xliv LIFE OF IZAAK WALTON. [1651, 



A congeniality of disposition and pursuits, particularly in that 

 of Angling, 6 produced a great intimacy between Walton and 

 Wotton ; and he was probably the " friend " who is alluded to in 

 the following lines in Wotton's "Description of the Spring, on a 

 Bank, as I sat a-fishing:" 



" The jealous Trout, that low did lie, 

 Rose at a well-dissembled fly : 

 There stood my friend, with patient skill 

 Attending of his trembling quill." 



Two letters from Sir Henry Wotton to Walton are inserted in 

 the " Reliquiae Wottonianae," the dates of which are not preserved. 

 The first, in answer to Walton's request that he would write the 

 Life of their common friend Dr Donne, has been noticed ; but the 

 second letter, in which he sent Walton the following beautiful 

 hymn written at night during a severe illness, exhibits the estima- 

 tion in which his society and virtues were held by that eminent 

 person, in vivid colours: 



" MY WORTHY FRIEND, Since I last saw you, I have been confined to 

 my chamber by a quotidian fever, I thank God, of more contumacy than 

 malignity. It had once left me, as I thought, but it was only to fetch 

 more company, returning with a surcrew of those splenetic vapours, that 

 are called hypochondriacal ; of which most say the cure is good company ; 

 and I desire no better physician than yourself. I have in one of those fits 

 endeavoured to make it more easy by composing a short Hymn ; and since 

 I have apparelled my best thoughts so lightly as in verse, I hope I shall be 

 pardoned a second vanity, if I communicate it with such a friend as your- 

 self ; to whom I wish a cheerful spirit, and a thankful heart to value it, as 

 one of the greatest blessings of our good God, in whose dear love I leave 

 you, remaining, your poor friend to serve you, H. WOTTON. 7 



" Oh thou great Power ! in whom I move, 

 For whom I live, to whom I die, 

 Behold me'through thy beams of love, 

 Whilst on this couch of tears I lie ; 

 And cleanse my sordid soul within, 

 By thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin. 



No hallowed oils, no grains I need, 

 No rags of saints, no purging fire, 

 One rosy drop from David's seed, 

 Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire. 



Oh precious Ransom ! which once paid 



That Consummatum est was said. 



And said by him, that said no more, 

 But seal'd it with his sacred breath ; 

 Thou then that hast despung'd my score, 

 And dying wast the death of death, 



Be to me now, on thee I call, 



My life, my strength, my joy, my all. H. WOTTON. " 



Soon after the fatal battle of Worcester, which was fought on 

 the 3d of September 1651, Walton's loyalty caused him to be 



6 See the Complete Angler, p. 77. 7 Ed. 1685, pp. 361, 362. 



