual 
 joys, as makes them become like the sufferings of St. Paul,^ 
 which he would not have wanted because they occasioned 
 his rejoicing in them. And he, having well considered 
 this, and observed the secret unutterable joys that children 
 beget in parents, and the mutual pleasures and contented 
 trouble of their daily care and constant endeavours to bring 
 up those little images of themselves, so as to make them 
 as happy as all those cares and endeavours can make them : 
 he, having considered all this, the hopes of such happiness 
 turned his faint purpose into a positive resolution to 
 marry. And he was so happy as to obtain Anne, the 
 daughter of Henry Nelson, Bachelor in Divinity then 
 Rector of Haugham, in the County of Lincoln, a man of 
 noted worth and learning. And the Giver of all good 
 things was so good to him, as to give him such a wife 
 as was suitable to his own desires ; a wife, that made 
 his life happy by being always content when he was 
 cheerful ; that was always cheerful when he was content ; 
 
 1 Cohs. i. 24. 
 
442 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that divided her joys with him> and abated of his sorrow, 
 by bearing a part of that burden ; a wife that demonstrated 
 her affection by a cheerful obedience to all his desires, 
 during the whole course of his life ; and at his death too, 
 for she outlived him. 
 
 And in this Boothby Pannell, he either found or made 
 his parishioners peaceable, and complying with him in the 
 decent and regular service of God. And thus his Parish, 
 his patron, and he lived together in a religious love and a 
 contented quietness ; he not troubling their thoughts by 
 preaching high and useless notions, but such and only 
 such plain truths as were necessary to be known, believed 
 and practised, in order to the honour of God and their 
 own salvation. And their assent to what he taught was 
 testified by such a conformity to his doctrine, as declared 
 they believed and loved him. For it may be noted he 
 would often say, ' That, without the last, the most evident 
 truths — heard as from an enemy, or an evil liver — either 
 are not, or are at least the less effectual ; and usually 
 rather harden than convince the hearer.' 
 
 And this excellent man did not think his duty dis- 
 charged by only reading the Church prayers, catechising, 
 preaching, and administering the Sacraments seasonably ; 
 but thought — if the Law or the Canons may seem to 
 enjoin no more, yet — that God would require more, than 
 the defective laws of man's making can or does enjoin; 
 even the performance of that inward law, which Almighty 
 God hath imprinted in the conscience of all good 
 Christians, and inclines those whom he loves to perform. 
 He, considering this, did therefore become a law to him- 
 self, practising not only what the law enjoins, but what 
 his conscience told him was his duty, in reconciling 
 differences, and preventing law-suits, both in his Parish 
 and in the neighbourhood. To wli:h may be added his 
 often visiting sick and disconsolate families, persuading 
 them to patience, and raising them from dejection by his 
 advice and cheerful discourse, and by adding his own alms, 
 if there were any so poor as to need it : considering how 
 acceptable it is to Almighty God, when we do as we are 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 443 
 
 advised by St. Paul,^ ' Help to bear one another's burden,' 
 either of sorrow or want : and what a comfort it will be, 
 when the Searcher of all hearts shall call us to a strict 
 account for that evil we have done, and the good we have 
 omitted, to remember we have comforted and been help- 
 ful to a dejected or distressed family. 
 
 And that his practice was to do good, the following 
 narrative may be one example. He met with a poor dejected 
 neighbour, that complained he had taken a meadow, the 
 rent of which was 9/. a year ; and when the hay was made 
 ready to be carried into his barn, several days' constant 
 rain had so raised the water, that a sudden flood carried 
 all away, and his rich Landlord would bate him no rent ; 
 and that unless he had half abated, he and seven 
 children were utterly undone. It may be noted, that in 
 this age there are a sort of people so unlike the God of 
 Mercy, so void of the bowels of pity, that they love only 
 themselves and children : love them so, as not to be con- 
 cerned, whether the rest of mankind waste their days in 
 sorrow or shame ; people that are cursed with riches, and 
 a mistake that nothing but riches can make them and 
 their's happy. But it was not so with Dr. Sanderson ; for 
 he was concerned, and spoke comfortably to the poor 
 dejected man ; bade him go home and pray, and not load 
 himself with sorrow, for he would go to his Landlord 
 next morning ; and if his Landlord would not abate what 
 he desired, he and a friend would pay it for him. 
 
 To the Landlord he went the next day, and, in a con- 
 ference, the Doctor presented to him the sad condition of 
 his poor dejected Tenant ; telling him how much God is 
 pleased when men compassionate the poor : and told him, 
 that though God loves sacrifice, yet he loves mercy so 
 much better, that he is best pleased when he is called the 
 God of Mercy. And told him, the riches he was pos- 
 sessed of were given him by that God of Mercy, who 
 would not be pleased, if he, that had so much given, yea, 
 and forgiven him too, should prove like the rich steward 
 in the Gospel, ' that took his fellow servant by the throat 
 
 ' Gal. vi. 2. 
 
11 
 
 444 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 to make him pay the utmost farthing.' This he told him : 
 and told him, that the law of this nation — by which law 
 he claims his rent — does not undertake to make men 
 honest or merciful, that was too nice an undertaking, but 
 does what it can to restrain men from being dishonest or 
 unmerciful, and yet that our law was defective in both : 
 and that taking any rent from his poor Tenant, for what 
 God suffered him not to enjoy, though the law allowed 
 him to do so, yet if he did so, he was too like that rich 
 Steward which he had mentioned to him ; and told him 
 that riches so gotten, and added to his great estate, would, 
 as Job says, ' prove like gravel in his teeth ' : would in 
 time so corrode his conscience, or become so nauseous when 
 he lay upon his deathbed, that he would then labour to 
 vomit it up, and not be able : and therefore advised him, 
 being very rich, to make friends of his unrighteous 
 Mammon, before that evil day come upon him : but 
 however, neither for his own sake, nor for God's sake, to 
 take any rent of his poor, dejected, sad Tenant ; for that 
 were to gain a temporal, and lose his eternal happiness. 
 These and other such reasons were urged with so grave 
 and so compassionate an earnestness, that the Landlord 
 forgave his Tenant the whole rent. 
 
 The reader will easily believe that Dr. Sanderson, who 
 was so meek and merciful, did suddenly and gladly carry 
 this comfortable news to the dejected Tenant ; and will 
 believe also that at the telling of it there was a mutual 
 rejoicing. 'Twas one of Job's boasts, that ' he had seen 
 none perish for want of clothing : and that he had 
 often made the heart of the widow to rejoice.' ^ And 
 doubtless Dr. Sanderson might have made the same 
 religious boast of this and very many like occasions. But, 
 since he did not, I rejoice that I have this just occasion to 
 do it for him ; and that I can tell the reader, I might tire 
 myself and him, in telling how like the whole course of 
 Dr. Sanderson's life was to this which I have now related. 
 
 Thus he went on in an obscure and quiet privacy, 
 doing good daily both by word and by deed, as often as 
 
 ^fob xxxi. 19. 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 445 
 
 any occasion ofFered itself ; yet not so obscurely, but that 
 his very great learning, prudence, and piety were much 
 noted and valued by the Bishop of his Diocese, and by 
 most of the nobility and gentry of that county. By the 
 first of which he was often summoned to preach many 
 Visitation Sermons, and by the latter at many Assizes. 
 "Which Sermons, though they were much esteemed by 
 them that procured, and were fit to judge them ; yet they 
 were the less valued, because he read them, which he was 
 forced to do ; for though he had an extraordinary memory, 
 — even the art of it, — yet he was punished with such an 
 innate invincible fear and bashfulness, that his memory 
 was wholly useless, as to the repetition of his sermons so 
 as he had writ them ; which gave occasion to say, when 
 some of them were first printed and exposed to censure, 
 which was in the year 1632, — 'that the best Sermons that 
 were ever read, were never preached.' 
 
 In this contented obscurity he continued, till the learned 
 and pious Archbishop Laud, who knew him well in Oxford, 
 — for he was his contemporary there, — told the King, — 
 'twas the knowing and conscientious King Charles the 
 First, — that there was one Mr. Sanderson, an obscure 
 country Minister, that was of such sincerity, and so 
 excellent in all casuistical learning, that he desired his 
 Majesty would take so much notice of him as to make 
 him his Chaplain. The King granted it most willingly, 
 and gave the Bishop charge to hasten it, for he longed to 
 discourse with a man that had dedicated his studies to that 
 useful part of learning. The Bishop forgot not the King's 
 desire, and Mr. Sanderson was made his Chaplain in Ordi- 
 nary in November following, 1631. And when the King 
 and he became better known to each other, then, as 'tis 
 said, that after many hard questions put to the Prophet 
 Daniel, King Darius found an excellent spirit in him ; so 
 'twas with Mr. Sanderson and our excellent King ; who 
 having put many Cases of Conscience to him, received 
 from Mr. Sanderson such deliberate, safe, and clear solu- 
 tions, as gave him so great content in conversing with him, 
 which he did several times in private ; that, at the end of 
 
4+6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 his month's attendance, the King told him, ' he should 
 long for the next November ; for he resolved to have 
 a more inward acquaintance with him, when that month 
 and he returned.' And when the month and he did return, 
 the good King was never absent from his Sermons, and 
 would usually say, ' I carry my ears to hear other preachers; 
 but 1 carry my conscience to hear Mr. Sanderson, and to 
 act accordingly.' And this ought not to be concealed from 
 posterity, that the King thought what he spake ; for he 
 took him to be his adviser, in that quiet part of his life, 
 and he proved to be his comforter in those days of his 
 affliction, when he was under such a restraint as he appre- 
 hended himself to be in danger of death or deposing. Of 
 which more hereafter. 
 
 In the first Parliament of this good King, — which was 
 1625, — he was chosen to be a Clerk of the Convocation 
 for the Diocese of Lincoln ; which I here mention, because 
 about that time did arise many disputes about Predestina- 
 tion, and the many critical points that depend upon, or are 
 interwoven in it ; occasioned, as was said, by a disquisition 
 of new principles of Mr. Calvin's, though others say they 
 were long before his time. But of these Dr. Sanderson 
 then drew up, for his own satisfaction, such a scheme — he 
 called it Pax Eccksia — as then glive himself, and hath since 
 given others, such satisfaction, that it still remains to be of 
 great estimation. He was also chosen Clerk of all the 
 Convocations during that good King's reign. Which I 
 here tell my reader, because I shall hereafter have occasion 
 to mention that Convocation in 1 640, that unhappy Long 
 Parliament, and some debates of the Predestitiarian points 
 as they have been since charitably handled betwixt him, the 
 learned Dr. Hammond, and Dr. Pierce, the now Reverend 
 Dean of Salisbury. And here the reader may note, that 
 in letters writ to the said Dean, Dr. Sanderson seems to 
 have altered his judgment in some points, since he writ 
 his scheme called Pax Eccksia, which he seems to say in 
 his last will, besides other reasons to think so. 
 
 In the year 1636, his Majesty, then in his progress, took 
 a fair occasion to visit Oxford, and to take an entertain- 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 447 
 
 ment for two days for himself and his honourable attendants; 
 which the reader ought to believe was suitable to their 
 dignities. But this is mentioned, because at the King's 
 coming thither, May 3, Dr. Sanderson did then attend him, 
 and was then — the 31st of August — created Doctor of 
 Divinity ; which honour had an addition to it, by having 
 many of the Nobility of this nation then made Doctors 
 and Masters of Arts with him ; some of whose names shall 
 be recorded and live with his, and none shall outlive it. 
 First, Dr. Curie and Dr. Wren, who were then Bishops of 
 Winton and of Norwich, — ^and had formerly taken their 
 degrees in Cambridge, were with him created Doctors of 
 Divinity in his University. So was Meric, the son of the 
 learned Isaac Casaubon ; and Prince Rupert, who still 
 lives, the then Duke of Lenox, Earl of Hereford, 
 Earl of Essex, of Berkshire, and very many others of 
 noble birth — too many to be named — were then created 
 Masters of Arts. 
 
 Some years before the unhappy Long Parliament, this 
 nation being then happy and in peace, — though inwardly 
 sick of being well, — namely, in the year 1639, a discon- 
 tented party of the Scots Church were zealously restless 
 for aaoiher reformation of their Kirk-government ; and to 
 that end created a new Covenant, for the general taking of 
 which they pretended to petition the King for his assent, 
 and that he would enjoin the taking of it by all of that 
 nation. But this petition was not to be presented to 
 him by a committee of eight or ten men of their fraternity ; 
 but by so many thousands, and they so armed as seemed 
 to force an assent to what they seemed to request ; so that 
 though forbidden by the King, yet they entered England, 
 and in the heat of zeal took and plundered Newcasde, 
 where the King was forced to meet them with an army : 
 but upon a treaty and some concessions, he sent them 
 back, — ^though not so rich as they intended, yet, — for that 
 time, without bloodshed. But, Oh ! this peace, and this 
 Covenant, were but the fore-runners of war, and the 
 many miseries that followed: for in the year following 
 there were so many chosen into the Long Parliament, that 
 
448 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 were of a conjunct council with these very zealous and as 
 factious reformers, as begot such a confusion by the several 
 desires and designs in many of the members of that Parlia- 
 ment, all did never consent, and at last in the very common 
 people of this nation, that they were so lost by contrary 
 designs, fears, and confusions, as to believe the Scots and 
 their Covenant would restore them to that former tran- 
 quillity which they had lost. And to that end the Presbyterian 
 party of this nation did again, in the year 1643, invite the 
 Scotch Covenanters back into England: and hither they 
 came marching with it gloriously upon their pikes and in 
 their hats, with this motto : ' For the Crown and Covenant 
 of both Kingdoms.' This I saw, and suffered by it. But 
 when I look back upon the ruin of families, the bloodshed, 
 the decay of common honesty, and how the former piety 
 and plain dealing of this now sinful nation is turned into 
 cruelty and cunning, when I consider this I praise God 
 that he prevented me from being of that party which helped 
 to bring in this Covenant, and those sad confusions that 
 have followed it. And I have been the bolder to say this 
 of myself, because in a sad discourse with Dr. Sanderson, 
 I heard him make the like grateful acknowledgment. 
 
 This digression is intended for the better information of 
 the reader in what will follow concerning Dr. Sanderson. 
 And first, that the Covenanters of this nation, and their 
 party in Parliament, made many exceptions against the 
 Common Prayer and ceremonies of the Church, and 
 seemed restless for another Reformation : and though their 
 desires seemed not reasonable to the King, and the learned 
 Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canterbury ; yet, to quiet 
 their consciences, and prevent future confusion, they did, 
 in the year 1641, desire Dr. Sanderson to call two more 
 of the Convocation to advise with him, and that he would 
 then draw up some such safe alterations as he thought fit in 
 the Service-book, and abate some of the ceremonies that 
 were least material for satisfying their consciences : — and to 
 this end he and two others did meet together privately twice 
 a week at the Dean of Westminster's house, for the space of 
 five months or more. But not long after that time, when 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 449 
 
 Dr, Sanderson had made the reformation ready for a view, 
 the Church and State were both fallen into such a confusion, 
 that Dr. Sanderson's model for reformation became then 
 useless. Nevertheless, the repute of his moderation and 
 wisdom was such, that he was, in the year 1642, proposed 
 by both Houses of Parliament to the King, then in 
 Oxford, to be one of their trustees for the settling of 
 Church-afFairs, and was allowed of by the King to be so : 
 but that treaty came to nothing. 
 
 In the year 1643, the two Houses of Parliament took 
 upon them to make an ordinance, and call an Assembly of 
 Divines, to debate and settle some Church-controversies, 
 of which many that were elected were very unfit to judge ; 
 in which Dr. Sanderson was also named by the Parliament, 
 but did not appear ; I suppose for the same reason that 
 many other worthy and learned men did forbear, the 
 summons wanting the King's authority. And here I must 
 look back, and tell the reader, that in the year 1642, he 
 was, July 2ist, named by a more undoubted authority to 
 a more noble employment, which was to be Professor 
 Regius of Divinity in Oxford : but, though knowledge be 
 said to pufF up, yet his modesty and too mean an opinion 
 of his great abilities, and some other real or pretended 
 reasons, — expressed in his speech, when he first appeared 
 in the chair, and since printed, — kept him from entering 
 into it till October, 1646. 
 
 He did, for about a year's time, continue to read his 
 matchless Lectures, which were first de Juramento, a point 
 very seraphical and as difficult, and at that time very 
 dangerous to be handled as it ought to be. But this 
 learned man, as he was eminently furnished with abilities 
 to satisfy the consciences of men upon that important 
 subject; so he wanted not courage to assert the true 
 obligation of it and Oaths in a degenerate age, when men 
 had made perjury a main part or at least very useful to their 
 religion. How much the learned world stands obliged to 
 him for these, and his following Lectures de Conscientia, I 
 shall not attempt to declare, as being very sensible that the 
 best pens fall short in the commendation of them : so that 
 
 2 F 
 
4SO IZAAK WALTON 
 
 I shall only add, that they continue to this day, and will 
 do for ever, as a complete standard for the resolution of 
 the most material doubts in that part of Casuistical Divinity. 
 And therefore I proceed to tell the reader, that about the 
 time of his reading those Lectures, — the King being then 
 prisoner in the Isle of Wight, — that part of the Parliament 
 then at Westminster sent the Covenant, the Negative 
 Oath, and I know not what more, to Oxford to be taken 
 by the Doctor of the Chair, and all Heads of Houses; 
 and all the other inferior Scholars, of what degree soever, 
 were also to take these Oaths by a fixed day ; and those 
 that did not, to abandon their Colleges and the University 
 too, within twenty-four hours after the beating of a drum ; 
 for if they remained longer, they were to be proceeded 
 against as spies. 
 
 Dr. Laud, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of 
 StrafFord, and many others, had been formerly murdered ; 
 but the King yet was not : and the University had yet 
 some faint hopes that in a Treaty then in being, betwixt 
 him, and them that confined him or pretended to be 
 suddenly, there might be such an agreement made, that 
 the dissenters in the University might both preserve their 
 consciences and the poor subsistence which they then en- 
 joyed by their Colleges. 
 
 And being possessed of this mistaken hope, that the 
 men in present power were not yet grown so merciless 
 as not to aUow manifest reason for their not submitting 
 to the enjoined Oaths, the University appointed twenty 
 delegates to meet, consider, and draw up a Manifesto 
 to them, why they could not take those oaths but by 
 violation of their consciences : and of these delegates 
 Dr. Sheldon, — late Archbishop of Canterbury, — Dr. Ham- 
 mond, — Dr. Sanderson, — Dr. Morley, — now Bishop of 
 Winchester,— and that most honest, very learned, and as 
 judicious Civil Lawyer, Dr. Zouch, were a part ; the rest 
 I cannot now name : but the whole number of the dele- 
 gates requested Dr. Zouch to draw up the Law part, 
 and give it to Dr. Sanderson : and he was requested 
 to methodise and add what referred to reason and con- 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 451 
 
 science, and put it into form. He yielded to their desires 
 and did so. And then, after they had been read in a 
 full Convocation, and allowed of, they were printed in 
 Latin, that the Parliament's proceedings and the Uni- 
 versity's sufferings might be manifested to all nations : 
 and the imposers of these oaths might repent, or answer 
 them : but they were past the first ; and for the latter, 
 I might swear they neither can, nor ever will. And 
 these Reasons were also suddenly turned into English 
 by Dr. Sanderson, that those of these three kingdoms 
 might the better judge of the cause of the loyal party's 
 sufferings. 
 
 About this time the Independents — who were then 
 grown to be the most powerful part of the army — had 
 taken the King from a close to a more large imprison- 
 ment ; and, by their own pretences to liberty of con- 
 science, were obliged to allow somewhat like that to the 
 King, who had, in the year 1646, sent for Dr. Sander- 
 son, Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sheldon, — the late Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, — and Dr. Morley, — the now Bishop of 
 Winchester, — to attend him, in order to advise with them, 
 how far he might with a good conscience comply with 
 the proposals of the Parliament for a peace in Church 
 and State : but these, having been then denied him by 
 the Presbyterian Parliament, were now by their own rules 
 allowed him by those Independents now in present power. 
 And with some of those Divines, Dr. Sanderson also gave 
 his attendance on his Majesty also in the Isle of Wight, 
 preached there before him, and had in that attendance 
 many, both public and private, conferences with him, to 
 his Majesty's great satisfaction. At which time he desired 
 Dr. Sanderson, that, being the Parliament had then pro- 
 posed to him the abolishing of Episcopal Government in 
 the Church, as inconsistent with Monarchy, and selling 
 theirs and the Cathedral Church-lands to pay those soldiers 
 that they had raised to fight against him, that he would 
 consider of it ; and declare his judgment. He undertook 
 to do so, and did it ; but it might not be printed till 
 our King's happy Restoration, and then it was. And 
 
452 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 at Dr. Sanderson's then taking his leave of his Majesty in 
 this his last attendance on him, the King requested him to 
 betake himself to the writing Cases of Conscience for the 
 good of posterity. To which his answer was, ' That he 
 was now grown old, and unfit to write Cases of Conscience.' 
 But the King was so bold with him as to say, ' It was 
 the simplest answer he ever heard from Dr. Sanderson ; 
 for no young man was fit to be made a judge, or write 
 Cases of Conscience.' And let me here take occasion 
 to tell the Reader this truth, very fit but not commonly 
 known ; that in one of these conferences this conscientious 
 King was told by a faithful and private Intelligencer, 
 ' that if he assented not to the Parliament's proposals, 
 the Treaty 'twixt him and them would break immedi- 
 ately, and his life would then be in danger ; he was sure 
 he knew it.' To which his answer was, ' I have done what 
 I can to bring my conscience to a compliance with their 
 proposals and cannot, and I will not lose my conscience 
 to save my life ' ; and within a very short time after, 
 he told Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Morley or one of them 
 that then waited with him ' that the remembrance of two 
 errors did much afflict him ; which were, his assent to 
 the Earl of Strafford's death, and the abolishing Episco- 
 pacy in Scotland ; and that if God ever restored him to be 
 in a peaceable possession of his Crown, he would demon- 
 strate his repentance by a public confession, and voluntary 
 penance,' — I think barefoot — from the Tower of London, 
 or Whitehall, to St. Paul's Church, and desire the people 
 to intercede with God for his pardon. I am sure one 
 of them that told it me lives still, and will witness it. 
 And it ought to be observed, that Dr. Sanderson's 
 Lectures de Juramento were so approved and valued by 
 the King, that in this time of his imprisonment and 
 solitude he translated them into exact English ; desiring 
 Dr. Juxon, — then Bishop of London, — Dr. Hammond, 
 and Sir Thomas Herbert, who then attended him in his 
 restraint, to compare them with the original. The last 
 stiU lives, and has declared it, with some other of that 
 King's excellencies, in a letter under his own hand, which 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 453 
 
 was lately shewed me by Sir William Dugdale, King 
 at Arms. The translation was designed to be put into the 
 King's Library at St. James's ; but, I doubt, not now 
 to be found there. I thought the honour of the Author 
 and the Translator to be both so much concerned in 
 this relation, that it ought not to be concealed from 
 the Reader, and 'tis therefore here inserted. 
 
 I now return to Dr. Sanderson in the Chair in Oxford ; 
 where they that complied not in taking the Covenant, 
 Negative Oath, and Parliament Ordinance for Church- 
 discipline and worship, were under a sad and daily appre- 
 hension of expulsion : for the Visitors were daily expected, 
 and both City and University full of soldiers, and a party 
 of Presbyterian Divines, that were as greedv and ready to 
 possess, as the ignorant and ill-natured Visitors were to 
 eject the Dissenters out of their Colleges and livelihoods : 
 but, notwithstanding, Dr. Sanderson did still continue to 
 read his Lecture, and did, to the very faces of those 
 Presbyterian Divines and soldiers, read with so much 
 reason, and with a calm fortitude make such applications, 
 as, if they were not, they ought to have been ashamed, and 
 begged pardon of God and him, and forborne to do what 
 followed. But these thriving sinners were hardened ; and, 
 as the Visitors expelled the Orthodox, they, without scruple 
 or shame, possessed themselves of their Colleges ; so that, 
 with the rest, Dr. Sanderson was in June, 1648, forced to 
 pack up and be gone, and thank God he was not im- 
 prisoned, as Dr. Sheldon, and Dr. Hammond, and others 
 then were. 
 
 I must now again look back to Oxford, and tell my 
 Reader, that the year before this expulsion, when the 
 University had denied this subscription, and apprehended 
 the danger of that visitation which followed, they sent Dr. 
 Morley, then Canon of Christ Church, — now Lord Bishop 
 of Winchester, — and others, to petition the Parliament for 
 recalling the injunction, or a mitigation of it, or accept of 
 their reasons why they could not take the Oaths enjoined 
 them ; and the petition was by Parliament referred to a 
 committee to hear and report the reasons to the House, 
 
454 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 and a day set for hearing them. This done, Dr. Morley 
 and the rest went to inform and fee Counsel, to plead their 
 cause on the day appointed ; but there had been so many 
 committed for pleading, that none durst be so bold as to 
 undertake it ; for at this time the privileges of that part of 
 the Parliament then sitting were become a Noli me tangere, 
 as sacred and useful to them, as traditions ever were, or are 
 now, to the Church of Rome ; their number must never be 
 known, and therefore not without danger to be meddled 
 with. For which reason Dr. Morley was forced, for want 
 of Counsel, to plead the University's Reasons for not- 
 compliance with the Parliament's injunctions : and though 
 this was done with great reason, and a boldness equal to 
 the justice of his cause ; yet the effect of it was, but that 
 he and the rest appearing with him were so fortunate as to 
 return to Oxford without commitment. This was some 
 few days before the Visitors and more soldiers were sent 
 down to drive the Dissenters out of the University. And 
 one that was, at this time of Dr. Morley 's pleading, a 
 powerful man in the Parliament, and of that committee, 
 observing Dr. Morley's behaviour and reason, and inquir- 
 ing of him and hearing a good report of his Principles in 
 Religion and of his morals, was therefore willing to afford 
 him a peculiar favour ; and, that he might express it, sent 
 for me that relate this story, and knew Dr. Morley well, 
 and told me, ' he had such a love for Dr. Morley, that 
 knowing he would not take the Oaths, and must therefore 
 be ejected his College, and leave Oxford ; he desired I 
 would therefore write to him to ride out of Oxford, when 
 the Visitors came into it, and not return till they left it, 
 and he should be sure then to return in safety ; and that 
 by so doing he should, without taking any Oath or other 
 molestation, enjoy his Canon's place in his College.' I did 
 receive this intended kindness with a sudden gladness, 
 because I was sure the party had a power to do what he 
 professed and as sure he meant to perform it, and did 
 therefore write the Doctor word : to which his answer was, 
 that I must not fail to return my friend, — who still lives, — 
 his humble and undissembled thanks, though he could not 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 455 
 
 accept of his intended kindness ; for when Dr. Fell, then 
 the Dean, Dr. Gardner, Dr. Paine, Dr. Hammond, Dr. 
 Sanderson and all the rest of the College were turned Out, 
 except Dr. Wall, he should take it to be, if not a sin, yet a 
 shame, to be left behind with him only. Dr. Wall I knew, 
 and will speak nothing of him, for he is dead. 
 
 It may easily be imagined, with what a joyful willingness 
 these self-loving reformers took possession of all vacant 
 preferments, and with what reluctance others parted with 
 their beloved Colleges and subsistence; but their con- 
 sciences were dearer than both, and out they went ; the 
 reformers possessing them without shame or scruple: 
 where I leave these scruple-mongers, and proceed to make 
 an account of the then present affairs of London, to be the 
 next employment of my reader's patience. 
 
 And in London all the Bishops' houses were turned to 
 be prisons, and they filled with Divines, that would not take 
 the Covenant, or forbear reading Common Prayer, or that 
 were accused for some faults like these. For it may be 
 noted, that about this time the Parliament set out a pro- 
 clamation, to encourage all laymen that had occasion to 
 complain of their Ministers for being troublesome or 
 scandalous, or that conformed not to Orders of Parliament, 
 to make their complaint to a select committee for that 
 purpose ; and the Minister, though one hundred miles 
 from London, was to appear there, and give satisfaction, or 
 be sequestered; — and you may be sure no Parish could 
 want covetous, or malicious, or cross-grained complain- 
 ants; — by which means all prisons in London, and in 
 some other places, became the sad habitations of conform- 
 ing Divines. 
 
 And about this time the Bishop of Canterbury having 
 been by an unknown law condemned to die, and the 
 execution suspended for some days, many citizens, fearing 
 time and cool thoughts might produce his pardon, became 
 so maliciously impudent as to shut up their shops, pro- 
 fessing not to open them till justice was executed. This 
 malice and madness is scarce credible ; but I saw it. 
 
 The Bishops had been about this time voted out of the 
 
4S6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 House of Parliament, and some upon that occasion sent to 
 the Tower ; which made many Covenanters rejoice, and 
 most of them to believe Mr. Brightman — who probably 
 was a well-meaning man — to be inspired when he writ his 
 Comment on the Apocalypse, a short abridgment of which 
 was now printed, cried up and down the streets and called 
 Mr. Brightman's Revelation of the Revelation, and both 
 bought up and believed by all the Covenanters. And 
 though he was grossly mistaken in other things, yet, 
 because he had there made the Churches of Geneva and 
 Scotland, which had no Bishops, to be Philadelphia 
 in the Apocalypse, that Angel that God loved,^ and the 
 power of Prelacy to be Antichrist, the evil Angel, which 
 the House of Commons had now so spewed up, as never 
 to recover their dignity ; therefore did those Covenanters 
 rejoice, approve, and applaud Mr. Brightman for dis- 
 covering and foretelling the Bishops' downfal ; so that 
 they both railed at them, and at the same time rejoiced to 
 buy good pennyworths of all their land, which their friends 
 of the House of Commons did afford both to themselves 
 and them, as a reward for their zealous and diligent 
 assistance to pull them down. 
 
 And the Bishops' power being now vacated, the common 
 people were made so happy, as that every Parish might 
 choose their own Minister, and tell him when he did, and 
 when he did not, preach true doctrine : and by this and 
 the like means, several Churches had several teachers, that 
 prayed and preached for and against one another : and 
 engaged their hearers to contend furiously for truths 
 which they understood not ; some of which I shall mention 
 in what wiU follow. 
 
 I have heard of two men, that in their discourse under- 
 took to give a character of a third person : and one 
 concluded he was a very honest man, ' for he was be- 
 holden to him ' ; and the other, that he was not, ' for he 
 was not beholden to him.' And something like this was 
 in the designs both of the Covenanters and Independents, 
 the last of which were now grown both as numerous and 
 
 "^Reo. iii. 7-13. 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 457 
 
 as powerful as the former : for though they differed much 
 in many principles, and preached against each other, one 
 making it a sign of being in the state of grace, if we were 
 but zealous for the Covenant ; and the other not : for 
 we ought to buy and sell by a measure, and to allow the 
 same liberty of conscience to others, which we by Scrip- 
 ture claim to ourselves ; and therefore not to force any to 
 swear the Covenant contrary to their consciences, and 
 probably lose both their livings and liberties too. But 
 though these differed thus in their conclusions, yet they 
 both agreed in their practice to preach down Common 
 Prayer, and get into the best sequestered livings ; and 
 whatever became of the true owners, their wives and 
 children, yet to continue in them without the least scruple 
 of conscience. 
 
 They also made other strange observations of Election, 
 Reprobation, and Free Will, and the other points de- 
 pendent upon these ; such as the wisest of the common 
 people were not fit to judge of; I am sure I am not: 
 though I must mention some of them historically in a 
 more proper place, when I have brought my Reader with 
 me to Dr. Sanderson at Boothby Pannell. 
 
 And in the way thither I must tell him, that a very 
 Covenanter, and a Scot too, that came into England with 
 this unhappy Covenant, was got into a good sequestered 
 living by the help of a Presbyterian Parish, which had got 
 the true owner out. And this Scotch Presbyterian, being 
 well setded in this good living, began to reform the 
 Churchyard, by cutting down a large yew-tree, and some 
 other trees that were an ornament to the place, and very 
 often a shelter to the parishioners ; and they, excepting 
 against him for so doing, were by him answered, 'That 
 the trees were his, and 'twas lawful for every man to 
 use his own, as he, and not as others thought fit.' I have 
 heard, but do not affirm it, that no action lies against him 
 that is so wicked as to steal the winding-sheet from off 
 a dead body after 'tis buried ; and have heard the reason 
 to be, because none were supposed to be so void of 
 humanity ; and that such a law would vilify that nation 
 
458 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that would but suppose so vile a man to be born in it. I 
 speak this because I would not suppose any man to do 
 what this Covenanter did. And whether there were any 
 law against him, I known not ; but pity the Parish the 
 less for turning out their legal Minister. 
 
 We have now overtaken Dr. Sanderson at Boothby 
 Pannell, where he hoped to enjoy himself, though in a 
 poor, yet in a quiet and desired privacy ; but it proved 
 otherwise : for all corners of the nation were filled with 
 Covenanters, confusion, Committee-men, and soldiers, 
 defacing Monuments, breaking painted glass windows, and 
 serving each other to their several ends, of revenge, or 
 power, or profit : and these Committee-men and soldiers 
 were most of them so possessed with this Covenant, that 
 they became like those that were infected with that dread- 
 ful Plague of Athens ; the plague of which Plague was, 
 that they by it became maliciously restless to get into 
 company, and to joy, — -so the Historian salth, — when they 
 had infected others, even those of their most beloved or 
 nearest friends or relations: and though there might be 
 some of these Covenanters that were beguiled and meant 
 well ; yet such were the generality of them, and temper of 
 the times, that you may be sure Dr. Sanderson, who 
 though quiet and harmless, yet an eminent dissenter from 
 them, could therefore not live peaceably ; nor did he : for 
 the soldiers would appear, and visibly oppose and disturb 
 him in the Church when he read prayers, some of them 
 pretending to advise him how God was to be served more 
 acceptably : which he not approving, but continuing to 
 observe order and decent behaviour in reading the Church- 
 service, they forced his book from him, and tore it, 
 expecting extemporary prayers. 
 
 At this time he was advised by a Parliament man of 
 power and note, that valued and loved him much, not to 
 be strict in reading all the Common Prayer, but make 
 some little variation, especially if the soldiers came to 
 watch him ; for if he did it might not be in the power of him 
 and his other friends to secure him from taking the Covenant, 
 or Sequestration : for which reasons he did vary somewhat 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 459 
 
 from the strict rules of the Rubric. I will set down the 
 very words of confession which he used, as I have it under 
 his own hand ; and tell the Reader, that all his other 
 variations were as little, and very much like to this. 
 
 HIS CONFESSION. 
 
 ' O Almighty God and merciful Father, we, thy un- 
 worthy servants, do with shame and sorrow confess, that 
 we have all our life long gone astray out of thy ways like 
 lost sheep ; and that, by following too much the vain 
 devices and desires of our own hearts, we have grievously 
 offended against thy holy laws, both in thought, word, and 
 deed ; we have many times left undone those good duties 
 which we might and ought to have done ; and we have 
 many times done those evils, when we might have avoided 
 them, which we ought not to have done. We confess, O 
 Lord ! that there is no health at all, nor help in any 
 creature to relieve us ; but all our hope is in thy mercy, 
 whose justice we have by our sins so far provoked. Have 
 mercy therefore upon us, O Lord ! have mercy upon us 
 miserable offenders : spare us, good God, who confess our 
 faults, that we perish not ; but, according to thy gracious 
 promises declared unto mankind in Christ Jesus our Lord, 
 restore us upon our true repentance into thy grace and 
 favour. And grant, O most merciful Father ! for his sake, 
 that we henceforth study to serve and please thee by leading 
 a godly, righteous, and a sober life, to the glory of thy holy 
 name, and the eternal comfort of our own souls, through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord.' Amen. 
 
 In these and other provocations of tearing his service- 
 book, a neighbour came on a Sunday, after the Evening 
 service was ended, to visit and condole with him for the 
 affront offered by the soldiers. To whom he spake with 
 a composed patience, and said : ' God hath restored me to 
 my desired privacy, with my wife and children ; where I 
 hoped to have met with quietness, and it proves not so : 
 but I will labour to be pleased, because God, on whom I 
 depend, sees it is not fit for me to be quiet. I praise him, 
 
46o IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that he hath by his grace prevented me from making ship- 
 wreck of a good conscience to maintain me in a place of 
 great reputation and profit : and though my condition be 
 such, that I need the last, yet I submit ; for God did not 
 send me into this world to do my own, but suffer his will, 
 and I will obey it.' Thus by a sublime depending on his 
 wise, and powerful, and pitiful Creator, he did cheerfully 
 submit to what God had appointed, still justifying the truth 
 of that doctrine which he had preached. 
 
 About this time that excellent book of The Kings 
 Meditations in his Solitude was printed, and made public ; 
 and Dr. Sanderson was such a lover of the Author, and so 
 desirous that not this nation only, but the whole world 
 should see the character of him in that book, and something 
 of the cause for which he and many others then suffered, 
 that he designed to turn it into Latin : but when he had 
 done half of it most excellently, his friend Dr. Earle pre- 
 vented him, by appearing to have done the whole very 
 well before him. 
 
 About this time his dear and most Intimate friend, the 
 learned Dr. Hammond, came to enjoy a quiet conversation 
 and rest with him for some days at Boothby Pannell ; and 
 did so. And having formerly persuaded him to trust his 
 excellent memory, and not read, but try to speak a sermon 
 as he had writ it, Dr. Sanderson became so compliant, as to 
 promise he would. And to that end they two went early 
 the Sunday following to a neighbouring Minister, and 
 requested to exchange a sermon ; and they did so. And 
 at Dr. Sanderson's going into the pulpit, he gave his 
 sermon — ^which was a very short one — into the hand ot 
 Dr. Hammond, intending to preach it as 't was writ : but 
 before he had preached a third part. Dr. Hammond, — 
 looking on his sermon as written, — observed him to be 
 out, and so lost as to the matter, especially the method, 
 that he also became afraid for him : for 'twas discernible 
 to many of that plain auditory. But when he had ended 
 this short sermon, as they two walked homeward. Dr. 
 Sanderson said with much earnestness, ' Good Doctor, 
 give me my sermon ; and know, that neither you nor any 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 461 
 
 man living, shall ever persuade me to preach again without 
 my books.' To which the reply was, ' Good Doctor, be 
 not angry : for if I ever persuade you to preach again 
 without book, I will give you leave to burn all the books 
 that I am master of.' 
 
 Part of the occasion of Dr. Hammond's visit, was at this 
 time to discourse with Dr. Sanderson about some opinions, 
 in which, if they did not then, they had doubtless differed 
 formerly ; 'twas about those knotty points, which are by 
 the learned called the Quinquarticular Controversy; of 
 which I shall proceed, not to give any judgment, — I pretend 
 not to that, — but some short historical account which shall 
 follow. 
 
 There had been, since the unhappy Covenant was brought 
 and so generally taken in England, a liberty given or taken 
 by many Preachers — those of London especially — to preach 
 and be too positive in the points of Universal Redemption, 
 Predestination, and those other depending upon these. 
 Some of which preached, ' That all men were, before they 
 came into this world, so predestinated to salvation or 
 damnation, that it was not in their power to sin so, as to 
 lose the first, nor by their most diligent endeavour to 
 avoid the latter. Others, that 't was not so : because then 
 God could not be said to grieve for the death of a sinner, 
 when he himself had made him so by an inevitable decree, 
 before he had so much as a being in this world ' ; affirming 
 therefore, ' that man had some power left him to do the 
 will of God, because he was advised to work out his 
 salvation with fear and trembling ' ; maintaining, ' that 't 
 is most certain every man can do what he can to be 
 saved ' ; and as certain that ' he that does what he can to 
 be saved, shall never be damned.' And yet many that 
 affirmed this to be a truth would yet confess, ' That that 
 grace, which is but a persuasive oiFer, and left to us to 
 receive, or refuse, is not that grace which shaU bring men 
 to Heaven.' Which truths, or untruths, or both, be they 
 which they will, did upon these, or the like occasions, come 
 to be searched into, and charitably debated betwixt Dr. 
 Sanderson, Dr. Hammond, and Dr. Pierce, — the now 
 
463 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Reverend Dean of Salisbury, — of which I shall proceed to 
 give some account, but briefly. 
 
 In the year 1648, the fifty-two London Ministers — . 
 then a fraternity of Sion College in that City — had in 
 a printed Declaration aspersed Dr. Hammond most 
 heinously, for that he had in his Practical Catechism 
 affirmed, that our Saviour died for the sins of all man- 
 kind. To justify which truth, he presently makes a 
 charitable reply — as 'tis now printed in his works. — 
 After which there were many letters passed betwixt the 
 said Dr. Hammond, Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Pierce, 
 concerning God's grace and decrees. Dr. Sanderson 
 was with much unwillingness drawn into this debate; 
 for he declared it would prove uneasy to him, who in his 
 judgment of God's decrees differed with Dr. Hammond, 
 — ^whom he reverenced and loved dearly, — and would 
 not therefore engage himself in a controversy, of which 
 he could never hope to see an end: nevertheless did all 
 enter into a charitable disquisition of these said points 
 in several letters, to the fuU satisfaction of the learned ; 
 those betwixt Dr. Sanderson and Dr. Hammond being 
 now printed in his works; and for what passed betwixt 
 him and the learned Dr. Pierce, I refer my Reader to 
 a Letter annexed to the end of this relation. 
 
 I think the judgment of Dr. Sanderson, was, by these 
 debates, altered from what it was at his entrance into 
 them; for in the year 1632, when his excellent Sermons 
 were first printed in quarto, the Reader may on the 
 margin find some accusation of Arminius for false 
 doctrine; and find that, upon a review and reprinting 
 those Sermons in folio, in the year 1657, that accusation 
 of Arminius is omitted. And the change of his judgment 
 seems more fully to appear in his said letter to Dr. Pierce. 
 And let me now tell the Reader, which may seem to be 
 perplexed with these several affirmations of God's decrees 
 before mentioned, that Dr. Hammond, in a postscript 
 to the last letter of his to Dr. Sanderson, says, ' God 
 can reconcile his own contradictions, and therefore advises 
 all men, as the Apostle does, to study mortification, and 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 463 
 
 be wise to sobriety.' And let me add farther, that if 
 these fifty-two Ministers of Sion College were the occasion 
 of the debates in these letters, they have, I think, been 
 the occasion of giving an end to the Quinquarticular 
 Controversy : for none have since undertaken to say 
 more ; but seem to be so wise, as to be content to be 
 ignorant of the rest, till they come to that place, where 
 the secrets of all hearts shall be laid open. And let me 
 here tell the Reader also, that if the rest of mankind 
 would, as Dr. Sanderson, not conceal their alteration of 
 judgment, but confess it to the honour of God and 
 themselves, then our nation would become freer from 
 pertinacious disputes, and fuller of recantations. 
 
 I am not willing to lead my Reader to Dr. Hammond 
 and Dr. Sanderson, where we left them together at 
 Boothby Pannell, till I have looked back to the Long 
 Parliament, the Society of Covenanters in Sion College, 
 and those others scattered up and down in London, 
 and given some account of their proceedings and usage 
 of the late learned Dr. Laud, then Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, whose life seemed to be sacrificed, to appease the 
 popular fury of that present time. And though I will 
 forbear to mention the injustice of his death, and the 
 barbarous usage of him, both at his trial and before it ; 
 yet my desire is that what follows may be noted, because 
 it does now, or may hereafter, concern us ; that is, to 
 note, that in his last sad sermon on the scafibld at his 
 death, he did (as our blessed Saviour advised his Dis- 
 ciples), pray for those that persecuted and despitefully 
 used him. And not only pardon'd those enemies; but 
 passionately begged of Almighty God that he would 
 also pardon them ; and besought all the present beholders 
 of this sad sight, that they would pardon and pray for 
 him : but, though he did all this, yet, he seemed to 
 accuse the Magistrates of the City, for not suppressing 
 a sort of people whose malicious and furious zeal, had 
 so far transported them, and violated all modesty, that, 
 though they could not know, whether he were jusdy 
 or unjustly condemned, were yet suffered to go visibly 
 
464 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 up and down to gather hands to a petition, that the 
 Parliament would hasten his execution. And he having 
 declared how unjustly he thought himself to be con- 
 demned, and accused for endeavouring to bring in Popery, 
 — for that was one of the accusations for which he died, 
 — he declared with sadness, 'That the several sects and 
 divisions then in England, — which he had laboured to 
 prevent, — were now like to bring the Pope a far greater 
 harvest, than he could ever have expected without them.' 
 And said, ' These sects and divisions introduce profane- 
 ness under the cloak of an imaginary Religion ; and that 
 we have lost the substance of Religion by changing it 
 into opinion : and that by these means the Church of 
 England, which all the Jesuits' machinations could not 
 ruin was fallen into apparent danger by those (Coven- 
 anters) which were his accusers.' To this purpose he 
 spoke at his death : for this, and more to the same 
 purpose, the Reader may view his last sad sermon on 
 the scaffold. And 'tis here mentioned, because his dear 
 friend, Dr. Sanderson, seems to demonstrate the same 
 fear of Popery in his two large and remarkable Prefaces 
 before his two volumes of Sermons ; and seems also 
 with much sorrow to say the same again in his last 
 Will, made when he was and apprehended himself to be 
 very near his death. And these Covenanters ought to 
 take notice of it, and to remember, that, by the late 
 wicked war began by them. Dr. Sanderson was ejected 
 out of the Professor's Chair in Oxford; and that if he 
 had continued in it, — for he lived fourteen years after, 
 — both the learned of this, and other nations, had been 
 made happy by many remarkable Cases of Conscience, 
 so rationally stated, and so briefly, so clearly, and so 
 convincingly determined, that posterity might have joyed 
 and boasted, that Dr. Sanderson was born in this nation, 
 for the ease and benefit of all the learned that shall be 
 born after him : but this benefit is so like time past, 
 that they are both irrecoverably lost. 
 
 I should now return to Boothby Pannell, where we left 
 Dr. Hammond and Dr. Sanderson together ; but neither 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 465 
 
 can now be found there : for the first was in his journey 
 to London, and the second seized upon the day after his 
 friend's departure, and carried prisoner to Lincoln, then a 
 garrison of the Parliament's. For the pretended reason 
 of which commitment, I shall give this following account. 
 
 There was one Mr. Clarke, the Minister of Alington, a 
 town not many miles from Boothby Pannell, who was an 
 active man for the Parliament and Covenant ; and one 
 that, when Belvoir Castle — then a garrison for the Parlia- 
 ment — was taken by a party of the King's soldiers, was 
 taken in it, and made a prisoner of war in Newark, then a 
 garrison of the King's ; a man so active and useful for his 
 party, that they became so much concerned for his en- 
 largement, that the Committee of Lincoln sent a troop of 
 horse to seize and bring Dr. Sanderson a prisoner to that 
 garrison : and they did so. And there he had the happi- 
 ness to meet with many, that knew him so well as to 
 reverence and treat him kindly ; but told him, ' He must 
 continue their prisoner, till he should purchase his own 
 enlargement by procuring an exchange for Mr. Clarke, 
 then prisoner in the King's garrison of Newark.' There 
 were many reasons given by the Doctor of the injustice of 
 his imprisonment, and the inequality of the exchange : but 
 all were unefFectual ; for done it must be, or he continue a 
 prisoner. And in time done it was, upon the following 
 conditions. 
 
 First, that Dr. Sanderson and Mr. Clarke being 
 exchanged, should live undisturbed at their own Parishes ; 
 and if either were injured by the soldiers of the contrary 
 party, the other, having notice of it, should procure him a 
 redress, by having satisfaction made for his loss, or for any 
 other injury ; or if not, he to be used in the same kind 
 by the other party. Nevertheless, Dr. Sanderson could 
 neither live safe nor quietly, being several times plundered, 
 and once wounded in three places : but he, apprehending 
 the remedy might turn to a more intolerable burden by 
 impatience or complaining, forbore both ; and possessed 
 his soul in a contented quietness, without the least re- 
 pining. But though he could not enjoy the safety he 
 
 2G 
 
466 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 expected by this exchange, yet, by His providence that 
 can bring good out of evil, it turned so much to his 
 advantage, that whereas his living had been sequestered 
 from the year 1644, and continued to he so till this time 
 of his imprisonment, he, by the Articles of War in this 
 exchange for Mr. Clarke, procured his sequestration to be 
 recalled, and by that means enjoyed a poor, but more 
 contented subsistence for himself, his wife, and children, 
 till the happy Restoration of our King and Church. 
 
 In this time of his poor, but contented privacy of life, 
 his casuistical learning, peaceful moderation, and sincerity,, 
 became so remarkable, that there were many that applied 
 themselves to him for resolution in perplexed cases of 
 conscience; some known to him, and many not; some 
 requiring satisfaction by conference, others by letters ; so 
 many, that his life became almost as restless as their 
 minds ; yet as St. Paul accounted himself a debtor to all 
 men, so he, for he denied none : and if it be a truth 
 which holy Mr. Herbert says, ' That all worldly joys 
 seem less, when compared with shewing mercy or doing 
 kindnesses ' ; then doubtless this Barnabas, this son of 
 consolation. Dr. Sanderson might have boasted for re- 
 lieving so many restless and wounded consciences ; which, 
 as Solomon says, ' are a burden that none can bear, though 
 their fortitude may sustain their other calamities ' ; and if 
 words cannot express the joy of a conscience relieved from 
 such restless agonies ; then Dr. Sanderson might rejoice 
 that so many were by him so clearly and conscientiously 
 satisfied, and would often praise God for that ability, and 
 as often for the occasion, and that God had inclined his 
 heart to do it to the meanest of any of those poor, but 
 precious souls, for which his Saviour vouchsafed to be 
 crucified. 
 
 Some of those very many cases that were resolved by 
 letters, have been preserved and printed for the benefit 
 of posterity ; as namely, 
 
 1. Of the Sabbath. 
 
 2. Marrying with a Recusant. 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 467 
 
 3. Of unlawful love. 
 
 4. Of a military life. 
 
 5. Of Scandal. 
 
 6. Of a bond taken In the King's name. 
 
 7. Of the Engagement. 
 
 8. Of a rash vow. 
 
 But many more remain in private hands, of which one is 
 of Simony ; and I wish the world might see it, that it 
 might undeceive so many mistaken Patrons, who think 
 they have discharged that great and dangerous trust, both 
 to God and man, if they take no money for a living, 
 though it may be parted with for other ends less 
 justifiable which I forbear to name. 
 
 And in this time of his retirement, when the common 
 people were amazed and grown restless and giddy by the 
 many falsehoods, and misapplications of truths frequently 
 vented in sermons ; when they wrested the Scripture by 
 challenging God to be of their party, and called upon him 
 in their prayers to patronise their sacrilege and zealous 
 frenzies ; in this time he did so compassionate the gene- 
 rality of this misled nation, that though the times 
 threatened such an undertaking with danger, yet he then 
 hazarded his safety by writing the large and bold Preface 
 now extant before his last twenty Sermons ; — first printed 
 in the dangerous year 1655 ; — in which there was such 
 strength of reason, with so powerful and clear convincing 
 applications made to the Non-conformists, as being read 
 by one of those dissenting brethren, who was possessed 
 of a good sequestered living, and with it such a spirit of 
 covetousness and contradiction, as being neither able to 
 defend his error, nor yield to truth manifested, his con- 
 science, having slept long and quietly in that living, was 
 yet at the reading of it so awakened, (for there is a divine 
 power in reason,) that after a conflict with the reason he 
 had met, and the damage he was to sustain if he consented 
 to it, — and being still unwilling to be so convinced, as to 
 lose by being over-reasoned, — he went in haste to the 
 bookseller of whom 'twas bought, threatened him, and 
 
468 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 told him in anger, 'he had sold a book in which there was 
 false Divinity ; and that the Preface had upbraided the 
 Parliament, and many godly Ministers of that party, for 
 unjust dealing.' To which his reply was, — 'twas Tim. 
 Garthwaite, — ' That 'twas not his trade to judge of true 
 or false Divinity, but to print and sell books : and yet if 
 he, or any friend of his, would write an answer to it, and 
 own it by setting his name to it, he would print the 
 Answer, and promote the selling of it.' 
 
 About the time of his printing this excellent Preface, I 
 met him accidentally in London, in sad-coloured clothes, 
 and, God knows, far from being costly. The place of our 
 meeting was near to Little Britain, where he had been to 
 buy a book, which he then had in his hand. We had no 
 inclination to part presently, and therefore turned to stand 
 in a corner under a pent-house, — for it began to rain, — 
 and immediately the wind rose, and the rain increased so 
 much, that both became so inconvenient, as to force us 
 into a cleanly house, where we had bread, cheese, ale, and 
 a fire for our ready money. This rain and wind were so 
 obliging to me, as to force our stay there for at least an 
 hour, to my great content and advantage ; for in that 
 time he made to me many useful observations of the 
 present times, with much clearness and conscientious free- 
 dom. I shall relate a part of them, in hope they may 
 also turn to the advantage of my Reader. He seemed to 
 lament, that the Parliament had taken upon them to 
 abolish our Liturgy, to the grief and scandal of so many 
 devout and learned men, and the disgrace of those many 
 martyrs, who had sealed the truth and necessary use of it 
 with their blood : and that no Minister was now thought 
 godly that did not decry it, and at least pretend to make 
 better prayers ex tempore : and that they, and only they, 
 that could do so, prayed by the Spirit, and were godly; 
 though in their sermons they disputed and evidently con- 
 tradicted each other in their prayers. And as he did dislike 
 this, so he did most highly commend the Common Prayer 
 of the Church, saying, ' The Holy Ghost seemed to assist 
 the composers : and that the effect of a constant use of it. 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 469 
 
 would be, to melt and form the soul, into holy thoughts 
 and desires, and beget habits of devotion.' This he said 
 and that, ' the Collects were the most passionate, proper, and 
 most elegant comprehensive expressions that any language 
 ever afforded ; and that there was in them such piety, and 
 that so interwoven with instructions, that they taught us to 
 know the power, the wisdom, the majesty, and mercy of 
 God, and much of our duty both to Him and our neigh- 
 bour : and that a congregation, behaving themselves 
 reverently, and putting up to God these joint and known 
 desires for pardon of sins, and praises for mercies received, 
 could not but be more pleasing to God, than those raw, un- 
 premeditated expressions, which many understood not, and 
 to which many of the hearers could not say. Amen.' 
 
 And he then commended to me the frequent use of the 
 Psalter, or Psalms of David ; speaking to this purpose : 
 ' That they were the Treasury of Christian comfort, fitted 
 for all persons and all necessities ; able to raise the soul 
 from dejection by the frequent mention of God's mercies 
 to repentant sinners ; able to stir up holy desires : to 
 increase joy ; to moderate sorrow ; to nourish hope, and 
 teach us patience, by waiting God's leisure for what we 
 beg : able to beget a trust in the mercy, power, and provi- 
 dence of our Creator ; and to cause a resignation of 
 ourselves to his will; and then, and not till then, to 
 believe ourselves happy.' This, he said, the Liturgy and 
 Psalms taught us ; and that by the frequent use of the 
 last, they would not only prove to be our soul's comfort, 
 but would become so habitual, as to transform them into 
 the image of his soul that composed them. After this 
 manner he expressed himself and sorrow concerning the 
 Liturgy and Psalms ; and seemed to lament that this, 
 which was the devotion of the more primitive times, 
 should in common pulpits be turned into needless debates 
 about Freewill, Election, and Reprobation, of which, and 
 many like questions, we may be safely ignorant, because 
 Almighty God intends not to lead us to Heaven by hard 
 questions, but by meekness and charity, and a frequent 
 practice of devotion. 
 
470 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 And he seemed to lament very much, that, by the means 
 of irregular and indiscreet preaching, the generality of the 
 nation were possessed with such dangerous mistakes, as to 
 think, ' they might be religious first, and then just and merci- 
 ful ; that they might sell their consciences, and yet have 
 something left that was worth keeping ; that they might be 
 sure they were elected, though their lives were visibly 
 scandalous ; that to be cunning was to be wise ; that to be 
 rich was to be happy, though 'tis evidently false : that to 
 speak evil of Government, and to be busy in things they 
 understood not, was no sin.' These and the like mistakes 
 he lamented much, and besought God to remove them, 
 and restore us to that humility, sincerity, and singlehearted- 
 ness, with which this nation was blessed before the un- 
 happy Covenant was brought amongst us, and every man 
 preached and prayed what seemed best in his own eyes. 
 And he then said to me, ' That the way to restore this 
 nation to a more meek and Christian temper, was to have 
 the body of Divinity — or so much of it as was needful to 
 be known by the common people — to be put into fifty- 
 two Homilies or Sermons, of such a length as not to 
 exceed a third, or fourth part of an hour's reading : and 
 these needful points to be made so clear and plain, that those 
 of a mean capacity might know what was necessary to be 
 believed, and what God requires to be done ; and then 
 some applications of trial and conviction : and these to be 
 read every Sunday of the year, as infallibly as the blood 
 circulates the body, at a set time ; and then as certainly 
 begun again, and continued the year following. And, he 
 explained the reason of this his desire, by saying to me, 
 ' All grammar scholars, that are often shifted, from one to 
 another school, learn neither so much, nor their litde so 
 truly, as those that are constant to one good master: 
 because by the several rules of teaching in those several 
 schools, they learn less, and become more and more con- 
 fused ; and at last, so puzzled and perplexed, that their 
 learning proves useless both to themselves and others. 
 And so do the immethodical, useless, needless notions that 
 are deUvered in many Sermons, make the hearers ; but a 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 471 
 
 clear and constant rule, of teaching us, what we are to 
 know, and do, and what not, and that taught us by an 
 approved authority, might probably bring the nation to a 
 more conscientious practice of what we know and ought 
 to do.' Thus did this prudent man explain the reason of 
 this his desire : and oh ! that he had undertaken what he 
 advised ; for then, in all probability it would have proved 
 so useful, that the present age would have been blessed by 
 it : and, posterity would have blessed him for it. 
 
 And at this happy time of my enjoying his company and 
 this discourse, he expressed a sorrow by saying to me, ' Oh 
 that I had gone Chaplain to that excellently accomplished 
 gentleman, your friend. Sir Henry Wotton ! which was 
 once intended, when he first went Ambassador to the State 
 of Venice : for by that employment I had been forced into 
 a necessity of conversing, not with him only, but with 
 several men of several nations ; and might thereby have 
 kept myself from my unmanly bashfulness, which has 
 proved very troublesome, and not less inconvenient to 
 me ; and which I now fear is become so habitual as 
 never to leave me : and besides by that means I might 
 also have known, or at least have had the satisfaction of 
 seeing, one of the late miracles of mankind for general 
 learning, prudence, and modesty, Sir Henry Wotton's 
 dear friend, Padre Paulo, who, the author of his Life says, 
 was born with a bashfulness as invincible as I have found 
 my own to be : a man whose fame must never die, till 
 virtue and learning shall become so useless as not to be 
 regarded.' 
 
 This was a part of the benefit I then had by that hour's 
 conversation : and I gladly remember and mention it, as 
 an argument of my happiness, and his great humility and 
 condescension. I had also a like advantage by another 
 happy conference with him, which I am desirous to impart in 
 this place to the Reader. He lamented much, that in those 
 times of confusion [in] many Parishes, where the mainten- 
 ance was not great, there was no Minister to officiate ; and 
 that many of the best sequestered livings were possessed 
 with such rigid Covenanters as denied the Sacrament to 
 
472 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 their Parishioners, unless upon such conditions, and in such 
 a manner, as they could not with a good conscience take 
 it. This he mentioned with much sorrow, saying, ' The 
 blessed Sacrament did, even by way of preparation for it, 
 give occasion to all conscientious receivers to examine the 
 performance of their vows, since they received that last 
 seal for the pardon of their sins past ; and also to examine 
 and re-search their hearts, and make penitent reflections 
 on their failings ; and, that done, to bewail them seriously, 
 and then make new vows or resolutions to obey all God's, 
 commands better, and beg His grace to perform them. 
 And that this being faithfully done, then the Sacrament 
 repairs the decays of grace, helps us to conquer infirmities, 
 gives us grace to beg God's grace, and then gives us what we 
 beg ; makes us still hunger and thirst after His righteous- 
 ness, which we then receive, and being assisted with our 
 own endeavours, wiU still so dwell in us, as to become 
 our sanctification in this life, and our comfort on our last 
 sick-beds.' The want of this blessed benefit he lamented 
 much, and pitied their condition that desired, but could 
 not obtain it. 
 
 I hope I shall not disoblige my reader, if I here enlarge 
 into a further character of his person and temper. As first, 
 that he was moderately tall : his behaviour had in it much 
 of a plain comeliness, and very little, yet enough, of cere- 
 mony or courtship; his looks and motion manifested an 
 endearing affabUity and mildness, and yet he had with 
 these a calm, and so matchless a fortitude, as secured him 
 from complying with any of those many Parliament injunc- 
 tions, that interfered with a doubtful conscience. His 
 learning was methodical and exact, his wisdom useful, his 
 integrity visible, and his whole life so unspotted, so like 
 the Primitive Christians, that aU ought to be preserved as 
 copies for posterity to write after ; the Clergy especially, 
 who with impure hands ought not to offer sacrifice to that 
 God, whose pure eyes abhor iniquity; and especially in 
 them. 
 
 There was in his Sermons no improper rhetoric, nor such 
 perplexed divisions, as may be said to be like too much 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 475 
 
 light, that so dazzles the eyes, that the sight becomes less 
 perfect : but in them there was no want of useful matter, 
 nor waste of words ; and yet such clear distinctions as dis- 
 pelled all confused notions, and made his hearers depart 
 both wiser, and more confirmed in virtuous resolutions. 
 
 His memory was so matchless and firm, as 'twas only 
 overcome by his bashfulness ; for he alone, or to a friend, 
 could repeat all the Odes of Horace, all Tully's Offices, and 
 much of Juvenal and Persius, without book ; and would 
 say, 'the repetition of one of the Odes of Horace to 
 himself, which he did often, was to him such music, as a 
 lesson on the viol was to others, when they played it 
 voluntarily to themselves or friends.' And though he was 
 blest with a clearer judgment than other men, yet he was 
 so distrustful of it, that he did usually over-consider of 
 consequences, and would so delay and re-consider what 
 to determine, that though none ever determined better, 
 yet, when the bell tolled for him to appear and read his 
 Divinity Lectures in Oxford, and all the Scholars attended 
 to hear him, he had not then, or not till then, resolved and 
 writ what he meant to determine ; so that that appeared 
 to be a truth, which his old dear friend Dr. Sheldon would 
 often say of him, namely, ' That his judgment was so much 
 superior to his fancy, that whatsoever this suggested, that 
 disliked and controlled ; still considering, and re-consider- 
 ing, till his time was so wasted, that he [was] forced to write, 
 not, probably, what was best, but what he thought last.' 
 And yet what he did then read, appeared to all hearers to 
 be so useful, clear, and satisfactory, as none ever deter- 
 mined with greater applause. These tiring and perplexing 
 thoughts begot in him some averseness to enter into the 
 toil of considering and determining all casuistical points ; 
 because during that time, they neither gave rest to his- 
 body or mind. But though he would not suffer his mind 
 to be always laden with these knotty points and distinc- 
 tions ; yet the study of old records, genealogies, and 
 heraldry, were a recreation and so pleasing, that he 
 would say they gave a pleasant rest to his mind. Of" 
 the last of which I have seen two remarkable volumes ; 
 
474 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 and the Reader needs neither to doubt their truth or 
 exactness. 
 
 And this holy humble man had so conquered all re- 
 pining and ambitious thoughts, and with them all other 
 unruly passions, that, if the accidents of the day proved 
 to his danger or damage, yet he both began and ended it 
 with an even and undisturbed quietness ; always praising 
 God that He had not withdrawn food and raiment from 
 him and his poor family ; nor suffered him in the times 
 of trial to violate his conscience for his safety, or to 
 support himself or them in a more splendid or plentiflil 
 condition ; and that he therefore resolved with David, 
 ' That His praise should be always in his mouth.' 
 
 I have taken a content in giving my reader this character 
 of his person, his temper, and some of the accidents of his 
 life past ; and more might be added of all ; but I will 
 with sorrow look forward to the sad days, in which so 
 many good men, clergymen especially, were sufferers ; 
 namely about the year 1658, at which time Dr, Sander- 
 son was in a very pitiful condition as to his estate ; 
 and in that time Mr. Robert Boyle — a gentleman of a 
 very noble birth, and more eminent for his liberality, 
 learning, and virtue, and of whom I would say much 
 more, but that he still lives — having casually met with 
 and read his Lectures de Juramento, to his great satis- 
 faction, and being informed of Dr. Sanderson's great 
 innocence and sincerity, and that he and his family were 
 brought into a low condition by his not complying with 
 the Parliament's injunctions, sent him by his dear friend 
 Dr. Barlow — the now learned Bishop of Lincoln — 50/. 
 and with it a request and promise. The request was, that 
 he would review the Lectures de Conscientid, which he had 
 read when he was Doctor of the Chair in Oxford, and 
 print them for the good of posterity : — and this Dr. 
 Sanderson did in the year 1659. — And the promise was, 
 that he would pay him that, or, if he desired it, a greater 
 sum yearly, during his life, to enable him to pay an 
 amanuensis, to ease him from the trouble of writing what 
 he should conceive or dictate. For the more particular 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 475 
 
 account of which, I refer my Reader to a letter writ to me 
 by the said Dr. Barlow, which I have annexed to the end 
 of this relation. 
 
 Towards the beginning of the year 1660, when the 
 many mixed sects, and their creators and merciless pro- 
 tectors, had led or driven each other into a whirlpool 
 of confusion both in Church and State : when amazement 
 and fear had seized most of them, by foreseeing, they 
 must now not only vomit up the churches, and the King's 
 land, but their accusing consciences did also give them 
 an inward and fearful intelligence that the God of opposi- 
 tion, disobedience, and confusion, which they had so long 
 and so diligently feared, was now ready to reward them 
 with such wages as he always pays to witches for their 
 obeying him. When these wretches, that had said to 
 themselves ' we shall see no sorrow,' were come to foresee 
 an end of their cruel reign, by our King's return ; and 
 such sufferers as Dr. Sanderson — and with him many of 
 the oppressed Clergy and others — could foresee the cloud 
 of their afflictions would be dispersed by it ; then the 
 twenty-ninth of May following, the King was by our 
 good God restored to us, and we to our known laws and 
 liberties, and then a general joy and peace seemed to 
 breathe through the three nations ; the suffering and 
 sequestered Clergy (who had, like the children of Israel, 
 sat long lamenting their sad condition, and hanged their 
 neglected harps on the willows that grow by the rivers 
 of Babylon) were after many thoughtful days and restless 
 nights now freed from their sequestration, restored to 
 their revenues, and to a liberty to adore, praise, and pray 
 to Almighty God publicly in such order as their con- 
 sciences and oaths had formerly obliged them. And the 
 Reader will easily believe, that Dr. Sanderson and his 
 dejected family rejoiced to see this happy day, and be of 
 this number. 
 
 At this time of the conformable Clergy's deliverance, 
 from the Presbyterian severities, the Doctor said to a 
 friend, 'I look back on this strange and happy turn of 
 the late times, with amazement and thankfulness ; and 
 
4;6 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 cannot but think the Presbyterians ought to read their 
 own errors, by considering that by their own rules the 
 Independents have punished and supplanted them as they 
 did the conformable Clergy, who are now (so many as 
 still live) restored to their lawful rights ; and, as the 
 prophet David hath taught me, so I say with a thankful 
 heart, Verily, there is a God that judgeth the earth : and, 
 a reward for the righteous.' 
 
 It ought to be considered — which I have often heard 
 or read — that in the primitive times men of learning, pru- 
 dence, and virtue were usually sought for, and solicited 
 to accept of Episcopal government, and often refused it. 
 For they conscientiously considered, that the office of a 
 Bishop was not made up of ease and state, but of labour 
 and care ; that they were trusted to be God's almoners of 
 the Church's revenue, and double their care for the 
 Church's good and the poor ; to live strictly themselves, 
 and use all diligence to see that their family, officers, and 
 Clergy became examples of innocence and piety to others ; 
 and that the account of that stewardship, must, at the last 
 dreadful day, be made to the Searcher of all Hearts : and 
 for these reasons they were in the primitive times timorous 
 to undertake it. It may not be said, that Dr. Sanderson 
 was accomplished with these, and all the other requisites 
 required in a Bishop, so as to be able to answer them 
 exactly : but it may be affirmed, as a good preparation,, 
 that he had at the age of seventy-three years — for he 
 was so old at the King's Return — fewer faults to be 
 pardoned by God or man, than are apparent in others in 
 these days, in which, God knows, we fall so short of that 
 visible sanctity and zeal to God's glory, which was 
 apparent in the days of Primitive Christianity. This is 
 mentioned by way of preparation to what I shall say 
 more of Dr. Sanderson, as namely, that, at the King's 
 return. Dr. Sheldon, the late prudent Archbishop of 
 Canterbury,— than whom none knew, valued, or loved 
 Dr. Sanderson more or better, — was by his Majesty made 
 a chief trustee to commend to him fit men to supply the 
 then vacant Bishoprics. And Dr. Sheldon knew none 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 477 
 
 •fitter than Dr. Sanderson, and therefore humbly desired 
 the King that he would nominate him : and, that done, he 
 did as humbly desire Dr. Sanderson that he would, for 
 God's and the Church's sake, take that charge and care 
 upon him. Dr. Sanderson had, if not an unwillingness, 
 certainly no forwardness to undertake it ; and would 
 often say, he had not led himself, but his friend would now 
 lead him into a temptation, which he had daily prayed 
 against ; and besought God, if he did undertake it so to 
 assist him with His grace, that the example of his life, his 
 cares and endeavours, might promote His glory, and help 
 forward the salvation of others. 
 
 This I have mentioned as a happy preparation to his 
 Bishopric ; and am next to tell, that he was consecrated 
 Bishop of Lincoln at Westminster, the 28 th of October, 
 1660. 
 
 There was about this time a Christian care taken, that 
 those whose consciences were, as they said, tender, and 
 could not comply with the service and ceremonies of the 
 Church, might have satisfaction given by a friendly debate 
 betwixt a select number of them, and some like number 
 of those that had been sufferers for the Church-service and 
 ceremonies, and now restored to liberty; of which last 
 some were then preferred to power and dignity in the 
 Church. And of these Bishop Sanderson was one, and 
 then chosen to be a moderator in that debate : and he per- 
 formed his trust with much mildness, patience, and 
 reason ; but all proved unefFectual : for there be some 
 prepossessions like jealousies, which, though causeless, yet 
 cannot be removed by reasons as apparent as demonstra- 
 tion can make any truth. The place appointed for this 
 debate was the Savoy in the Strand : and the points 
 debated were, I think, many, and I think many of them 
 needless ; some affirmed to be truth and reason, some 
 denied to be either ; and these debates being at first in 
 words, proved to be so loose and perplexed as satisfied 
 neither party. For some time that which had been 
 affirmed was immediately forgot or mistaken or denied, 
 and so no satisfaction given to either party. And that 
 
A7S IZAAK WALTON 
 
 the debate might become more satisfactory and useful, it 
 was therefore resolved that the day following the desires 
 and reasons of the Nonconformists should be given in 
 writing, and they in writing receive answers from the con- 
 forming party. And though I neither now can, nor need 
 to mention all the points debated, nor the names of the 
 dissenting brethren ; yet I am sure Mr. Richard Baxter 
 was one, and I am sure also one of the points debated was 
 Concerning a command of lawful superiors, what was 
 sufficient to its being a lawful command ; this following 
 proposition was brought by the conforming party 
 
 • That command which commands an act in itself 
 lawful, and no other act or circumstance unlawfixl, is not 
 sinful.' 
 
 Mr. Baxter denied it for two reasons, which he gave in 
 with his own hand in writing, thus : 
 
 One was, ' Because that may be a sin per accidens, which 
 is not so in itself, and may be unlawfully commanded, 
 though that accident be not in the command.' Another 
 was, ' That it may be commanded under an unjust 
 penalty.' 
 
 Again, this proposition being brought by the Con- 
 formists, ' That command which commandeth an act in 
 itself lawful, and no other act whereby any unjust penalty 
 is enjoined, nor any circumstance whence, per accidens, any 
 sin is consequent which the commander ought to provide 
 against, is not sinful.' 
 
 Mr. Baxter denied it for this reason, then given in with 
 his own hand in writing thus : ' Because the first act com- 
 manded may be per accidens unlawful, ^nd be commanded 
 by an unjust penalty, though no other act or circumstance 
 commanded be such.' 
 
 Again, this proposition being brought by the Conformists, 
 ' That command which commandeth an act in itself lawful, 
 and no other act whereby any unjust penalty is enjoined^ 
 nor any circumstance, whence directly, or per accidens, any 
 sin is consequent, which the commander ought to provide 
 against, hath in it all things requisite to the lawfulness of 
 a command, and particularly cannot be guilty of com- 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 479 
 
 manding an act per accidens unlawful, nor of commanding 
 an act under an unjust penalty.' 
 
 Mr. Baxter denied it upon the same reasons. 
 
 Peter Gunning. 
 John Pearson. 
 
 There were then two of the disputants, still alive, and 
 will attest this ; one being now Lord Bishop of Ely, and 
 the other of Chester. And the last of them told me very 
 lately, that one of the Dissenters — which I could, but 
 forbear to name — appeared to Dr. Sanderson to be so 
 bold, so troublesome, and so illogical in the dispute, as 
 forced patient Dr. Sanderson — who was then Bishop of 
 Lincoln, and a moderator with other Bishops — to say, 
 with an unusual earnestness, ' That he had never met with a 
 man of more pertinacious confidence, and less abilities, in 
 all his conversation.' 
 
 But though this debate at the Savoy was ended without 
 any great satisfaction to either party, yet both parties knew 
 the desires, and understood the abilities, of the other, 
 much better than before it : and the late distressed Clergy, 
 that were now restored to their former rights and power 
 were so charitable as at their next meeting in Convocation 
 to contrive to give the dissenting party satisfaction by 
 alteration, explanation, and addition to some part both of 
 the Rubric and Common Prayer, as also by adding some 
 new necessary Collects, with a particular Collect of 
 Thanksgiving. How many of these new Collects were 
 worded by Dr. Sanderson, I cannot say ; but am sure the 
 whole Convocation valued him so much that he never 
 undertook to speak to any point in question, but he was 
 heard with great willingness and attention ; and when any 
 point in question was determined, the Convocation did 
 usually desire him to word their intentions, and as usually 
 approve and thank him. 
 
 At this Convocation the Common Prayer was made 
 more complete, by adding three new necessary Offices ; 
 which were, ' A Form of Humiliation for the Murder of 
 King Charles the Martyr ; A Thanksgiving for the 
 
48o IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Restoration of his Son our King ; and For the Baptising 
 of Persons of riper Age.' I cannot say Dr. Sanderson did 
 form, or word them all, but doubtless more than any single 
 man of the Convocation ; and he did also, by desire of the 
 Convocation, alter and add to the forms of Prayers to 
 be used at Sea — now taken into the Service-Book. — And it 
 may be noted, that William, the now Most Reverend 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, was in these employments 
 diligently useful; especially in helping to rectify the 
 Calendar and Rubric. And lastly, it may be noted, that, 
 for the satisfying all the dissenting brethren and others, the 
 Convocation's reasons for the alterations and additions to 
 the Liturgy were by them desired to be drawn up by Dr. 
 Sanderson ; which being done by him, and approved by 
 them, was appointed to be printed before the Liturgy, and 
 may be known by this title — ' The Preface ' ; and begins 
 thus — ' It hath been the Wisdom of the Church.' — 
 
 I shall now follow Dr. Sanderson to his Bishopric, and 
 declare a part of his behaviour in that busy and weighty 
 employment. And first, that it was with such con- 
 descension and obligingness to the meanest of his Clergy, 
 as to know and be known to most of them. And indeed 
 he practised the like to all men of what degree soever, 
 especially to his old neighbours or parishioners -of Boothby 
 Pannell ; for there was all joy at his table, when they came 
 to visit him : then they prayed for him, and he for them, 
 with an unfeigned affection. 
 
 I think it will not be denied, but that the care and toil 
 required of a Bishop, may justly challenge the riches and 
 revenue with which their predecessors had lawfully en- 
 dowed them : and yet he sought not that so much, as 
 doing good both to the present age and posterity ; and he 
 made this appear by what follows. 
 
 The Bishop's chief house at Buckden, in the County of 
 Huntingdon, the usual residence of his predecessors,— for 
 it stands about the midst of his Diocese, — having been at 
 his consecration a great part of it demolished, and what 
 was left standing under a visible decay, was by him under- 
 taken to be erected and repaired : and it was performed 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 481 
 
 with great speed, care, and charge. And to this may be 
 added, that the King having by an Injunction commended 
 to the care of the Bishops, Deans, and Prebends of all 
 Cathedral Churches, ' the repair of them, their houses, and 
 an augmentation of the revenues of small Vicarages * ; he, 
 when he was repairing Buckden, did also augment the last, 
 as fast as fines were paid for renewing leases : so fast, that 
 a friend, taking notice of his bounty, was so bold as to 
 advise him to remember, ' he was under his first-fruits, 
 and that he was old, and had a wife and children yet but 
 meanly provided for, especially if his dignity were con- 
 sidered.' To whom he made a mild and thankful answer, 
 saying, ' It would not become a Christian Bishop to suffer 
 those houses built by his predecessors to be ruined for 
 want of repair ; and less justifiable to suffer any of those 
 poor vicars, that were called to so high a calling as to 
 sacrifice at God's altar, to eat the bread of sorrow con- 
 stantly, when he had a power by a small augmentation, to 
 turn it into the bread of cheerfulness : and wished, that as 
 this was, so it were also in his pov/er to make all mankind 
 happy, for he desired nothing more. And for his wife 
 and children, he hoped to leave them a competence, and in 
 the hands of a God that would provide for all that kept 
 innocence, and trusted in His providence and protection, 
 which he had always found enough to make and keep him 
 happy.' 
 
 There was in his Diocese a Minister of almost his age, 
 that had been of Lincoln College when he left it, who 
 visited him often, and always welcome, because he was a 
 man of innocence and openheartedness. This Minister 
 asked the Bishop what books he studied most, when he 
 laid the foundation of his great and clear learning. To 
 which his answer was, ' that he declined reading many 
 books ; but what he did read were well chosen, and read so 
 often, that he became very familiar with them ' ; and told 
 him, ' they were chiefly three, Aristotle's Rhetoric, Aquinas's 
 Secunda Secundae, and TuUy, but chiefly his Offices, which 
 he had not read over less than twenty times, and could at 
 this age repeat without book.' And told him also, ' the 
 
 2H 
 
482 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 learned Civilian Doctor Zouch — who died lately — had writ 
 Ekmenta Jurisprudentiae, which was a book that he thought 
 he could also say without book; and that no wise man 
 could read it too often, or love or commend it too much' ; 
 and he told him, ' the study of these had been his toil : 
 but for himself he always had a natural love to Genealogies 
 and Heraldry ; and that when his thoughts were harassed 
 with any perplexed studies, he left off, and turned to them 
 as a recreation ; and that his very recreation had made him 
 so perfect in them, that he could, in a very short time, give 
 an account of the descent, arms, and antiquity of any 
 family of the nobility or gentry of this nation.' 
 
 Before I give an account of his last sickness, I desire to 
 tell the reader that he was of a healthful constitution, 
 cheerful and mild, of an even temper, very moderate in his 
 diet, and had had little sickness, till some few years before 
 his death ; but was then every winter punished with a 
 diarrhoea, which left him not till warm weather returned 
 and removed it : and this distemper did, as he grew older, 
 seize him oftener, and continue longer with him. But 
 though it weakened him, yet it made him rather indis- 
 posed than sick, and did no way disable him from studying 
 — indeed too much. In this decay of his strength, but not 
 of his memory or reason, (for this distemper works not 
 upon the understanding,) he made his last Will, of which 
 I shall give some account for confirmation of what hath 
 been said, and what I think convenient to be known, 
 before I declare his death and burial. 
 
 He did in his last Will, give an account of his faith and 
 persuasion in point of religion, and Church-government, 
 in these very words : 
 
 ' I, Robert Sanderson, Doctor of Divinity, an unworthy 
 Minister of Jesus Christ, and, by the providence of God, 
 Bishop of Lincoln, being by the long continuance of an 
 habitual distemper brought to a great bodily weakness and 
 faintness of spirits, but (by the great mercy of God) 
 without any bodily pain otherwise, or decay of under- 
 standing, do make this my Will and Testament, (written 
 all with my own hand,) revoking all former Wills by me 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 483 
 
 heretofore made, if any such shall be found. First, I 
 commend my soul into the hands of Almighty God, as of 
 a faithful Creator, which I humbly beseech him mercifully 
 to accept, looking upon it, not as it is in itself, (infinitely 
 polluted with sin,) but as it is redeemed and purged with 
 the precious blood of his only beloved Son, and my most 
 sweet Saviour Jesus Christ ; in confidence of whose merits 
 and mediation alone it is, that I cast myself upon the mercy 
 of God for the pardon of my sins, and the hopes of eternal 
 life. And here I do profess, that as I have lived, so I 
 desire, and (by the grace of God) resolve, to die in the 
 communion of the Catholic Church of Christ, and a true 
 son of the Church of England : which, as it stands by Law 
 established, to be both in doctrine and worship agreeable 
 to the word of God, and in the most, and most material 
 points of both conformable to the faith and practice of the 
 godly Churches of Christ in the primitive and purer times, 
 I do firmly believe : led so to do, not so much from the 
 force of custom and education, — to which the greatest part 
 of mankind owe their particular different persuasions in 
 point of Religion, — as upon the clear evidence of truth 
 and reason, after a serious and impartial examination of 
 the grounds, as well of Popery as Puritanism, according 
 to that measure of understanding, and those opportunities 
 which God hath afforded me : and herein I am abundandy 
 satisfied, that the schism which the Papists on the one 
 hand, and the superstition which the Puritan on the other 
 hand, lay to our charge, are very justly chargeable upon 
 themselves respectively. Wherefore I humbly beseech 
 Almighty God, the Father of mercies, to preserve the 
 Church by his power and providence, in peace, truth, and 
 godliness, evermore to the world's end : which doubtless 
 he will do, if the wickedness and security of a sinful people 
 — and particularly those sins that are so rife, and seem 
 daily to increase among us, of unthankfialness, riot, and 
 sacrilege — do not tempt his patience to the contrary. And 
 I also farther humbly beseech him, that it would please him 
 to give unto our gracious Sovereign, the reverend Bishops, 
 and the Parliament, timely to consider the great danger 
 
484 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 that visibly threatens this Church in point of Religion by 
 the late great increase of Popery, and in point of revenue 
 by sacrilegious enclosures ; and to provide such wholesome 
 and effectual remedies, as may prevent the same before it 
 be too late.' 
 
 And for a further manifestation of his humble thoughts 
 and desires, they may appear to the Reader by another 
 part of his Will which follows. 
 
 ' As for my corruptible body, I bequeath it to the earth 
 whence it was taken, to be decently buried in the Parish 
 Church of Buckden, towards the upper end of the Chancel, 
 upon the second, or — at the furthest — the third day after 
 my decease ; and that with as little noise, pomp, and charge 
 as may be, without the invitation of any person how near 
 soever related unto me, other than the inhabitants of Buck- 
 den ; without the unnecessary expense of escutcheons, 
 gloves, ribbons, etc., and without any blacks to be hung 
 any where in or about the house or Church, other than a 
 pulpit cloth, a hearse-cloth, and a mourning gown for the 
 Preacher; whereof the former (after my body shall be 
 interred) to be given to the Preacher of the Funeral 
 Sermon, and the latter to the Curate of the Parish for the 
 time being. And my will further is that the Funeral 
 Sermon be preached by my own household Chaplain, con- 
 taining some wholesome discourse concerning Mortality, 
 the Resurrection of the Dead and the Last Judgment ; 
 and that he shall have for his pains 5/. upon condition 
 that he speak nothing at all concerning my person, either 
 good or ill, other than I myself shall direct ; only signify- 
 ing to the auditory that it was my express will to have it 
 so. And it is my will, that no costly monument be 
 erected for my memory, but only a fair flat marble stone 
 to be laid over me, with this inscription in legible Roman 
 characters, depositum roberti Sanderson nuper lin- 
 
 COLNIENSIS EPISCOPI, QUI OBIIT ANNO DOMINI MDCLXII. 
 ET AETATIS SUAE SEPTUAGESIMO SEXTO, HIC REQUIESCIT 
 
 IN SPE BEATAE RESURRECTioNis. This manner of burial, 
 although I cannot but foresee it will prove unsatisfactory 
 to sundry my nearest friends and relations, and be apt to 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 485 
 
 be censured by others, as an evidence of my too much 
 parsimony and narrowness of mind, as being altogether 
 unusual, and not according to the mode of these times : 
 yet it is agreeable to the sense of my heart, and I do very 
 much desire my Will may be carefully observed herein,- 
 hoping it may become exemplary to some or other: at 
 least however testifying at my death — what I have so often 
 and earnestly professed in my life time — my utter dislike 
 of the flatteries commonly used in Funeral Sermons, and of 
 the vast expenses otherwise laid out in Funeral solemnities 
 and entertainments, with very little benefit to any ; which 
 if bestowed in pious and charitable works, might redound 
 to the public or private benefit of many persons.' This is 
 a part of his Will. 
 
 I am next to tell, that he died the 29th of January, 
 1662 ; and that his body was buried in Buckden, the third 
 day after his death ; and for the manner, that 'twas as far 
 from ostentation as he desired it ; and aU the rest of his 
 Will was as punctually performed. And when 1 have — 
 to his just praise — told this truth, ' that he died far from 
 being rich,' I shall return back to visit, and give a further 
 account of him on his last sick bed. 
 
 His last Will — of which I have mentioned a part — was 
 made about three weeks before his death, about which 
 time, finding his strength to decay by reason of his 
 constant infirmity, and a consumptive cough added to it, 
 he retired to his chamber, expressing a desire to enjoy his 
 last thoughts to himself in private, without disturbance or 
 care, especially of what might concern this world. Thus 
 as his natural life decayed, his spiritual life seemed to be 
 more strong ; and, his faith more confirmed : still labour- 
 ing to attain that holiness and purity, without which none 
 shall see God. And that not any of his Clergy (which 
 are more numerous than any other Bishop's of this nation) 
 might suffer by his retirement, he did by commission 
 impower his Chaplain, Mr. Pullin, with Episcopal power 
 to give institutions to all livings or Church-preferments, 
 during this his disability to do it himself. In this time of 
 his retirement, which was wholly spent in devotion, he 
 
486 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 longed for his dissolution ; and when some that loved him 
 prayed for his recovery, if he at any time found any 
 amendment, he seemed to be displeased, by saying, ' His 
 friends said their prayers backward for him : and that 
 'twas not his desire to live a useless life, and by filling up 
 a place keep another out of it, that might do God and his 
 Church service.' He would often with much joy and 
 thankfulness mention, ' That during his being a house- 
 keeper — which was more than forty years — there had not 
 been one buried out of his family, and that he was now 
 like to be the first.' He would also mention with thank- 
 fulness, ' That till he was three score years of age, he had 
 never spent five shillings in law, nor — ^upon himself — so 
 much in wine : and rejoiced much that he had so lived, as 
 never to cause an hour's sorrow to his good father ; and 
 hoped that he should die without an enemy.' 
 
 He, in this retirement, had the Church prayers read in 
 his chamber twice every day ; and at nine at night, some 
 prayers read to him and a part of his family out of The 
 Whole Duty of Man. As he was remarkably punctual 
 and regular in all his studies and actions, so he used himselt 
 to be for his meals. And his dinner being appointed to be 
 constantly ready at the ending of prayers, and he expecting 
 and calling for it, was answered, ' It would be ready in a 
 quarter of an hour.' To which his reply was, with some 
 earnestness, ' A quarter of an hour ! Is a quarter of an 
 hour nothing to a man that probably has not many hours 
 to live .'' ' And though he did live many hours after this, 
 yet he lived not many days ; for the day after — which 
 was three days before his death — he was become so weak 
 and weary either of motion or sitting, that he was content, 
 or forced, to keep his bed : in which I desire he may rest, 
 till I have given some account of his behaviour there, and 
 immediately before it. 
 
 The day before he took his bed, — which was three days 
 before his death, — he, that he might receive a new assur- 
 ance for the pardon of his sins past, and be strengthened 
 in his way to the New Jerusalem, took the blessed Sacra- 
 ment of the Body and Blood of his and our blessed Jesus, 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 487 
 
 from the hands of his Chaplain, Mr. Pullin, accompanied 
 with his wife, children, and a friend, in as awful, humble, 
 and ardent a manner, as outward reverence could express. 
 After the praise and thanksgiving for this blessing was 
 ended, he spake to this purpose : ' I have now to the great 
 joy of my soul tasted of the all-saving sacrifice of my 
 Saviour's death and passion : and with it, received a 
 spiritual assurance that my sins past are pardoned, and my 
 God at peace with me : and that I shall never have a will 
 or power to do anything that may separate my soul from 
 the love of my dear Saviour. Lord confirm this belief in 
 me ; and make me still to remember that it was thou, O 
 God ! that tookest me out of my mother's womb, and hast 
 been the powerful protector of me to this present moment 
 of my life : Thou hast neither forsaken me now I am 
 become grey-headed, nor suffered me to forsake thee in 
 the late days of temptation, and sacrifice my conscience for 
 the preservation of my liberty or estate. 'Twas not of 
 myself but by grace that I have stood, when others have 
 fallen under my trials : and these mercies I now remember 
 with joy and thankfulness ; and my hope and desire is, 
 that I may die remembering this and praising thee my 
 merciful God. 
 
 The frequent repetition of the Psalms of David, hath 
 been noted to be a great part of the devotion of the 
 primitive Christians ; the Psalms having in them not only 
 prayers and holy instructions, but such commemorations 
 of God's mercies, as may preserve, comfort, and confirm 
 our dependence on the power, and providence, and mercy 
 of our Creator. And this is mentioned in order to telling, 
 that as the holy Psalmist said, that his eyes should prevent 
 both the dawning of the day and the night watches, by 
 meditating on God's word,^ so 'twas Dr. Sanderson's 
 constant practice every morning to entertain his first 
 waking thoughts with a repetition of those very Psalms 
 that the Church hath appointed to be constantly read in 
 the daily Morning service : and having at night laid him 
 in his bed, he as constantly closed his eyes with a repeti- 
 
 ^Psal. cxix. 147. 
 
488 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 tion of those appointed for the service of the evening, 
 remembering and repeating the very Psalms appointed for 
 every day ; and as the month had formerly ended and 
 began again, so did this exercise of his devotion. And 
 if the first fruits of his waking thoughts were of the world, 
 or what concerned it, he would arraign and condemn 
 himself for it. Thus he began that work on earth, which 
 is now the employment of Dr. Hammond and him in 
 Heaven. 
 
 After his taking his bed, and about a day before his 
 death, he desired his Chaplain, Mr. Pullin, to give him 
 absolution : and at his performing that office, he puUed 
 off his cap, that Mr. Pullin might lay his hand upon his 
 bare head. After this desire of his was satisfied, his body 
 seemed to be at more ease, and his mind more cheerful ; 
 and he said, ' Lord, forsake me not now my strength 
 faileth me ; but continue thy mercy, and let my mouth be 
 ever filled with thy praise.' He continued the remaining 
 night and day very patient, and thankful for any of the little 
 offices that were performed for his ease and refreshment : 
 and during that time did often say to himself the 103rd 
 Psalm, a Psalm that is composed of praise and consolations, 
 fitted for a dying soul, and say also to himself very often 
 these words, ' My heart is fixed, O God ! my heart is fixed 
 where true joy is to be found.' And now his thoughts 
 seemed to be wholly of death, for which he was so 
 prepared, that the King of Terrors could not surprise him 
 as a thief in the night : for he had often said, he was 
 prepared, and longed for it. And as this desire seemed 
 to come from Heaven, so it left him not till his soul 
 ascended to that region of blessed spirits, whose employ- 
 ments are to join in concert with his, and sing praise and 
 glory to that God, who hath brought him and them 
 to that place, into which sin and sorrow cannot enter. 
 
 Thus this pattern of meekness and primitive innocence 
 changed this for a better life. 'Tis now too late to wish 
 that mine may be like his ; for I am in the eighty-fifth 
 year of my age, and God knows it hath not : but I most 
 humbly beseech Almighty God, that my death may : and 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 489 
 
 I do as earnestly beg, that if any reader shall receive any 
 satisfaction from this very plain, and as true relation, he 
 'will be so charitable as to say. Amen. I, W. 
 
 Blessed is the man in whose spirit there is no guUe.^ 
 
 DR. PIERCE, DEAN OF SALISBURY, HIS LETTER 
 TO MR. WALTON. 
 
 Good Mr. Walton, 
 At my return to this place, I made a yet stricter search 
 after the letters long ago sent me from our most excellent 
 Dr. Sanderson, before the happy restoration of the King 
 and Church of England to their several rights : in one ot 
 which letters more especially, he was pleased to give me a 
 narrative both of the rise and the progress, and reasons 
 also, as well of h's younger, as of his last and riper judg- 
 ment, touching the famous points controverted between 
 the Calvinians and the Arminians, as they are commonly 
 (though unjustly and unskilfully) miscalled on either side. 
 The whole letter I allude to does consist of several 
 sheets, whereof a good part had been made public long 
 ago, by the most learned, most judicious, most pious Dr. 
 Hammond, (to whom I sent it both for his private, and for 
 the public satisfaction, if he thought fit,) in his excellent 
 hook,entiiled,j^ Pacific Discourse of God's Grace and Decrees, 
 in full accordance with Dr. Sanderson : to which discourse I 
 refer you for an account of Dr. Sanderson and the history 
 of his thoughts in his own hand-writing, wherein I sent 
 it to Westwood, as I received it from Boothby PanneU. 
 And although the whole book, (printed in the year 1660, 
 and reprinted since with his other tracts in folio,) is very 
 worthy of your perusal ; yet, for the work you are about, 
 you shall not have need to read more at present than from 
 the 8th to the 23rd page, and as far as the end of section 
 
 ^Psal. xxxii. 2. 
 
490 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 33. There you will find in what year the excellent man, 
 whose life you Write, became a Master of Arts : how his 
 first reading of learned Hooker had been occasioned by 
 certain puritanical pamphlets ; and how good a preparative 
 he found it for his reading of Calvin's Institutions, the 
 honour of whose name (at that time especially) gave such 
 credit to his errors : how he erred with Mr. Calvin, whilst 
 he took things upon trust in the sublapsarian way : how, 
 being chosen to be a Clerk of the Convocation for the 
 Diocese of Lincoln, 1625, he reduced the Quinquarticular 
 Controversy into five schemes or tables ; and thereupon 
 discerned a necessity of quitting the sublapsarian way, ot 
 which he had before a better liking, as well as the supra- 
 lapsarian, which he could never fancy. There you will 
 meet with his two weighty reasons against them both, and 
 find his happy change of judgment to have been ever 
 since the year 1625, even thirty-four years before the world 
 either knew, or, at least, took notice of it ; and more par- 
 ticularly his reasons for rejecting Dr. Twiss (or the way he 
 walks in), although his acute and very learned and ancient 
 friend. 
 
 I now proceed to let you know from Dr. Sanderson's 
 own hand, which was never printed, (and which you can 
 hardly know from any, unless from his son, or from my- 
 self,) that, when that Parliament was broken up, and the 
 convocation therewith dissolved, a gentleman of his 
 acquaintance, by occasion of some discourse about these 
 points, told him of a book not long before published at 
 Paris, (a.d. 1623,) by a Spanish Bishop, who had under- 
 taken to clear the differences in the great controversy De 
 Concordia Gratiae et Liberi Arhitrii. And because his 
 friend perceived he was greedily desirous to see the book, 
 he sent him one of them, containing the four first books of 
 twelve which he intended then to publish. ' When I had 
 read,' says Dr. Sanderson, in the following words of the 
 same letter, ' his Epistle Dedicatory to the Pope (Gregory 
 XV.), he spake so highly of his own invention, that I 
 then began rather to suspect him for a mountebank, than 
 to hope I should find satisfaction from his performances. 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 491 
 
 I found much confidence and great pomp of words, but 
 little matter as to the main knot of the business, other 
 than had been said an hundred times before, to wit, of the 
 co-existence of all things past, present, and future in mente 
 divina realiter ah aetemo, which is the subject of his whole 
 third book : only he interpreteth the word realiter so as to 
 import not only praesenrialitatem objecHvam (as others held 
 before him), but propriatn et actualem existentiam ; yet con- 
 fesseth it is hard to make this intelligible. In his fourth 
 book he endeavours to declare a twofold manner of God's 
 working ad extra ; the one sub ordine praedestinationis, of 
 which eternity is the proper measure : the other sub ordine 
 gratiae, viher tof i\me is the measure ; and that God worketh 
 fortiter in the one (though not irresistibiliter) as well suaviter 
 in the other, wherein the free will hath his proper working 
 also. From the result of his whole performance I was 
 confirmed in this opinion ; that we must acknowledge the 
 work of both grace and fi-ee will in the conversion of a 
 sinner ; and so likewise in all other events, the consistency 
 of the infallibility of God's foreknowledge at least (though 
 not with any absolute, but conditional predestination) with 
 the liberty of man's will, and the contingency of inferior 
 causes and effects. These, I say, we must acknowledge for 
 the oTf : but for the to Trwy, I thought it boodess for me to 
 think of comprehending it. And so came the two Acta 
 Synodalia Dordrethtana to stand in my study, only to fill up 
 a room to this day.' 
 
 ' And yet see the resdess curiosity of man. Not many 
 years after, to wit, a.d. 1632, out cometh Dr. Twiss's 
 Vindiciae Gratiae, a large volume, purposely writ against 
 Arminius : and then, notwithstanding my former resolu- 
 tion, I must needs be meddling again. The respect I bore 
 to his person and great learning, and the long acquaint- 
 ance I had had with him in Oxford, drew me to the 
 reading of that whole book. But from the reading of 
 it (for I read it through to a syllable) I went away with 
 many and great dissatisfactions. Sundry things in that 
 book I took notice of, which brought me into a greater 
 dislike of his opinion than I had before : but especially 
 
492 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 these three : First, that he bottometh very much of his 
 discourse upon a very erroneous principle, which yet 
 he seemeth to be so deeply in love with, that he hath 
 repeated it, I verily believe, some hundreds of times in 
 that work : to wit this ; That whatsoever is first in the 
 intention is last in execution, and e converso. Which is 
 an error of that magnitude, that I cannot but wonder how 
 a person of such acuteness and subtility of wit could 
 possibly be deceived with it. All logicians know there is 
 no such universal maxim as he buildeth upon. The true 
 maxim is but this : Finis qui primus est in intentione, estultimus 
 in executione. In the order of final causes, and the means 
 used for that end, the rule holdeth perpetually: but in 
 other things it holdeth not at all, or but by chance ; or 
 not as a rule, and necessarily. Secondly, that, foreseeing 
 such consequences would naturally and necessarily follow 
 from his opinion, as would offend the ear of a sober 
 Christian at the very first sound, he would yet rather 
 choose not only to admit the said harsh consequences, 
 but professedly endeavour also to maintain them, and 
 plead hard for them in large digressions, than to recede in 
 the least from that opinion which he had undertaken to 
 defend. Thirdly, that seeing (out of the sharpness of his 
 wit) a necessity of forsaking the ordinary sublapsarian way, 
 and the supralapsarian too, as it had diversely been declared 
 by all that had gone before him, (for the shunning of those 
 rocks, which either of those ways must unavoidably cast 
 him upon,) he was forced to seek out an untrodden path, 
 and to frame out of his own brain a new way, (like a spider's 
 web wrought out of her own bowels,) hoping by that 
 device to salve all absurdities, could be objected ; to wit, 
 by making the glory of God (as it is indeed the chiefest, 
 so) the only end of all other his decrees, and then making 
 all those other decrees to be but one entire co-ordinate 
 medium conducing to that one end, and so the whole 
 subordinate to it, but not any one part thereof subordinate 
 to any other of the same. Dr. Twiss should have done 
 well to have been more sparing in imputing the studium 
 partium to others, wherewith his own eyes, though of 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 493 
 
 eminent perspicacity, were so strangely blindfolded, that he 
 covdd not discern how this his new device, and his old 
 dearly beloved principle, (like the Cadmean Sparti,) do 
 mutually destroy the one the other.' 
 
 ' This relation of my past thoughts having spun out to 
 a far greater length than I intended, I shall give a shorter 
 account of what they now are concerning these points.' 
 
 For which account I refer you to the following parts ot 
 Dr. Hammond's book aforesaid, where you may find them 
 already printed : and for another account at large of 
 Bishop Sanderson's last judgment concerning God's con- 
 currence or non-concurrence with the actions of men, and the 
 positive entity of sins of commission, I refer you to his letters 
 already printed by his consent, in my large Appendix to 
 my Impartial Enquiry into the Nature of Sin, § 68, p. 193, 
 as far as p. 200. 
 
 Sir, I have rather made it my choice to transcribe all 
 above out -of the letters of Dr. Sanderson, which lie before 
 me, than venture the loss of my originals by post or carrier, 
 which, though not often, yet sometimes fail. Make use of 
 as much or as little as you please, of what I send you from 
 himself (because from his own letters to me) in the penning 
 of his life, as your own prudence shall direct you ; using my 
 name for your warranty in the account given of him, as 
 much or as litde as you please too. You have a perform- 
 ance of my promise, and an obedience to your desires 
 from, — Your affectionate humble Servant, 
 
 Tho. Pierce. 
 
 North Tidworth, 
 March 5, 1677-8. 
 
 THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN'S LETTER 
 
 My worthy friend, Mr. Walton, 
 I AM heartily glad, that you have undertaken to write the 
 Life of that excellent person, and, both for learning and 
 
494 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 Piety, eminent Prelate, Dr. Sanderson, late Bishop of 
 Lincoln ; because I know your ability to know, and in- 
 tegrity to write truth : And sure I am, that the life and 
 actions of that pious and learned Prelate will afford you 
 matter enough for his commendation, and the imitation of 
 posterity. In order to the carrying on your intended good 
 work, you desire my assistance, that I would communicate 
 to you such particular passages of his life, as were cer- 
 tainly known to me. I confess I had the happiness to be 
 particularly known to him for about the space of twenty 
 years ; and, in Oxon, to enjoy his conversation, and his 
 learned and pious instructions while he was Regius Professor 
 of Divinity there. Afterwards, when (in the time of our 
 late unhappy confusions) he left Oxon, and was retired 
 into the country, I had the benefit of his letters ; wherein, 
 with great candour and kindness, he answered those doubts 
 I proposed, and gave me that satisfaction, which I neither 
 had nor expected from some others of greater confidence, 
 but less judgment and humility. Having, in a letter, 
 named two or three books writ (^ex professo) against the 
 being of any original sin : and that Adam, by his fall, 
 transmitted some calamity only, but no crime to his pos- 
 terity ; the good old man was exceedingly troubled, and 
 bewailed the misery of those licentious times, and seemed 
 to wonder (save that the times were such) that any should 
 write, or be permitted to publish any error so contradictory 
 to truth, and the doctrine of the Church of England, 
 established (as he truly said) by clear evidence of Scrip- 
 ture, and the just and supreme power of this nation, both 
 sacred and civil. I name not the books, nor their authors, 
 which are not unknown to learned men (and I wish they 
 had never been known) because both the doctrine and the 
 unadvised abettors of it are, and shall be, to me apocryphal. 
 Another little story I must not pass in silence, being an 
 argument of Dr. Sanderson's piety, great ability, and judg- 
 ment, as a casuist. Discoursing with an honourable per- 
 son^ (whose piety I value more than his nobility and 
 learning, though both be great) about a case of conscience 
 
 1 Robert Boyle, Esq. 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 495 
 
 concerning oath and vows, their nature and obligation ; in 
 which, for some particular reasons, he then desired more 
 fully to be informed ; I commended to him Dr. Sanderson's 
 book De Juramento ; which having read, with great satis- 
 faction, he asked me, — ' If I thought the Doctor could be 
 induced to write Cases of Conscience, if he might have an 
 honorary pension allowed him to furnish him with books 
 for that purpose ? ' I told him I believed he would : And, 
 in a letter to the Doctor, told him what great satisfaction 
 that honourable person, and many more, had reaped by 
 reading his book De Juramento ; and asked him ' whether 
 he would be pleased, for the benefit of the Church, to 
 write some tract of Cases of Conscience ? ' He replied, 
 •That he was glad that any had received any benefit by 
 his books ' : and added further, ' That if any future tract 
 of his could bring such benefit to any, as we seemed to say 
 his former had done, he would willingly, though without 
 any Pension, set abbut that work.' Having received this 
 answer, that honourable person, before mentioned, did, by 
 my hands, return 50/. to the good Doctor, whose condi- 
 tion then (as most good men's at that time were) was 
 but low ; and he presently revised, finished, and published 
 that excellent book, De ConscientiS : a book little in 
 bulk, but not so if we consider the benefit an intelligent 
 reader may receive by it. For there are so many general 
 propositions concerning conscience, the nature and obliga- 
 tion of it, explained and proved, with such firm consequence 
 and evidence of reason, that he who reads, remembers, and 
 can with prudence pertinently apply them hk et nunc to 
 particular cases, may, by their light and help, rationally 
 resolve a thousand particular doubts and scruples of con- 
 science. Here you may see the charity of that honourable 
 person in promoting, and the piety and industry of the 
 good Doctor, in performing that excellent work. 
 
 And here I shall add the judgment of that learned and 
 pious Prelate concerning a passage very pertinent to our 
 present purpose. When he was in Oxon, and read his 
 public lectures in the schools as Regius Professor of 
 Divinity, and by the truth of his positions, and evidences 
 
496 IZAAK WALTON 
 
 of his proofs, gave great content and satisfaction to all his 
 hearers, especially in his clear resolutions of all difficult 
 cases which occurred in the explication of the subject- 
 matter of his lectures ; a person of quality (yet alive) 
 privately asked him, ' What course a young Divine should 
 take in his studies to enable him to be a good casuist ? ' 
 His answer was, ' That a convenient understanding of the 
 learned languages, at least of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, 
 and a sufficient knowledge of arts and sciences presupposed ; 
 there were two things in humane literature, a comprehension 
 of which would be of very great use, to enable a man to 
 be a rational and able casuist, which otherwise was very 
 difficult, if not impossible : i . A convenient knowledge of 
 moral philosophy ; especially that part of it which treats of 
 the nature of human actions : To know, " quid sit actus 
 humanus (jpontaneus, invitus, mixtus), unde habet bonitatem 
 et malitiam moralem ? an ex genere et objecto, vel ex circum- 
 stantiis ? " How the variety of circumstances varies the 
 goodness or evil of human actions ? How far knowledge 
 and ignorance may aggravate or excuse, increase or 
 diminish the goodness or evU of our actions ? For every 
 case of conscience being only this — " Is this action good or 
 bad ? May I do it, or may I not ? " — He who, in these, 
 knows not how and whence human actions become morally 
 good and evil, never can {in kypothesi) rationally and 
 certainly determine, whether this or that particular action 
 be so. — 2. The second thing, which,' he said, ' would be 
 a great help and advantage to a casuist, was a convenient 
 knowledge of the nature and obligation of laws in general : 
 to know what a law is ; what a natural and a positive law ; 
 what's required to the " laiio, dispensatio, derogatio, vel ahro- 
 gatio legis " ; what promulgation is antecedentiy required to 
 the obligation of any positive law ; what ignorance takes oiF 
 the obligation of a law, or does excuse, diminish, or aggravate 
 the transgression : For every case of conscience being only 
 this — " Is this lawfiil for me, or is it not ? " and the law the 
 only rule and measure by which I must judge of the law- 
 fulness or unlawfulness of any action ; it evidently follows, 
 that he who, in these, knows not the nature and obligation 
 
LIFE OF SANDERSON 497 
 
 of laws, never can be a good casuist, or rationally assure 
 himself or others, of the lawfulness or unlawfulness of 
 actions in particular.' 
 
 This was the judgment and good counsel of that learned 
 and pious Prelate : And having, by long experience, found 
 the truth and benefit of it, I conceive, I could not without 
 ingratitude to him, and want of charity to others, conceal 
 it. — Pray pardon this rude, and, I fear impertinent scribble, 
 which, if nothing else, may signify thus much, that I am 
 willing to obey your desires, and am indeed, your affec- 
 tionate friend, 
 
 Thomas Lincoln. 
 
 London, May 10, 1678. 
 
 THE END 
 
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