because it happens not above twice or thrice in any play that those vulgar thoughts are used; and then too (were there no other apology to be made, yet), the necessity of them, 5 which is alike in all kind of writing, may excuse them. For if they are little and mean in rhyme, they are, of consequence, such in blank verse. Besides that the great eagerness and precipitation with which they are to cause the rounding of it, cannot be absent; but while that is considered, they are lost: so while we attend to the other beauties of the matter, the care and labor of the rhyme is carried from us, or at least drowned in its own sweetness, as bees are sometimes buried in their honey. When a poet has found the repartee, the last perfection he can add to it, is to put it into verse. However good the thought may be, however apt the words in 10 spoken, makes us rather mind the substance which 'tis couched, yet he finds himself at a little unrest, while rhyme is wanting: he cannot leave it till that comes naturally, and then is at ease, and sits down contented. In than the dress; that for which they are spoken, rather than what is spoken. For they are always the effect of some hasty concernment, and something of consequence depends on them. " 'Thus, Crites, I have endeavored to answer your objections; it remains only that I should vindicate an argument for verse, which you have gone about to overthrow. It had formerly been said that the easiness of blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant, but that the labor of rhyme bounds and circumscribes an over-fruitful fancy; the sense there being commonly confined to the couplet, and the words so ordered that the rhyme naturally follows them, not they the rhyme. To this you answered, that it was no argument to the question in hand; for the dispute was not which way a man may write best, but which is most proper for the subject on which he writes. "From replies, which are the most elevated 15 thoughts of verse, you pass to those which are most mean, and which are common with the lowest of household conversation. these, you say, the majesty of verse suffers. You instance in the calling of a servant, or 20 commanding a door to be shut, in rhyme. This, Crites, is a good observation of yours, but no argument: for it proves no more but that such thoughts should be waived, as often as may be, by the address of the poet. 25 But suppose they are necessary in the places where he uses them, yet there is no need to put them into rhyme. He may place them in the beginning of a verse, and break it off, as unfit, when so debased, for any other use: 30 or granting the worst, that they require more room than the hemistich will allow, yet still there is a choice to be made of the best words, and least vulgar (provided they be apt), to express such thoughts. Many have 35 blamed rhyme in general, for this fault, when the poet with a little care might have redressed it. But they do it with no more justice than if English poesy should be made ridiculous for the sake of the Water-poet's 40 that this way of writing was an help to the rhymes. Our language is noble, full, and significant; and I know not why he who is master of it may not clothe ordinary things in it as decently as the Latin, if he use the same diligence in his choice of words: delectus 45 verborum origo est eloquentiæ. It was the saying of Julius Cæsar, one so curious in his, that none of them can be changed but for a worse. One would think, unlock the door, was a thing as vulgar as could be spoken; so and yet Seneca could make it sound high and lofty in his Latin: Reserate clusos regii postes laris. Set wide the palace gates. I "First, give me leave, Sir, to remember you that the argument against which you raised this objection was only secondary: it was built on this hypothesis, that to write in verse was proper for serious plays. Which supposition being granted (as it was briefly made out in that discourse, by showing how verse might be made natural), it asserted, poet's judgment, by putting bounds to a wild overflowing fancy. I think, therefore, it will not be hard for me to make good what it was to prove on that supposition. But you add, that were this let pass, yet he who wants judgment in the liberty of his fancy, may as well show the defect of it when he is confined to verse; for he who has judgment will avoid errors, and he who has it not, will commit them in all kinds of writing. "This argument, as you have taken it from a most acute person, so I confess it carries much weight in it: but by using the word judgment here indefinitely, you seem to have I grant, he who has judgment, that is, so profound, so strong, or rather so infallible a judgment, that he needs “But in turn from this conception, both 55 put a fallacy upon us. I John Taylor (1580-1653), called the "Water Poet" because he had been a ferryman on the Thames. 2 Choice of words is the source of eloquence. I Sir Robert Howard. no helps to keep it always poised and upright, And nation, so none ever said he had much to spare. Neither was verse then refined so much, to be an help to that age, as it is to ours. Thus then the second thoughts being usually the best, as receiving the maturest digestion from judgment, and the last and most mature product of those thoughts being artful and labored verse, it may well be inferred, that verse is a great help to a luxuriant fancy; and this is what that argument which you opposed was to evince." Neander was pursuing this discourse so eagerly that Eugenius had called to him twice or thrice, ere he took notice that the barge stood still, and that they were at the foot of Somersetstairs, where they had appointed it to land. The company were all sorry to separate so soon, though a great part of the evening was already spent; and stood a-while looking back on the water, upon which the moonbeams played, and made it appear like floating quicksilver: at last they went up through a crowd of French people, who were merrily dancing in the open air, and nothing concerned for the noise of guns which had alarmed the town that afternoon. Walking thence together to the Piazze, they parted there; Eugenius and Lisideius to some pleasant appointment they had made, and Crites and Neander to their several lodgings. I Dryden began his essay: "It was that memorable day, in the first summer of the late war, when our navy engaged the Dutch." The noise of the battle could be heard easily in London. JOHN BUNYAN (1628-1688) John Bunyan, the son of a tinker, was born in the village of Elstow, in 1628. As a boy he took part in the Civil War, undoubtedly on the Parliamentary side. His real life, however, was in his religious experience, narrated in Grace Abounding. He married a pious woman who brought him as her dowry certain religious books. Reading these brought Bunyan into that agony of soul which, as with so many of his contemporaries, followed a conviction of sin and doubt as to salvation. Under the ministrations of Mr. Gifford, pastor of a Baptist congregation at Bedford, he became converted, and in turn began to preach the gospel. In 1660, after the Restoration, he was arrested under the law which prohibited religious meetings except those of the Established Church, and held in somewhat loose confinement for twelve years. After his release he resumed preaching, which he continued until his death in 1688. Bunyan's writings are entirely concerned with what to him was the great reality of life, the relation of the soul to God. He began to write tracts shortly after his conversion, among which A Few Sighs from Hell, or the Groans of a Damned Soul, reminds us by its title of the fearful issue involved in this relation. During his imprisonment he published Grace Abounding (1666). The great religious allegory, The Pilgrim's Progress, followed in 1678; The Life and Death of Mr. Badman in 1680; and a second allegory, The Holy War, in 1682. Grace Abounding, of which the first third is here printed, is one of the most remarkable autobiographies ever written. It illustrates perfectly the spiritual excitement of the seventeenth century of which the Puritan character was the result. Bunyan's religious experience was intimate and personal, a quality reflected in his simple, realistic, homespun style. Woven through this groundwork, however, are strains of poetic splendor and beauty which Bunyan owed to his study of the King James Version of the Bible. This combina tion of naïve reflection of life and richness of imagination gives to The Pilgrim's Progress its preeminence as an allegory. Grace Abounding is edited by E. C. Baldwin in Ginn's Standard English Classics; The Pilgrim's Progress, by W. V. Moody, in the Riverside Literature Series. Lives of Bunyan by Robert Southey, by John Brown, by J. A. Froude (English Men of Letters Series), and E. Venables (Great Writers Series) are available. The essays by Macaulay, John Tulloch (Puritanism and Its Leaders), and Edward Dowden (Puritan and Anglican) may be noted. GRACE ABOUNDING TO THE CHIEF OF SINNERS OR, A BRIEF RELATION OF THE EXCEEDING MERCY OF GOD IN CHRIST, TO HIS POOR SERVANT, JOHN BUNYAN were tender, being few), both for cursing, swearing, lying, and blaspheming the holy name of God. Yea, so settled and rooted was I in these 5 things, that they became as a second nature to me. The which, as I also have with soberness considered since, did so offend the Lord, that even in my childhood he did scare and affright me with fearful dreams, and did terrify me with dreadful visions. For often, after I had spent this and the other day in sin, I have in my bed been greatly afflicted, while asleep, with the apprehensions of devils and wicked spirits, who still, as I then 15 thought, labored to draw me away with them, of which I could never be rid. In this my relation of the merciful working of God upon my soul, it will not be amiss, if, ro in the first place, I do, in a few words, give you a hint of my pedigree, and manner of bringing up; that thereby the goodness and bounty of God towards me, may be the more advanced and magnified before the sons of men. For my descent then, it was, as is well known by many, of a low and inconsiderable generation; my father's house being of that Also I should, at these years, be greatly afflicted and troubled with the thoughts of the Day of Judgment, and that both night rank that is meanest, and most despised of 20 and day, and should tremble at the thoughts all the families in the land. Wherefore I have not here, as others, to boast of noble blood, or of a high-born state, according to the flesh; though, all things considered, I magnify the heavenly Majesty, for that by this door he brought me into this world, to partake of the grace and life that is in Christ by the Gospel. But yet, notwithstanding the meanness and inconsiderableness of my parents, it pleased God to put it into their hearts to put me to school, to learn both to read and write; the which I also attained, according to the rate of other poor men's children, though to my shame I confess, I did soon lose that little I learnt, even almost utterly, and that long before the Lord did work his gracious work of conversion upon my soul. 25 30 of the fearful torments of hell-fire; still fearing that it would be my lot to be found at last among those devils and hellish fiends, who are there bound down with the chains and bonds of darkness, unto the judgment of the great day. These things, I say, when I was but a child, about nine or ten years old, did so distress my soul, that then, in the midst of my many sports and childish vanities, amidst my vain companions, I was often much cast down, and afflicted in my mind therewith, yet could I not let go my sins. Yea, I was also then so overcome with despair of life and 35 heaven, that I should often wish, either that there had been no hell, or that I had been a devil; supposing they were only tormentors; that if it must needs be, that I went thither, I might be rather a tormentor, than be tormented myself. As for my own natural life, for the time that I was without God in the world, it was, 4o indeed, according to the course of this world, and the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience." It was my delight to be "taken captive by the devil at his will," being filled with all unrighteous- 45 ness; the which did also so strongly work, and put forth itself, both in my heart and life, and that from a child, that I had but few equals (especially considering my years, which 1 Ephesians II, 2, 3. 2 II Timothy II, 26. A while after, these terrible dreams did leave me, which also I soon forgot; for my pleasures did quickly cut off the remembrance of them, as if they had never been. Wherefore with more greediness, according to the strength of nature, I did still let loose the reins to my lust, and delighted in all transgression against the law of God: so that until I came to the state of marriage, I 50 was the very ringleader of all the youth that kept me company, in all manner of vice and ungodliness. Yea, such prevalency had the lusts and fruits of the flesh in this poor soul of mine, that had not a miracle of precious grace prevented, I had not only perished by the stroke of eternal justice, but had also laid myself open even to the stroke of those laws which bring some to disgrace and open shame before the face of the world. In these days the thoughts of religion were very grievous to me. I could neither endure it myself, nor that any other should. So that when I have seen some read in those books that concerned Christian piety, it would be 15 as it were a prison to me. Then I said unto God, "Depart from me, for I desire not the knowledge of thy ways." I I was now void of all good consideration, heaven and hell were both out of sight and mind; and as for 20 saving and damning, they were least in my thoughts. "O Lord, thou knowest my life, and my ways were not hid from thee." stood sentinel, he was shot into the head with a musket bullet, and died. Here, as I said, were judgments and mercy, but neither of them did awaken my soul to 5 righteousness; wherefore I sinned still, and grew more and more rebellious against God, and careless of mine own salvation. Presently after this, I changed my condition into a married state, and my mercy was 10 to light upon a wife whose father was counted godly. This woman and I, though we came together as poor as poor might be (not having so much household stuff as a dish or spoon betwixt us both), yet this she had for her part, The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven, and The Practice of Piety, which her father had left her when he died. In these two books I should sometimes read with her, wherein I also found some things that were somewhat pleasing to me; (but all this while I met with no conviction). She also would be often telling of me what a godly man her father was, and how he would reprove and correct vice, both in his house, and amongst his neighbors; what a strict and holy life he lived in his days, both in word and deed. Yet this I well remember, that though I could myself sin with the greatest delight 25 and ease, and also take pleasure in the vileness of my companions; yet, even then, if I had at any time seen wicked things, by those who professed goodness, it would make my spirit tremble. As once above all the rest, 30 when I was in my heighth of vanity, yet hearing one to swear that was reckoned for a religious man, it had so great a stroke upon my spirit, that it made my heart to ake. Wherefore these books, with this relation, though they did not reach my heart, to awaken it about my sad and sinful state, yet they did beget. within me some desires to religion: so that, because I knew no better, I fell in very eagerly with the religion of the times; to wit, to go to church twice a day, and that too with the foremost; and there should very devoutly both say and sing as others did, yet retaining my wicked life. But withal, I was so overrun with the spirit of superstition, that I adored, and that with great devotion, even all things (both the high place, priest, clerk, vestments, service, and what else) belonging to the church; counting all things holy that were therein contained, and especially, the priest and clerk most happy, and without doubt greatly blessed, because they were the servants, as I then thought, of God, and were principal in the holy temple to do his work therein. But God did not utterly leave me, but fol- 35 lowed me still, not now with convictions, but judgments; yet such as were mixed with mercy. For once I fell into a crick of the sea, and hardly escaped drowning. Another time I fell out of a boat into Bedford river, 40 but mercy yet preserved me alive. Besides, another time, being in the field with one of my companions, it chanced that an adder passed over the highway; so I having a stick in my hand, struck her over the back, and 45 having stunned her, I forced open her mouth with my stick, and plucked her sting out with my fingers; by which act, had not God been merciful unto me, I might, by my desperateness, have brought myself to mine end. 50 (though never so sordid and debauched in his This also have I taken notice of with thanksgiving. When I was a soldier, I, with others, were drawn out to go to such a place to besiege it; but when I was just ready to go, one of the company desired to go in my 55 room; to which, when I had consented, he took my place; and coming to the siege, as he I Job XXI, 14. This conceit grew so strong in little time upon my spirit, that had I but seen a priest life), I should find my spirit fall under him, reverence him, and knit unto him. Yea, I thought, for the love I did bear unto them (supposing they were the ministers of God) I could have lain down at their feet and have been trampled upon by them; their name, their garb, and work did so intoxicate and bewitch me. After I had been thus for some considerable time, another thought came in my mind; and that was, whether we were of the Israelites or no? For finding in the Scriptures that they were once the peculiar people of God, thought I, if I were once of this race, my soul must needs be happy. Now again, I found within me a great longing to be resolved about this question, but could not tell how I should. At last I asked my father of it, who told me, гo no, we were not. Wherefore, then I fell in my spirit as to the hopes of that and so remained. But all this while, I was not sensible of the danger and evil of sin. I was kept from considering that sin would damn me, what religion soever I followed, unless I was found in Christ. Nay, I never thought of him, nor whether there was such an one, or not. "Thus man while blind doth wander, but 20 wearieth himself with vanity, for he knoweth not the way to the city of God." I thy sins and go to hell?" At this I was put to an exceeding maze. Wherefore, leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, and was as if I had, with the eyes 5 of my understanding, seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as if he did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for these and other my ungodly practices. I had no sooner thus conceived in my mind, but suddenly this conclusion was fastened on my spirit, (for the former hint did set my sins again before my face) that I had been a great and grievous sinner, and that it was 15 now too late for me to look after heaven; for Christ would not forgive me, nor pardon my transgressions. Then I fell to musing upon this also. And while I was thinking of it, and fearing lest it should be so, I felt my heart sink in despair, concluding it was too late; and therefore I resolved in my mind I would go on in sin. For, thought I, if the case be thus, my state is surely miserable; miserable if I leave my sins, and but miserable if I follow them. I can but be damned, and if I must be so, I had as good be damned for many sins, as be damned for a few. But one day, amongst all the sermons our parson made, his subject was to treat of the sabbath-day, and of the evil of breaking 25 that, either with labor, sports, or otherwise. Now I was, notwithstanding my religion, one that took much delight in all manner of vice, and especially, that was the day that I did solace myself therewith. Wherefore I fell in 30 my conscience under his sermon, thinking and believing that he made that sermon on purpose to show me my evil-doing. And at that time I felt what guilt was, though never before, that I can remember. But then I was, for the present, greatly loaden therewith, and so went home when the sermon was ended, with a great burden upon my spirit. 35 This, for that instant, did benumb the sinews of my best delights, and did imbitter 40 my former pleasures to me. But behold, it lasted not; for before I had well dined, the trouble began to go off my mind, and my heart returned to its old course. But oh! how glad was I, that this trouble was gone 45 from me, and that the fire was put out, that I might sin again without control! Wherefore, when I had satisfied nature with my food, I shook the sermon out of my mind, and to my old custom of sports and gaming 50 I returned with great delight. But the same day, as I was in the midst of a game at Cat, and having struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was about to strike it the second time, a voice did suddenly dart 55 from heaven into my soul, which said, "Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have I Ecclesiastes X, 15. Thus I stood in the midst of my play, before all that then were present; but yet I told them nothing. But I say, I having made this conclusion, I returned desperately to my sport again; and I well remember, that presently this kind of despair did so possess my soul, that I was persuaded I could never attain to other comfort than what I should get in sin; for heaven was gone already, so that on that I must not think. Wherefore I found within me a great desire to take my fill of sin, still studying what sin was yet to be committed, that I might taste the sweetness of it. And I made as much haste as I could to fill my belly with its delicates, lest I should die before I had my desire; for that I feared greatly. In these things, I protest before God I lie not, neither do I feign this sort of speech. These were really, strongly, and with all my heart, my desires. The good Lord, whose mercy is unsearchable, forgive me my transgressions! And I am very confident that this temptation of the devil is more usual amongst poor creatures than many are aware of, even to overrun their spirits with a scurfy and seared frame of heart, and benumbing of conscience; which frame he stilly and slyly supplieth with such despair, that though not much guilt attendeth souls, yet they continually have a secret conclusion within them, that |