⚫ should, it is not too much, why should I make it less? If I keepe the goodness I have, 'tis not enough: why do I not make it more? He ne'er was so good as he should be, that doth not strive to be better than he is: He never will be better than he is, that 'doth not feare to be worse than he was.' 1st part, p. 11.

It is the usuall plea of poverty to blame misfortune, when the ' ill-finished cause of complaint is a worke of their owne forging. I will either make my fortunes good, or be content they are no worse. If they are not so good as I would they should have 'beene, they are not so bad as I know they might have beene. What though I am not so happy as I desire, 'tis well I am not so wretch'ed as I deserve.' p. 14.

There is no estate of life so happy in this world as to yeeld a 'Christian the perfection of content: and yet there is no state of 'life so wretched in this world, but a Christian must be content ' with it. Though I have nothing here that may give me true 'content, yet I will learne to bee truly contented here with what I 'have. What care I though I have not much, I have as much as I desire, if I have as much as I want; I have as much as the most, 'if I have as much as I desire.' p. 24.

'Nature bids mee love myself, and hate all that hurt mee; rea'son bids mee love my friends, and hate those that envy mee; religion bids mee love all, and hate none. Nature sheweth care, reason wit, religion love. Nature may induce mee, reason per'suade mee, but religion shall rule mee. I will hearken to nature in 'much, to reason in more, to religion in all. Nature shall make mee 'careful of myself, but hateful to none; reason shall make mee 'wise for myselfe, but harmlesse to all religion shall make mee 'loving to all, but not carelesse of myselfe. I may heare the for'mer, I will hearken onely to the latter. I subscribe to some things in all, to all things in religion.' p. 27.

'The good meaner hath two tongues, the hypocrite a double 'tongue. The good man's heart speakes without his tongue, the 'hypocrite's tongue without his heart. The good man hath of' tentimes God in heart, when, in his mouth, there is no God men'tioned the hypocrite hath God often in his mouth, when the 'foole hath said, in his heart, there is no God. I may soonest 'heare the tongue, but safest the heart-the tongue speaketh loud'est, but the heart truest. The speech of the tongue is best 'known to men: God best understands the language of the heart: 'the heart, without the tongue, may pierce the eares of heaven; the tongue, without the heart, speakes an unknowne language. 'No marvell then if the desires of the poore are heard, when the 'prayers of the wicked are unregarded.' p. 31.

It is the folly of affection, not to reprehend my erring friend for 'feare of his anger: it is the abstract of folly, to be angry with my

'friend for my error's reprehension. I were not a friend, if I should see my friend out of the way and not advise him : I were ' unworthy to have a friend, if hee should advise mee (being out of the way) and I bee angry with him. Rather let me have my 'friend's anger than deserve it; rather let the righteous smite mee 'friendly by reproofe, than the pernicious oyle of flattery or con'nivence breake my head. It is a folly to flie ill-will by giving 'a just cause of hatred. I thinke him a truer friend that deserves 'my love, than he that desires it.' p. 36.

In the second part, the author is somewhat more diffuse, and does not confine himself so much to abstract thoughts, but generally illustrates them with imagery, which possesses, however, the same terseness and closeness of application as his unadorned meditations. His similes are, indeed, mathematically accuratethey run in parallel lines-they never interfere with the subject in hand, nor approach it nearer at one point than another. Our readers cannot fail to be pleased with the few specimens which succeed.

6

"When I see leaves drop from their trees, in the beginning of autumne, just such, thinke I, is the friendship of the world. Whiles the sap of maintenance lasts, my friends swarme in abundance, but, in the winter of my need, they leave me naked. He is a happy man, that hath a true friend at his need; but he is more truly happy that hath no need of his friend.' p. 44.

The gentle and harmlesse sheep being conscious of their owne 'innocency, how patiently, how quietly, doe they receive the knife, either on the altar, or in the shambles? How silently and un'daunted doe they meet death, and give it entrance with small re'sistance? When the filthie, loathsome, and harmefull swine roare horribly at the first handling, and, with an hideous crying reluc'tancy, are haled and held to the slaughter. This seemes some cause to me, why wicked men (conscious of their filthy lives and 'nature) so tremble at the remembrances, startle at the name, and, 'with horrour, roare at the approach of death: when the godly quietly uncloathe themselves of their lives, and make small difference 'twixt a naturall night's short sleepe, and the long sleepe ' of nature.' 2nd part, p. 7.

'I see, when I follow my shadow, it flies me—when I flie my 'shadow, it followes me: I know pleasures are but shadowes, 'which hold no longer than the sun-shine of my fortunes. Least 'then my pleasures should forsake me, I will forsake them. Plea6 sure most flies me when I follow it.'

'It is not good to speak evill of all whom wee know bad: it is 'worse to judge evill of any, who may prove good. To speake 'ill upon knowledge shewes a want of charity-to speake ill upon suspition shewes a want of honesty. I will not speake so bad as I know of many: I will not speake worse than I know of any. To

'know evill by others, and not speake it, is sometimes discretion: 'to speake evill by others, and not know it, is always dishonesty.'

Our author, notwithstanding his gravity, is very sportive in his diction, and does not scorn a pun, as our readers may have seen, and will see more particularly in the following meditations.

'There is a sort of men which are kind men to me, when they expect some kindnesse from me-who have their hands downe to 'the ground in their salutations, when the ground of their saluta'tions is to have a hand at mee in some commodity. But their own ends once served, their kindnesse hath its end at once: and then it seemes strange to mee, how strange they will seeme to grow to mee; as if the cause (their desire) being removed, the ef'fect (their courtesie) must straight cease.' p. 33.

'I see a number of gallants every where, whose incomes come in 'yearly by set numbers, but runne out daily sans number. I could pitty the cases of such brave men, but that I see them still in brave cases; and when I see them often foxed, me thinke the proverbe sutes those sutes, What is the fox but his case? I should thinke 'them to be Eutrapelus his enemies, whom he cloathed richly to 'make them spend freely and grow deboshed. I will doe those men right, and wonder at them, because they desire it. I will not 'wrong myself to envie them, because they scorne it. I know that gorgeous apparell is an ornament to grace the court, for the glory ' of the kingdome, but it is no ornament useful in the kingdome of ' grace, nor needful in the kingdome of glory. A rich coate may bee commendable in the accidents of armory onely, but it is not 'the onely substance of a commendable gentleman. I will value 'the apparell by the worthinesse of the wearer; I will not value 'the worthinesse of the wearer by the worth of his apparell. Adam was most gallantly apparelled when he was innocently naked.' p. 37.

For they

Time is

'The men of most credit in our time are the usurers. 'credit most men: and though their greatest study be securi'ty, yet it is usually their fortune to be fullest of care. 'pretious to them, for they thinke a day broke to them, is worth a 'broke-age from their creditor. Yet thus they finde by use, that ' as they have much profit by putting out, so must they have much care to get it in. For debtors are of Themistocles his minde, and 'take not so much care how to repay all, as how they may not pay at all their creditors, and make this their first resolution, how 'they may make no resolution at all.' p. 40.

[Of composition, he says,] It is the folly of wit in some to take paines to trimme their labours in obscurity. It is the ignorance ' of learning in others to labour to devest their paine by bluntness; 'the one thinking hee never speakes wisely, till he goes beyond 'his owne and all men's understandings; the other thinking hee

* never speakes plainely, till hee dive beneath the shallowest ap'prehension. I as little affect curiosity in the one, as care for the 'affectation of baldnesse in the other. I would not have the pearle ' of heaven's kingdome so curiously set in gold, as that the art of the workman should hide the beauty of the jewell: nor yet so 'sleightly valued as to be set in lead: or so beastly used as to be slubbered with durt. I know the pearle (however placed) still re'tains its virtue, yet I had rather have it set in gold than seeke it in ' a dunghill.'

ART. V. The miscellaneous Works in Verse and Prose of SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, Knt. with Memoirs of his Life. The tenth edition. London, 1754. [Review-August, 1820.]

This little volume contains the remains of the unfortunate Sir Thomas Overbury, "one of the most finished gentlemen about the court" of James I. who fell a victim, as is well known, before the ungovernable passions of the Countess of Essex. The murder of this accomplished man is one of the most disgraceful passages of the history of England; but as the tragical story is always related there, we shall turn our attention from so gloomy a subject to the agreeable little volume before us. The sympathy which was universally felt for his melancholy fate is demonstrated by the first forty pages, which consist of elegies and tributes of grief and admiration from all quarters, "on the untimely death of Sir Thomas Overbury, poisoned in the Tower," and on his poem the "Wife," with manifold regrets that she "had grown husbandless of late." The only "Verse" by Sir Thomas Overbury himself, in the book, are his famous poem termed the "Wife," a smaller one on the " Choice of a Wife," and two or three elegies. The "Wife" is a didactic poem, and though the precepts which it gives are certainly not of a kind which the reader feels disposed to dispute, they have truly very little to recommend them, being far from remarkable for their ingenuity, and certainly not set off by any charms of poetical grace or ornament. Our rage for reviving the forgotten does not extend so far as to inflict upon our readers many passages, containing nothing better than injunctions to disregard beauty, which, as Sir Thomas observes, is but "skin deep," and to prefer good, which " is a fairer attribute than white," expressed in a dry style and crabbed versification, though they may be on so universally interesting a subject as the Choice of a Wife.

It is not, however, on the poetry, if it may be so called, of Overbury, that his reputation must be founded-it is the remainder of the volume," the Characters or witty Descriptions of the Properties of sundry Persons," which display the fertile and ingenious

character of his mind. From these we intend to make some extracts, which will we hope give a value and interest to this article. The book itself is seldom read, and not, on the whole, entertaining; but there are portions of it, and numerous portions too, which we think will impress the reader with a high opinion of the author's talent for observation, and his power of witty contrast and felicitous, though sometimes obscure, expression.

The "Noble Spirit" is in a noble style-a character of true philosophical elevation, which could have been composed by no one who did not "speak what the spirit within him dictated."

A Noble Spirit

'Hath surveyed and fortified his disposition, and converts all 'occurrences into experience, between which experience and his reason there is marriage, the issue are his actions. He circuits 'his intents, and seeth the end before he shoots. Men are the instruments of his art, and there is no man without his use; occa'sion incites him, none enticeth him, and he moves by affection, 'not for affection; he loves glory, scorns shame, and governeth ' and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes from one consideration. He calls not the variety of the world chances, for his ' meditation hath travelled over them, and his eyes, mounted upon 'his understanding, seeth them as things underneath. He covers not his body with delicacies, nor excuseth these delicacies by his 'body, but teacheth it, since it is not able to defend its own im'becility, to shew or suffer. He licenceth not his weakness to wear fate, but knowing reason to be no idle gift of nature, he is 'the steers-man of his own destiny. Truth is his goddess, and he 'takes pains to get her, not to look like her; he knows the condi'tion of the world, that he must act one thing like another, and 'then another; to these he carries his desires, and not his desires 'him, and sticks not fast by the way, (for that contentment is repentance,) but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of 'all things, to have but one center or period, without all distrac'tion he hasteth thither and ends there as his true natural element. 'He doth not contemn fortune, but not confess her; he is no game'ster of the world, which only complain and praise her,) but being only sensible of the honesty of actions, contemns a particular profit as the excrement or scum. Unto the society of men he is a 'sun, whose clearness directs their steps in a regular motion. 'When he is more particular, he is the wise man's friend, the ex'ample of the indifferent, the medicine of the vicious. Thus time 'goeth not from him, but with him, and he feels age more by the strength of his soul than the weakness of his body. Thus feels he 'no pain, but esteems all such things as friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and help him out of prison.'