vi Discovering daily more and more about That these more curious times they might divorce Of our disable and unactive force; To shew true knowledge can both speak and do: That their experience may not come behind Are states' best strengths, and kingdoms' chiefest grace. [GO now with some daring drug And what at length shalt get by these? Only a costlier disease. Go, poor man, think what shall be Remedy against thy remedy. That which makes us have no need Of physic, that's physic indeed.] Hark hither, reader, wouldst thou see Nature her own physician be? Wouldst see a man all his own wealth, His own music, his own health? A man, whose sober soul can tell How to wear her garments well; vii A well-cloth'd soul, that's not opprest A thin aerial vail is drawn, O'er Beauty's face; seeming to hide, A soul, whose intellectual beams No mists do mask, no lazy steams? A happy soul, that all the way To heav'n rides in a summer's day? Wouldst see a man whose well-warm'd blood A man, whose tuned humours be A set of rarest harmony? Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile Age? wouldst see December smile? Wouldst see a nest of roses grow In a bed of reverend snow? Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering In sum, wouldst see a man that can Live to be old, and still a man; Whose latest and most leaden hours Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers: And when life's sweet fable ends, His soul and body part like friends: No quarrels, murmurs, no delay; A kiss, a sigh, and so away? This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see? Hark hither, and thyself be he. RICHARD CRASHAW, In praise of Lessius. HOW'S this? A book for Temperance? that first page Expects some new invention to devour Estates at mouthfuls, swallow in an hour viii But what (alas!) must moderate Temperance,-she- Turn such voluptuous Epicures? No; now In print l'our shame, how we're intemperate grown. J. JACKSON, to the translator of Lessius. METHINKS I could be intemperate in thy praise, BARNABAS OLEY, to the same. TO THE REV. S. R. MAITLAND, D.D. '&c. &c. MY DEAR DR. MAITLAND, AMONG the customs of the age to which this little book relates I have long thought that of dedications very deserving of our imitation. For, while they render merited homage to those who have furthered our intellectual or moral growth, they encourage us to exertion by the recollection, that there are readers for whom it is worth while to work. I rejoice therefore that a contribution to ecclesiastical history, slight though it be, gives me an excuse for acknowledging thus publicly the benefits which I have derived from your writings, from your catholic spirit and devotion to historical truth. If we no longer deem it a just ground for indiscriminate abuse of the middle ages that they are "dark to us;" if we can be protestants without implicit faith in Fox and Burnet; if we X are beginning to discover that books not popularly read may yet repay our study, and that, to see further than the giant, the dwarf must stand on the giant's shoulders; it is to you that this advance is mainly to be ascribed. Still, though you will at once remark defects hidden from the casual reader, I will not pretend to feel alarm in submitting my work to your judgement: for frequent experience assures me, that the true master now, as of old, "will gladly learn and gladly teach:" that wilful and self-satisfied ignorance alone need tremble beneath your rod; that, knowing how hard it is to be everywhere accurate and impartial, you will recognize any sincere endeavour after accuracy and impartiality. Believe me to be, My dear Dr. Maitland, Ever truly and gratefully yours, J. E. B. MAYOR. |