rously driven out of his kingdoms, and afterwards as miraculously restored to them, brought with him the brightest and most stupendous instance of this virtue, that, next to what has been observed of our Saviour himself, was ever yet shown by man; Providence seeming to have raised up this prince, as it had done his father before him, to give the world a glorious demonstration, that the most injured of men might be the most merciful of men too. For after the highest of wrongs that a sovereign could suffer from his subjects, scorning all revenge as more below him than the very persons whom he might have been revenged upon, he gloried in nothing so much as in giving mercy the upper hand of majesty itself, making amnesty his symbol, and forgiveness the peculiar, signalizing character of his reign; herein resembling the Almighty himself, (as far as mortality can,) who seems to claim a greater glory for sparing and redeeming man, than for creating him. So that in a word, as our Saviour has made love to our enemies one of the chiefest badges of our religion, so our king has almost made it the very mark of our allegiance.

Thus even to a prodigy merciful has he shown himself; merciful by inclination and by extraction; merciful in his example and in his laws, and thereby expressing the utmost dutifulness of a son, as well as the highest magnanimity and clemency of a prince; while he is still making that good upon the throne, which the royal martyr, his father, had enjoined upon the scaffold; where he died pardoning and praying for those, whose malice he was then falling a victim to; and this with a charity so unparalleled, and a devotion so fervent, that the voice of his prayers, 'tis to be hoped, drowned the very cry of his blood. But I love not to dwell upon such tragedies, save only to illustrate the height of one contrary by the height of another; and therefore as an humble follower of the princely pattern here set before us, I shall draw a veil of silence over all; especially since it surpasses the power of

Loving our

LOVING

words sufficiently to set forth, either the greatness of the crimes forgiven, or of the mercy that forgave them.

But to draw to a close: We have here had the highest and the hardest duty, perhaps, belonging to a Christian, both recommended to our judgment by argument, and to our practice by example; what remains, but that we submit our judgment to the one, and govern our practice by the other? and for that purpose, that we beg of God an assistance equal to the difficulty of the duty enjoined; for certainly it is not an ordinary measure of grace, that can conquer the opposition that flesh and blood, and corrupt reason itself, after all its convictions, will be sure to make to it. The greatest miseries that befal us in this world are from enemies, and so long as men naturally desire to be happy, it will be naturally as hard to them to love those who, they know, are the grand obstacles to their being so. The light of nature will convince a man of many duties, which it will never enable him to perform. And if we should look no further than bare nature, this seems to be one cut out rather for our admiration than our practice; it being not more difficult (where grace does not interpose) to cut off a right hand, than to reach it heartily to the relief of an inveterate, implacable adversary. And yet God expects this from us, and that so peremptorily, that he has made the pardon of our enemies the indispensable condition of our own. And therefore that wretch (whosoever he was) who, being pressed hard upon his death-bed to pardon a notable enemy which he had, answered, that if he died indeed, he pardoned him, but if he lived he would be revenged on him; that wretch, I say, and every other such image of the devil, no doubt, went out of the world so, that he had better never have come into it. In fine, after we have said the utmost upon this subject that we can, I believe we shall find this the result of all, that he is an happy man who has no enemies, and he a much happier, who has never so many, and can pardon them.

DISCOURSE XIV.

THE EVILS OF KNOWLEDGE.

ECCLES. i. 18.

In much wisdom there is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.

It is a saying usual, and of great reason, that we are to believe the skilful in their own profession. And therefore, if we would understand the nature, properties, and effects of knowledge, none can be so fit to inform us, as he, who by the very verdict of omniscience, was, of all men, the most knowing.

Nothing, indeed, is more common than for every man almost to pass an universal censure upon all persons and things; but none can despise a thing, rationally, but he who knows it thoroughly. Otherwise, though a man should pass a right judgment upon a thing, yet he does it only by accident; and therefore, though the thing spoke be truth and wisdom, yet the speaker of it utters it like a fool. None but a scholar can be a competent judge of knowledge; and therefore all the encomiums of it, that now fly about the world, must come and be tried according to the verdict of this rule.

First, therefore, we shall find those that are loudest in their commendations, and highest in their admirations of learning, are, for the most part, such as were never bred to it themselves: Hence it is, that such, of all others, are the most desirous to breed their sons scholars; so that if we take a list of the most re

nowned philosophers in former ages, and the most eminent divines in the latter, we shall find that they were, for the most part, of mean and plebeian parentage.

Upon this score also there came to be so many free schools and endowed places for learning; because those are most apt to send their children to study, who, being poor and low, are not able to maintain them in it, and therefore need the benevolence of others, to bring their imprudent designs to maturity. Let this therefore be fixed upon, as one great reason that the praise of knowledge is so great in the world, viz. that much the major part of the world is ignorant; and ignorant men are indeed very fit to praise and admire, but very unfit to judge.

I am not insensible that many will here presently be apt to stop me with those elogies that the most learned bestow upon knowledge, still adorning it with such panegyrics, such high words and expressions, as if rhetoric was invented for nothing else but to describe and set off her praise. But, in answer to this, though I might note, that to be learned and to be wise are things very different, yet I shall produce another reason of these commendations, which, in all probability, is this; that learned men would not seem and be judged fools, for spending their time upon so empty a thing; and therefore, as those that have been deceived into a ridiculous sight, do yet commend it, that they may not be thought to have been deceived, but may bring others into the same cheat with themselves.

So here, should philosophers confess, that all the time they spent about materia prima, esse per se, and esse per accidens, they were laboriously doing nothing, the world would be apt to hiss and to explode them, and others would be so wise, as seeing the example, to forbear the imitation. But now, when a man finds himself to be really deceived, the only relief that remains to him is to cover the report of it, and to get companions in the deception.

If what has been hitherto said, does not satisfy, I can only take sanctuary in this; that the same was Solomon's judgment; and I desire to know, whether those philosophers, who so profusely commend learning, knew more than he, and saw that worth in knowledge which he did? As for Aristotle, who for these many ages has carried the repute of philosophy from all the rest, he certainly was not wiser than Solomon; for he is reported to have stolen most of his philosophy out of Solomon's writings, and to have suppressed them from the view of posterity.

I proceed therefore, and take up my assertion upon the warrant of his judgment, whom God has hitherto vouched the wisest of men; and see no reason to alter it, till I am convinced by a wiser.

But, before I make any further progress, I must premise this; any thing indeed said against knowledge, is against that only, that is so much adored by the world, and falsely called philosophy, and yet more significantly surnamed by the apostle vain philosophy; and that too, with no other intent than to dash the over-weening pride of those that have it, and to divert the admiration of those that have it not, to some better and more deserving object.

But as for those parts of knowledge, that are either instrumental to our knowledge of the will of God, or conduce to the good of society, in the state that mankind now is, I must not be thought therefore to speak against them, if from the text I impartially show those miseries and sorrows, that through our sin and weakness they are attended with. It is the effect of sin, that duty is accompanied with sorrow; and that by such an unfortunate necessity of grief, we cannot attain the happiness we design to ourselves in the end, unless for a time we quit it in the use of the means.

Now, the design of this portion of scripture is to rectify the absurd opinions of the world, concerning the great idol of mankind, knowledge; and to take