my knowledge of the author and love to his memory might make my diligence useful. I did most gladly undertake the employment, and continued it with great content till 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, 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 grateful wretch had been left alone on the sea-shore, with the forsaken dead body of his once glorious 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 honor 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 disdain. But wonder indeed the reader may, that

I, who profess myself artless, should presume, with my faint light, to show forth his life, whose very name makes it illustrious! 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 wellmeant 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 intreat 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.

THE LIFE

OF

JOHN DONNE.

MASTER JOHN DONNE was born in London, in the year 1573, of good and 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 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 forebore 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 honor 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 stayed till his seventeenth 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,