with our profusion. If there be any wrong, it is to ourselves, that we utter what we should lay up. It is a pardonable fault, to do less good to ourselves, that we may do more to others.

Amongst other endeavours, I have boldly undertaken the holy metres of David: how happily, judge you by what you see. There is none of all my labours so open to all censures; none, whereof I would so willingly hear the verdict of the wise and judicious.

Perhaps, some think the verse harsh; whose nice ear regards roundness, more than sense. I embrace smoothness; but affect it not. This is the least good quality of a verse; that intends any thing, but musical delight.

Others may blame the difficulty of the tunes; whose humour cannot be pleased, without a greater offence: for, to say truth, I never could see good verse written in the wonted measures. I ever thought them most easy, and least poetical.

This fault, if any, will light upon the negligence of our people; which endure not to take pains for any fit variety. The French and Dutch have given us worthy examples of diligence and exquisiteness, in this kind. Neither our ears nor voices are less tuneable. Here is nothing wanting, but will to learning. What is this, but to eat the corn out of the ear, because we will not abide the labour to grind and knead it?

If the question be, whether our verse must descend to them, or they ascend to it; a wise moderation, I think, would determine it most equal, that each part should remit somewhat, and both meet in the midst. Thus I have endeavoured to do, with sincere intent of the r good, rather than my own applause: for it had been easy to have reached to a higher strain; but I durst not; whether for the grave majesty of the subject, or benefit of the simplest reader.

You shall still note, that I have laboured to keep David's entire sense, with numbers neither lofty, nor slubbered: which mean is so much more difficult to find, as the business is more sacred, and the liberty less.

Many great wits have undertaken this task: which yet have either not effected it; or have smothered it in their private desks, and denied it the common light. Amongst the rest, were those two rare spirits of the Sidneys; to whom, poesy was as natural, as it is affected of others and our worthy friend, Mr. Sylvester, hath shewed me, how happily he hath sometimes turned from his Bartas, to the sweet Singer of Israel. It could not be, that in such abundant plenty of poesy, this work should have past unattempted: would God I might live to see it perfected, either by my own hand, or a better.

In the mean time, let me expect your unpartial sentence, both concerning the form and sense. Lay aside your love, for a while; which, too oft, blinds judgment. And, as it uses to be done in most equal proceedings of justice, shut me out of doors, while my verse is discussed: yea, let me receive not your censure only, but others by you: this once, as you love me, play both the Informer

and the Judge. Whether you allow it, you shall encourage me; or correct, you shall amend me: either your stars or your spits *, that I may use Origen's notes, shall be welcome to my margent. It shall be happy for us, if God shall make our poor labours any way serviceable to his Name and Church.

EPISTLE VI.

TO MR. SAMUEL SOTHEBY.

A Preface to his Relation of the Russian Affairs.

TRAVEL perfecteth wisdom; and observation gives perfection to travel: without which, a man may please his eyes, not feed his brain; and, after much earth measured, shall return with a weary body and an empty mind. Home is more safe, more pleasant; but less fruitful of experience: but, to a mind not working and discursive, all heavens, all earths are alike.

And, as the end of travel is observation; so, the end of observation is the informing of others: for, what is our knowledge, if smothered in ourselves, so as it is not known to more? Such secret delight can content none, but an envious nature.

You have breathed many and cold airs, gone far, seen much, heard more, observed all. These two years, you have spent in imitation of Nebuchadnezzar's seven; conversing with such creatures as Paul fought with, at Ephesus. Alas! what a face, yea what a back of a Church, have you seen! what manners! what people! amongst whom, ignorant superstition strives with close atheism; treachery, with cruelty; one Devil, with another! while truth and virtue do not so much as give any challenge of resistance. Returning once to our England, after this experience, I imagine you doubted, whether you were on earth or in heaven.

Now then, if you will hear me whom you were wont, as you have observed what you have seen, and written what you have observed; so, publish what you have written: it shall be a grateful labour, to us, to posterity.

I am deceived, if the fickleness of the Russian State have not yielded more memorable matter of history, than any other in our age; or, perhaps, many centuries of our predecessors. How shall I think, but that God sent you thither before these broils, to be the witness, the register of so famous mutations? He loves to have those just evils, which he doth in one part of the world, known to the whole; and those evils, which men do in the night of their secrecy, brought forth into the theatre of the world: that

Asteriscus. Veru.

the evil of men's sin being compared with the evil of his punishment, may justify his proceedings and condemn theirs.

Your work shall thus honour him; besides your second service, in the benefit of the Church: for, while you discourse of the open tyranny of that Russian Nero, John Basilius; the more secret, no less bloody plots of Boris; the ill success of a stolen crown, though set upon the head of a harmless son; the bold attempts and miserable end of a false, yet aspiring challenge; the perfidious. ness of a servile people, unworthy of better governors; the miscarriage of wicked governors, unworthy of better subjects; the unjust usurpations of men, just (though late) revenges of God, cruelly rewarded with blood; wrong claims, with overthrow; treachery, with bondage: the reader, with some secret horror, shall draw in delight; and, with delight, instruction. Neither know I any relation, whence he shall take out a more easy lesson of justice, of loyalty, of thankfulness.

But, above all, let the world see and commiserate the hard estate of that worthy and noble Secretary, Buchinski. Poor gentleman! his distress recalls ever to my thoughts Esop's Stork, taken amongst the Cranes. He now nourishes his hair, under the displeasure of a foreign prince; at once, in durance and banishment. He served an ill master; but, with an honest heart, with clean hands. The master's injustice doth no more infect a good servant, than the truth of the servant can justify his ill master. A bad workman may use a good instrument; and, ofttimes, a clean napkin wipeth a foul mouth. It joys me yet to think, that his piety, as it ever held friendship in heaven, so now it wins him friends in this our other world: lo, even from our island unexpected deliverance takes a long flight, and blesseth him beyond hope; yea, rather, from heaven by us. That God, whom he serves, will be known to those rude and scarce human Christians, for a protector of innocence, a favourer of truth, a rewarder of piety. The mercy of our gracious king, the compassion of an honourable counsellor, the love of a true friend, and, which wrought all and set all on work, the grace of our good God, shall now loose those bonds; and give a glad wel come to his liberty, and a willing farewell to his distress. He shall, I hope, live to acknowledge this: in the mean time, I do for him. Those Russian affairs are not more worthy of your records, than your love to this friend is worthy of mine: for, neither could this large sea drown or quench it; nor time and absence, which are wont to breed a lingering consumption of friendship, abate the heat of that affection, which his kindness bred, religion nourished.

Both rareness and worth shall commend this true love; which, to say true, hath been now long out of fashion. Never times yielded more love: but, not more subtle: for every man loves himself in another, loves the estate in the person. Hope of advantage is the loadstone, that draws the iron hearts of men; not virtue, not desert. No age afforded more parasites, fewer friends: the most are friendly, in sight; serviceable, in expectation; hollow, in love; trustless, in experience,

Yet now, Buchinski, see and confess thou hast found one friend, which hath made thee many: on whom, while thou bestowedst much favour, thou hast lost none.

I cannot but think how welcome liberty, which though late yet now at last hath looked back upon him, shall be to the cell of his affliction; when, smiling upon him, she shall lead him by the hand; and, like another angel, open the iron gates of his miserable captivity; and, from those hard Prestaves and savage Christians, carry him, by the hair of the head, into this Paradise of God.

In the mean time, I have written to him as I could, in a known language, with an unknown hand; that my poor letters of gratulation might serve as humble attendants to greater.

For your work, I wish it but such glad entertainment, as the profit, yea the delight of it deserves; and fear nothing, but that this long delay of publication will make it scarce news. We are all grown Athenians; and account a strange report, like to a fish, and a guest. Those eyes and hands staid it, which might do it best. I cannot blame you, if you think it more honoured by the stay of his gracious perusal, than it could be by the early acceptation of the world. Even the cast garments of princes are precious. Others have, in part, prevented you; whose labours, to yours, are but as an echo to a long period; by whom we hear the last sound of these stirs, ignorant of the beginning. They give us but a taste in their hand: you lead us to the open fountain. Let the reader give you but as much thank, as you give him satisfaction; you shall desire no more.

Finally, God give us as much good use, as knowledge of his judgments; the world, help of your labours; yourself, encouragement; Buchinski, liberty.

EPISTLE VII.

TO STANISLAUS BUCHINSKI,

LATE SECRETARY TO DEMETRIUS, EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

Of the Comfort of Imprisonment.

THE knowledge, that the eye gives of the face alone, is shallow, uncertain, imperfect: for, what is it, to see the utmost skin or favour of the visage; changeable with disease, changeable with passion? The ear, methinks, doth both most clearly disclose the minds of others, and knit them faster to ours: which, as it is the sense of discipline, so of friendship; commanding it even to the absent, and in the present cherishing it.

This thing we have lately proved in yourself, most noble Stanis

laus: nearer examples we might have had; better, we could not. How many, how excellent things have we heard of you, from our common friend, (though most yours,) which have easily won our belief, our affections! How oft, how honourable mention hath he made of your name! How frequently, how fervently have we wished you, both safety and liberty! And now, lo where she comes, as the Greeks say, dro unxavs; and visits her forlorn client.

Although I would not doubt to say, that this outward durance of the body hath seemed more harsh to the beholders, than to yourself; a wise man, and, which is more, a Christian; whose free soul, in the greatest straits of the outer man, flies over seas and lands, whither it listeth; neither can, by any distance of place, nor swelling of waves, nor height of mountains, nor violence of enemies, nor strong bars, nor walls, nor guards, be restrained from what place itself hath chosen. Lo, that enjoys God, enjoys itself, and his friends; and so feeds itself with the pleasure of enjoying them, that it easily either forgets or contemns all other things.

It is no paradox to say, That a wise Christian cannot be imprisoned, cannot be banished: he is ever at home; ever free; for, both his liberty is within him, and his home is universal.

And what is it, I beseech you, for you have tried, that makes a prison?

Is it straitness of walls? Then you have as many fellows, as there are men: for, how is the soul of every man pent within these claywalls of the body; more close, more obscure! whence, she may look oft, through the grates of her busy thoughts; but, is never released in substance, till that God, who gave us our Mittimus into this gaol, give us our Delivery, with a Return, ye sons of Adam. Thus, either all men are prisoners, or you are none.

Is it restraint? How many, especially of that other sex in those your eastern parts, chamber up themselves, for state; so as they neither see the sun, nor others them! how many superstitious men, for devotion! how many obscure Aglai, for ease and carelessness, keep themselves in their own cottage, in their own village; and never walk forth, so much as to the neighbour towns!

And, what is your Russia to all her inhabitants, but a large prison, a wide galley? yea, what other is the world to us? How can he complain of straitness, or restraint, that roves all over the world and beyond it? Tyranny may part the soul from the body; cannot confine it to the body. That, which others do for ease, devotion, state, you do for necessity: why not as willingly, since you must do it? Do but imagine the cause other; and your case is the same with theirs, which both have chosen and delight to keep close; yet hating the name of prisoners, while they embrace the condition.

But why do I persuade you not to mislike that, which I pray you may forsake? I would rather you should be no prisoner at all; than to be a cheerful prisoner upon necessity. If the doors be open, my persuasion shall not hold you in: rather, our prayers shall open those doors, and fetch you forth into this common liberty of