quently it must be yielded without contradiction, that the temporal magistrate doth exercise therein a part of his civil government, in punishing a crime that is of its own nature spiritual or ecclesiastical.

But here it will be said: The words of the Oath being general-that the King is the only supreme governor of this realm, and of all other his Highness' dominions and countries -how may it appear that the power of the civil sword only is meant by that government, and that the power of the keys is not comprehended therein? I answer, first, that where a civil magistrate is affirmed to be the governor of his own dominions and countries, by common intendment this must needs be understood of a civil government, and may in no reason be extended to that which is merely of another kind. Secondly, I say that where an ambiguity is conceived to be in any part of an oath, it ought to be taken according to the understanding of him for whose satisfaction the oath was ministered. Now in this case it hath been sufficiently declared by public authority, that no other thing is meant by the government here mentioned, but that of the civil sword only.

For in the book of Articles agreed upon by the archbishops, and bishops, and the whole clergy, in the Convocation holden at London, anno 1562, thus we read: "Where we attribute to the Queen's Majesty the chief government (by which titles we understand the minds of some slanderous folks to be offended), we give not to our princes the ministering either of God's word or of the sacraments (the which thing the injunc tions also, lately set forth by Elizabeth our Queen, doth most plainly testify), but that only prerogative which we see to have been given always to all godly princes, in Holy Scriptures, by God himself; that is, that they should rule all estates and degrees committed to their charge by God, whether they be ecclesiastical or temporal, and restrain with the civil sword the stubborn and evil-doers."

If it be here objected that the authority of the Convocation is not a sufficient ground for the exposition of that which was enacted in Parliament, I answer, that these Articles stand confirmed, not only by the royal assent of the prince (for the establishing of whose supremacy the oath was framed), but also by a special Act of Parliament, which is to be found among the statutes in the thirteenth year of Queen Elizabeth, chap. 12. Seeing, therefore, the makers of the law have full authority to expound the law, and they have sufficiently manifested that, by the supreme government given to the prince, they understand that kind of government only which is exercised with the civil sword, I conclude that nothing can be more plain than this: that without all scruple of conscience, the King's Majesty may be acknowledged in this sense to be the only supreme governor of all his Highness' dominions and countries, as well in all spiritual or ecclesiastical things or causes as temporal. And so have I cleared the first main branch of the oath.

I come now unto the second, which is propounded negatively, "That no foreign prince, person, prelate, state, or potentate, hath, or ought to have, any jurisdiction, power, superiority, pre-eminence, or authority, ecclesiastical or spiritual, within this realm." The foreigner that challenges this ecclesiastical or spiritual jurisdiction over us is the Bishop of Rome; and the title whereby he claimeth this power over us is the same whereby he claimeth it over the whole world because he is St. Peter's successor, forsooth. And indeed, if St. Peter himself had been now alive, I should freely confess that he ought to have spiritual authority and superiority within this kingdom. But so would I say, also, if St. Andrew, St. Bartholomew, St. Thomas, or any of the other apostles had been alive. For I know that their com

mission was very large-to "go into all the world, and to preach the gospel unto every creature." So that in what part of the world soever they lived, they could not be said to be out of their charge, their apostleship being a kind of an universal bishopric. If, therefore, the Bishop of Rome can prove himself to be one of this rank, the oath must be amended, and we must acknowledge that he hath ecclesiastical authority within this realm.

True it is, that our lawyers, in their year books, by the name of the "Apostle" do usually design the Pope; but if they had examined his title to that apostleship as they would try an ordinary man's title to a piece of land, they might easily have found a number of flaws and main defects therein.

For, first, it would be inquired whether the apostleship was not ordained by our Saviour Christ as a special commission, which, being personal only, was to determine with the death of the first Apostles. For howsoever, at their first entry into the execution of this commission, we find that Matthias was admitted to the apostleship in the room of Judas, yet afterwards, when James the brother of John was slain by Herod, we do not read that any other was substituted in his place. Nay, we know that the apostles generally left no successors in this kind; neither did any of the bishops (he of Rome only excepted), that sat in those famous churches wherein the apostles exercised their ministry, challenge an apostleship or an universal bishopric by virtue of that succession.

It would, secondly, therefore, be inquired, what sound evidence they can produce to show that one of the company was to hold the apostleship, as it were, in fee, for him and his successors for ever, and that the other eleven should hold the same for term of life only.

Thirdly, if this state of perpetuity was to be cast upon one, how came it to fall upon St. Peter, rather than upon St. John, who outlived all the rest of his fellows, and so as a surviving feoffee had the fairest right to retain the same in himself and his successors for ever?

Fourthly, if that state were wholly settled upon St. Peter, seeing the Romanists themselves acknowledge that he was Bishop of Antioch before he was Bishop of Rome, we require them to show why so great an inheritance as this should descend unto the younger brother (as it were by borough English) rather than to the elder, according to the ordinary manner of descents; especially seeing Rome hath little else to allege for this preferment, but only that St. Peter was crucified in it, which was a very slender reason to move the apostle so to respect it.

Seeing, therefore, the grounds of this great claim of the Bishop of Rome appear to be so vain and frivolous, I may safely conclude that he ought to have no ecclesiastical or spiritual authority within this realm, which is the principal point contained in the second part of the oath.

King James wrote with his own hand the following acknowledgment of this loyal address:

JAMES REX.

Right Reverend Father in God, and right trusty and well-beloved Counsellor, we greet you well. You have not deceived our expectation, nor the gracious opinion we ever conceived, both of your abilities in learning, and of your faithfulness to us and our service. Whereof, as we have received sundry testimonies, both from our precedent deputies, as likewise from our right trusty and wellbeloved cousin and counsellor the Viscount Falkland, our

present deputy of that realm; so have we now of late, in one particular, had a further evidence of your duty and affection well expressed by your late carriage in our Castle Chamber there, at the censure of those disobedient magistrates who refused to take the Oath of Supremacy. Wherein your zeal to the maintenance of our just and lawful power, defended with so much learning and reason, deserves our princely and gracious thanks, which we do by this our letter unto you, and so bid you farewell. Given under our signet, at our Court at Whitehall, the eleventh of January, 1622, in the 20th year of our reign of Great Britain, France, and Ireland.

To the Right Reverend Father in God, and our right trusty and well-beloved Counsellor, the Bishop of Meath.

The King lost no time in making Usher a Privy Councillor for Ireland. Dr. Usher directed also against the unreformed Church a treatise on the Religion of the ancient Irish and Britons, and in 1624 was combating on the ground of Church antiquities an Irish Jesuit, William Malone, who had adverted to the doctrine and practice of the primitive Christians. Usher had fitted himself for this kind of controversy. In his youth, a Roman Catholic book called "The Fortress of Faith" had been put into his hands. It appealed continually to the writings of the early Fathers of the Church.

Usher

He

In

had then at once set himself a complete course of reading in the Fathers, took a fixed portion every day, and read them through in eighteen years. thus qualified himself, like Lancelot Andrewes, to meet the arguments of his opponents in the only way that they could recognise as sufficient. Usher's answer to Malone, he dealt in successive sections with the chief points in dispute between the churches-namely, traditions, the real presence, confession, the priest's power to forgive sins, purgatory, prayer for the dead, limbus patrum, prayer to saints, images, free-will and merits; the treatise extending to nearly six hundred pages. When Dr. Usher had finished his argument against Malone, he visited England again. He was there studying ecclesiastical antiquities, when the death of the Archbishop of Armagh enabled King James to nominate his bishop to the primacy of Ireland. Illness delayed Usher's return; he was not installed as Archbishop until 1626.

George Wither's satires against the passions, published in 1613, at the age of twenty-five, as "Abuses Stript and Whipt," and his "Shepheard's Hunting," written when imprisoned in the Marshalsea for his bold speech, have been referred to in another volume of this Library.1 In 1618 appeared "Wither's Motto," "Nec habeo, nec careo, nec curo" (I have not, want not, care not), in which those thoughts are amplified into expression of a spirit of honest independence so far as man is concerned, and dependence only upon God: "He that supplies my want hath took my care. In 1622 George Wither, who after education at Oxford had been attending to his father's farm at

1 See "Shorter English Poems," pages 288-291.

"Pedants shall not tie my strains
To our antique poet's veins,
As if we in latter days
Knew to love, but not to praise :
Being born as free as these,

I will sing as I shall please,
Who as well new paths may run
As the best before have done.
I disdain to make my song
For their pleasure short or long;
If I please, I'll end it here;
If I list, I'll sing this year:
And though none regard of it,
By myself I pleas'd can sit,

And with that contentment cheer me
As if half the world did hear me."

After singing in this measure of the birth and beauty of Fair-Virtue, George Wither interpolates a little group of the love-songs he made for her, and then resumes her praises, dwelling upon every charm :—

"In the motion of each part

Nature seems to strive with art, Which her gestures most shall bless With the gifts of pleasingness.

"When she sits, methinks I see How all virtues fixéd be

In a frame, whose constant mould Will the same unchangéd hold.

2 Wither pronounces the name both Philaret and Philáreté.

If you note her when she moves,
Cytherea drawn with doves

May come learn such winning motions

As will gain to Love's devotions
More than all her painted wiles,
Such as tears, or sighs, or smiles.

"Some, whose bodies want true graces,
Have sweet features in their faces;
Others that do miss them there,
Lovely are some other where,
And to our desires do fit

In behaviour or in wit

Or some inward worth appearing
To the soul, the soul endearing:
But in her your eye may find
All that's good in womankind.
What in others we prefer
Are but sundry parts of her,
Who most perfect doth present
What might one and all content.
Yea, he that in love still ranges
And each day or hourly changes,
Had he judgment but to know
What perfections in her grow,
There would find the spring of store,

Swear a faith, and change no more."

After every outward feature has been celebrated, there is again rest with an interlude of pastoral songs,' after which the strain is resumed with

"Boy, have done,-for now my brain

Is inspired afresh again,

And new raptures pressing are

To be sung in praise of her,
Whose fair picture lieth nigh
Quite unveiled to every eye.
No small favour hath it been
That such beauty might be seen:
Therefore ever they may rue it

Who with evil eyes shall view it."

Of the face and voice of Fair-Virtue Wither sings:-

"If you truly note her face,

You shall find it hath a grace
Neither wanton, nor o'er serious,
Nor too yielding, nor imperious;
But with such a feature blest
It is that which pleaseth best.
And delights each several eye
That affects with modesty.
Lowliness hath in her look
Equal place with greatness took,
And if beauty anywhere
Claims prerogatives, 'tis there:
For at once thus much 'twill do,
Threat, command, persuade, and woo.

"In her speech there is not found
Any harsh, unpleasing sound,
But a well-beseeming power,
Neither higher, neither lower

1 "The Manly Heart," on page 291 of the volume of "Shorter Poems," was given as an example of these lyrics in "Faire-Virtue."

Than will suit with her perfection;
'Tis the loadstone of affection.
And that man whose judging eyes
Could well sound such mysteries,
Would in love make her his choice,
Though he did but hear her voice;
For such accents breathe not whence
Beauty keeps non-residence.
Never word of hers I hear
But 'tis music to mine ear,
And much more contentment brings
Than the sweetly-touchéd strings
Of the pleasing lute, whose strains
Ravish hearers when it plains.

"Raised by her discourse I fly
In contented thoughts so high,
That I pass the common measures
Of the dulled sense's pleasures,
And leave far below my flight
Vulgar pitches of delight.

"If she smile and merry be,
All about her are as she;
For each looker-on takes part
Of the joy that's in her heart.
If she grieve, or you but spy
Sadness peeping through her eye,
Such a grace it seems to borrow,
That you'll fall in love with sorrow,
And abhor the name of mirth
As the hatefull'st thing on earth.

"Should I see her shed a tear,
My poor eyes would melt, I fear;
For much more in hers appears
Than in other women's tears,
And her look did never feign
Sorrow where there was no pain.

"Seldom hath she been espied

So impatient as to chide;
For if any see her so,

They'll in love with anger grow.

Sigh or speak, or smile or talk, Sing or weep, or sit or walk, Everything that she doth do Decent is and lovely too."

After like praise of her behaviour, her dress, and other aids to Virtue's prevailing charm, Wither continues:

"Though sometime my song I raise
To unusual heights of praise,
And break forth as I shall please
Into strange hyperboles,
'Tis to shew, conceit hath found
Worth beyond expressions bound.
Though her breath I do compare
To the sweet'st perfumes that are;
Or her eyes, that are so bright,
To the morning's cheerful light;
Yet I do it not so much
To infer that she is such,

As to shew that being blest
With what merits name of best,

She appears more fair to me Than all creatures else that be.

"Her true beauty leaves behind
Apprehensions in my mind
Of more sweetness than all art
Or inventions can impart;
Thoughts too deep to be express'd,
And too strong to be suppress'd;
Which oft raiseth my conceits
To such unbelievéd heights,

That I fear some shallow brain
Thinks my Muses do but feign.
Sure he wrongs them if he do:
For could I have reached to

So like strains as these you see

Had there been no such as she,

Is it possible that I,
Who scarce heard of poesy,
Should a mere idea raise
To as true a pitch of praise
As the learned poets could
Now, or in the times of old,
All those real beauties bring,
Honour'd by their sonneting;
Having arts and favours too,
More t'encourage what they do?
No, if I had never seen
Such a beauty, I had been
Piping in the country shades
To the homely dairy-maids,
For a country fiddler's fees,

Clouted cream, and bread and cheese.

"Whilst most lovers pining sit,
Robbed of liberty and wit,
Vassalling themselves with shame
To some proud imperious dame;
Or in songs their fate bewailing,
Shew the world their faithless failing,
I, enwreath'd with boughs of myrtle,
Fare like the belovéd turtle.

"Yea, while most are most untoward,
Peevish, vain, inconstant, froward;
While their best contentments bring
Nought but after-sorrowing;

She, those childish humours slighting,
Hath conditions so delighting,
And doth so my bliss endeavour,

As my joy increaseth ever.

"By her actions, I can see That her passions so agree Unto reason, that they err Seldom to distemper her.

"Love she can, and doth, but so
As she will not overthrow
Love's content by any folly,
Or by deeds that are unholy.
Doatingly she ne'er affects,
Neither willingly neglects

Her honest love, but means doth find
With discretion to be kind.

'Tis not thund'ring phrase nor oaths,
Honours, wealth, nor painted clothes,
That can her good-liking gain,
If no other worth remain."

Then follow characters of a virtuous mind, until the poem is again interrupted by a group of songs. Philarete pauses to hear the music of a swain who comes day by day to sing and play in the groves, where he is praising his mistress Fair-Virtue to the shepherds. For the swain, who has entered an arbour,

"He so bashful is, that mute

Will his tongue be and his lute Should he happen to espy

This unlooked-for company."

They are all silent, therefore, and draw quietly near to listen to the singing.

After the songs, the praise of Fair-Virtue runs on; for the swain espied the listeners, who were ill-hidden by the trees, and fled the place. Philarete says then to the shepherds :

"To entreat him back again

Would be labour spent in vain.

You may therefore now betake ye

To the music I can make ye."

Happy the woman who shall be thought one with Fair-Virtue :—

"Yet, that I her servant am,

It shall more be to my fame

Than to own these woods and downs,

Or be lord of fifty towns;
And my mistress to be deem'd
Shall more honour be esteem'd,
Than those titles to acquire
Which most women most desire.
Yea, when you a woman shall
Countess or a duchess call,
That respect it shall not move,
Neither gain her half such love,
As to say, lo! this is she,

That supposéd is to be
Mistress to Phil'areté.

And that lovely nymph, which he,
In a pastoral poem famed,

And Fair Virtue, there hath named.
Yea, some ladies (ten to one)
If not many, now unknown,
Will be very well apaid,

When by chance, she hears it said,-
She that fair one is whom I
Here have praised concealedly.

"And though now this age's pride
May so brave a hope deride;
Yet, when all their glories pass
As the thing that never was,
And on monuments appear,
That they e'er had breathing here
Who envý it; she shall thrive
In her fame, and honour'd live,

Whilst Great Britain's shepherds sing
English in their sonneting.
And whoe'er in future days,
Shall bestow the utmost praise
On his love, that any man
Attribute to creature can;

"Twill be this, that he hath dared
His and mine to have compared."

GEORGE WITHER. (From the Portrait prefixed to his "Emblems," 1635.)

When the strain was at last ended, still there was dance and song among the shepherds and the

nymphs, so that Wither's little volume was rich in the grace of lyric verse with wisdom in its underthought. The last of the songs before the rustic company broke up, after Philarete had separated,

was:

A NYMPH'S SONG

In praise of the Lover of Virtue.

Gentle swain, good speed befall thee; And in love still prosper thou! Future times shall happy call thee, Tho' thou lie neglected now: Virtue's lovers shall commend thee, And perpetual fame attend thee.

Happy are these woody mountains, In whose shadow thou dost hide; And as happy are those fountains,

By whose murmurs thou dost bide: For contents are here excelling, More than in a prince's dwelling.

These thy flocks do clothing bring thee,
And thy food out of the fields;
Pretty songs the birds do sing thee;

Sweet perfumes the meadow yields: And what more is worth the seeing, Heaven and earth thy prospect being?

None comes hither who denies thee Thy contentments for despite ; Neither any that envies thee

That wherein thou dost delight: But all happy things are meant thee, And whatever may content thee.

Thy affection reason measures, And distempers none it feeds; Still so harmless are thy pleasures, That no other's grief it breeds: And if night beget thee sorrow, Seldom stays it till the morrow.

Why do foolish men so vainly

Seek contentment in their store, Since they may perceive so plainly, Thou art rich in being poor: And that they are vex'd about it, Whilst thou merry art without it?

Why are idle brains devising,

How high titles may be gain'd, Since by those poor toys despising, Thou hast higher things obtained? For the man who scorns to crave them, Greater is than they that have them.

If all men could taste that sweetness.
Thou dost in thy meanness know,
Kings would be to seek where greatness
And their honours to bestow,
For if such content would breed them.
As they would not think they need them.