THOMAS FULLER 1608-1661 Thomas Fuller was born at Aldwinkle, in Northamptonshire, in 1608. His father, rector of that parish, was probably his only teacher till, at the age of twelve, he sent him to Cambridge, where in 1628 he took the degree of Master of Arts. At the age of twenty-three he became prebend of Salisbury, and vicar of Broad Windsor. Here he spent some ten quiet years working in his parish and writing his "Holy War" and "Pisgah-Sight of Palestine." Tidings came to him from time to time of the struggle which was growing fiercer every day between the nation and the King. To Fuller, the son of a High-Churchman, and bred in the loyal University of Cambridge, devotion to the existing sovereign was the natural expression of allegiance to the King of kings, and it was with grief and horror that he heard of his country's apostasy. At last, impatient of inaction, he hastened to London. There, in many pulpits, chiefly those of the Savoy and the Inns of Court, he boldly preached submission to the Lord's Anointed. His earnestness and brilliant wit attracted crowds to listen to him, and drew upon him the observation of the Long Parliament, which was then sitting. In 1643 he was required to sign a declaration that he would support the measures of Parliament. He signed, with too many reservations to satisfy the authorities, and the oath was on the point of being tendered to him again, when Fuller quietly betook himself to the King's quarters at Oxford, saving thereby his conscience and losing his preferment. Lord Hopton made him his chaplain, and he became 'preacher militant" to the King's soldiers. As he wandered about with the army he gathered materials for his "Worthies of England." But such a life was less favorable to his Church History." It is of no value as a history till it reaches his own times, and yet it charms by the wit which sparkles in every page. In the spring of 1644 he left the army and took refuge in Exeter. It was during this lull that he wrote his "Good Thoughts in Bad Times." On the surrender of Exeter, Fuller obtained special terms from Fairfax, under which he returned to London. He was living in a small lodging, working at his "Worthies and praying for the King's return, when "that royal martyr was murdered," and "the foul deed " so completely crushed him that it was long before he could take heart to work again. After 1655 the Protector allowed him freely to preach, though other Royalists were silenced. On the Restoration he was made Chaplain extraordinary to Charles II, and Doctor of Divinity by the University of Cambridge at the King's request. He died on August 12, 1661. He was twice married. His writings are full of graphic touches and deep wisdom, and though his quaint fancy often led him beyond the bounds of good taste, he was never irreverent in meaning. His piety and genial humor might well atone for greater faults. 66 Few writers tell a story better than Fuller; and none, perhaps, have equalled him in the art of conveying the truth under the guise of a familiar-sounding proverb. Fuller's style is free to a great extent from the Latinisms which form so large an element in those of most of his contemporaries. He is more idiomatic in diction, the structure of his sentences is simpler, and a larger proportion of the words are of Saxon derivation. H season. OF JESTING ARMLESS mirth is the best cordial against the consumption of the spirits: wherefore jesting is not unlawful if it trespasseth not in quantity, quality, or It is good to make a jest, but not to make a trade of jesting. The Earl of Leicester, knowing that Queen Elizabeth was much delighted to see a gentleman dance well, brought the master of the dancing-school to dance before her. "Pish," said the queen, "it is his profession, I will not see him." She liked it not where it was a master quality, but where it attended on other perfections. The same may we say of jesting. Jest not with the two-edged sword of God's Word.1 Will nothing please thee to wash thy hands in, but the font, or to drink healths in, but the church chalice? And know the whole art is learnt at the first admission, and profane jests will come without calling. If in the troublesome days of King Edward the Fourth, a citizen in Cheapside was executed as a traitor for saying he would make his son heir to the Crown, though he only meant his own house, having a crown for the sign; more dangerous it is to wit-wanton it with the majesty of God. Wherefore, if without thine intention, and against thy will, by chance medley thou hittest Scripture in ordinary discourse, yet fly to the city of refuge, and pray to God to forgive thee. Wanton jests make fools laugh, and wise men frown. Seeing we are civilized Englishmen, let us not be naked savages in our talk. Such rotten speeches are worst in withered age, when men run after that sin in their words which flieth from them in the deed. Let not thy jests, like mummy, be made of dead men's flesh. Abuse not any that are departed; for to wrong their memories is to rob their ghosts of their winding-sheets. 1 Μάχαιραν διστομον (Heb. iv. 12). 2 Scoff not at the natural defects of any which are not in their power to amend. Oh, it is cruelty to beat a cripple with his own crutches! Neither flout any for his profession, if honest, though poor and painful. Mock not a cobbler for his black thumbs. He that relates another man's wicked jests with delight adopts them to be his own. Purge them therefore from their poison. If the profaneness may be severed from the wit, it is like a lamprey; take out the string in the back, it may make good meat. But if the staple conceit consists in profaneness, then it is a viper, all poison, and meddle not with it. He that will lose his friend for a jest, deserves to die a beggar by the bargain. Yet some think their conceits, like mustard, not good except they bite. We read that all those who were born in England the year after the beginning of the great mortality 1349,* wanted their four cheek-teeth. Such let thy jests be, that may not grind the credit of thy friend, and make not jests so long till thou becomest one. No time to break jests when the heart-strings are about to be broken. No more showing of wit when the head is to be cut off, like that dying man, who, when the priest coming to him to give him extreme unction, asked of him where his feet were, answered, “ At the end of my legs." But at such a time jests are an unmannerly crepitus ingenii. And let those take heed who end here with Democritus, that they begin not with Heraclitus hereafter. Tho. Walsingham, in eodem anno. |