that, he very well kept it, having shared a good part of that 200,0001. given the Scotch army for their departure. He was as versatile as a dye, and like that, sometimes, was played always with very lucky hands, as those times were, and was every way as square, stood firm on his own interest, and could oppose a broadside to every emergency of fortune, then adored by the name of Providence. He was in with all the several usurpers, and that not by a servile subjection, but as a petty prince's interest, that could help them, as well by informing and discovering, as supplies and stores, though the latter to Cromwell was a mere braggadocio, and beyond the High Mightiness of his Highland sovereignty, where his baseness had lost him all respect and obedience. Certainly he was the Proteus of the age, and had not the sudden surprisal of our most happy resolution seized him supinely careless, and at a great distance (though he hurried up to London to wait on his Majesty) and then bound him fast, that he could have no liberty to assume any other shape than what he was then found in, being denied access or audience at court, he might have been a riddle still, whereas now death has resolved him. All that ever he did handsomely was then, and yet that too was but a mere disguise, since so dissonant to the whole course of his life, a mere imitation, though so well personated, that we may well let it pass for a bravery, and allow it to him as a gentleman. He was a great fomenter of war, yet cared not at all to endanger himself, like the monkey, that took the cat's foot to pull the chesnut out of the fire; nor was he much to be blamed, having been, by the Marquis of Montrose, so often put to shift, and that narrowly too, for his life: What he wanted of the generosity of a warrior, he supplied with the inalice of a witch, being the most implacable revengeful enemy loyalty ever met with in Scotland. Learned he was, and that not as a gentleman enough to set off and polish, but to accomplish him; and a most excellent way of speech he had, if it be possible any thing can sound handsome in Scotch, very fluent and rhetorical. His speeches at his trial (which were said to have been spoken ex tempore, because they would not allow him his delays, but compelled him to present answer) are very grave and sententious, yet polite and very cunning. He was a deep lawyer, and was formerly lord chief justice, I think not much taxed for bribery (for I take all their lands, estates, and whatever Scotland is worth, not to be worth a suit, much less the overplus of a greasing) yet, all this while, a bad nature predominated, like stinking oil upon generous wine; his potentiality to virtue never exerted itself, while his vices were most notorious and boyant. It is a truth undeniable, that he died unpitied of all men, and the reason was this: The universality and complication of his vices could miss no man's eyes, and, for one fault or other, so many single observations hit him, as drew a general odium upon him; excepting only the presbyterian clergy, who always had a particular respect for him, not from any other inducement, but the necessity of dependence; the kirk rides, while the lords hold the reins, and keep that people under the tyranny of that worse than Turkish government. He was the first promoter of the discipline, and that with an earnestness extraordinary, wherein, no doubt, he served himself principally; and the large demesnes he died

VOL. II.

ARGYLE'S

514 THE MARQUIS OF ARGYLE'S LAST WILL, &c.

possessed of will evidence what religion he was of, and how beneficial a thing reformation is to the first projectors. He was at feud with all his superiors in Scotland, as well as his peers; of four Marquisses, he procured the execution of three, viz. Hamilton, Huntley, and Montrose; the other, Douglas, through his impotency and infirmity, escaped him, so that he was Lord Paramount there. No doubt his abilities prompted him to cope with the greatness and authority of those noblemen, whose great and honourable families would soon have smothered and suppressed an ordinary envy, while his burned and flamed at their grave. He was a profound politician, of a fine mercurial spirit, of whom it may be said disjunctively, what his late Majesty said of the Earl of Strafford: He was such a minister of state, that he might well be ashamed of himself, and his Prince as rightly fear him. There was nothing wanting in him but loyalty and honesty, twd such dispensable things with presbytery, that they could hardly be afforded room in their morals for one whole age together; but it had been direct blasphemy to blend and incorporate them into their religion; however, for specious pretence sake they crept into the covenant. He was a most indefatigable carrier on of his designs, and that with very great expedition, though his motions were eccentrick, but all turbulent, and violent efforts are usually very sudden He thrice repaired and recruited his broken forces by the Marquis of Montrose, before there could be any thought of an enemy from him. He was never discouraged with any disappointment, but he would set the kirk to thunder out anathemas, and himself make prescriptions and levies together, fight with the pen and the sword at one and the same time; but his escripts were not Julius Cæsar's commentaries, but Caius Marius's publications and sentencings, betwixt whom there is, in many things, a near parallel.

To take a nearer view of him and put him altogether, he was absolutely master of all the arts of state; it was no injury to him to say it was his religion, since the great successes of rebellion led him to a firm belief that there was nothing but what was manageable by, and feasible to policy. But he so mixed them both in his affairs, that it was not easily discernible to which he owed most; by the first, he secured his interest, and, had not the excesses of the English usurpation out-run him, probably advanced his designs to that which Hamilton was suspected of; by the other, he procured an awe and reverence to himself, being vogued up by the clergy, and rendered to the vulgar as a pattern of piety, and zealous promoter of godliness, till such time as the vizard of the specious reformation was laid aside, and bold-faced interest out stared the impudence of the kirk, and made them veil to, and worship the devil they had raised.

In a word, he was the right antithesis to that glorious Marquis of Montrose, so that whoever hath read, or heard of his excellencies, may, by opposition, know the vileness of this. Such is the order of the world, though there be no standing mean, yet, that the extremes should balance one another, otherwise it had been a most hard fate for Scotland (who can impue her dishonour and total conquest to no name originally but Argyle) to have produced no renowned person his contemporary, such as was Montrose, whose glories and fame may fill up his chasms in their history.

THE

MIRROUR OF WORLDLY FAME.

COMPOSED BY I. H. Æ.

Ad hunc modum te forma, atque ita institue, ut paratus ad omnia, promptus ad singula, dulcia pariter, & amara despicias.

London, printed for James Shaw, and are to be sold at his Shop near Ludgate, 1603. Twelves, containing sixty pages.

To the Right Worshipful my singular good Uncle, Mr. William Hynd, I. H. wisheth continuance of Health, with prosperous Estate and Felicity.

THE

HE extraordinary kindness which you, right worshipful, have shewed me from my infancy, hath constrained me to publish out abroad the manifestation of my bounden duty, that thereby I might be held far from incurring the blemishes of ingratitude; which vice the Persians so detested, as that they held them worthy of due punishment, whom they found more prone to receive, than to requite. Being, therefore, animated thereto, first by your fatherly affection (whereof you have made most evident demonstration) and, next, for clearing myself of this suspicion of my guilt herein, which, otherwise, you might justly conceive against me, I have strained the small talent I had, to plead my cause in this behalf; beseeching you, both for the pardon of those wants, wherewith this my simple travel is blemished, through lack of learning, and a favourable acceptance of my bold unskilfulness; which, albeit it is not worthy to be presented unto your view, yet, notwithstanding, relying myself wholly upon your wonted clemency, I thought it good, for want of better ability, to gratify you with this small testimony of my good-will; presuming, that you will weigh rather the propensity of the giver, than the value of the gift. And I am the more emboldened herein, in regard of your affection unto learning, whereof you have been a loving patron, and a bountiful Mecænas, of which thing I myself am witness. Learning would quickly vanish away, without the aid and support of such as you are; which was well considered by great men many hundred years since. For Philip of Macedon, so highly esteemed of Aristotle, that he committed his son, Alexander, surnamed the Great, to his tuition: and he so affected good letters, that he used to lay the Iliads of Homer under his bed's-head. Augustus Cæsar so loved Virgil, that, after his decease, he diligently kept his works from the fire, to the which they were adjudged. I might here, likewise, bring in divers others, not inferior to them for their favour and love to the learned sort; but, remembering I wrote to your worship, I will abridge, therefore, that of purpose,

which might be more amply illustrated; knowing there needeth no apology to be made unto you, in the behalf of learning, whose mind hath been so addicted to the same, that, long since, I had been discouraged from my studies, if I had not found you so prone to be my patron. Wherefore, being pricked forward by your bounty, I present, and offer up these my labours unto you, to peruse them, at some hours, for your recreation; which, if you should like, it will not only be an especial means for them to escape the bites of basilisks brood, but I shall think my pen set to the book in a happy hour, and it will encourage me to attempt some matter of more weight, as soon as opportunity shall be answerable to my desire. The Almighty bless and prolong your days here, that we may behold the consummation of happy old age in your worship, before you shall be summoned to that ever. lasting happiness, which is always permanent, without mutability.

Your Worship's most humbly devoted,

I. H.

TO THE READER.

Courteous and gentle Reader,

IF, in this Mirrour of worldly fame, any thing is devised, which shall delight thee, and if some other shall not please thee, yet, in respect of that which doth like thee, afford me thy good word for my good-will, in passing over the same favourably to others, with whom, perhaps, it may be more agreeable. For all men are not of one and the self-same disposition; for that, wherewith one is delighted, another, oftentimes, doth not regard, and what some do detest, some other chiefly doth esteem. But shall I think, that my simple travel herein shall escape the tongues of the envious, who are always ready, with a prejudicate opinion, to condemn before they understand the cause? No, surely; for, in the former times, if those which wrote very learnedly, as Homer, Marcus Varro, Cicero, and Virgil, could not shelter themselves from the sting of Zoilus, how may I think that these, my imperfections, shall pass, where many are so quick-sighted, as that they will, at the first, behold the least tittle that isnot rightly placed? And albeit, perhaps at the first, by some it will be embraced for the novelty thereof, yet, at the length, it will be contemned as a thing unsavoury, and little worth; for the nature of man is such, as that it is corrupted always with curiosity. The fairest garden, wherein is variety of colours and smells, cannot affect all men's fancies alike, but are either misliked, or, in seeming not pleasant, rejected. No artificer can fit all men's minds alike, nor any orator please every man's humour; but, where his customers are too dainty and nice, his workmanship shall be controuled, and despised; and, where the auditors are too rash and careless in regarding, his rhetorick shall be condemned; and, to conclude, no work is so exquisitely performed, and absolutely

perfect, but some are ready and prone to reprehend and find fault with it. Yet, in the wiser sort is my greatest hope, because they are wise; and, presuming upon their favours, I'doubt not, but they will pardon that which is done amiss, and afford me a favourable construction for my pains. Farewel.

I. H. Æ.

WHEN I record within myself the infinite misfortunes, and sudden motion of things which are subject unto mankind, then, surely, I find nothing more frail, than mortal life, nothing more unquiet. For those gifts which nature hath endued us withal, as memory, understanding, prudence, and the like; I see that they are daily turned, either to our destruction, or continual labour. Besides, we are not only exposed to vain and unprofitable cares, but those things also, which are grievous and hurtful unto ourselves, daily so afflict us, not only for the present, but also for the time to come, as that we seem to stand in fear of nothing more, than when we shall be least miserable. Furthermore, we do so hunt after the cures and remedies of our maladies, as that we make this life of ours, which, if it were rightly governed, would seem most pleasant, nothing else but a sea of troubles; whose beginning blindness and oblivion do possess, whose proceeding labour and travel do molest, whose end sorrow and vexation do disturb. Which thing every man shall find true, if judicially he will measure out the whole course of his life. What day have we ever seen, which hath brought unto us quietness? Or what ease have we found in any day? Nay, rather, what day hath not almost stifled us with anguishes; and what thing ever hath been so secure in the morning, whose glory, before the evening, some sinister chance hath not eclipsed? The occasions whereof, although they are many, yet notwithstanding, if we will sincerely acknowledge it, we shall find that the greatest fault consisteth in our selves. For, that I may omit to speak of other calamities, with which we daily are oppressed, how great is that war which we wage with fortune, whereof virtue by herself is able to make us conquerors; but we willingly, and wittingly, have, and do daily swerve from her; therefore we are constrained to encounter with her, as with an implacable enemy, being ourselves, by nature, feeble and unarmed, and able no ways to make any resistance; at which she levelling, one while lifteth us up, and other while casteth us down, and windeth us about in such a manner, as that it were more tolerable for us to be utterly vanquished. And what hath been the cause of this, but our lenity and niceness? We are tossed hither and thither like balls, being creatures short-lived, but infinitely tormented. Which things being so, to what shore shall we fasten our ship, to what council shall we apply our minds, seeing, besides the present evil, something hangeth over our heads, which may molest us, something before our eyes may terrify us? Neither are any such mishaps incident to any living creatures so much as to man, for they, after dangers past, live secure; but we, by reason of our wit, and sharpness of mind, must contend