XXXIII. them as a philosopher and as a Christian, on the ani- CHAP. mating belief of the immortality of the soul." The arrangement of his worldly affairs by his will, was his next object of attention; 80 and he then sought the recreation of plaintive music. His last effort was an affectionate effusion of sympathy with his sorrowing brother; when, collecting his ebbing strength, he uttered to him these emphatic words: Love my memory. Cherish my friends. Their faith to me may assure you that they are honest. they are honest. Above all, govern your will and affections by the will and word of your Creator. In me, behold the end of this world, with all her vanities.' He desired his brother to be taken away, and gently expired.82 book but the heart can truly and feelingly deliver. He then desired them to accompany him in prayer, wherein he besought leave to lead the assembly; as, he said, the secret sins of his own heart were best known to himself; and out of that true sense he could more properly apply the eternal sacrifice of our Saviour's passion and merits to himself. In this, his sighs and tears were ever interrupting their common devotion.' Brooke's Life, 145–161. 79Instantly after prayer he entreated these divine philosophers about him to deliver the opinion of the antient heathen, touching the immortality of the soul; to see what true knowlege she retains of her own essence out of the light of herself; and then to parallel it with the most pregnant authorities of the Old and New Testament, as supernatural revelation for the divine light of faith to reveal and work by. Not that he wanted instruction or assurance, but because this fixing of a lover's thoughts upon these eternal beauties, cheered up his decaying spirits, and was, as it were, a taking possession of that immortal inheritance, which was given to him by his brotherhood in Christ.' Lord Brooke, ib. 80This will of his remains a witness to the world that these sweet and large, even dying affections in him, could no more be contrasted by pain, grief or sickness, than any sparkle of our immortality can be privately buried in the shadow of death.' ib. 81Afterwards he called for music; especially that song which himself had intitled, La Cuisse rompue;' partly, I conceive, to shew that the glory of mortal flesh was shaken in him; and, by that music itself to fashion his heavenly soul into that everlasting harmony of angels, of which these concords were a kind of terrestrial echo.' ib. 82 Lord Brooke, ib. 161. He died 16 October 1586, at Arnheim. His body was conveyed in solemn state to England, and magnificently buried in St. Paul's cathedral on 16 Feb. 1587. So general was the BOOK II. Altho the largest part of three centuries have passed since sir Philip Sidney was withdrawn from the society he adorned, his name has ever since been inseparably associated with the kindest approbation, and with the heartfelt encomiums of his countrymen.83 Every age has ratified the verdict of its predecessors; and it is become a common sentiment, that no one more fully united high birth, cultivated genius, active spirit, intellectual taste, tender sensibility, amiable manners, delicate honor, noble accomplishments, high principle, liberal courtesy, generous humanity, and affectionate religion, than this admired and regretted knight. In him the queen lost a subject who had counselled her with the earnestness of sincere loyalty while he lived, 84 lamentation for him, that for many months after it was accounted indecent for any gentleman of quality to appear at court or city in any light or gaudy apparel.' Pref. to Arcadia. This public sympathy shews that his death was of the greatest advantage to his countrymen, by fixing the attention of all on his numerous virtues; and by their general praise, inciting many to imitate what every one admired. 83 That it was not his own partial nation who so highly estimated him, we perceive by the letter to him from Tunis, in May 1581, of don Antonio, the unsuccessful competitor with Philip II. for the crown of Portugal, signed 'The King;' in which, after stating that his affairs go on extremely well, and that he is equipping a second expedition of 7,000 men, with which he means to go, expressly adds, Tho many more should go, if I did not see you in the company, I shall say, it has not its proper number.' Write to me often; preserve me in your friendship. Sid. Lett. 1. p. 294. 84 64 It was in 1580 that he took the liberty of writing to Elizabeth, when she was balancing on the proposed marriage with D'Alençon, a long letter, to dissuade her from it. It has some interesting passages. She had told him, that the fear of contempt from her subjects for a long reign, was one reason which inclined her to it. On this he remarks, What is there within you that can possibly fall into the danger of contempt? Our minds rejoice with the experience of your inward virtues; our eyes are delighted with the sight of you. The longer a prince reigneth, the more he is esteemed. No man ever was weary of well being. Good increased by good, maketh the same good both greater and stronger; as abuse, growing upon abuse, according to the nature of evil, with the increase of time, ruins itself. But in so rare a govern XXXIII. and who, in the hour of pain and possible death, CHAP. was eager to express his esteem and attachment to her, when no worldly motives could have caused it.85 Amid this universal conviction, it is not sur ment, where neighbours' fires give us light to see our quietness; where nothing is wanting that true administration of justice brings forth, certainly the length of time rather breeds a mind to think that there is no other life but in it, than that there is any tediousness in so fruitful a government. Examples of good princes ever confirm this. The longer they lived, the deeper they sunk into their subjects' hearts. That uncertain good should bring a contempt to a certain good, I think is beyond all reach of reason. Common sense would teach us to hold that jewel dear, the loss of which would bring us to we know not what. Virtue and justice are the only bonds of people's love. Many princes have lost their crowns, whose own children were manifest successors and some have had their own children used as instruments of their ruin. Not that I deny the bliss of children, but only shew that religion and virtue are of themselves sufficient stays. The last proof in this contempt would be the venomous matter which certain men, imposthumed with wickedness, should utter against you. Certainly, not to be evil spoken of, neither Christ's holiness, nor Cæsar's might, could ever prevent or warrant; there being for that no other rule than so to do, as that they may not, justly, say evil of you. Whether your majesty have or not done this, I leave to the sincereness of your own conscience; to the wisdom of your judgment in the world; to your most manifest fruits and fame throughout Europe. Truly in behalf of your subjects, I durst with my blood answer it, that there was never monarch held in more precious reckoning of her people. And how can it be otherwise? No; no; most excellent lady! Do not raze out the impression you have made in such a multitude of hearts. Let not the scum of such vile minds bear any witness against your subjects' devotions. The only means of avoiding contempt are, Love and Fear. Love, you have by divers means sent into their souls. If any thing can stain so true a form, it must be the trimming yourself, not in your own likeness, but, in new colors to them. Against contempt, if there be any, which I will never believe, let your excellent virtue of piety, justice and liberality, more and more shine. Let such particular actions be found out, by which you may gratify all the hearts of your people. Let those in whom you find trust, and to whom you have committed trust, in your weighty affairs, be held up in the eyes of your subjects. Lastly, doing as you do, you shall be, as you are, the example of princes; the ornament of this age; the most excellent fruit of your progenitors, and the perfect mirror of your posterity.' Sidn. Lett. v. 1. p. 292, 3. 85 Leicester mentions in his letter to sir Th. Heneage, written the day after his nephew's wound: I would you had stood by to hear his most loyal speeches to her majesty; riding a long mile and a half upon his horse ere he came to the camp, not ceasing to speak still of her II. prising that Poetry, the literature of awakened feeling, the solace of plaintive mind, and the endeared recreation of the most cultivated talents, should have been profuse in its tributes to a man so amiable and so beloved. SPENSER, whose gentle spirit, chivalric taste, and sweet harmonies of diction, were peculiarly congenial with his honored theme, has devoted to him some of his most mellifluent verses. To his 86 majesty; being glad if his hurt and death might any way honor her; for her's he was while he lived, and God's if he died. He prayed all men to think that the cause was as well her's as the country's, and not to be discouraged; For you have seen such success (he added) as may encourage us all. And this my hurt is the ordinance of God by the hap of this war.' Lett. in Collins, 105. 66 Spenser represents him as a shepherd, in allusion to his Arcadia,' Did keep his sheep, his little stock and store; With gentle usage and demeanor mild; Sweet without sour; and honey without gall. After remarking, that altho he was much noticed by all, yet that one lady alone, Stella, fixed his attention, the poet proceeds : To her, he vowed the service of his days; own elegy, our sweet bard attached the doleful lay of Clorinda,' as the composition of the sister of his Astrophel, and also the lamenting compositions of two other friends.88 Besides these, a student 87 Nor her with idle words alone he woo'd, And verses vain; yet verses are not vain; His bodily accomplishments are thus enumerated :- In shooting, steady; and in swimming, strong: He vanquished all; and vanquished was of none.' $7 This seems to have been written by sir Philip's sister, the accom- O! what is now become of it? ared! But lives for aye in blissful Paradise; There liveth he in everlasting bliss; Sweet spirit! never fearing more to die, Ne fearing savage beasts more cruelty. Not thee, that dost thy heaven's joy inherit, S8 The first is under the name of The Mourning Muse of Thestylis,' СНАР. XXXIII. |