On the 6th of December, 1642, he died, and his remains were deposited on the North side of the choir in Christ's Church. In his will he left several legacies for pious uses: fifty pounds for the rebuilding of St. Paul's; a hundred pounds to be distributed by the two vicars of Cassington and Burton, for the use of the poor in those parishes, with many other legacies. He was a man of a very singular turn of humour, and though, without the abilities, bore some resemblance to the famous dean of St. Patrick's, and perhaps was not so subject to those capricious whims which produced so much uneasiness to all who attended upon dean Swift. It is said of Dr. Main, that his propension to innocent raillery was so great, that it kept him company even after death. Among other legacies, he bequeathed to an old servant an old trunk, and somewhat in it, as he said, that would make him drink: no sooner did the Dr. expire, than the servant, full of expectation, visited the trunk, in hopes of finding some money, or other treasure left him by his master, and to his great disappointment, the legacy, with which he had filled his imagination, proved no other than a Red Herring. The ecclesiastical works of our author are as follow, 1. A Sermon concerning Unity and Agreement, preached at Carfax Church in Oxford, August 9, 1646. 1 Cor. i. 10. 2. A Sermon against False Prophets, preached in St. Mary's Church in Oxford, shortly after the surrender of that garrison, printed in 1697. Ezek. xxii. 28. He afterwards published a Vindication of this Sermon from the aspersions of Mr. Cheynel. 3. A Sermon preached at the Consecration of the Right Reverend Father in God, Herbert, Lord Bishop of Hereford, 1662. 1 Tim. iv. 14. 4. Concio ad Academiam Oxoniensem, pro more habita inchoante Jermino, Maii 27, 1662. As a specimen of his poetry, we present a copy of verses addressed to Ben Johnson. Scorn then, their censures, who gave't out, thy wit As long upon a comedy did fit, As elephants bring forth: and thy blots And mendings took more time, than fortune plots; That such thy draught was, and so great thy thirst, That all thy plays were drawn at Mermaid[1] first: That the King's yearly butt wrote, and his wine Hath more right than those to thy Cataline. Let such men keep a diet, let their wit, Be rack'd and while they write, suffer a fit: When th' have felt tortures, which outpain the gout; Such as with less the state draws treason out; Sick of their verse, and of their poem die, Twou'd not be thy wont scene-- Footnote: 1. A tavern in Bread-street. * * * * * JOHN MILTON.