Since the seventeenth century, assessments of Lancelot Andrewes' sermons have focussed almost exclusively upon the Jacobean bishop's distinctive prose style. This essay is an attempt to move beyond discussion of the preacher's style as merely superficial or decorative by suggesting that Andrewes' prose manifests his theological understanding of the relationship between human language and the Incarnate Word of Christ.
Lancelot Andrewes (1555-1626) has long been regarded as one of Anglicanism's greatest figures. A brilliant scholar, he was a schoolmate of the poet Edmund Spenser, and throughout his life he commanded the respect and friendship of Renaissance England's greatest minds, including Hooker, Camden, Bacon, Raleigh, Herbert, and Donne. His clerical career--during which he served as Vicar of St. Giles', Cripplegate, Dean of Westminster, Bishop of Chichester, Ely, and Winchester--reflects the favour he earned from both Elizabeth I and James I. Although a skilled translator, teacher, and apologist, it is upon the strength of his court sermons that Andrewes' fame rests. However, with the exception of the publication of Andrewes' complete works in the Library of Anglo-Catholic Theology (1841-54), the writings of the Jacobean bishop did not receive much scholarly consideration until T. S. Eliot's attempted revival of Andrewes in the landmark 1926 essay "Lancelot Andrewes." Eliot failed to generate the kind of interest in Andrewes that he did in Donne thereby reversing in the twentieth century the relative status held lay the two men in their own day. This present essay suggests one possible explanation for the lack of study devoted to Andrewes--namely, that a preoccupation with matters of prose style has hindered further exploration of the content of the sermons--and attempts to re-examine the sermons through a consideration of the bishop's attitude toward language.
Most modern critics of Andrewes' works fix upon the bishop's sensitivity to the ranges of linguistic registers, his delight in the symmetrical division of texts, and his fondness for multiple meanings, metaphor, punning, and multi-lingualism. Eliot marvels at Andrewes' "precision in the use of words," and how he "takes a word and derives a world from it; squeezing and squeezing the word until it yields a full juice of meaning which we never should have supposed any word to possess." Less rapt, and perhaps more representative judgments single out Andrewes as "the prime exemplar of the 'witty' preaching so admired by the Court," and note "[h]is seemingly farfetched comparisons and breathtaking antitheses." Even Andrewes' contemporaries repeatedly react to his handling of words. one anonymous seventeenth-century commentator observes: "he proceeds . . . with a certain descant upon the text, coming by degrees to the full sense of it.... He is generally very acute and witty.... He dives to the very bottom of the text, fetches out the bowels of it.... He treads a path merely his own." Andrewes' "descants" failed to impress all of his auditors, such as the Scottish laird who told King James that the bishop "did play with his text, as a Jack-an-apes does, who takes up a thing and tosses it and playes with it, and then he takes up another, and playes a little with it. Here's a pretty thing, there's a pretty thing!" Notwithstanding the disgruntled Scot, Andrewes' close scrutiny of Scripture and his witty prose made him the most popular English preacher during an age that, in his own words, was "carried away with the common error, that Sermon-hearing is the Consummatum est of all Christianitie."
Critics, then, have agreed for centuries upon the characteristics of Andrewes' prose style. His stylistic hallmarks include those tropes we call "metaphysical": delight in paradox, word play, punning, heightened figurative language, and juxtaposition of the elevated and the homely. Nonetheless, perhaps because "Andrewes studies" have never attained the status of "studies" per se, criticism of the sermons seems stuck at this introductory, descriptive level. To advance the study of Andrewes' works, we must begin to ask what in Andrewes' philosophy of language and interpretation produced the distinctive style critics so unanimously recognize.
Paul Stanwood and Heather Asals observe of Andrewes' contemporary, John Donne (1571-1631), that "a reading of Donne's sermons and the sermons of many others whom he knew suggests that all preachers have a 'theology of language.'" Every Christian exegete's understanding of the nature of language is informed by that exegete's theology. However, to speak of a "theology of language" can imply the need for a theological language that is distinct from a secular language. The suggestion that such a division exists for Andrewes, or for Donne, imposes upon these Jacobean preachers a distinctly modern development in the history of language and interpretation. Stephen Prickett cautions that "the concept of a 'religious language' is a significantly recent one," and points out that until the late seventeenth century, none of the West's great scholars of language "inclined to view the language used to describe religious experience as presenting a special case--a different order of problem from the perennial one of 'words and thingst as a whole.' For Andrewes and his contemporaries the world itself is a book wherein even natural phenomena articulate revelations from God. As part of a theocentric universe, no "language", whether Scripture, human speech, or the natural landscape, can be anything but a theological language. Therefore, any attempt to study Andrewes' language--his "style"--must proceed with a simultaneous study of the theological beliefs that determine it.
At the heart of Bishop Andrewes' understanding of language lies his understanding of the mysteries and paradoxes of the Word, the Verbum that at once exists as divine language and the literal Christ, coeternal and consubstantial with God the Father. The attributes of the divine Word and the attributes that mankind shares with the Word through the Incarnation give Andrewes the distinctive attitude toward language that manifests itself so stunningly in his sermons.
Andrewes returns repeatedly to the subject of the Word's Incarnation throughout his preaching career in an on-going attempt to clarify and capture a glimpse of the truths contained therein. Andrewes argues that ultimately the mysteries of the Word made flesh remain beyond complete human understanding. Yet he embraces the ambiguities and contradictions of the Incarnation as the very source of Christianity's unique claim to truth. Like the Word Incarnate, the Word of Scripture also manifests its revelatory power through its inherently paradoxical and contradictory nature. Prickett's general estimate of seventeenth-century Biblical interpretation well describes Andrewes' approach to Scripture: For the Protestant exegete the 'authority' [of the Bible] could be taken for granted; it was the problematic and metaphorical nature of its message that was of overriding interest.
Andrewes never aims to reduce or paraphrase a sermon text into a few summarized axioms. Rather, he presents his audience with evidence of the text's almost infinite capacity for meaning. "So high is the Divine Nature above our reach," Andrewes explains, "as no one terme is able to expresse it: It is well, if diverse will doe it." (45). Bishop Andrewes' preaching style is indeed complex and elaborate. Yet with this style that is full of divisions, subdivisions, paradoxes and puns, the preacher gives further expression to the truths found only by engaging the "problematic and metaphorical" nature of the Word.
Four sermons, which I have chosen for their explicit consideration of different aspects of language, demonstrate the theological foundations of Andrewes' attitude to words and texts. True to Andrewes' own use of sources, I will range freely among these texts, and therefore will give their occasions, dates and Scriptural texts here: occasion unknown, at Greenwich, 1607, James 1.22 ("Be ye doers of the Word . . "); Nativity, 1611, at Whitehall, John 1.14 ("And the Word was made flesh ") Nativity, 1618, at Whitehall, Luke 2.12 ("And this shall be a sign unto you "); Easter, 1623, at Whitehall, Isaiah 63.1-3 ("Who is this that commeth from Edom . . ."). This selection also provides a representative chronological sampling from Andrewes' entire career as court preacher to James I.
Andrewes' word play strikes many modern ears as precious, if not downright strained. A few examples make the point:
"He, that commeth heer in clouts, He will come in the clouds, one day." (111)
"This is the Praecipe of the Praesepe (as I may call it;) the lesson of CHRIST'S cratch." (113)
" . . . if it be not Immanu-el, it will be Immanu-hell; . . . Why, if we have Him; and GOD, by Him; we need no more Immanu-el and Immanu-all." (77)
Undoubtedly Andrewes strove to please his erudite court audience with verbal flair. Nonetheless, it has been the fault of twentieth century critics to exaggerate the influence of a courtly entertainment motive upon the sermons' style. As I will show, the Bishop loathed the thought of sermons being attended as a holy day alternative to masquing or madrigal singing. Regardless of our own sense of their propriety, Andrewes' manipulations of words display a deep-seated respect for God-given language. The delight he takes in chiming Latin endings or in changing the meaning of a whole passage by altering one syllable suggests a verbal artist dazzled by the possibilities inherent in every word.
The standard exegesis of the Incarnation stresses the wonder of God become man in fleshly nature. But for Andrewes, the fleshly manifestation of Christ must be tempered with an insistence on His simultaneous insubstantial divinity. The Word provides exactly this balance. As the Son manifests Christ's humanity, so the Word speaks for His purely intellectual divinity. In Andrewes' phrase, "The Sonne referreth to a living nature: The Word addeth further an intellectual! nature. " (45). Not only was Christ made incarnate as a son, but as the Word He always existed as a thought, or Word, in the mind of God: "As the Sonne is, to the Father; so is the Word to the Minde ... They proceed, both.... from Him that begetteth, the Sonne; from him that speaketh, the Word." (45). Given this analogy, mankind not only shares with Christ a bodily form, but also has the ability to generate words from the mind in a likeness, albeit a fallen one, of God's intellectual nature. Language partakes of the divine. Human words and speech link mankind to the processes of God's creation of the world ex nihilo:
For, there is not in all the World a more pure, simple, inconcrete procreation, then that, whereby the mince conceiveth the word within it, by dixit in corde. For, in it selfe, and of it selfe, cloth the mince produce it, without help of any mixture of ought, without any passion stirring or agitation at all. Such was the issue of the Word eternal. (45)
If, for Andrewes, human language presents an analogy to God's expression of the Word, it therefore also functions as a reflection of the Incarnation. Preaching on "the doing of the Word" James 1.22), Andrewes calls upon his congregation to, "(as S. Gregorie saith well) Convertere Scripturas in operas, to change the Word which is audible, into a Worke which is visilile." (136). Insomuch as Christ the Word is also the words of Holy Scripture, mankind's enactment of the principles of that Scripture literally incarnates the Word. Andrewes, citing the precedent of St. Augustine, affirms this "incarnation" as nothing less than sacramental, urging that "unto the word . . . let there be joyned the Element of the Worke . . . and so shall you have the great Mysterie or Sacrament of Godlinesse.... Which very Sacrament ... is there said to be the manifesting of the word in the flesh" (137). Not satisfied yet, Andrewes pushes the comparison of human doing and holy incarnation to its farthest limits with his own beatitude: "Blessed are they, that so incarnate the written word, by doing it, as the Blessed Virgin gave flesh to the eternal! word, by bearing it." (137). For Andrewes, words allow the human to interact with the divine in a relationship surpassed in intimacy only by the sacrament of the Eucharist. In words themselves he finds a link with the pure intellectual nature of God, and in "doing" the words of Scripture--for a preacher this certainly includes the act of preaching the word--Andrewes finds the responsibility and privilege of bearing, like the Virgin Mary, the Word Incarnate.
Andrewes' elevated understanding of language might sound suspicously close to the Romantic notion of spontaneous originality, wherein the writer's effusions affirm the creative independence and supremacy of the author himself, but, unlike the Romantics, Andrewes never privileges the human mind with originality in the modern sense. For Andrewes, human intellect can never create anything new. Human learning should strive to uncover, and make as clear as possible, the datum of the natural laws and theological truths contained in God from eternity. For preachers especially, exegesis exists solely for the presentation and restatement of God's holy laws and truths. "Innovation," we must remember, is a word that carried negative connotations at least until Dr. Johnson's time. In Bishop Andrewes' theological view, innovation, or new revelation, deserves nothing less than condemnation.
Andrewes' use of one of his favorite words, the Latin verb invenio, "to come or light upon a thing," illustrates his understanding of interpretation and underscores how his hermeneutic differs from that of most modern critics. The root of this verb appears in English most frequently in the word "invention." Yet Andrewes had little praise for the notion of originality that we associate with the "inventions" of, say, an Edison or a Bell. For Andrewes, proper "invention" implies not so much a "making" as a "finding." Drawing heavily upon the Vulgate translation of Luke 2.12 (Et hoc vobis signum: invenietis infantem pannis involutum et positum in praesaepio), Andrewes emphasizes "invenietis" as something ultimately more important than "infantum . . . in praesepio." The act of seeking (invenietis, "you shall find") has priority over the actual babe in the manger. With characteristically wry humour he asks, "For, what is Natus est, without Invenietis? . . . what shall we be the better, if we find Him not. As good, not borne, as, not knowne: To us, all one." (1O8). To seek the child in the manger provides an appropriate metaphor for Andrewes' hermeneutic method. Like the shepherds or the Wise Men, Andrewes knows of God's existence. Divine truth, like the fact of"Christus natus est," is a given that never changes. Andrewes sees his responsibility as the need to seek that given. The Scriptures, like the cradle, hold the Word. Exegesis does not "make" or "invent." With "natus est" and "incarnatus est" the making has already been accomplished--by God. Andrewes charges all believers, not just exegetes, with the responsibilities of "invenio," claiming "it is not enough, CHRIST is borne; but to take benefit by His Birth, we are to find Him. Natus est, His part; Invenietis, ours." (1O8). Andrewes seeks verbal paths to the cradle containing the Word.
When the Wise Men and shepherds sought the infant Christ, both benefitted from the gift of signs: to some a star, to others the angel's description of the child "in praesepio." Andrewes insists that all mankind has the benefit of God-given signs in the form of words. Words for Andrewes are no less marvellous than the Magi's star. Without the Word, and the words of Scripture, and the blessing of words used for exegesis, the seeking of Christian truth would be impossible: "when, no Signe, no invenietis." (110). Words lead to truth. As a sign, every word is a metaphor that points to something beyond itself. Moreover, signs have accuracy, "Signes never come amisse" (110). Signs may certainly have multiple
meanings, as Andrewes delights in pointing out. Multiple meanings of a Biblical word, however, complement one another. They never contradict or undercut other meanings, but rather affirm and build upon the central truth expressed through them. Indeterminacy of meaning does not trouble Andrewes because his is a hermeneutics of trust, not of suspicion.
As signs that point beyond themselves, words' value comes from the things they signify. "Make of the signe, what ye will," Andrewes declares, "In the nature of a signe, there is nothing . . . All is, in the thing signified. "(112). Therefore, even the most insignificant word can contain divine power of the highest magnitude. No wonder Eliot finds Andrewes "squeezing and squeezing" a single word. No wonder Andrewes pries into the very syllables of just one word when he can find therein both the horrors of "Immanu-hel" and the blessedness of "Immanu-all."
According to Andrewes, verbal signs are always appropriate to the things they signify: "there [is] a proportion between the Signe and the Signatum" (111). Even apparent contradictions reveal hidden symmetries. The bishop never forgets to remind his hearers that paradoxes only seem contradictory. Andrewes reconciles the paradox, or "scandal!" of Christ the King born in a humble stable by reading the two components--"manger" (or "cratch") and "Christ child"--as a signifier (the cratch) containing a much more important signified (Christ). Exemplifying the "proportion betweene the Signe and the Signatum," the cratch is "signum adaequatum" for Christ because it foretells his ministry to the poor and humble. Moreover, "the scandal! of the Cratch is a good preparative, to the Scandal of the Crosse," and the fact that Christ did not need to come in great majesty only emphasizes "that He is, of himselfe, all sufficient . . . and needs no power but his owne" (111). Like words themselves, the sign of the cratch holds rich meanings; "outwardly, it seems little worth; but is rich of contents; as was the crib, this day, with CHRIST in it." (118). If a word as lowly as "cratch" can contain anything so divine as Christ himself, then certainly all language holds unbounded delights.
Perhaps the greatest pleasure of reading Andrewes is the bishop's infectious enthusiasm for seeking the possibilities hidden in words. His image of a man frantically digging for treasure aptly describes his own approach to Scriptural texts:
And, I know not the man so squemish, but if, in His stable, and under his manger, there were a treasure hid . . . but, thither he would, and pluck up the planks, and digg and rake for it, and be never a whit offended with the homlinesse of the place. (1 12)
No latinate vocabulary or rhetorical flourishes retard the race of the colloquial, native scene. Anglo-Saxon monosyllables ("pluck," "planks," "digg," "rake," "whit") advance the action and simultaneously restate the theme of greatness contained in homeliness.
Andrewes insists that any word "is a Signe, to wonder at" which contains the potential "if it be well looked into . . . to strike any man into an extasie" (112-13). Given his view of words as objects containing priceless treasures, Andrewes believes that texts, especially the Holy Writ command an awed reverence. Since a single word may hold a precious revelation the very order of words in a sentence or phrase takes on tremendous significance. Playing on a familiar passage from the marriage service, Andrewes argues for the sanctity of Biblical word order as "a Rule (not onely for marriage, but for all things els) What God hath coupled, let no man put asunder"(l35). To divorce one part of a verse from another breaks a sacred bond and severs its divinely intended, unified meaning. In only one portion of a single verse from Isaiah, ". . . I speake in righteousnesse, and am mighty to save . . ." (63.1), Andrewes finds in the two verbs "speak" and "save" the sum total of Christ's nature:
And see how well they fitt. Speaking is most proper; that refers to Him, as the Word: (in the beginning was the Word:) to His Divine Nature. Saving, that referrs to His very name JESUS . . . as man, for that He should save his people from their sinnes . . . There have you His two Natures. (57O)
What to the casual reader of the Bible might seem items listed randomly in a series, like the abstractions in "Ego sum Via, Veritas, et Vita" (John 14. 6), to Andrewes reads as a purposefully sequential ordering of concrete substances. To reorder the series would destroy the meaning implied by the literally pivotal position of"Veritas": he brought us truth, to set us in the right way. Via, Veritas, et Vita; Veritas, between both Via & Veritas, or veritas viae, the true way: Vita & Veritas, or veritas vitue, the true life (that is) Life eternal!: we cannot be without either. (15O)
A definite "rage for order" governs Andrewes' hermeneutic. Just as signs themselves "never come amiss," so the very word order of Scripture observes a divinely-ordained symmetry.
As he shows by his reconciliation of "Christ" and "the cratch," for Andrewes no Biblical image can be inappropriate or out of place. Likewise, in Andrewes' own prose, the homely and even the distasteful can play a part if it aids in the process of explicating God's word. Just as the Scriptures present a text without so much as one word or syllable out of place, so Andrewes crafts his sermons with painstaking attention to the details of rhetorical order, symmetry, and accurate use of vocabulary. Bishop John Buckeridge noted in his funeral sermon for Andrewes that "He was alwayes a diligent and painful! preacher: most of his Solemne Sermons he was most careful! of, and exact; I dare say, few of them, but they passed his hand, and were thrise revised, before they were preached." Predictably, the popular method of Puritan preaching which often relied on extemporaneous descants on themes drawn from a text rather than studied analysis of it, scandalized Andrewes. As early as 1592, in one of only two surviving parochial sermons, Andrewes inveighs against Puritan preaching as "the disease of our Age" (28). Truly responsible preachers, according to Andrewes, ought to scrutinize not only the Scriptural text, but also the Church's collective exegetical tradition recorded in the works of the Church Fathers. They must "speake not by revelation, but by labouring in the word and learning: not to utter their owne phancies, & to desire to be beleeved upon their bare word" (27). Textual purity and faithfulness to the text apply not only to the text studied, but also to the text written and preached.
The same reverence for Scripture that gives Andrewes his belief in the sanctity of Biblical word order also produces a rhetorical technique that initially seems to violate that same sanctified order. Although Andrewes always cites any quotation from Scripture with a marginal note, he rarely interrupts the actual text of his sermon for such reference. Instead, Biblical quotations, sometimes mere fragments or snatches of a verse, lie subtly embedded in the preacher's own prose, often in contexts substantially different from the Biblical original. Sometimes just one of Andrewes' typically short sentences conceals portions of three or four different verses that remain unidentified for the listening audience. The paragraph of the 16O7 Greenwich sermon that ends with Andrewes' "beatitude" comparing "doers of the Word" with the Virgin (above, p 3O9) provides an excellent example. Andrewes begins by quoting Christ's response (Matthew 12.5O) to his disciples' message that His mother waits outside: "Who is my mother" (saith He?) "These heere, that heare and doe my words, are my mother" (137). However, the bishop then composes an imaginary continuation of Christ's response that fuses parts from three far-flung verses (Galatians 4.9, I Peter 1.23, John 1.14). In their original contexts the quotations have very different meanings from Andrewes' use of them, and none is actually spoken by Christ. Nonetheless, Andrewes' composite monologue for "Christ" continues the sense and spirit of the first quotation from Matthew:
They travell of me till I am fashioned in them. Hearing, they receive the immortall seed of the word; by a firme purpose of doing, they conceive, by a longing desire, they quicken; by an earnest endeavor, they travell with it; and when the Worke is wrought, Verbum Caro factum est, they have incarnate the word. (137)
Without the printer's italics, a reader (not to mention a listener) has no idea when Scripture merges with Andrewes' own words. Nonetheless, the hybrid speech proceeds logically and convincingly to the climactic Latin consummation.
Andrewes' method of weaving Biblical quotations into his own prose links him to the pre-Reformation exegetical tradition known as "verbal dictation." Drawing on the notion that even a single word of Scripture contains an intrinsic supernatural power, verbal dictation endorses the belief that "even in incomplete snatches the sacred text yields instructive meaning." Therefore, fragments of verses can be lifted from their original contexts and still retain their power as sacred writ. Prone to obvious abuses, dictation was a prime target of Tyndale and the early Reformers. Andrewes, however, explicitly claims the intrinsic power not only of the doctrines contained in Scripture, but of the very text itself. He compares the power of the Scriptures to the influence of "the Celestiall bodies and lights" that, "if they only passed by over our heads, & we received not the benefit of their motion and influence (which we do,) yet were they a spectacle worth the beholding. So may we justly say of the Word." (133). Scripture for the preacher, then, is a vast quarry of discrete units, or building blocks. The strength of each block comes guaranteed, and the preacher can choose skillfully from among these pieces to construct his own instructive exegesis.
Does this liberty with the text contradict Andrewes' respect for the order of words within Scripture? Not if it is situated within the context of the bishop's understanding of invenio. Andrewes would argue that the composite monologue he gives to Christ is not a new creation of the preacher's making. As the Word, Christ contains or signifies all the words of Scripture. To put into Christ's mouth words that were spoken by Paul through divine inspiration poses no conflict for Andrewes. The repositioning of pieces of Scripture actually emphasizes the complementary symmetry between every part, indeed every word, of the Bible. The act of preaching seeks to clarify a text for the benefit of the congregation. The preacher does not "create" an interpretation or "add" to Scripture. Rather, he seeks ("invenit") his interpretation within the component parts of Scripture, and with reference to the interpretations of preceding learned Fathers. Verbal dictation allows the gathering of various Scriptural elements to light the preacher's way through the text under scrutiny, thus affirming, and not contradicting, the inherent order and unity of Scripture.
Too many evaluative judgments of Andrewes as a preacher dismiss him as a peculiar verbal gymnast. one of this century's few monographs devoted entirely to Andrewes cites "the stylistic peculiarities which have deprived the bishop of lasting literary fame." Conversely, literary anthologies, if they include Andrewes, do so precisely because of those "stylistic peculiarities." Both approaches divorce the sermons' style from their content. Nothing could be more of an affront to Andrewes' hermeneutic strategy and his understanding of language. To read a work merely for style violates the work itself. Andrewes repeatedly chastized his own courtly congregation for coming to his sermons only for intellectual pleasure, "tending to curiositie of knowledge, rather than conscience of practice" (135). Such an attitude "reckon[s] of Sermons, no otherwise than of Songs" and makes "the Musique of a song and the Rhetorique of a sermon all . . . one"(l39). But for Andrewes, rhetoric and style cannot be separated from content and meaning; style is never decorative and always functional. Just as the "cratch" contains Christ, so style, also an external "sign," holds meaning.
Andrewes' hermeneutic, even at its broadest level, vigorously affirms the medieval metaphor of an outer shell disguising a meaty nut. Four-fold allegorical methods of exegesis often inform the sermons. Closely related to Andrewes' preference for the signified over the sign is his call to go straight to the moral and allegorical sense of Scripture, and to "leave the letter." He urges, "Go we then to the kernel!, and let the huske lie: let go the dead letter, and take we to us the spiritual! meaning that hath some life in it" (568). Such a dismissal of the literal does not constitute a total revocation of all things external. Andrewes would be the first to argue that the husk--whether it takes the form of the literal sense of Scripture, the "sign" of a word, or rhetoric itself--figures the very attributes of the kernel within. The two, although distinct, form an organic whole. "Signum" cannot be severed from "signatum." To speak of "levels" of allegory destroys the compact cohesion of the myriad senses that makes allegory artful in the first place, thus killing by dissection. The critical separation of Andrewes' style from the theology that informs it constitutes a similar crime.
 This essay owes much of its present form, but none of its weaknesses, to the encouragement of Father David L. Stokes, D.D., and to the charitable criticisms of Professor Thomas P. Roche, Jr., and Mr. Robert J. Whitaker, Jr.
 First published anonymously in The Times Literary Supplement (Sept. 23, 1926, pp. 621-22), later in Selected Essays (London Faber and Faber, 1932).
 T. S. Eliot, "Lancelot Andrewes" in Selected Essays, 344, 347-348.
 Helen C. White, et al., eds. Seventeenth-Century Verse and Prose, 2 vols. (New York: MacMillan, 1971), 1, 31-32.
 anon., BM MS. Lansdowne 223, f4. Quoted in M. F. Reidy, Bishop Lancelot Andrewes (Chicago: Loyola U.P., 1955), 66.
 John Aubrey, Aubreys Brief Lives, ed. A. Clark (oxford: Clarendon Press, 1898), 31.
 Lancelot Andrewes, XCVI Sermons, ed. William Laud and John Buckeridge, 4th ed. (London, 1641), 142. All references to the Sermons will be from this text.
 A major exception is Nicolas Lossky's Lancelot Andrewes, le Predicateur (Paris: Edition du Cerf, 1986), reviewed by E.C. Miller, Jr. in The Anglican Theological Review, 69, pp. 101-4.
 Paul C. Stanwood and Heather Asals, John Donne and the Theology of Language (Columbia: U. of Missouri P., 1986), 6.
 Stephen Prickett, Words and The Word, Language, Poetics and Biblical Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge U. P., 1986), 37.
 Prickett, 213.
 Sermons, 129-142.
 Sermons, 44-52.
 Sermons, 108-18.
 Sermons, 566-576.
 Andrewes' discussion of sign and signified reveals his complete absorption of St. Augustine's sign theory, especially as it is worked out in De Doctrina Christiana. Compare Andrewes' emphasis on the thing signified to Augustine's: "There is a miserable servitude of the spirit in this habit of taking signs for things, so that one is not able to raise the eye of the mind above things that are corporal . . ." (De Doctrina V.9, trans. D.W. Robertson, Jr.).
 Not insignificantly, I believe, Andrewes consciously uses the Geneva Bible's harsh "cratch" instead of the more euphonic "manger" of the Authorized Version (which Andrewes himself helped translate ten years earlier).
 John Buckeridge, A Sermon preached at the Funerall of LANCELOT late Bishop of WINCHESTER, appended to XCVI Sermons, 21.
 On the Puritan method, known as "Doctrines and Uses," see J. W. Blench, Preaching in England tn the Late Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1964), 10O-102.
 Andrewes' first editors, Bishops Laud and Buckeridge, honored his high textual standards by publishing only those sermons that "wee found perfect.... Had they not come perfect, we should not have ventured to adde any limme unto them . . . lest wee should have disfigured such compleat bodies" (Sermons, A2r). Given the improvisatory Puritan method
 Professor Boche has reminded me of the familiar Reinaissance English pun on "travail" and "travel." Andrewes deftly employs it here as another variation upon his doctrine of"invenio" the believer must work diligently ("travail") in his search ("travel!") for divine truth. with the added connotation of birth labor for "travail" in this passage, Andrewes plays with a triple pun. compare Edmund Spenser's use of the pun in The Faerie Queene, "Mutabilitie," canto vi.9.9.
 Blench, 20.
 Reidy, 73.
By PETER E. MCCULLOUGH[*]
[*] Peter E. McCullough received his Ph.D. in English from Princeton University in 1992. His first book, The Sermon at the Courts of Elizabeth I and James I, is forthcoming from the University of Massachusetts Press.