s."--Horace.

I have thought it good to set down in writing a memorable debate,
wherein I was a listener, and two men of pregnant parts and great
reputation discoursers; hoping that my friends will not be displeased to
have a record both of the strange times through which I have lived, and
of the famous men with whom I have conversed. It chanced in the warm and
beautiful spring of the year 1665, a little before the saddest summer
that ever London saw, that I went to the Bowling Green at Piccadilly,
whither, at that time, the best gentry made continual resorts. There
I met Mr Cowley, who had lately left Barnelms. There was then a house
preparing for him at Chertsey; and till it should be finished, he had
come up for a short time to London, that he might urge a suit to his
Grace of Buckingham touching certain lands of her Majesty's, whereof
he requested a lease. I had the honour to be familiarly acquainted with
that worthy gentleman and most excellent poet, whose death hath been
deplored with as general a consent of all Powers that delight in the
woods, or in verse, or in love, as was of old that of Daphnis or of
Callus.

After some talk, which it is not material to set down at large,
concerning his suit and his vexations at the court, where indeed his
honesty did him more harm than his parts could do him good, I entreated
him to dine with me at my lodging in the Temple, which he most
courteously promised. And, that so eminent a guest might not lack a
better entertainment than cooks or vintners can provide, I sent to the
house of Mr John Milton, in the Artillery Walk, to beg that he would
also be my guest. For, though he had been secretary, first to the
Council of State, and, after that, to the Protector, and Mr Cowley had
held the same post under the Lord St Albans in his banishment, I hoped,
notwithstanding that they would think themselves rather united by their
common art than divided by their different factions. And so indeed it
proved. For, while we sat at table, they talked freely of many men and
things, as well ancient as modern, with much civility. Nay, Mr Milton,
who seldom tasted wine, both because of his singular temperance and
because of his gout, did more than once pledge Mr Cowley, who was indeed
no hermit in diet. At last, being heated, Mr Milton begged that I would
open the windows. "Nay," said I, "if you desire fresh air and coolness,
what should hinder us, as the evening is fair, from sailing for an hou