e stuff is still the same,
only the dressing a little altered: he has more tricks with a sermon,
than a tailor with an old cloak, to turn it, and piece it, and at last
quite disguise it with a new preface. If he have waded farther in his
profession, and would show reading of his own, his authors are postils,
and his school-divinity a catechism. His fashion and demure habit gets
him in with some town-precisian, and makes him a guest on Friday nights.
You shall know him by his narrow velvet cape, and serge facing; and his
ruff, next his hair the shortest thing about him. The companion of his
walk is some zealous tradesman, whom he astonishes with strange points,
which they both understand alike. His friends and much painfulness may
prefer him to thirty pounds a year, and this means to a chambermaid;
with whom we leave him now in the bonds of wedlock:--next Sunday you
shall have him again.

A GRAVE DIVINE

Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, and hath studied to make
his shoulders sufficient; for which he hath not been hasty to launch
forth of his port, the university, but expected the ballast of learning,
and the wind of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning but the end
of his studies; to which he takes the ordinary stair, and makes the arts
his way. He counts it not profaneness to be polished with human reading,
or to smooth his way by Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded
both religions, and anchored in the best, and is a protestant out of
judgment, not faction; not because his country, but his reason is on
this side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, and yet the pulpit
not his itch, but fear. His discourse is substance, not all rhetoric,
and he utters more things than words. His speech is not helped with
inforced action, but the matter acts itself. He shoots all his
meditations at one butt; and beats upon his text, not the cushion;
making his hearers, not the pulpit, groan. In citing of popish errors,
he cuts them with arguments, not cudgels them with barren invectives;
and labours more to shew the truth of his cause than the spleen. His
sermon is limited by the method, not the hourglass; and his devotion
goes along with him out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a week,
because he would not be idle; nor talks three hours together, because he
would not talk nothing: but his tongue preaches at fit times, and his
conversation is the every day's exercise. In matters of ceremony, he is
n