ing the minds of those that remained in it. It was his refolution in that station to search into the fecrets of divine and human knowledge, and to communicate what he should obferve. He always professed, that he went out of the world, as it was man's, into the fame world, as it was nature's, and as it was God's. The whole compass of the creation, and all the wonderful effects of the divine wisdom, were the constant prospect of his fenfes, and his thoughts. And indeed, he entered, with great advantage, on the ftudies of nature, even as the first great men of antiquity did, who were generally both poets and philofophers. He betook himself to its contemplation, as well furnished with sound judgment, and diligent obfervation, and good method to discover its myfteries, as with abilities to fet it forth in all its ornaments.

THIS labour about natural science, was the perpetual and uninterrupted task of that obfcure. part of his life. Befides this, we had perfuaded him to look back into his former ftudies, and to publish a difcourfe concerning ftile. In this he had defigned, to give an account of the proper forts of writing, that were fit for all manner of arguments, to compare the perfections and imperfections of the authors of antiquity, with those of this prefent age, and to deduce

all

all down to the particular use of the English genius and language. This fubje&t he was very fit to perform: it being moft proper for him to be the judge, who had been the best practiser. But he scarce lived to draw the firft lines of it. All the footsteps that I can find remaining of it, are only iome indigested characters of antient and modern authors. And now for the future, I almost despair ever to fee it well accomplished, unless you, Sir, would give me leave to name the man that should undertake it.

BUT his laft and principal design, was that which ought to be the principal to every wife man; the establishing his mind in the faith he profeffed. He was, in his practice, exactly obedient to the ufe and precepts of our church. Nor was he inclined to any uncertainty and doubt, as abhorring all contention in indifferent things, and much more in facred. But he beheld the divifions of Christendom: he faw how many controverfies had been introduced by zeal or ignorance, and continued by faction. He had therefore an earnest intention of taking a review of the original principles of the primitive Church: believing that every true Christian had no better means to fettle his spirit, than that which was propofed to ÆNEAS and his followers,

followers, to be the end of their wanderings, Antiquam exquirite Matrem.

THIS examination he purposed should reach to our Saviour's and the Apostle's lives, and their immediate fucceffors, for four or five centuries; till intereft and policy prevailed over devotion. He hoped to have abfolutely compassed it in three or four years, and when that was done, there to have fixed for ever, without any shaking or alteration in his judgment. Indeed it was a great damage to our church, that he lived not to perform it. For very much of the primitive light might have been expected, from a mind that was endued with the primitive meekness and innocence. And befides, fuch a work coming from one that was no divine, might have been very ufeful for this age; wherein it is one of the principal cavils against religion, that it is only a matter of intereft, and only fupported for the gain of a particular profeffion.

BUT alas! while he was framing these great things in his thoughts, they were unfortunately cut off together with his life. His folitude, from the very beginning, had never agreed fo well with the constitution of his body, as of his mind. The chief caufe of it was, that, out of hafte to be gone away from the tumult and noife of the

city,

city, he had not prepared fo healthful a situation in the country, as he might have done, if he had made a more leifurable choice. Of this he foon began to find the inconvenience at BarnElms, where he was afflicted with a dangerous and lingring fever. After that, he scarce ever recovered his former health, though his mind was restored to its perfect vigour as may be feen by his two last books of plants, that were written fince that time, and may, at least, be compared with the best of his other works. Shortly after his removal to Chertsea, he fell into another confuming disease. Having languished under this for fome months, he seemed to be pretty well cured of its ill fymptoms. But in the heat of the last summer, by staying too long amongst his labourers in the meadows, he was taken with a violent defluxion, and stoppage in his breaft, and throat. This he, at firft, neglected, as an ordinary cold; and refused to fend for his ufual physicians, till it was past all remedies; and fo in the end, after a fortnight's sickness, it proved mortal to him.

WHO can here, Sir, forbear exclaiming on the weak hopes, and frail condition of human nature? For as long as Mr. CoWLEY was purfuing the courfe of ambition, in an active life, which he scarce esteemed his true life: he never

wanted

wanted a conftant health, and ftrength of body. But as foon as ever he had found an opportunity of beginning indeed to live, and to enjoy himfelf in security, his contentment was first broken by sickness, and, at last, his death was occafi oned by his very delight in the country and the fields, which he had long fancied above all other pleasures. But let us not grieve at this fatal accident upon his account, left we should seem to repine at the happy change of his condition, and not to know that the lofs of a few years, which he might longer have lived, will be recompenfed by an immortal memory. If we complain, let it only be for our own fakes: that in him we are at once deprived of the greateft natural and improved abilities, of the usefulleft converfation, of the faithfulleft friendship, of a mind that practised the best virtues itself, and a wit that was best able to recommend them to others.

His body was attended to Westminster Abbey by a great number of perfons of the most eminent quality, and followed with the praises of all good and learned men. It lies near the afhes of CHAUCER and SPENSER, the two most famous English poets of former times. But whoever would do him right, should not

only