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[^BURNET, GILBERT.
SOME PASSAGES OF THE LIFE AND DEATH
OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOHN, EARL OF
ROCHESTER, WHO DIED THE 26TH OF JULY, 1680.
WRITTEN BY HIS OWN DIRECTION ON HIS
DEATH-BED, BY GILBERT BURNET, D. D.
LONDON, 1680. 
MENSTON: THE SCOLAR PRESS,
1972 (FACSIMILE).
PP. 1.1   - 28.11   (SAMPLE 1)
PP. 136.1 - 158.4   (SAMPLE 2)^]

<S SAMPLE 1>
<P 1>
[}SOME
PASSAGES
OF THE 
LIFE AND DEATH
OF 
JOHN 
EARL OF ROCHESTER}]

   (^John Wilmot^) Earl of (^Rochester^) 
was born in (^April, Anno 
Dom.^) 1648. his father was 
(^Henry^) Earl of (^Rochester^) , but best 
known by the Title of the Lord 
<P 2>
(^Wilmot^) , who bore so great a 
part in all the late Wars, that 
mention is often made of him 
in the History: And had the 
chief share in the Honour of 
the preservation of His Majesty 
that now Reigns, after 
(^Worcester^) -Fight, and the Conveying 
Him from Place to 
Place, till he happily escaped 
into (^France^) : But dying before 
the King's Return, he left his 
Son little other Inheritance, 
but the Honour and Title derived 
to him, with the pretensions 
such eminent Services 
gave him to the King's Favour: 
These were carefully managed 
by the great prudence and discretion
of his Mother, a Daughter 
of that Noble and ancient 
Family of the (^St. Johns^) of (^Wiltshire^) , 
so that his Education was 
<P 3>
carried on all things sutably 
to his Quality.
   When he was at School he 
was an extraordinary Proficient 
at his Book: and those shining 
parts, which have since appeared 
with so much lustre; began 
then to shew themselves: He 
aqcuired the (^Latin^) to such perfection, 
that to his dying-day 
he retained a great rellish of the 
fineness and Beauty of that 
Tongue: and was exactly versed 
in the incomparable Authors 
that writ about (^Augustus's^) time, 
whom he read often with that 
peculiar delight which the 
greatest Wits have ever found 
in those Studies.
   When he went to the (^University^) 
the general Joy which 
over-ran the whole Nation 
upon his Majesties (^Restauration^) ,
<P 4>
but was not regulated with 
that Sobriety and Temperance, 
that became a serious gratitude 
to God for so great a Blessing, 
produced some of its ill effects 
on him: He began to love these 
disorders too much; His Tutor 
was that Eminent and Pious 
Divine Dr. (^Blandford^) , afterwards 
promoted to the Sees of (^Oxford^) 
and (^Worcester^) : And under his 
Inspection, he was committed 
to the more immediate care of 
Mr. (^Phineas Berry^) , a Fellow 
of (^Wadham^) -Colledge, a very 
learned and good natured man; 
whom he afterwards ever used 
with much respect, and rewarded 
him as became a great 
man. But the humour of that 
time wrought so much on him, 
that he broke off the Course of 
his Studies; to which no means 
<P 5>
could ever effectually recall 
him; till when he was in (^Italy^) 
his Governor, Dr. (^Balfour^) , a 
learned and worthy man, now 
a Celebrated Physitian in (^Scotland^) , 
his Native Country; drew 
him to read such Books, as were 
most likely to bring him back 
to love Learning and Study: 
and he often acknowledged to
me, in particular three days before 
his Death, how much he 
was obliged to Love and Honour 
this his Governour, to 
whom he thought he owed 
more than to all the World, 
next after his Parents, for his 
great Fidelity and Care of him, 
while he was under his trust. 
But no part of it affected him 
more sensibly, than that he engaged 
him by many tricks (so 
he expressed it) to delight in 
<P 6>
Books and reading; So that 
ever after he took occasion in 
the Intervals of those woful 
Extravagancies that consumed 
most of his time to read much: 
and though the time was generally 
but indifferently employed, 
for the choice of the Subjects 
of his Studies was not always 
good, yet the habitual 
Love of Knowledge together 
with these fits of study, had 
much awakened his Understanding, 
and prepared him for 
better things, when his mind 
should be so far changed as to 
rellish them.
   He came from his Travels in 
the 18th Year of his his Age, and 
appeared at Court with as great 
Advantages as most ever had. 
He was a Graceful and well
shaped Person, tall and well 
<P 7>
made, if not a little too slender: 
He was exactly well bred, and 
what by a modest behaviour 
natural to him, what by a Civility 
become almost as natural, 
his Conversation was easie and 
obliging. He had a strange Vivacity 
of thought, and vigour of 
expression: His Wit had a subtility 
and sublimity both, that 
were scarce imitable. His Style 
was clear and strong: When 
he used Figures they were very
lively, and yet far enough out 
of the Common Road: he had 
made himself Master of the 
Ancient and Modern Wit, and 
of the Modern (^French^) and 
(^Italian^) as well as the (^English^) . 
He loved to talk and write of 
Speculative Matters, and did it 
with so fine a thread, that even 
those who hated the Subjects 
<P 8>
that his Fancy ran upon, yet 
could not but be charmed with 
his way of treating them. 
(^Boileau^) among the (^French^) , and 
(^Cowley^) among the (^English^) Wits, 
were those he admired most. 
Sometimes other mens thoughts 
mixed with his Composures, 
but that flowed rather from the 
Impressions they made on him 
when he read them, by which 
they came to return upon him 
as his own thoughts; than that 
he servilely copied from any. 
For few men ever had a bolder 
flight of fancy, more steddily 
governed by Judgment than he 
had. No wonder a young man 
so made, and so improved was 
very acceptable in a Court.
   Soon after his coming thither 
he laid hold on the first Occasion 
that offered to shew his readiness 
<P 9>
to hazard his life in the 
Defence and Service of his 
Country. In (^Winter^) 1665. he 
went with the Earl of (^Sandwich^) 
to Sea, when he was sent to 
lie for the (^Dutch East-India 
Fleet^) ; and was in the (^Revenge^) , 
Commanded by Sir (^Thomas 
Tiddiman^) , when the Attack 
was made on the Port of (^Bergen^) 
in (^Norway^) , the (^Dutch^) ships having 
got into that (^Port^) . It 
was as desperate an Attempt as 
ever was made: during the 
whole Action, the Earl of (^Rochester^) 
shewed as brave and as 
resolute a Courage as was possible: 
a Person of Honour told 
me he heard the Lord (^Clifford^) , 
who was in the same Ship, often 
magnifie his Courage at that 
time very highly. Nor did 
the Rigours of the Season, the 
<P 10>
hardness of the Voyage, and 
the extream danger he had been 
in, deter him from running the 
like on the very next Occasion; 
For the (^Summer^) following he 
went to Sea again, without 
communicating his design to 
his nearest Relations. He went 
aboard the Ship Commanded 
by Sir (^Edward Spragge^) the day 
before the great Sea-fight of 
that Year: Almost all the Volunteers
that were in the same 
Ship were killed. Mr. (^Middleton^) 
(brother to Sir (^Hugh Middleton^) ) 
was shot in his Arms. During 
the Action, Sir (^Edward Spragge^) , 
not being satisfied with the behaviour 
of one of the Captains, 
could not easily find a Person 
that would chearfully venture 
through so much danger, to 
carry his Commands to that 
<P 11>
Captain. This Lord offered
himself to the Service; and 
went in a little Boat, through 
all the shot, and delivered his 
Message, and returned back to 
Sir (^Edward^) : which was much 
commended by all that saw it. 
He thought it necessary to begin 
his life with these Demonstrations 
of his Courage in an 
Element and way of fighting, 
which is acknowledged to be 
the greatest trial of clear and 
undaunted Valour.
   He had so entirely laid down 
the Intemperance that was 
growing on him before his Travels, 
that at his Return he 
hated nothing more. But falling 
into Company that loved 
these Excesses, he was, though 
not without difficulty, and by 
many steps, brought back to it 
<P 12>
again. And the natural heat 
of his fancy, being inflamed by 
Wine, made him so extravagantly 
pleasant, that many to be 
more diverted by that humor,
studied to engage him deeper 
and deeper in Intemperance: 
which at length did so entirely 
subdue him; that, as he told 
me, for five years together he 
was continually Drunk: not all 
the while under the visible effect 
of it, but his blood was so 
inflamed, that he was not in 
all that time cool enough to be 
perfectly Master of himself. 
This led him to say and do 
many wild and unaccountable 
things: By this, he said, he had 
broke the firm constitution 
of his Health, that seemed so 
strong, that nothing was too 
hard for it; and he had suffered 
<P 13>
so much in his Reputation, that 
he almost dispaired to recover 
it. There were two Principles 
in his natural temper, that being 
heighten'd by that heat carried 
him to great excesses: a violent 
love of Pleasure, and a disposition 
to extravagant Mirth. 
The one involved him in great 
sensuality: the other led him to 
many odd Adventures and 
Frollicks, in which he was oft 
in hazard of his life. The one 
being the same irregular appetite 
in his Mind, that the other 
was in his Body, which made 
him think nothing diverting 
that was not extravagant. And 
though in cold blood he was 
a generous and good natured 
man, yet he would go far in 
his heats, after any thing that 
might turn to a Jest or matter 
<P 14>
of Diversion: He said to me, 
He never improved his Interest 
at Court, to do a premeditate 
Mischief to other persons. Yet 
he laid out his Wit very freely 
in (^Libels^) and (^Satyrs^) , in which 
he had a peculiar Talent of mixing 
his Wit with his Malice, 
and fitting both with such apt 
words, that Men were tempted 
to be pleased with them: from 
thence his Composures came to 
be easily known, for few had 
such a way of tempering these 
together as he had; So that 
when any thing extraordinary 
that way came out, as a Child 
is fathered sometimes by its Resemblance, 
so was it laid at his 
Door as its Parent and 
Author.
   These Exercises in the course 
of his life were not always 
<P 15>
equally pleasant to him; he 
had often sad Intervals and severe 
Reflections on them: and 
though then he had not these 
awakened in him from any 
deep Principle of Religion, yet 
the horrour that Nature raised 
in him, especially in some Sicknesses, 
made him too easie to 
receive some ill Principles, 
which others endeavoured to 
possess him with; so that he 
was too soon brought to set 
himself to secure, and fortifie 
his Mind against that, by dispossessing 
it all he could of the 
belief or apprehensions of Religion. 
The Licentiousness of 
his temper, with the briskness of 
his Wit, disposed him to love 
the Conversation of those who 
divided their time between 
lewd Actions and irregular 
<P 16>
Mirth. And so he came to 
bend his Wit, and direct his 
Studies and Endeavours to support 
and strengthen these ill
Principles in himself and 
others.
   An accident fell out after this, 
which confirmed him more in 
these Courses: when he went 
to Sea in the Year 1665, there 
happened to be in the same 
Ship with him Mr. (^Mountague^) 
and another Gentleman of 
Quality, these two, the former 
especially, seemed perswaded 
that they should never return 
into (^England^) . Mr. (^Mountague^) 
said, He was sure of it: the 
other was not so positive. The 
Earl of (^Rochester^) , and the last 
of these, entred into a formal 
Engagement, not without Ceremonies 
of Religion, that if 
<P 17>
either of them died, he should 
appear, and give the other notice 
of the future State, if there 
was any. But Mr. (^Mountague^) 
would not enter into the Bond. 
When the day came that they 
thought to have taken the 
(^Dutch^) -Fleet in the Port of (^Bergen^) , 
Mr. (^Mountague^) though 
he had such a strong Presage in 
his Mind of his approaching 
death, yet he generously staid 
all the while in the place of 
greatest danger: The other 
Gentleman signalized his Courage 
in a most undaunted manner, 
till near the end of the 
Action; when he fell on a 
sudden into such a trembling 
that he could scarce stand; and 
Mr. (^Mountague^) going to him 
to hold him up, as they were 
in each others Arms, a Cannon 
<P 18>
Ball killed him outright, 
and carried away Mr. (^Mountague's^)
Belly, so that he died 
within an hour after. The 
Earl of (^Rochester^) told me that 
these Presages they had in their 
minds made some impression 
on him, that there were separated 
Beings: and that the Soul, 
either by a natural sagacity, or 
some secret Notice communicated 
to it, had a sort of Divination: 
But that Gentlemans 
never appearing was a great 
snare to him, during the rest 
of his life. Though when he 
told me this, he could not but 
acknowledge, it was as unreasonable 
thing for him, to think, 
that Beings in another State 
were not under such Laws and 
Limits, that they could not 
command their own motions, 
<P 19>
but as the Supream Power 
should order them: and that 
one who had so corrupted the 
Natural Principles of Truth, as 
he had, had no reason to expect 
that such an extraordinary 
thing should be done for his 
Conviction.
   He told me of another odd 
Presage that one had of his approaching 
Death in the Lady 
(^Warre^) , his Mother in Laws 
house: The Chaplain had 
dream't that such a day he 
should die, but being by all the 
Family put out of the belief of 
it, he had almost forgot it; till 
the Evening before at Supper, 
there being Thirteen at Table; 
according to a fond conceit 
that one of these must soon 
die, One of the young Ladies 
pointed to him, that he was to 
<P 20>
die. He remembering his Dream 
fell into some disorder and the 
Lady (^Warre^) reproving him for 
his Superstition, he said, He was 
confident he was to die before 
Morning, but he being in perfect 
health, it was not much 
minded. It was (^Saturday^) -Night, 
and he was to Preach 
next day. He went to his 
Chamber and sate up late, as 
appeared by the burning of his 
Candle, and he had been preparing 
his Notes for his Sermon, 
but was found dead in his 
Bed the next Morning: These 
things he said made him inclined 
to believe, the Soul was 
a substance distinct from matter: 
and this often returned into 
his thoughts. But that which 
perfected his perswasion about 
it, was, that in the Sickness 
<P 21>
which brought him so near 
death before I first knew him, 
when his Spirits were so low 
and spent, that he could not 
move nor stir, and he did not 
think to live an hour; He said, 
His Reason and Judgment were 
so clear and strong, that from 
thence he was fully perswaded 
that Death was not the spending 
or dissolution of the Soul; 
but only the separation of it 
from matter. He had in that 
Sickness great Remorses for his 
past Life, but he afterwards 
told me, They were rather general 
and dark Horrours, than 
any Convictions of sinning 
against God. He was sorry 
he had lived so as to wast his 
strength so soon, or that he had 
brought such an ill name upon 
himself, and had an Agony in 
<P 22>
his Mind about it, which he 
knew not well how to express: 
But at such times, though he 
complied with his Friends in 
suffering Divines to be sent for, 
he said, He had no great mind 
to it: and that it was but a piece 
of his breeding, to desire them 
to pray by him, in which he 
joyned little himself.
   As to the Supream Being, he 
had always some Impression of 
one: and professed often to 
me, That he had never known 
an entire (^Atheist^) , who fully believed 
there was no God. Yet 
when he explained his Notion 
of this Being, it amounted to 
no more than a vast power, 
that had none of the Attributes 
of Goodness or Justice, we 
ascribe to the Deity: These 
were his thoughts about Religion, 
<P 23>
as himself told me. For
Morality, he freely own'd to 
me, that though he talked of 
it, as a fine thing, yet this was
only because he thought it a
decent way of speaking, and 
that as they went always in 
Cloaths, though in their Frollicks 
they would have chosen 
sometimes to have gone naked, 
if they had not feared the people: 
So though some of them 
found it necessary for humane 
life to talk of Morality, yet he 
confessed they cared not for it, 
further than the reputation of 
it was necessary for their credit, 
and affairs: of which he gave 
me many Instances, as their 
professing and swearing Friendship, 
where they hated mortally; 
their Oaths and Imprecations 
in their Addresses to Women, 
<P 24>
which they intended never 
to make good; the pleasure 
they took in defaming innocent 
Persons, and spreading false
Reports of some, perhaps in 
Revenge, because they could 
not enage them to comply 
with their ill Designs: The 
delight they had in making people 
quarrel; their unjust usage 
of their Creditors, and putting 
them off by any deceitful Promise 
they could invent, that 
might deliver them from present 
Importunity. So that in 
detestation of these Courses he
would often break forth into 
such hard Expressions concerning 
himself as would be indecent 
for another to repeat.
   Such had been his Principles 
and Practices in a Course of 
many years which had almost 
<P 25>
quite extinguish't the natural 
Propensities in him to Justice 
and Vertue: He would often 
go into the Country, and be 
for some months wholly imployed 
in Study, or the Sallies 
of his Wit: Which he came 
to direct chiefly to (^Satyre^) . And 
this he often defended to me; 
by saying there were some people 
that could not be kept in 
Order, or admonished but in 
this way. I replied, That it 
might be granted that a grave 
way of (^Satyre^) was sometimes 
no improfitable way of Reproof. 
Yet they who used it 
only out of spite, and mixed 
Lyes with Truth, sparing nothing 
that might adorn their 
(^Poems^) , or gratifie their Revenge, 
could not excuse that 
way of Reproach, by which 
<P 26>
the Innocent often suffer: since 
the most malicious things, if 
wittily expressed, might stick 
to and blemish the best men in 
the World, and the malice of 
a Libel could hardly consist 
with the Charity of an Admonition. 
To this he answered, 
A man could not write with 
life, unless he were heated by 
Revenge: For to make a (^Satyre^) 
without Resentments, upon the 
cold Notions of (^Phylosophy^) , was 
as if a man would in cold blood, 
cut mens throats who had never 
offended him: And he said, 
The Lyes in these Libels came 
ofen in as Ornaments that 
could not be spared without 
spoiling the beauty of the 
(^Poem^) .
   For his other Studies, they 
were divided between the Comical 
<P 27>
and witty Writings of 
the Ancients and Moderns, the 
(^Roman^) Authors, and Books of 
Physick: which the ill state of 
health he was fallen into, made
more necessary to himself: and 
which qualifi'd him for an odd 
adventure, which I shall but 
just mention. Being under an 
unlucky Accident, which obliged 
him to keep out of the 
way; He disguised himself, so 
that his nearest Friends could 
not have known him, and set up 
in (^Tower-street^)  for an (^Italian 
Mountebank^) , where he practised
Physick for some Weeks not 
without success. In his later years, 
he read Books of History 
more. He took pleasure to disguise 
himself as a (^Porter^) , or as 
a (^Beggar^) ; sometimes to follow 
<P 28>
some mean Amours, which, for 
the variety of them, he affected; 
At other times, meerly for diversion, 
he would go about in 
odd shapes, in which he acted 
his part so naturally, that even 
those who were in the secret, 
and saw him in these shapes, 
could perceive nothing by 
which he might be 
discovered. 

<S SAMPLE 2>
<P 136>
   He told me when I saw him, 
That he hoped I would come to 
him upon that general Insinuation 
of the desire he had of my 
Company; and he was loth to 
write more plainly: not knowing 
whether I could easily 
spare so much time. I told 
him, That on the other hand, 
I looked on it as a presumption 
to come so far, when he was in 
such excellent hands; and though 
perhaps the freedom formerly 
between us, might have excused 
it with those to whom it was 
known; yet it might have the 
appearance of so much Vanity, 
to such as were strangers to it; 
So that till I received his Letter, 
I did not think it convenient to 
come to him: And then not 
hearing that there was any 
danger of a sudden change, I 
<P 137>
delayed going to him till the 
Twentieth of (^July^) . At my 
coming to his House an accident 
fell out not worth mentioning, 
but that some have 
made a story of it. His Servant, 
being a (^French-man^) , carried 
up my Name wrong, so that he 
mistook it for another, who 
had sent to him, that he would 
undertake his Cure, and he being 
resolved not to meddle with 
him, did not care to see him: 
This mistake lasted some hours, 
with which I was better contented, 
because he was not then 
in such a condition that my 
being about him could have 
been of any use to him: for that 
Night was like to have been his 
last. He had a (^Convulsion-Fit^) , 
and raved; but, (^Opiates^) being 
given him, after some hours 
<P 138>
rest, his raving left him so entirely, 
that it never again returned 
to him.
   I cannot easily express the 
Transport he was in, when he 
awoke and saw me by him: He 
brake out in the tenderest Expressions 
concerning my kindness 
in coming so far to see (^such 
a One^) , using terms of great 
abhorrence concerning himself, 
which I forbear to relate. He 
told me, as his strength served 
him at several snatches, for he 
was then so low, that he could 
not hold up discourse long at 
once, what sense he had of his 
past life; what sad apprehension 
for having so offended his 
Maker, and dishonoured his 
Redeemer: What Horrours he 
had gone through, and how 
much his Mind was turned to 
<P 139>
call on God, and on his Crucified 
Saviour: So that he hoped 
he should obtain Mercy, for 
he believed he had sincerely 
repented; and had now a calm 
in his Mind after that storm 
that he had been in for some 
Weeks. He had strong Apprehensions 
and Perswasions of 
his admittance to Heaven: of 
which he spake once not without 
some extraordinary Emotion. 
It was indeed the only 
time that he spake with any 
great warmth to me: For his 
Spirits were then low, and so 
far spent, that though those 
about him told me, He had expressed
formerly great fervor 
in his Devotions; Yet Nature 
was so much sunk, that these 
were in a great measure fallen 
off. But he made me pray 
<P 140>
often with him; and spoke of 
his Conversion to God as a 
thing now grown up in him to 
a setled and calm serenity. He 
was very anxious to known my 
Opinion of a Death-Bed Repentance. 
I told him, That 
before I gave any Resolution in 
that, it would be convenient 
that I should be acquainted 
more particularly with the Circumstances 
and Progress of his 
Repentance.
   Upon this he satisfied me in 
many particulars. He said, He 
was now perswaded both of 
the truth of (^Christianity^) , and 
of the power of inward Grace, 
of which he gave me this 
strange account. He said, 
Mr. (^Parsons^) in order to his 
Conviction, read to him the 
53. (^Chapter^) of the Prophesie of 
<P 141>
(^Isaiah^) , and compared (^that^) with 
the History of our Saviour's
Passion, that he might there see 
a Prophesie concerning it, written 
many Ages before it was 
done; which the (^Jews^) that 
blasphemed Jesus Christ still 
kept in their hands, as a Book 
divinely inspired. He said to 
me, (^That as he heard it read, he 
felt an inward force upon him, 
which did so enlighten his Mind, 
and convince him, that he could 
resist it no longer: For the words 
had an authority which did shoot 
like Raies or Beams in his Mind; 
So that he was not only convinced 
by the Reasonings he had about 
it, which satisfied his Understanding, 
but by a power which did so 
effectually constrain him, that he 
did ever after as firmly believe in 
his Saviour, as if he had seen 
<P 142>
him in the Clouds^) . He had made 
it to be read so often to him, that 
he had got it by heart: and 
went through a great part of it 
in Discourse with me, with a 
sort of heavenly Pleasure, giving 
me his Reflections on it. Some 
few I remember, (^Who hath believed 
our Report^) ? (^Here^) , he said, 
(^was foretold the Opposition the 
Gospel was to meet with from such 
Wretches as he was. He hath no 
Form nor Comliness, and when we 
shall see Him, there is no beauty 
that we should desire him^) . On 
this he said, (^The meanness of his 
appearance and Person has made 
vain and foolish people disparage 
Him, because he came not in such 
a Fools-Coat as they delight in^) . 
What he said on the other parts 
I do not well remember: and 
indeed I was so affected with 
<P 143>
what he said then to me, that 
the general transport I was under 
during the whole Discourse, 
made me less capable to remember 
these Particulars, as I 
wish I had done.
   He told me, That he had 
thereupon received the Sacrament 
with great satisfaction 
and that was encreased by the 
pleasure he had in his Ladies 
receiving it with him: who 
had been for some years misled 
into the Communion of the 
Church of (^Rome^) , and he himself 
had been not a little Instrumental 
in procuring it, as 
he freely acknowledged. So 
that it was one of the joyfullest 
things that befel him in his 
Sickness, that he had seen that 
Mischief removed, in which 
he had so great a Hand: and
<P 144>
during his whole Sickness, he 
expressed so much tenderness 
and true kindness to his Lady, 
that as it easily defaced the remembrance 
of every thing 
wherein he had been in fault 
formerly, so it drew from her 
the most passionate care and 
concern for him that was possible: 
which indeed deserves a 
higher Character than is decent 
to give of a Person yet alive. But 
I shall confine my Discourse to 
the Dead.
   He told me, He had overcome 
all his Resentments to all 
the World; So that he bore ill 
will to no Person, nor hated 
any upon personal accounts. 
He had given a true state of his 
Debts, and had ordered to pay 
them all, as far as his Estate 
that was not setled, could go: 
<P 145>
and was confident that if all 
that was owing to him were 
paid to his Executors, his Creditors 
would be all satisfied. He 
said, He found his Mind now 
possessed with another sense of 
things than ever he had formerly: 
He did not repine under 
all his pain, and in one of the 
sharpest Fits he was under while 
I was with him; He said, (^He 
did willingly submit^) ; and looking 
up to Heaven, said, (^God's 
holy Will be done, I bless Him for 
all He does to me^) . He professed  
he was contented either to die 
or live, as should please God: 
And though it was a foolish 
thing for a man to pretend to 
choose, Whether he would die 
or live, yet he wished rather to 
die. He knew he could never 
be so well, that life should be 
<P 146>
comfortable to him. He was 
confident he should be happy 
if he died but he feared if he 
lived he might Relapse: And 
then said he to me, (^In what a 
condition shall I be, if I Relapse 
after all this? But^) , he said, (^he 
trusted in the Grace and Goodness 
of God, and was resolved to avoid 
all those Temptations, that Course 
of Life, and Company, that was 
likely to insnare him: and he 
desired to live on no other account, 
but that he might by the 
change of his Manners some way 
take off the high Scandal his former 
Behaviour had given^) . All 
these things at several times I 
had from him, besides some 
Messages which very well became 
a dying Penitent to some 
of his former Friends, and a 
Charge to publish any thing 
<P 147>
concerning him, that might be 
a mean to reclaim others. (^Praying 
God, that as his life had done 
much hurt, so his death might do 
some good.^)
   Having understood all these 
things from him, and being 
pressed to give him my Opinion 
plainly about his Eternal State; 
I told him, That though the 
Promises of the Gospel did all 
depend upon a real change of 
Heart and Life, as the indispensable 
condition upon which 
they were made; and that it 
was scarce possible to know certainly 
whether our Hearts are 
changed, unless it appeared in 
our lives; and  the Repentance 
of most dying men, being like 
the howlings of condemned 
Prisoners for Pardon, which 
flowed from no sense of their 
<P 148>
Crimes, but from the horrour 
of approaching Death; there 
was little reason to encourage 
any to hope much from such 
Sorrowing: Yet certainly if the 
Mind of a Sinner, even on a 
Death-Bed, be truly renewed 
and turned to God, so great is 
His Mercy, that He will receive 
him, even in that extremity. 
He said, (^He was sure his Mind was 
entirely turned and though Horrour 
had given him his first 
awaking, yet that was now grown 
up into a setled Faith and Conversion^) .
   There is but one prejudice 
lies against all this, to defeat 
the good Ends of Divine Providence 
by it upon others, as 
well as on himself: and that 
is that it was a part of his 
Disease, and that the lowness of 
<P 149>
his Spirits made such an alteration 
in him, that he was not 
what he had formerly been: 
and this some have carried so 
far as to say, That he died mad: 
These Reports are raised by 
those who are unwilling that 
the last Thoughts or Words of 
a Person, every way so extraordinary, 
should have any effect 
either on themselves or 
others: And it is to be fear'd, 
that some may have so far 
feared their Consciences, and 
exceeded the common Measures 
of Sin and Infidelity, that 
neither this Testimony, nor one 
coming from the Dead, would 
signifie much towards their 
Conviction. That this Lord 
was either mad or stupid, is a 
thing so notoriously untrue, 
that it is the greatest Impudence 
<P 150>
for any that were about him, 
to Report it; and a very unreasonable 
Credulity in others 
to believe it. All the while I 
was with him, after he had slept 
out the disorders of the Fit he 
was in the first Night, he was 
not only without Ravings; but 
had a clearness in his Thoughts, 
in his Memory, in his reflections 
on Things and Persons, far 
beyond what I ever saw in a 
Person so low in his strength. 
He was not able to hold out 
long in Discourse, for his Spirits 
failed: but once for half an 
hour, and often for a quarter of 
an hour, after he awakened, he 
had a Vivacity in his Discourse 
that was extraordinary, and in 
all things like himself. He called 
often for his Children, his 
Son the now Earl of (^Rochester^) , 
<P 151>
and his three Daughters, and 
spake to them with a sense and 
feeling that cannot be expressed 
in Writing. He called me once 
to look on them all, and said,
(^See how Good God has been to me, 
in giving me so many Blessings, 
and I have carried my self to Him 
like an ungracious and unthankful 
Dog^) . He once talked a great 
deal to me of Publick Affairs, 
and of many Persons and things, 
with the same clearness of 
thought and expression, that he 
had ever done before. So that 
by no sign, but his Weakness of 
Body, and giving over Discourse 
so soon, could I perceive 
a difference between what his 
Parts formerly were, and what 
they were then.
   And that wherein the presence 
of his Mind appeared 
<P 152>
most, was in the total change 
of an ill habit grown so much 
upon him, that he could hardly 
govern himself, when he was 
any ways heated, three Minutes 
without falling into it; I mean 
(^Swearing^) . He had acknowledged 
to me the former Winter, 
that he abhorred it as a base 
and indecent thing, and had 
set himself much to break it 
off: but he confessed that he 
was so over-power'd by that ill 
Custom, that he could not 
speak with any warmth, without 
repeated Oaths, which, 
upon any sort of provocation, 
came almost naturally from 
him: But in his last Remorses 
this did so sensibly affect him, 
that by a resolute and constant 
watchfulness, the habit of it 
was perfectly master'd; So that, 
<P 153>
upon the returns of pain which 
were very severe and frequent 
upon him, the last day I was 
with him; or upon such Displeasures 
as people sick or in 
pain are apt to take of a sudden 
at those about them; On all 
these Occasions he never swore 
an Oath all the while I was 
there.
   Once he was offended with 
the delay of one that he 
thought made not hast enough, 
with somewhat he called for, 
and said in a little heat, (^That 
damned Fellow^) : Soon after I 
told him, I was glad to find his 
Style so reformed, and that he 
had so entirely overcome that 
ill habit of Swearing; Only that 
word of calling any (^damned^) , 
which had returned upon him, 
was not decent. His Answer 
<P 154>
was: (^Oh that Language of Fiends, 
which was so familiar to me, hangs 
yet about me: Sure none has deserved 
more to be damned than I 
have done^) . And after he had 
humbly asked God Pardon for 
it, he desired me to call the Person 
to him, that he might ask 
him forgiveness: but I told him 
that was needless for he had said 
it of one that did not hear it, 
and so could not be offended 
by it.
   In this disposition of Mind 
did he continue all the while I 
was with him, four days together; 
He was then brought so 
low that all hope of Recovery 
was gone. Much purulent 
matter came from him with his 
Urine, which he passed always 
with some pain; But one day 
with unexpressible torment: 
<P 155>
Yet he bore it decently, without 
breaking out into Repinings, or 
impatient Complaints. He 
imagined he had a Stone in his 
Passage, but it being searched, 
none was found. The whole 
substance of his Body was 
drained by the Ulcer, and nothing 
was left but Skin and 
Bone: and by lying much on 
his Back, the parts there began 
to mortifie. But he had been 
formerly so low, that he seemed 
as much past all hopes of life as 
now; which made him one 
Morning after a full and sweet 
Nights rest, procured by (\Laudanum\) , 
given him without his 
knowledge, to fancy it was an 
effort of Nature, and to begin 
to entertain some hopes of Recovery:  
For he said, He felt 
himself perfectly well, and that he 
<P 156>
had nothing ailing him, but an 
extream weakness, which might 
go off in time: and then he entertained 
me with the Scheme 
he had laid down for the rest 
of his life, how retired, how 
strict, and how studious he intended 
to be: But this was soon 
over, for he quickly felt that it 
was only the effect of a good 
sleep, and that he was still in a 
very desperate state.
   I thought to have left him 
on (^Friday^) , but not without 
some Passion, he desired me to 
stay that day: there appeared 
no symptome of present death; 
and a Worthy Physitian then 
with him, told me, That though 
he was so low that an accident 
might carry him away on a 
suddain; Yet without that, he 
thought he might live yet 
<P 157>
some Weeks. So on (^Saturday^) , 
at Four of the Clock in the 
Morning I left him, being the 
24th of (^July^) . But I durst not 
take leave of him; for he had 
expressed so great an unwillingness 
to part with me the day 
before, that if I had not presently 
yielded to one days stay, 
it was like to have given him 
some trouble, therefore I 
thought it better to leave him 
without any Formality. Some 
hours after he asked for me, 
and when it was told him, I was 
gone, he seem'd to be troubled, 
and said, (^Has my friend left me, 
then I shall die shortly^) . After 
that he spake but once or 
twice till he died: He lay 
much silent: Once they heard 
him praying very devoutly. 
<P 158>
And on (^Monday^) about Two of 
the Clock in the Morning, he 
died, without any (^Convulsion^) , or 
so much as a groan.



